Seneca, On Peace of Mind 12.4

Let all your work, therefore, have some purpose, and keep some object in view.

These restless people are not made restless by labor, but are driven out of their minds by mistaken ideas, for even they do not put themselves in motion without any hope: they are excited by the outward appearance of something, and their crazy minds cannot see its futility.

An action is quite literally pointless without direction; my values are completely meaningless without a reverent sense of the whole.

The chicken runs about, even as it has no head. I grasp for so many things, even as I have no clue about whether they are good or bad for me.

I am sometimes told that I should just follow my feelings in all of my decisions, and yet any or every decision at all, by definition, must first follow from judgment, not from the rule of any or every passion.

It isn’t that the emotions are right or wrong in themselves; it is rather that the value of those emotions only becomes clear through understanding.

It isn’t work that is bringing me down; it is rather that the work is wasted on frivolous things.

It isn’t that I don’t have a goal; it is rather that I am enamored of deceptively incomplete and false goals.

So when I complain about how busy I am, or when I am intimidated by how busy other people are, my thinking is rather off the mark. If I reflect back upon all the highs and lows of my life, I will recognize that I will spare no effort for what I perceive to be priceless, and I will waste no effort on what I perceive to be worthless.

Work isn’t the problem at all, as much as I may gripe about it. My agony proceeds from working for peanuts instead of principles. Where am I placing my priorities?

It looks pretty, and so I want it. It feels appealing, and so I pursue it. I think that pleasure, or fame, or money, will fulfill me, and I cry alone at home when they do nothing for me. Has it occurred to me that most everyone else is crying too, but happens to be better at putting on a pretty face?

Even the most foolish people have an end in mind, a truth I can very easily confirm from my own experience. They rush here and there, just as I have done, reaching for shadows.

Labor is a joy when it produces what is necessary for a happy life, and there is never any regret in spending all of myself for what is right. Labor is a form of torture when it is misdirected toward what is extraneous.

The more I grumble, the more I despair, and the more I surrender, the more I should have a hint that I am on the wrong path. Where is my nature within Nature?

Written in 12/2011