Therefore, a man occupied with such reflections should choose an austere and pure dwelling-place. The spirit is weakened by surroundings that are too pleasant, and without a doubt one's place of residence can contribute towards impairing its vigor
Animals whose hoofs are hardened on rough ground can travel any road; but when they are fattened on soft marshy meadows their hoofs are soon worn out.
The bravest soldier comes from rock-ribbed regions; but the town-bred and the home-bred are sluggish in action.
The hand which turns from the plough to the sword never objects to toil; but your sleek and well-dressed dandy quails at the first cloud of dust.
Being trained in a rugged country strengthens the character and fits it for great undertakings. It was more honorable in Scipio to spend his exile at Liternum than at Baiae; his downfall did not need a setting so effeminate.
Animals whose hoofs are hardened on rough ground can travel any road; but when they are fattened on soft marshy meadows their hoofs are soon worn out.
The bravest soldier comes from rock-ribbed regions; but the town-bred and the home-bred are sluggish in action.
The hand which turns from the plough to the sword never objects to toil; but your sleek and well-dressed dandy quails at the first cloud of dust.
Being trained in a rugged country strengthens the character and fits it for great undertakings. It was more honorable in Scipio to spend his exile at Liternum than at Baiae; his downfall did not need a setting so effeminate.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 51
I am, as my mother liked to say, a “sensitive soul”, so I don’t have much patience for the bluster of men who hide their insecurities behind a display of toughness. There is no virtue in bragging about how much weight I claim to lift, and certainly not in the horsepower under the hood of my car.
I find strength not in doing something extraordinary, designed only to impress, but rather in doing something quite common, intended as an exercise in humble decency. Once I feel the need to draw attention to myself, I’m afraid I’m doing it all wrong.
For my own purposes, therefore, I prefer to stress the simplicity and reliability of my actions, over any pretensions of glory or might. While you may be comfortable with more heroic language, I wish to avoid turning my Stoic self-reliance into an oafish pissing contest.
It is in this light that I am happy to follow Seneca’s advice on austerity and restraint—just please don’t ask me to grunt and spit while I’m trying to improve myself.
I worry so much about how the pain will hinder me, while forgetting how easily the pleasure can also hinder me. Give me too much luxury, and I am inclined to become weak in spirit; rouse me with a touch of hardship, and I am granted an opportunity to hone my constancy. When asked to manage with less, I am challenged to stand for myself all the more.
I’m certain my tomcat Jack is such a noble beast precisely because he has had it so rough. He is a better friend than any of the egghead fops who wax their mustaches.
I tend to be more trusting of a man who has toiled than a man who sits behind a desk, which is a part of the reason I feel so ashamed when they give me an office.
Scipio did much better for himself by retiring to a small town than continuing to rub shoulders with the rich and famous of Rome.
Do I think that that the Hamptons or the Riviera would be a blessing? Getting up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows or chop firewood is the more prudent choice. Soft living breeds a soft conscience.
I am, as my mother liked to say, a “sensitive soul”, so I don’t have much patience for the bluster of men who hide their insecurities behind a display of toughness. There is no virtue in bragging about how much weight I claim to lift, and certainly not in the horsepower under the hood of my car.
I find strength not in doing something extraordinary, designed only to impress, but rather in doing something quite common, intended as an exercise in humble decency. Once I feel the need to draw attention to myself, I’m afraid I’m doing it all wrong.
For my own purposes, therefore, I prefer to stress the simplicity and reliability of my actions, over any pretensions of glory or might. While you may be comfortable with more heroic language, I wish to avoid turning my Stoic self-reliance into an oafish pissing contest.
It is in this light that I am happy to follow Seneca’s advice on austerity and restraint—just please don’t ask me to grunt and spit while I’m trying to improve myself.
I worry so much about how the pain will hinder me, while forgetting how easily the pleasure can also hinder me. Give me too much luxury, and I am inclined to become weak in spirit; rouse me with a touch of hardship, and I am granted an opportunity to hone my constancy. When asked to manage with less, I am challenged to stand for myself all the more.
I’m certain my tomcat Jack is such a noble beast precisely because he has had it so rough. He is a better friend than any of the egghead fops who wax their mustaches.
I tend to be more trusting of a man who has toiled than a man who sits behind a desk, which is a part of the reason I feel so ashamed when they give me an office.
Scipio did much better for himself by retiring to a small town than continuing to rub shoulders with the rich and famous of Rome.
Do I think that that the Hamptons or the Riviera would be a blessing? Getting up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows or chop firewood is the more prudent choice. Soft living breeds a soft conscience.
—Reflection written in 4/2013
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