Seneca, Moral Letters 59.3

For example, I am at this very moment reading Sextius; he is a keen man, and a philosopher who, though he writes in Greek, has the Roman standard of ethics. One of his similes appealed especially to me, that of an army marching in hollow square, in a place where the enemy might be expected to appear from any quarter, ready for battle. 

 
"This," said he, "is just what the wise man ought to do; he should have all his fighting qualities deployed on every side, so that wherever the attack threatens, there his supports may be ready to hand and may obey the captain's command without confusion." 
 
This is what we notice in armies which serve under great leaders; we see how all the troops simultaneously understand their general's orders, since they are so arranged that a signal given by one man passes down the ranks of cavalry and infantry at the same moment.
 
This, he declares, is still more necessary for men like ourselves; for soldiers have often feared an enemy without reason, and the march which they thought most dangerous has in fact been most secure; but folly brings no repose, fear haunts it both in the van and in the rear of the column, and both flanks are in a panic. 
 
Folly is pursued, and confronted, by peril. It blenches at everything; it is unprepared; it is frightened even by auxiliary troops. But the wise man is fortified against all inroads; he is alert; he will not retreat before the attack of poverty, or of sorrow, or of disgrace, or of pain. He will walk undaunted both against them and among them. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 59 
 
The appeal to an analogy has often saved me from utter confusion, for a single likeness can allow me to open up to the fuller meaning. It’s a bit like finally coming across that comfortable landmark when I’ve gotten all turned around on winding city streets. 
 
And there are so many factors that can contribute to my befuddlement, from arrogant presumptions to stubborn passions, from sloppy thinking to lazy habits. There is no weakness, I believe, in drawing on an appearance with which I am already friendly. 
 
Now military examples may not be for everyone, so we are all called to find whatever works best for us, but I can certainly relate to the idea of being constantly prepared, of covering all the bases, as the sportsman might say. As a marching army must be ready for any attack, so I must remember how the greatest challenges have a way of arriving when I least expect them. Lady Fortune operates on her own terms. 
 
For some reason, I recall a scene in the film Gods and Generals that has stuck with me over the years, where Chamberlain explains to his men how important it is to seamlessly switch from columns of four to line of battle. Only constant drill can achieve this, so that the soldiers can perform the maneuver in their sleep. 
 
I have, thankfully, never been an infantryman under fire, though the proficiency he must acquire to face the enemy is not so different from the skills we must all develop to confront any of life’s hardships.
 
Whether the fear be of injury or of death, of pain or of loss, or sickness or of poverty, of success or of failure, of guilt or of shame, the challenge is universal. The necessary strength is one of character, not simply of the flesh, and this can only be summoned through a total reappraisal of where I place my priorities. 
 
As long as I am accustomed to seeking the true and the good in the mere arrangement of circumstances, I will never achieve the virtues of prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice, and so I will never learn to rest in genuine joy. 
 
The everyman needs this insight as much as the soldier. 

—Reflection written in 6/2013