Seneca, Moral Letters 18.6

Even Epicurus, the teacher of pleasure, used to observe stated intervals, during which he satisfied his hunger in niggardly fashion; he wished to see whether he thereby fell short of full and complete happiness, and, if so, by what amount he fell short, and whether this amount was worth purchasing at the price of great effort. 

 

At any rate, he makes such a statement in the well-known letter written to Polyaenus in the archonship of Charinus. Indeed, he boasts that he himself lived on less than a penny, but that Metrodorus, whose progress was not yet so great, needed a whole penny.

 

Do you think that there can be fulness on such fare? Yes, and there is pleasure also—not that shifty and fleeting pleasure which needs a fillip now and then, but a pleasure that is steadfast and sure. For though water, barley-meal, and crusts of barley-bread, are not a cheerful diet, yet it is the highest kind of pleasure to be able to derive pleasure from this sort of food, and to have reduced one's needs to that modicum which no unfairness of Fortune can snatch away.

 

Even prison fare is more generous; and those who have been set apart for capital punishment are not so meanly fed by the man who is to execute them. Therefore, what a noble soul must one have, to descend of one's own free will to a diet which even those who have been sentenced to death have not to fear! This is indeed forestalling the spear-thrusts of Fortune.

 

My attempts at the Stoic Turn have sometimes been pointed in entirely the wrong direction, though at least I have gotten far better at recognizing where I am confused in my thinking. One surefire warning sign is whenever I find myself starting to resent my desires and to look down my nose at pleasure. 

 

The stereotype of the Stoic is that he represses his passions and stifles his instincts, and yet, as with so many stereotypes, this arises from a misconception. Any repression or stifling of Nature is quite contrary to the mindset of Stoicism, while the emotions, as a very part of our identity, are never to be avoided or disregarded. 

 

The trick is rather in understanding the larger context of how I feel, and in not taking any of it without reflection. Feelings aren’t bad in themselves, nor are they good in themselves, but they are simply indifferent, taking on a value, for better or for worse, by means of my estimation. The Stoic interprets emotion through the lens of judgment, and so measures desire and aversion, pleasure and pain, by a standard of awareness. 

 

If I am fasting, or working on my self-discipline and moderation at any level, I should not therefore claim that enjoyment is my enemy. The good in the pleasure follows from the good in the thinking and the doing, such that the best satisfaction flows from the best thoughts and deeds. I should never be ashamed of feeling pleasure, only of feeling pleasure in the wrong things. 

 

And with my attitude ordered in this way, I begin to appreciate how allowing myself less can actually provide greater fulfillment than constantly craving for more; the quality takes precedence over the quantity. How much contentment I gain when I surrender my dependence on acquisition and consumption, and how liberated I become by no longer being bound to the demands of greed and lust! 

 

Now the Epicureans were opponents of the Stoics in, among other things, that they considered pleasure, and not virtue, to be the highest human good. Yet even they were conscious of how temperance grants the most complete enjoyment, in a sort of philosophical cost/benefit analysis. Epicurus himself was no hedonist, for, as Seneca describes, he would examine how he could be satisfied by living on only the bare minimum. Why should I always be struggling against the world for richer spoils, when I can far more easily train myself to be happy with so very little? 

 

Twenty years ago, I would have sighed and rolled my eyes if you told me to want less, or to take pride in thriving, and not just surviving, on a pittance, and yet here I am, finally coming to that conclusion the long way around. 

 

I am now also more able to distinguish between different types of pleasure, contrasting a surface gratification, which is violent, intense, and fleeting, with a deeper feeling of joy, which is peaceful, soothing, and lasting. 

 

If I can go back to the beginning, and there modify my perception of what really matters in this life, the experience of hardship can teach me a love of the pure and the simple. By taking this on willingly, I am now sure that I am doing myself a far greater good than by “winning” any worldly fortune or fame. 

 

My son teases me for liking to eat old rye bread, and I can only smile, hoping that he will eventually find his own peculiar ways of being grateful for what others dismiss as being plain and worthless. 

Written in 8/2012