What, then? Shall you not rather transfer your efforts to making it clear to all men that the search for the superfluous means a great outlay of time, and that many have gone through life merely accumulating the instruments of life?
Consider individuals, survey men in general; there is none whose life does not look forward to the morrow.
"What harm is there in this," you ask?
Infinite harm; for such persons do not live, but are preparing to live. They postpone everything. Even if we paid strict attention, life would soon get ahead of us; but as we are now, life finds us lingering and passes us by as if it belonged to another, and though it ends on the final day, it perishes every day.
But I must not exceed the bounds of a letter, which ought not to fill the reader's left hand. So I shall postpone to another day our case against the hair-splitters, those over-subtle fellows who make argumentation supreme instead of subordinate. Farewell.
Consider individuals, survey men in general; there is none whose life does not look forward to the morrow.
"What harm is there in this," you ask?
Infinite harm; for such persons do not live, but are preparing to live. They postpone everything. Even if we paid strict attention, life would soon get ahead of us; but as we are now, life finds us lingering and passes us by as if it belonged to another, and though it ends on the final day, it perishes every day.
But I must not exceed the bounds of a letter, which ought not to fill the reader's left hand. So I shall postpone to another day our case against the hair-splitters, those over-subtle fellows who make argumentation supreme instead of subordinate. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 45
My son asked me if there was any way to figure out what someone else was really thinking, and beyond warning him that we must never be quick to judge, I suggested that he observe where most of the time and effort was being spent, and then he would have a good hunch about what a man loves the most.
This discouraged him, because he realized it therefore meant most people cared primarily for money, popularity, and sex. “I’m not sure I like a world like that!”
“Then resolve yourself not to become like that.” I am grateful how he understands, even as the rest look at me funny.
In hindsight, I suppose most of my life has now been spent on redirecting my attention from frivolities to foundations, and it is still quite difficult to appreciate the rewards when I remain so ensnared in those pesky habits of expecting a further profit.
There are the moments, however, when some tiny victory over a stubborn vice reminds me what it is all about. Then I see the shallow in all of its ugliness, and I no longer need to look forward to anything else, because I know I have made progress where it counts.
I must resist the temptation of saying that I can still manage to get rich, famous, or gratified as a harmless pastime, since I am forgetting that there is only so much time for me to spend. Perhaps another can juggle the conflicting urgencies, but I have always needed to work intently. Once I get diverted, I struggle mightily to get back on track.
“Have a few beers, do it tomorrow!” What makes me think I am assured of a tomorrow? There is living, and then there is putting off the living, constantly making excuses for embracing my only real responsibility. I should certainly delight in the simple pleasures, while never confusing them with the challenge of the most perfecting joy.
What a shame it would be if I risked everything to wait for a last day, when it would be so much more enriching to treat each and every day as a last day.
In this light, does it still make any sense to play with the sophists, to bicker when I should love, to collect trifles when I should be giving myself away?
Sloth gets me in just as much trouble, if not more, than lust and avarice.
My son asked me if there was any way to figure out what someone else was really thinking, and beyond warning him that we must never be quick to judge, I suggested that he observe where most of the time and effort was being spent, and then he would have a good hunch about what a man loves the most.
This discouraged him, because he realized it therefore meant most people cared primarily for money, popularity, and sex. “I’m not sure I like a world like that!”
“Then resolve yourself not to become like that.” I am grateful how he understands, even as the rest look at me funny.
In hindsight, I suppose most of my life has now been spent on redirecting my attention from frivolities to foundations, and it is still quite difficult to appreciate the rewards when I remain so ensnared in those pesky habits of expecting a further profit.
There are the moments, however, when some tiny victory over a stubborn vice reminds me what it is all about. Then I see the shallow in all of its ugliness, and I no longer need to look forward to anything else, because I know I have made progress where it counts.
I must resist the temptation of saying that I can still manage to get rich, famous, or gratified as a harmless pastime, since I am forgetting that there is only so much time for me to spend. Perhaps another can juggle the conflicting urgencies, but I have always needed to work intently. Once I get diverted, I struggle mightily to get back on track.
“Have a few beers, do it tomorrow!” What makes me think I am assured of a tomorrow? There is living, and then there is putting off the living, constantly making excuses for embracing my only real responsibility. I should certainly delight in the simple pleasures, while never confusing them with the challenge of the most perfecting joy.
What a shame it would be if I risked everything to wait for a last day, when it would be so much more enriching to treat each and every day as a last day.
In this light, does it still make any sense to play with the sophists, to bicker when I should love, to collect trifles when I should be giving myself away?
Sloth gets me in just as much trouble, if not more, than lust and avarice.
—Reflection written in 2/2013
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