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Monday, May 22, 2023

Seneca, Moral Letters 50.3


Suppose that we have begun the cure; when shall we throw off all these diseases, with all their virulence? 
 
At present, we do not even consult the physician, whose work would be easier if he were called in when the complaint was in its early stages. The tender and the inexperienced minds would follow his advice if he pointed out the right way.
 
No man finds it difficult to return to Nature, except the man who has deserted Nature. We blush to receive instruction in sound sense; but, by Heaven, if we think it base to seek a teacher of this art, we should also abandon any hope that so great a good could be instilled into us by mere chance. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 50 
 
We are proud of our progress in medicine, certain that we understand both the causes and cures of diseases far better than anyone before us, and so we believe we have greatly improved our quality of life. 
 
We are proud of our progress in education, certain that our methods are the most effective for molding willing and productive workers, and so we believe we have greatly improved our quality of life. 
 
Yet while we spend many more hours at the doctor’s office, and many more years in the classroom, can we honestly say that we have mastered the formation of the virtues, and that we can administer a remedy against the vices? No other quality in life amounts to anything without the quality of character. 
 
Unfortunately, most of us won’t even admit that we suffer from a deep moral sickness, and even if we do recognize it, we stubbornly refuse the treatments prescribed by philosophy. 
 
In an environment of relativism, where good and bad are reduced to matters of preference instead of principle, it is easy to look the other way. There will inevitably come a point, however, when the emptiness on the inside becomes too much to bear, and then we insist on how there is nothing in Nature to relieve us of anxiety and dread. 
 
Reason is trying to point to our genuine purpose in life, while we are too enslaved by our impressions to listen. Sick enough to suffer, while not quite sick enough to die. 
 
Isn’t it impossible to become a good man? No, it is only difficult, and it is only difficult because we have built up the layered habits of dependent appetites. If I have already gone so far down the wrong path, will I still have the humility to admit that I need to retrace all those missteps? 
 
I can mope as much as I like, but it isn’t going to fix itself. 

—Reflection written in 3/2013 



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