Reflect, therefore, on this, that the effect of wisdom is a joy that is unbroken and continuous. The mind of the wise man is like the ultra-lunar firmament; eternal calm pervades that region. You have, then, a reason for wishing to be wise, if the wise man is never deprived of joy. This joy springs only from the knowledge that you possess the virtues. None but the brave, the just, the self-restrained, can rejoice.
And when you query: "What do you mean? Do not the foolish and the wicked also rejoice?" I reply, no more than lions who have caught their prey. When men have wearied themselves with wine and lust, when night fails them before their debauch is done, when the pleasures which they have heaped upon a body that is too small to hold them begin to fester, at such times they utter in their wretchedness those lines of Vergil:
“Thou knowest how, amid false-glittering joys.
We spent that last of nights.”
Pleasure-lovers spend every night amid false-glittering joys, and just as if it were their last.
But the joy which comes to the gods, and to those who imitate the gods, is not broken off, nor does it cease; but it would surely cease were it borrowed from without. Just because it is not in the power of another to bestow, neither is it subject to another's whims. That which Fortune has not given, she cannot take away. Farewell.
And when you query: "What do you mean? Do not the foolish and the wicked also rejoice?" I reply, no more than lions who have caught their prey. When men have wearied themselves with wine and lust, when night fails them before their debauch is done, when the pleasures which they have heaped upon a body that is too small to hold them begin to fester, at such times they utter in their wretchedness those lines of Vergil:
“Thou knowest how, amid false-glittering joys.
We spent that last of nights.”
Pleasure-lovers spend every night amid false-glittering joys, and just as if it were their last.
But the joy which comes to the gods, and to those who imitate the gods, is not broken off, nor does it cease; but it would surely cease were it borrowed from without. Just because it is not in the power of another to bestow, neither is it subject to another's whims. That which Fortune has not given, she cannot take away. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 59
The smug modernist will, of course, mock the idea of a firmament dividing the unchanging Heavens from our capricious Earth, but you must forgive him, for he does not appreciate the symbolism of how serene the night sky appears when compared to the hectic state of our lives. I, for one, can no longer count how often a glance at the stars has helped me to calm my passions and to put my priorities in order.
The smug modernist is also convinced that he must constantly be fighting, to be at war with his many foes, because he has no model of life beyond a Nietzschean struggle. He read something about Darwinian evolution, and he assumed that his survival is what matters most, not his excellence. Again, you must forgive him, for he knows not what he does.
If, however, it is lasting joy I desire, beyond the vagaries of sensual pleasure, I will seek out the peace that pervades all things. It is by the exercise of mind that I am able to discern a universal purpose and harmony, and by knowing my own nature in harmony with the whole of Nature, I am finally becoming more constant in the face of Fortune.
One particular lesson from this letter has given me great comfort: it is only the wise man who can be happy, because only the understanding of how and why one is living with virtue can offer a joy of conscious human fulfillment. No, I don’t mean the bookworm, or the intellectual poseur, but rather the fellow whose heart is full of love on account of a mind that is open to truth.
Yet don’t those who scheme for power and pleasure prove to us how happy they are, by the glaring evidence of their many achievements and conquests? If this were true, why do they continue to demand more and more? If this were true, why do they remain so angry and anxious? If this were true, why is their grasping and feuding never done? What an odd way to be satisfied!
If I must always fear that it will be taken from me, I should consider if it was ever rightly meant for me. The joy of being human depends upon the act of being human, and not upon some precarious arrangement of circumstances.
The smug modernist will, of course, mock the idea of a firmament dividing the unchanging Heavens from our capricious Earth, but you must forgive him, for he does not appreciate the symbolism of how serene the night sky appears when compared to the hectic state of our lives. I, for one, can no longer count how often a glance at the stars has helped me to calm my passions and to put my priorities in order.
The smug modernist is also convinced that he must constantly be fighting, to be at war with his many foes, because he has no model of life beyond a Nietzschean struggle. He read something about Darwinian evolution, and he assumed that his survival is what matters most, not his excellence. Again, you must forgive him, for he knows not what he does.
If, however, it is lasting joy I desire, beyond the vagaries of sensual pleasure, I will seek out the peace that pervades all things. It is by the exercise of mind that I am able to discern a universal purpose and harmony, and by knowing my own nature in harmony with the whole of Nature, I am finally becoming more constant in the face of Fortune.
One particular lesson from this letter has given me great comfort: it is only the wise man who can be happy, because only the understanding of how and why one is living with virtue can offer a joy of conscious human fulfillment. No, I don’t mean the bookworm, or the intellectual poseur, but rather the fellow whose heart is full of love on account of a mind that is open to truth.
Yet don’t those who scheme for power and pleasure prove to us how happy they are, by the glaring evidence of their many achievements and conquests? If this were true, why do they continue to demand more and more? If this were true, why do they remain so angry and anxious? If this were true, why is their grasping and feuding never done? What an odd way to be satisfied!
If I must always fear that it will be taken from me, I should consider if it was ever rightly meant for me. The joy of being human depends upon the act of being human, and not upon some precarious arrangement of circumstances.
—Reflection written in 6/2013
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