Seneca, Moral Letters 29.7

What benefit, then, will that vaunted philosophy confer, whose praises we sing, and which, we are told, is to be preferred to every art and every possession? 

 

Assuredly, it will make you prefer to please yourself rather than the populace, it will make you weigh, and not merely count, men's judgments, it will make you live without fear of gods or men, it will make you either overcome evils or end them. 

 

Otherwise, if I see you applauded by popular acclamation, if your entrance upon the scene is greeted by a roar of cheering and clapping—marks of distinction meet only for actors—if the whole state, even the women and children, sing your praises, how can I help pitying you? For I know what pathway leads to such popularity. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 29 

 

I have often come across deeply philosophical folks who would never presume to call themselves philosophers, and I have rarely come across self-proclaimed scholars who pay much attention to the actual task of falling in love with the true, the good, and the beautiful. 

 

Once the illusion of a career gets in the way, as distinct from a vocation, the tendency is to confuse the style with the substance, the profits for the principles. “What will this get me?” is then the watchword, not “How should I live?” It is the same in the world of business, law, or government as it is in the world of academics. 

 

And no, I do not mean arranging the circumstances we prefer to live in comfort, but discovering the values we need to find some peace of mind. You know the difference just as well as I, so let’s not squabble as if we were trying to outdo one another—that way lies the perdition we must both desperately seek to avoid. 

 

Once it degrades into putting on a show, playing the game, or dying with the most toys, we rightly deserve pity over praise, for we have abandoned being for the sake of seeming; chicanery may momentarily fool the befuddled outsider, and for all that it never allows us the ultimate satisfaction of fooling ourselves. 

 

From the first time I read this letter, I took a special note of Seneca’s distinction between prudently weighing the opinions of others and merely counting the opinions of others. Most have advised me to follow the trail of acclaim, and a few have advised me to shun it completely, but Seneca, as he so often does, finds the middle ground. 

 

It does matter what someone else might think, though it does not matter in the sense to which we are accustomed: discern the true from the false, the right from the wrong, and then form your own judgment from what you have learned. 

 

It is in what sorts of people approve, not in the number of people who approve, and even then the endorsements are a means to the virtues, not the virtues a means to the endorsements. 

 

Having dabbled somewhat at the edges of the professional world, I do know a little bit about it. Having spent his entire life at the center of Roman politics, and still keeping a hold of his soul, Seneca knew quite a bit about it. I am inclined to heed his guidance. 

—Reflection written in 11/2012