Seneca, Moral Letters 22.2

Now listen carefully to the opinion which I shall offer; it is my opinion that you should withdraw either from that kind of existence, or else from existence altogether. 

 

But I likewise maintain that you should take a gentle path, that you may loosen rather than cut the knot which you have bungled so badly in tying—provided that if there shall be no other way of loosening it, you may actually cut it. No man is so faint-hearted that he would rather hang in suspense forever than drop once for all.

 

Meanwhile—and this is of first importance—do not hamper yourself; be content with the business into which you have lowered yourself, or, as you prefer to have people think, have tumbled. There is no reason why you should be struggling on to something further; if you do, you will lose all grounds of excuse, and men will see that it was not a tumble. 

 

The usual explanation which men offer is wrong: "I was compelled to do it. Suppose it was against my will; I had to do it." But no one is compelled to pursue prosperity at top speed; it means something to call a halt—even if one does not offer resistance—instead of pressing eagerly after favoring fortune. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 22

 

Let me get straight to the heart of the matter: if I won’t bother to live right, there’s absolutely no need to go on living. 

 

This sounds terribly harsh, until I sheepishly recognize how it is the only measure that counts. For all the busywork, with the scampering after dribbles of cash, or the posturing to win recognition, or the scheming to feel gratification, am I properly attending to the task of being human?

 

I am not, after all, merely a beast ruled by my passions, but a person defined by my reason and will. If understandingand loving aren’t my priorities for the day, I should have the decency to make way for a newer model. 

 

But, as Seneca quickly adds, let me also remember to be kind to myself. I must work patiently, and take note of where I am honestly at, and of what I am truly capable. Yes, I have gotten myself into quite a mess, by confusing my character with my circumstances, though there will no gain from despair or panic. Now how do extricate myself from it, without causing even more damage to my soul? 

 

Cut off all ties and run into the wilderness? No, that is not necessary, at least not yet, for there is no shame in being a worldly man, only a man who is so in love with being worldly. Besides, I am hardly ready for the life of a sage while I am still a novice. As long as it remains possible, carefully untying the knot is more prudent than wildly hacking away. 

 

Contrary to common belief, a Stoic Turn does not demand a renunciation of wealth, or honors, or pleasures; the environment is never the problem, while the attitude about the environment is always the problem. 

 

Nor should I shun society, for we were made to cooperate with one another, and to become stronger together in fellowship. Rather, it is a crippling dependence upon “things” that must be excised, to be replaced by a liberty in the merit of my moral worth. 

 

Do I happen to be a banker, or a lawyer, or a bureaucrat tied up in shifty dealings? In my own particular case, am I an academic who is playing along in a game of vanities? It is the shiftiness and the vanity that have to go, and then, if it can indeed be managed and preferred, the other states of life can remain. Throwing away the shell alone will not leave me as a better man. 

 

Furthermore, at an utterly calculating level, if I cast aside all the external trappings of life in an instant, I will no longer be able to use them as an excuse for my pathetic lethargy. The cat will be out the bag. 

 

Surely, as much as I hate to admit it, I have pretended that I couldn’t help myself, that I had no choice, that my situation was forced upon me. “Oh, how I wish I could escape from this nest of vipers! But alas, it can never be so—I must suffer my fate!” 

 

Nonsense. Nothing has compelled me, no one has taken control of my mind. I made the decision, for better or for worse, and it is now up to me to find a better way, delicately but earnestly. 

 

“But I might not be able to send my kids to prep school if I change my ways, or to go on those vacation in Maine!” 

 

Is it essential for living with virtue? In any event, you don’t have to throw out the baby with the bathwater. Proceed moderately. 

 

“But I might starve!”

 

Better, then, if it comes to that, to starve than to be a scoundrel. The one may well be beyond your power, while the other is completely within your power. 

—Reflection written in 9/2012