At any rate, if you wish to sift doubtful meanings of this kind, teach us that the happy man is not he whom the crowd deems happy, namely, he into whose coffers mighty sums have flowed, but he whose possessions are all in his soul, who is upright and exalted, who spurns inconstancy, who sees no man with whom he wishes to change places, who rates men only at their value as men, who takes Nature for his teacher, conforming to her laws and living as she commands, whom no violence can deprive of his possessions, who turns evil into good, is unerring in judgment, unshaken, unafraid, who may be moved by force but never moved to distraction, whom Fortune when she hurls at him with all her might the deadliest missile in her armory, may graze, though rarely, but never wound.
For Fortune's other missiles, with which she vanquishes mankind in general, rebound from such a one, like hail which rattles on the roof with no harm to the dweller therein, and then melts away.
For Fortune's other missiles, with which she vanquishes mankind in general, rebound from such a one, like hail which rattles on the roof with no harm to the dweller therein, and then melts away.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 45
Now, I can complain all I like about the schemes of the sophists, yet it will do nothing to change them, and beyond the temporary satisfaction of venting some steam, I will only have made myself bitter. As always, let me turn to improving myself.
They have made their choices, and I must make mine. If nothing else, I will have done my small part in clearing some of the nastiness out of the public discourse.
This passage sounds downright Ciceronian to me, and while I have not yet memorized it, as I have with some other gems by Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, I’m fairly sure it’s just a matter of time.
How can I make myself better, and thereby also assist others in becoming better? I should first attend to my virtues, becoming otherwise indifferent to any longing for profit or popularity. There is true joy, and not merely a begrudging obligation, in saying and doing what is right, and for no further end.
Is it possible? Of course it is, but only if I define merit according to the order of Nature.
Fortified by understanding, my convictions can be invincible. Motivated by principle, I need neither envy nor fear any man. Fulfilled by conscience, I am willing to bear the sufferings of the flesh. Let Fortune bring what she will, even as I transform any of her hardships into opportunities for happiness.
While most people ridicule such claims, they do so because they believe it impossible to exist on their own terms. They have permitted themselves to be intimidated by circumstances and grown cynical about their inner worth. I know—I’ve been there.
I recently used Seneca's analogy of hail on the roof with a friend, who angrily told me I didn’t grasp how much damage there had been to her house and car during the last storm.
“Yes, but did that need to reduce your dignity as a human being?”
She had no idea what to say to such a subversive question.
Now, I can complain all I like about the schemes of the sophists, yet it will do nothing to change them, and beyond the temporary satisfaction of venting some steam, I will only have made myself bitter. As always, let me turn to improving myself.
They have made their choices, and I must make mine. If nothing else, I will have done my small part in clearing some of the nastiness out of the public discourse.
This passage sounds downright Ciceronian to me, and while I have not yet memorized it, as I have with some other gems by Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, I’m fairly sure it’s just a matter of time.
How can I make myself better, and thereby also assist others in becoming better? I should first attend to my virtues, becoming otherwise indifferent to any longing for profit or popularity. There is true joy, and not merely a begrudging obligation, in saying and doing what is right, and for no further end.
Is it possible? Of course it is, but only if I define merit according to the order of Nature.
Fortified by understanding, my convictions can be invincible. Motivated by principle, I need neither envy nor fear any man. Fulfilled by conscience, I am willing to bear the sufferings of the flesh. Let Fortune bring what she will, even as I transform any of her hardships into opportunities for happiness.
While most people ridicule such claims, they do so because they believe it impossible to exist on their own terms. They have permitted themselves to be intimidated by circumstances and grown cynical about their inner worth. I know—I’ve been there.
I recently used Seneca's analogy of hail on the roof with a friend, who angrily told me I didn’t grasp how much damage there had been to her house and car during the last storm.
“Yes, but did that need to reduce your dignity as a human being?”
She had no idea what to say to such a subversive question.
—Reflection written in 2/2013
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