Letter 6: On sharing knowledge
I feel, my dear Lucilius, that I am being not only reformed, but transformed. I do not yet, however, assure myself, or indulge the hope, that there are no elements left in me which need to be changed.
Of course, there are many that should be made more compact, or made thinner, or be brought into greater prominence.
And indeed this very fact is proof that my spirit is altered into something better—that it can see its own faults, of which it was previously ignorant. In certain cases sick men are congratulated because they themselves have perceived that they are sick.
For me, a proof that Stoicism “clicks” with Nature, not merely in abstract theory but very immediately in daily practice, is the way that the changes in my thinking will do amazing things for my sense of contentment.
Many noble achievements can charge us with a feeling of being more complete, but no achievement is more powerful in this regard than having done something to improve a mastery over self. No one else needs to notice it, or it may not bring any worldly gain at all, and yet I am granted a true sense of deep dignity and worth.
I appreciate the language Seneca uses here; it involves more than just a modification of myself, going far deeper into becoming like a completely new creation.
At the same time as I take a tiny step forward, however, I am also acutely aware that so much more needs to be done. The danger, of course, is that I become prideful and complacent, and yet if my transformation is genuine and sincere, it will also be accompanied by an incredible clarity of insight about my strengths and weaknesses. I will be able to look at myself honestly, and admit without shame or fear that I really have, over the years, twisted myself into a broken wreck.
The layers and layers of grime, the accumulated dark habits, and the scars of self-loathing are suddenly quite apparent, exposed to bright sunlight, and yet to be aware of them no longer fills me with anxiety and despair. I see something that needs fixing, and, in a way I have never before experienced, I find joy in facing that task. I can only describe it like one of those wonderful moments in life when you smile while your eyes tear up.
Indeed, just as Socrates said that we only become wise when we admit that we are ignorant, so too we will only increase in virtue when we admit that we are full of vices. It is an achievement to know that I have great tasks of renovation before me.
It is no accident, I suggest, that the most effective programs to overcome addiction start with the admission that you have a problem. This is not as easy as it sounds to someone who has been blessed by never having to face a crippling compulsion; to say “I am a sick man, and I need help” can be the most difficult words a fellow will ever have to utter. Only if that thought remains at the front of the mind can there be any healing.
Of course, there are many that should be made more compact, or made thinner, or be brought into greater prominence.
And indeed this very fact is proof that my spirit is altered into something better—that it can see its own faults, of which it was previously ignorant. In certain cases sick men are congratulated because they themselves have perceived that they are sick.
For me, a proof that Stoicism “clicks” with Nature, not merely in abstract theory but very immediately in daily practice, is the way that the changes in my thinking will do amazing things for my sense of contentment.
Many noble achievements can charge us with a feeling of being more complete, but no achievement is more powerful in this regard than having done something to improve a mastery over self. No one else needs to notice it, or it may not bring any worldly gain at all, and yet I am granted a true sense of deep dignity and worth.
I appreciate the language Seneca uses here; it involves more than just a modification of myself, going far deeper into becoming like a completely new creation.
At the same time as I take a tiny step forward, however, I am also acutely aware that so much more needs to be done. The danger, of course, is that I become prideful and complacent, and yet if my transformation is genuine and sincere, it will also be accompanied by an incredible clarity of insight about my strengths and weaknesses. I will be able to look at myself honestly, and admit without shame or fear that I really have, over the years, twisted myself into a broken wreck.
The layers and layers of grime, the accumulated dark habits, and the scars of self-loathing are suddenly quite apparent, exposed to bright sunlight, and yet to be aware of them no longer fills me with anxiety and despair. I see something that needs fixing, and, in a way I have never before experienced, I find joy in facing that task. I can only describe it like one of those wonderful moments in life when you smile while your eyes tear up.
Indeed, just as Socrates said that we only become wise when we admit that we are ignorant, so too we will only increase in virtue when we admit that we are full of vices. It is an achievement to know that I have great tasks of renovation before me.
It is no accident, I suggest, that the most effective programs to overcome addiction start with the admission that you have a problem. This is not as easy as it sounds to someone who has been blessed by never having to face a crippling compulsion; to say “I am a sick man, and I need help” can be the most difficult words a fellow will ever have to utter. Only if that thought remains at the front of the mind can there be any healing.
Written in 3/2012
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