Seneca, Moral Letters 9.12

But you must not think that our school alone can utter noble words; Epicurus himself, the reviler of Stilpo, spoke similar language; put it down to my credit, though I have already wiped out my debt for the present day. He says: "Whoever does not regard what he has as most ample wealth, is unhappy, though he be master of the whole world." 

 

Or, if the following seems to you a more suitable phrase—for we must try to render the meaning and not the mere words: "A man may rule the world and still be unhappy, if he does not feel that he is supremely happy."

 

In order, however, that you may know that these sentiments are universal, suggested, of course, by Nature, you will find in one of the comic poets this verse:

 

“Unblest is he who thinks himself unblest.”

 

For what does your condition matter, if it is bad in your own eyes?

 

Whatever is given to me, or not given to me, is not what will make me happy; it is my own estimation of whatever is given to me, or not given to me, that will allow me to be happy. 

 

I sometimes see people assume that Stoicism demands being poor in body, or even deliberately denying ourselves any luxuries of life. Each person must learn to distinguish within himself what he needs and what he wants, but the key is to never measure oneself by the presence or absence of anything external, and to never seek or avoid any such conditions for their own sake. 

 

I might be in poverty or in plenty, and still be content with myself. As soon as I chase after one or run away from the other, I am now at their beck and call, and my contentment is now beyond my power. 

 

Perhaps I repeat it too often, but the repetition does help me to build a habit of sound thinking: I have known good people who happened to be rich or poor, but I have never known anyone who was good because he was rich or poor. 

 

The merit, and therefore the happiness, are in the free disposition of the soul. 

 

I occasionally enjoy playing a little mental exercise, where I consider some legendary figures, known for their great successes or failures, and ask myself if they would still be happy or miserable if their circumstances were turned around. 

 

Sisyphus was punished by the gods for his pride, doomed to roll a boulder uphill for all eternity. Let’s say instead that he did finally make his way to the top of the hill: was the boulder the actual source of his misery, or would his shifty soul still have burdened him? 

 

A friend once offered this similar example: Was the defeat at Waterloo and the exile at St. Helena what broke Napoleon, or would he have died a broken man in any event, even if he lived to a ripe old age, still the Emperor of the French, and surrounded by his grand retinue? 

 

In Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, would Raskolnikov have been a happier man if he had gotten away with the murder, or was his own confession and imprisonment a necessary part of his redemption?

 

Imagine if George Bailey rushed home after learning that his life had indeed made a difference, to find only the bank examiners and the sheriff waiting for him, and he is carted off to jail. His friends have not gathered or raised any money to support him. Is that still “a wonderful life”? 

 

The blessings and the curses come from the inside, not from the outside. 

Written in 5/2012