But, my dear Lucilius, philosophy is a thing of holiness, something to be worshipped, so much so that the very counterfeit pleases.
For the mass of mankind consider that a person is at leisure who has withdrawn from society, is free from care, self-sufficient, and lives for himself; but these privileges can be the reward only of the wise man.
Does he who is a victim of anxiety know how to live for himself? What? Does he even know, and that is of first importance, how to live at all?
For the man who has fled from affairs and from men, who has been banished to seclusion by the unhappiness which his own desires have brought upon him, who cannot see his neighbor more happy than himself, who through fear has taken to concealment, like a frightened and sluggish animal—this person is not living for himself; he is living for his belly, his sleep, and his lust—and that is the most shameful thing in the world.
He who lives for no one does not necessarily live for himself. Nevertheless, there is so much in steadfastness and adherence to one's purpose that even sluggishness, if stubbornly maintained, assumes an air of authority with us.
For the mass of mankind consider that a person is at leisure who has withdrawn from society, is free from care, self-sufficient, and lives for himself; but these privileges can be the reward only of the wise man.
Does he who is a victim of anxiety know how to live for himself? What? Does he even know, and that is of first importance, how to live at all?
For the man who has fled from affairs and from men, who has been banished to seclusion by the unhappiness which his own desires have brought upon him, who cannot see his neighbor more happy than himself, who through fear has taken to concealment, like a frightened and sluggish animal—this person is not living for himself; he is living for his belly, his sleep, and his lust—and that is the most shameful thing in the world.
He who lives for no one does not necessarily live for himself. Nevertheless, there is so much in steadfastness and adherence to one's purpose that even sluggishness, if stubbornly maintained, assumes an air of authority with us.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 55
Just as some people assume that we should always be busy, frantically rushing from one task to the next, other people think it best to avoid any sort of work altogether. Both are sadly extremes, diversions from a true peace of mind.
The wise man knows that he can always be both engaged and serene, regardless of whether he is laboring or resting. Because he understands who he is, he feels no need to hide away from the world, whether through drudgery or inertia.
The false dichotomy of work or play can make us believe that it is somehow necessary to “get away from it all”, and to treat happiness as if it ultimately requires a complete withdrawal from any duty to our fellows. It looks like tranquility from the outside, but it is really sloth on the inside.
The philosopher will recognize the difference between leisure and idleness, though it is very easy to get caught up in the appearance of repose while lacking the necessary principles.
In my last year of college, I fell in with a hard-drinking crowd of pseudo-intellectuals, and so I figured that the more time I spent lounging around at the pub and the café, the more my soul would flourish. Liam Milburn was pretending to be Brendan Behan.
Yet was that ridding me of my anxiety, or was it simply a further symptom of my anxiety? I may have claimed I was living for myself, on my own terms, but I wasn’t coping at all, I was copping out. I was making myself miserable, while feeling angry at most anyone else, and by casting my bohemian judgment upon others I was merely burying my head in the sand.
It wasn’t freedom—it was a slavery to runaway passions. I was imitating romantic anti-heroes who made it look like there was a discipline to their debauchery, and I ended up just as cynical and jaded as they were. Scribbling melodramatic lyrics on a bar napkin at closing time makes for great photo opportunities, and it still does absolutely nothing for either my sanity or my sanctity.
Just as some people assume that we should always be busy, frantically rushing from one task to the next, other people think it best to avoid any sort of work altogether. Both are sadly extremes, diversions from a true peace of mind.
The wise man knows that he can always be both engaged and serene, regardless of whether he is laboring or resting. Because he understands who he is, he feels no need to hide away from the world, whether through drudgery or inertia.
The false dichotomy of work or play can make us believe that it is somehow necessary to “get away from it all”, and to treat happiness as if it ultimately requires a complete withdrawal from any duty to our fellows. It looks like tranquility from the outside, but it is really sloth on the inside.
The philosopher will recognize the difference between leisure and idleness, though it is very easy to get caught up in the appearance of repose while lacking the necessary principles.
In my last year of college, I fell in with a hard-drinking crowd of pseudo-intellectuals, and so I figured that the more time I spent lounging around at the pub and the café, the more my soul would flourish. Liam Milburn was pretending to be Brendan Behan.
Yet was that ridding me of my anxiety, or was it simply a further symptom of my anxiety? I may have claimed I was living for myself, on my own terms, but I wasn’t coping at all, I was copping out. I was making myself miserable, while feeling angry at most anyone else, and by casting my bohemian judgment upon others I was merely burying my head in the sand.
It wasn’t freedom—it was a slavery to runaway passions. I was imitating romantic anti-heroes who made it look like there was a discipline to their debauchery, and I ended up just as cynical and jaded as they were. Scribbling melodramatic lyrics on a bar napkin at closing time makes for great photo opportunities, and it still does absolutely nothing for either my sanity or my sanctity.
—Reflection written in 4/2013
No comments:
Post a Comment