Letter 64: On the philosopher’s task
Yesterday you were with us. You might complain if I said "yesterday" merely. This is why I have added "with us." For, so far as I am concerned, you are always with me. Certain friends had happened in, on whose account a somewhat brighter fire was laid—not the kind that generally bursts from the kitchen chimneys of the rich and scares the watch, but the moderate blaze which means that guests have come.
Our talk ran on various themes, as is natural at a dinner; it pursued no chain of thought to the end, but jumped from one topic to another. We then had read to us a book by Quintus Sextius the Elder. He is a great man, if you have any confidence in my opinion, and a real Stoic, though he himself denies it.
Ye Gods, what strength and spirit one finds in him! This is not the case with all philosophers; there are some men of illustrious name whose writings are sapless. They lay down rules, they argue, and they quibble; they do not infuse spirit simply because they have no spirit.
But when you come to read Sextius, you will say: "He is alive; he is strong; he is free; he is more than a man; he fills me with a mighty confidence before I close his book."
I shall acknowledge to you the state of mind I am in when I read his works: I want to challenge every hazard; I want to cry: "Why keep me waiting, Fortune? Enter the lists! Behold, I am ready for you!" I assume the spirit of a man who seeks where he may make trial of himself, where he may show his worth:
“And fretting 'mid the unwarlike flocks he prays
Some foam-flecked boar may cross his path, or else
A tawny lion stalking down the hills."
Yesterday you were with us. You might complain if I said "yesterday" merely. This is why I have added "with us." For, so far as I am concerned, you are always with me. Certain friends had happened in, on whose account a somewhat brighter fire was laid—not the kind that generally bursts from the kitchen chimneys of the rich and scares the watch, but the moderate blaze which means that guests have come.
Our talk ran on various themes, as is natural at a dinner; it pursued no chain of thought to the end, but jumped from one topic to another. We then had read to us a book by Quintus Sextius the Elder. He is a great man, if you have any confidence in my opinion, and a real Stoic, though he himself denies it.
Ye Gods, what strength and spirit one finds in him! This is not the case with all philosophers; there are some men of illustrious name whose writings are sapless. They lay down rules, they argue, and they quibble; they do not infuse spirit simply because they have no spirit.
But when you come to read Sextius, you will say: "He is alive; he is strong; he is free; he is more than a man; he fills me with a mighty confidence before I close his book."
I shall acknowledge to you the state of mind I am in when I read his works: I want to challenge every hazard; I want to cry: "Why keep me waiting, Fortune? Enter the lists! Behold, I am ready for you!" I assume the spirit of a man who seeks where he may make trial of himself, where he may show his worth:
“And fretting 'mid the unwarlike flocks he prays
Some foam-flecked boar may cross his path, or else
A tawny lion stalking down the hills."
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 64
Of all the things I find myself missing, I have a special longing for a good conversation. I once assumed that I simply had to go out and find one, but the unfortunate fact is that an engaging dialogue requires genuine friends, and both sometimes seem to be as rare as hen’s teeth.
The Stoic stress on self-reliance can mislead me into believing that I should be content to go it alone, and yet the equal Stoic stress on fellowship then reminds me how we are all made for one another. For all the grief that comes with struggling to love, there are still those redeeming moments when the human bond expresses itself precisely as it should.
As elusive as it may feel, some excellent company is a powerful inspiration to the formation of an excellent character. If those of us gathered around the table are hardly the wisest or most virtuous of men, we can at least aspire to become so, for even the slightest step forward is moving us in the right direction. And if the topic of conversation is the example of some better man, then we may participate vicariously.
I don’t know any surviving texts by Quintus Sextius, but the way Seneca describes the effects of his teachings reminds of the handful of fine folks who have offered me profound hope and strength through the many years of doubt and hesitation.
Almost all of those who advertised themselves as “philosophers” may have had a knack for playing about with words, and yet I would walk away from their fancy speeches with only a headache and an urge to sleep. In contrast, the true philosophers, who never claimed the title, fired me up with the urgency of becoming a kinder and braver man, right now, before it is too late.
No, they didn’t just take a hold of my passions, for that is merely a fleeting power; instead, they challenged me to think for myself, and to see myself for who I truly was, behind all the intellectual posturing. By presenting me with the sharp contrast between who I could be and how I managed to fall so terribly short, I suddenly had the wind behind my sails.
Of all the things I find myself missing, I have a special longing for a good conversation. I once assumed that I simply had to go out and find one, but the unfortunate fact is that an engaging dialogue requires genuine friends, and both sometimes seem to be as rare as hen’s teeth.
The Stoic stress on self-reliance can mislead me into believing that I should be content to go it alone, and yet the equal Stoic stress on fellowship then reminds me how we are all made for one another. For all the grief that comes with struggling to love, there are still those redeeming moments when the human bond expresses itself precisely as it should.
As elusive as it may feel, some excellent company is a powerful inspiration to the formation of an excellent character. If those of us gathered around the table are hardly the wisest or most virtuous of men, we can at least aspire to become so, for even the slightest step forward is moving us in the right direction. And if the topic of conversation is the example of some better man, then we may participate vicariously.
I don’t know any surviving texts by Quintus Sextius, but the way Seneca describes the effects of his teachings reminds of the handful of fine folks who have offered me profound hope and strength through the many years of doubt and hesitation.
Almost all of those who advertised themselves as “philosophers” may have had a knack for playing about with words, and yet I would walk away from their fancy speeches with only a headache and an urge to sleep. In contrast, the true philosophers, who never claimed the title, fired me up with the urgency of becoming a kinder and braver man, right now, before it is too late.
No, they didn’t just take a hold of my passions, for that is merely a fleeting power; instead, they challenged me to think for myself, and to see myself for who I truly was, behind all the intellectual posturing. By presenting me with the sharp contrast between who I could be and how I managed to fall so terribly short, I suddenly had the wind behind my sails.
The lovers or the politicians might ask you to die for them, while the sages can explain why you should be willing to die for yourself. When the dignity of the soul is at stake, no trifling threat to the body can stand in the way.
—Reflection written in 7/2013
IMAGE: Peter Paul Rubens, Samson Killing the Lion (1628)
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