Therefore, if he is contemplating withdrawal from the world, he will not select Canopus (although Canopus does not keep any man from living simply), nor Baiae either; for both places have begun to be resorts of vice. At Canopus luxury pampers itself to the utmost degree; at Baiae it is even more lax, as if the place itself demanded a certain amount of license.
We ought to select abodes which are wholesome not only for the body but also for the character. Just as I do not care to live in a place of torture, neither do I care to live in a café.
To witness persons wandering drunk along the beach, the riotous reveling of sailing parties, the lakes a-din with choral song, and all the other ways in which luxury, when it is, so to speak, released from the restraints of law not merely sins, but blazons its sins abroad—why must I witness all this?
We ought to see to it that we flee to the greatest possible distance from provocations to vice. We should toughen our minds, and remove them far from the allurements of pleasure.
We ought to select abodes which are wholesome not only for the body but also for the character. Just as I do not care to live in a place of torture, neither do I care to live in a café.
To witness persons wandering drunk along the beach, the riotous reveling of sailing parties, the lakes a-din with choral song, and all the other ways in which luxury, when it is, so to speak, released from the restraints of law not merely sins, but blazons its sins abroad—why must I witness all this?
We ought to see to it that we flee to the greatest possible distance from provocations to vice. We should toughen our minds, and remove them far from the allurements of pleasure.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 51
No other man can force me to choose, and no place in the world can compel me to act, even as I should also be acutely aware of how my circumstances provide me with the range of my possibilities. This one man might help me to judge more soundly, and that one place might aggravate my defects, so let me situate myself prudently.
The student of classical philosophy will recognize this as the relationship between an efficient cause and a material cause, the agent of the act and the occasion for the act.
Having grown too fond of drowning my sorrows, I now know that spending the day at the pub, in the company of other lost souls, isn’t terribly good for my character. I refuse to take that road trip to Las Vegas, because I am likely to come back a far worse man, assuming I even manage to come back at all. If I find myself straying into the exclusive side of town, hoping to rub shoulders with the “important” folks, I am inclined to feel resentment, and so I now deliberately stay on my own side of the tracks.
What environment will be most conducive to my peace of mind? Which people will inspire me to become more understanding and loving? Then that’s the place to settle down, and those are the friends to cultivate. I only get confused about this when I am not being honest with myself about my priorities.
Though I have an intense sentimental attachment to them, many of the places where I grew up are absolutely no good for me. The old haunts reek of smugness. The old school is a pit of depravity wrapped in an illusion of piety. I don’t wish to be drunk and promiscuous while pretending to save the world, so I don’t go back. Let then have their fun, but why would I seek to still be a part of something that brings out the worst in me?
Habits are formed by repetition. Break the cycle of familiarity, and you break the habit of acquiescence.
No other man can force me to choose, and no place in the world can compel me to act, even as I should also be acutely aware of how my circumstances provide me with the range of my possibilities. This one man might help me to judge more soundly, and that one place might aggravate my defects, so let me situate myself prudently.
The student of classical philosophy will recognize this as the relationship between an efficient cause and a material cause, the agent of the act and the occasion for the act.
Having grown too fond of drowning my sorrows, I now know that spending the day at the pub, in the company of other lost souls, isn’t terribly good for my character. I refuse to take that road trip to Las Vegas, because I am likely to come back a far worse man, assuming I even manage to come back at all. If I find myself straying into the exclusive side of town, hoping to rub shoulders with the “important” folks, I am inclined to feel resentment, and so I now deliberately stay on my own side of the tracks.
What environment will be most conducive to my peace of mind? Which people will inspire me to become more understanding and loving? Then that’s the place to settle down, and those are the friends to cultivate. I only get confused about this when I am not being honest with myself about my priorities.
Though I have an intense sentimental attachment to them, many of the places where I grew up are absolutely no good for me. The old haunts reek of smugness. The old school is a pit of depravity wrapped in an illusion of piety. I don’t wish to be drunk and promiscuous while pretending to save the world, so I don’t go back. Let then have their fun, but why would I seek to still be a part of something that brings out the worst in me?
Habits are formed by repetition. Break the cycle of familiarity, and you break the habit of acquiescence.
—Reflection written in 4/2013
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