Letter 5: On the philosopher’s mean
I commend you and rejoice in the fact that you are persistent in your studies, and that, putting all else aside, you make it each day your endeavor to become a better man. I do not merely exhort you to keep at it; I actually beg you to do so.
I warn you, however, not to act after the fashion of those who desire to be conspicuous rather than to improve, by doing things which will rouse comment as regards your dress or general way of living.
Repellent attire, unkempt hair, slovenly beard, open scorn of silver dishes, a couch on the bare earth, and any other perverted forms of self-display, are to be avoided.
The mere name of philosophy, however quietly pursued, is an object of sufficient scorn; and what would happen if we should begin to separate ourselves from the customs of our fellow men?
Inwardly, we ought to be different in all respects, but our exterior should conform to society.
There are those moments, both frightening and wonderful, when I know that I need to get down to the business of seriously working on my character. Sometimes they come out of a colossal personal failure, and sometimes they arise from a sudden moment of insight and clarity, but they are always well past due.
I still run the serious danger, however, of getting caught up in the ideology instead of the action, and from there it is only a short step to becoming obsessed with keeping up the appearances over getting the job done right. The style then suddenly takes precedence over the substance, because the style is quite a bit easier, and it is far more likely to win me flattery and approval.
It is the timeless problem of becoming a philosophical Hyacinth Bucket. Yes, I may still mean well, but I’ve got the priorities all mixed up.
Usually, of course, those who wish to make a good impression on others, a sort of weak substitute to actually becoming a better person, will pursue various symbols of wealth and power. Hence, we see the suburban homes, the glamorous vacations, and the imported luxury cars.
There is another variation, however, that of the posturing poor man, or the self-consciously scruffy intellectual. Hippies are prone to it when they refuse to bathe as a political statement, and hipsters adore it as an expression of cynical and ironic commentary.
The type I was most familiar with was that of the conservative Catholic social martyrs, always reminding the world how much they were sacrificing in order to become holier than everyone else. I knew I was in trouble when my supposed friends not only started wearing tweed jackets, but were deliberately seeking out distressed tweed jackets. It was part of a crafted image of impoverished eccentricity.
Seneca warns the young Lucilius about the Stoic version of this tendency. Sometimes we go to the extreme of showing off our luxuries, and sometimes we go to the extreme of showing off our sufferings, when neither is at all necessary to achieve a sense of worth. The mean is in the virtuous action, not in any form of wishing to stand out.
The aspiring Stoic may observe that those who seek fame and fortune will display their winnings, and so, as a sort of counterpoint, he will make a point of advertising his simplicity and humility.
But they aren’t really simplicity and humility if they need to be advertised, are they? They are just another piece of performance art, now swinging from the excess of looking rich and refined to the deficiency of looking disheveled and dirty.
I will already make a strong enough impression, for good or for ill, by quietly living my life according to certain principles, and there is no point in shouting anything else from the rooftops.
The change needs to be deep within my soul, not in the shallow trappings of my “lifestyle choices”.
Written in 3/2012
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