Letter 39: On noble aspirations
I shall indeed arrange for you, in careful order and narrow compass, the notes which you request. But consider whether you may not get more help from the customary method than from that which is now commonly called a "breviary," though in the good old days, when real Latin was spoken, it was called a "summary." The former is more necessary to one who is learning a subject, the latter to one who knows it. For the one teaches, the other stirs the memory.
But I shall give you abundant opportunity for both. A man like you should not ask me for this authority or that; he who furnishes a voucher for his statements argues himself unknown.
I shall therefore write exactly what you wish, but I shall do it in my own way; until then, you have many authors whose works will presumably keep your ideas sufficiently in order.
Pick up the list of the philosophers; that very act will compel you to wake up, when you see how many men have been working for your benefit. You will desire eagerly to be one of them yourself. For this is the most excellent quality that the noble soul has within itself, that it can be roused to honorable things.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 39
Back when I was in the fourth grade, my father came home from the office with a set of what I called “cheat sheets”, though they were more properly described as “study guides” or “reference cards”. I was deeply impressed with them at the time, thick slabs of plastic, complete with punched holes ready for a three-ring binder, crammed front and back with tiny text on a variety of topics.
There was one with lists of formulas for algebra, another with geometrical theorems, then a summary of various laws of physics, a compendium for rules of grammar, and a whole series with events and dates from different historical periods. I carried them around in my notebook for some time, feeling quite knowledgeable as a result.
The problem was that if you didn’t already understand how the subjects worked, these “guides” were just confusing, and if you had previously learned the content, then you didn’t really need the crib notes to begin with. At best, they were an aid for recollection, at worst, a worthless diversion. They taught me how repetition and comprehension are hardly the same thing.
Later, we joked that they should make one for philosophy, but the “academic” publishers were well ahead of us. Here are some important names, and a few fancy terms, and you too can claim to be wise! I was ashamed when my comprehensive exams followed this unfortunate model, and merely involved parroting specific phrases dictated to me by my professors.
When Lucilius asks for some notes to help him with philosophy, I am certainly sympathetic, because I know how important it can be to have a framework to build upon, a support for reference, or a way to tickle the memory. Nevertheless, any tricks for encouragement can never replace the work of forming my own judgments. If I can’t explain it on my own terms, I certainly don’t know it; if I am relying on a crutch, I’m not walking under my own power.
Wherever life takes me, and whatever trade I may pursue, my first calling is to be human, and that demands a commitment to a good will informed by the exercise of sound reason. There are no shortcuts. Philosophy, rightly understood and in its most immediate sense, is the task of being my own man, and having the awareness to back it up.
I might be able to dupe my boss into thinking I know how to write code, yet I can’t deceive my own conscience into pretending to know true from false, right from wrong. If I have not demonstrated the why, the promotion of the what is simply a game of bluster.
Yes, I read from the established philosophers each and every day, yet they are not changing me—they are occasions for me to change myself. Seneca speaks here about becoming a noble soul, and it helps me to distinguish between a nobility of character, which is self-made, and a cheap reliance on the glory of others, which is a lazy substitute. However annoying it is to hear, “Show your own work!” is a worthy challenge.
Turn to the wise as an inspiration to be wise yourself. Therein lies nobility. Crib notes won’t cut it.
Back when I was in the fourth grade, my father came home from the office with a set of what I called “cheat sheets”, though they were more properly described as “study guides” or “reference cards”. I was deeply impressed with them at the time, thick slabs of plastic, complete with punched holes ready for a three-ring binder, crammed front and back with tiny text on a variety of topics.
There was one with lists of formulas for algebra, another with geometrical theorems, then a summary of various laws of physics, a compendium for rules of grammar, and a whole series with events and dates from different historical periods. I carried them around in my notebook for some time, feeling quite knowledgeable as a result.
The problem was that if you didn’t already understand how the subjects worked, these “guides” were just confusing, and if you had previously learned the content, then you didn’t really need the crib notes to begin with. At best, they were an aid for recollection, at worst, a worthless diversion. They taught me how repetition and comprehension are hardly the same thing.
Later, we joked that they should make one for philosophy, but the “academic” publishers were well ahead of us. Here are some important names, and a few fancy terms, and you too can claim to be wise! I was ashamed when my comprehensive exams followed this unfortunate model, and merely involved parroting specific phrases dictated to me by my professors.
When Lucilius asks for some notes to help him with philosophy, I am certainly sympathetic, because I know how important it can be to have a framework to build upon, a support for reference, or a way to tickle the memory. Nevertheless, any tricks for encouragement can never replace the work of forming my own judgments. If I can’t explain it on my own terms, I certainly don’t know it; if I am relying on a crutch, I’m not walking under my own power.
Wherever life takes me, and whatever trade I may pursue, my first calling is to be human, and that demands a commitment to a good will informed by the exercise of sound reason. There are no shortcuts. Philosophy, rightly understood and in its most immediate sense, is the task of being my own man, and having the awareness to back it up.
I might be able to dupe my boss into thinking I know how to write code, yet I can’t deceive my own conscience into pretending to know true from false, right from wrong. If I have not demonstrated the why, the promotion of the what is simply a game of bluster.
Yes, I read from the established philosophers each and every day, yet they are not changing me—they are occasions for me to change myself. Seneca speaks here about becoming a noble soul, and it helps me to distinguish between a nobility of character, which is self-made, and a cheap reliance on the glory of others, which is a lazy substitute. However annoying it is to hear, “Show your own work!” is a worthy challenge.
Turn to the wise as an inspiration to be wise yourself. Therein lies nobility. Crib notes won’t cut it.
—Reflection written in 1/2013
IMAGE: If you can zoom in, you might see how shallow, and tedious, the crib notes make philosophy appear. Do the right thing, however, and buy a copy online, for just a few dollars, and you may then wish to have it framed, as a reminder of the sort of lifeless drudgery you desperately wish to avoid . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment