Do you suppose that I am now referring to the Stoics, who hold that the soul of a man crushed by a great weight cannot abide, and is scattered forthwith, because it has not had a free opportunity to depart? That is not what I am doing; those who think thus are, in my opinion, wrong.
Just as fire cannot be crushed out, since it will escape round the edges of the body which overwhelms it; just as the air cannot be damaged by lashes and blows, or even cut into, but flows back about the object to which it gives place; similarly the soul, which consists of the subtlest particles, cannot be arrested or destroyed inside the body, but, by virtue of its delicate substance, it will rather escape through the very object by which it is being crushed.
Just as lightning, no matter how widely it strikes and flashes, makes its return through a narrow opening, so the soul, which is still subtler than fire, has a way of escape through any part of the body.
Just as fire cannot be crushed out, since it will escape round the edges of the body which overwhelms it; just as the air cannot be damaged by lashes and blows, or even cut into, but flows back about the object to which it gives place; similarly the soul, which consists of the subtlest particles, cannot be arrested or destroyed inside the body, but, by virtue of its delicate substance, it will rather escape through the very object by which it is being crushed.
Just as lightning, no matter how widely it strikes and flashes, makes its return through a narrow opening, so the soul, which is still subtler than fire, has a way of escape through any part of the body.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 57
The Stoics described the whole Universe as being composed of matter, and yet they employed this term in a far broader and deeper sense than the crude atomism of the Epicureans.
Yes, we can certainly speak of the more base substance of sensible bodies, which are merely acted upon, yet we must not overlook the presence of the more subtle substance of mind, which is the very principle behind all action. The difference between the two is like that of a stone compared to the aether.
So when Seneca asks if souls can somehow be “trapped” by weight, it would be as if we speculated whether a mind can be dispersed by a strong wind. In the fullness of reality, there are many grades and degrees of existence, and the scope of the greater is far beyond the limitations of the lesser.
In a contemporary sense, for example, we would rightly think it foolish when a man tries to split the atom by banging some sticks together. So too, consciousness, which the Stoics often spoke of as being like a primordial fire, is far too refined to be contained in a box.
I think of how the followers of Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus used to bicker over the latter’s use of the term “spiritual matter”, even as it was quite clear that both thinkers were discussing precisely the same modes of being. The nuances of the terms are only there to serve us in the discovery of a shared truth.
In all, I need not be troubled that the falling piano or the ravenous rats can flatten or mutilate my soul, in that all change is simply the transformation from one state to another; both the passive matter of my body and the active matter of my mind will “go” precisely where the order of Nature intends for them to go.
My fears are unfounded, for as with the teachings of Stoic ethics, this type of thing cannot be restricted by that type of thing. My judgments are not subject to the confines of the flesh, unless, of course, I freely choose to bind myself to them.
The Stoics described the whole Universe as being composed of matter, and yet they employed this term in a far broader and deeper sense than the crude atomism of the Epicureans.
Yes, we can certainly speak of the more base substance of sensible bodies, which are merely acted upon, yet we must not overlook the presence of the more subtle substance of mind, which is the very principle behind all action. The difference between the two is like that of a stone compared to the aether.
So when Seneca asks if souls can somehow be “trapped” by weight, it would be as if we speculated whether a mind can be dispersed by a strong wind. In the fullness of reality, there are many grades and degrees of existence, and the scope of the greater is far beyond the limitations of the lesser.
In a contemporary sense, for example, we would rightly think it foolish when a man tries to split the atom by banging some sticks together. So too, consciousness, which the Stoics often spoke of as being like a primordial fire, is far too refined to be contained in a box.
I think of how the followers of Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus used to bicker over the latter’s use of the term “spiritual matter”, even as it was quite clear that both thinkers were discussing precisely the same modes of being. The nuances of the terms are only there to serve us in the discovery of a shared truth.
In all, I need not be troubled that the falling piano or the ravenous rats can flatten or mutilate my soul, in that all change is simply the transformation from one state to another; both the passive matter of my body and the active matter of my mind will “go” precisely where the order of Nature intends for them to go.
My fears are unfounded, for as with the teachings of Stoic ethics, this type of thing cannot be restricted by that type of thing. My judgments are not subject to the confines of the flesh, unless, of course, I freely choose to bind myself to them.
—Reflection written in 5/2013
IMAGE: Philipp Otto Runge, Birth of the Human Soul (c. 1806)
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