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Friday, February 11, 2022

Seneca, Moral Letters 21.2


It is your own studies that will make you shine and will render you eminent. Allow me to mention the case of Epicurus. He was writing to Idomeneus and trying to recall him from a showy existence to sure and steadfast renown. Idomeneus was at that time a minister of state who exercised a rigorous authority and had important affairs in hand.

 

"If," said Epicurus, "you are attracted by fame, my letters will make you more renowned than all the things which you cherish and which make you cherished."

 

Did Epicurus speak falsely? Who would have known of Idomeneus, had not the philosopher thus engraved his name in those letters of his? All the grandees and satraps, even the king himself, who was petitioned for the title which Idomeneus sought, are sunk in deep oblivion.

 

Cicero's letters keep the name of Atticus from perishing. It would have profited Atticus nothing to have an Agrippa for a son-in-law, a Tiberius for the husband of his grand-daughter, and a Drusus Caesar for a great-grandson; amid these mighty names his name would never be spoken, had not Cicero bound him to himself. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 21

 

People can be so anxious to have a spotlight shone upon them, that they quickly forget how human nature already possesses the power to cast its own light. It would seem odd to say that my own merit depends upon the actions of others, and yet that is exactly the assumption I make when I define myself by any praise I hope to receive. 

 

Now parts of this letter may at first seem confusing, since we all know that the Stoic should be indifferent to fame, and yet here Seneca offers advice on how to go about winning the very best sort of fame. Does this sadly reveal how Seneca is just another seeker of fortune, and that his Stoicism is nothing more than window dressing? 

 

We hardly need to take such a cynical view. First, the larger context actually allows for a careful reevaluation of what is meant by genuine honor. Second, there is some rhetorical exaggeration here, a bit of a comic wink at Lucilius’ rather serious struggle with his position in life. 

 

“Oh, so it’s renown you’re looking for? Well, let me show you real renown! I’ll give you a reputation better than anything you could ever imagine!” 

 

Working once again from the words of Epicurus, Seneca is asking about what truly constitutes the “greatness” any proper Roman would crave. Instead of seeking out the approval of all the bigwigs, might not Idomeneus be better served by sticking with the company of a good friend who can offer sage advice? 

 

There’s a big difference between winning respect in order to feel worthy and practicing the virtues that can then also lead to respect. Which is the cause, and which is the consequence? Is it the character or the renown that should come first in our estimation? 

 

Fame is neither good nor evil in itself, and so has no value beyond the way it is employed. While being morally indifferent, however, it is still possible that I may have a preference for it, or that I may choose it as a useful tool for living well. When this is the case, I should always pursue a prominence that proceeds from the right sorts of reasons and is bestowed by the right sorts of people. 

 

In other words, accept honors when they are suitable, keeping in mind your own qualities, as well as the qualities of those who are providing the adulation. The respect from a scoundrel is a mark of shame, while the respect from a gentleman is a thing to be prized. Association with the vicious breeds infamy, association with the virtuous encourages dignity. 

 

It is quite fitting, and funny, that both Idomeneus and Atticus are known to posterity precisely because their own names were joined to those of decent souls like Epicurus and Cicero, not to those of corrupt politicians or self-serving blowhards. Lucilius can certainly learn a lesson here, that his reputation will only be as upstanding as his commitment to righteousness.

 

Keep your own light burning, and then let the rest take care of itself. 

—Reflection written in 9/2012

IMAGE: Godfried Schalcken, Young Girl with a Candle (c. 1675)



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