This can be proved to you by the fact that the good man will hasten unhesitatingly to any noble deed; even though he be confronted by the hangman, the torturer, and the stake, he will persist, regarding not what he must suffer, but what he must do; and he will entrust himself as readily to an honorable deed as he would to a good man; he will consider it advantageous to himself, safe, propitious.
And he will hold the same view concerning an honorable deed, even though it be fraught with sorrow and hardship, as concerning a good man who is poor or wasting away in exile. Come now, contrast a good man who is rolling in wealth with a man who has nothing, except that in himself he has all things; they will be equally good, though they experience unequal fortune.
This same standard, as I have remarked, is to be applied to things as well as to men; virtue is just as praiseworthy if it dwells in a sound and free body, as in one which is sickly or in bondage.
Therefore, as regards your own virtue also, you will not praise it any more, if fortune has favored it by granting you a sound body, than if fortune has endowed you with a body that is crippled in some member, since that would mean rating a master low because he is dressed like a slave.
For all those things over which Chance holds sway are chattels—money, person, position; they are weak, shifting, prone to perish, and of uncertain tenure. On the other hand, the works of virtue are free and unsubdued, neither more worthy to be sought when fortune treats them kindly, nor less worthy when any adversity weighs upon them.
And he will hold the same view concerning an honorable deed, even though it be fraught with sorrow and hardship, as concerning a good man who is poor or wasting away in exile. Come now, contrast a good man who is rolling in wealth with a man who has nothing, except that in himself he has all things; they will be equally good, though they experience unequal fortune.
This same standard, as I have remarked, is to be applied to things as well as to men; virtue is just as praiseworthy if it dwells in a sound and free body, as in one which is sickly or in bondage.
Therefore, as regards your own virtue also, you will not praise it any more, if fortune has favored it by granting you a sound body, than if fortune has endowed you with a body that is crippled in some member, since that would mean rating a master low because he is dressed like a slave.
For all those things over which Chance holds sway are chattels—money, person, position; they are weak, shifting, prone to perish, and of uncertain tenure. On the other hand, the works of virtue are free and unsubdued, neither more worthy to be sought when fortune treats them kindly, nor less worthy when any adversity weighs upon them.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 66
I sadly know so many people who are intensely cynical and bitter about the human condition; my vocation as a teacher makes this a hazard of the trade. Far too often, I permit it to get to me, with the ironic result that I then make myself just as jaundiced as they are, for there is an unwritten rule in the world of academia that disenchantment is somehow glamorous.
If I speak to all that is best in the human condition, I am usually met with a smug rolling of the eyes and a dismissive wave of the hand. Let this become something good for me—let me respond to rejection with acceptance.
Despite the claims to the contrary, there are many decent folks out there, though the nature of genuine character is such that it does not deliberately draw attention to itself. The sort of good man Seneca describes acts with understanding and love regardless of the circumstances, and he does not ask whether it will bring him any other benefit beyond the exercise of his conscience.
If I assume there is nothing good within me besides feeding my own appetites, it is no wonder when I assume others must be the same; to question the integrity of others is to make an excuse for myself. No, the true proof of my humanity will be when I care little for poverty or riches, pleasure or pain, fame or obscurity, and I instead find peace in virtue fort its own sake, free from greed, from lust, from recognition.
Strip away the conditions, and only the purity and the simplicity remain. Fortune does not alter the equal dignity of every righteous thought or deed, however “big” or “small”, and no modification of the trimmings will add or subtract any of its innate worth.
Back in college, while fellow students in a class on the French Revolution were swept up in the angry tribalism of class warfare, I came across a painting called A Good Deed is Never Forgotten. It portrayed the warm reunion of two men who had been on opposite sides during the Reign of Terror, but who could look beyond political self-interest to embrace unconditional compassion.
Joseph Cange was a peasant who had become a jailkeeper to the aristocratic Monsieur George. When Cange saw the plight of George’s family, he supported them secretly, and when George was eventually released, he promised to seek out and thank his anonymous benefactor. Regardless of the risk or the cost, one man committed himself to charity, and another committed himself to gratitude. What better lesson could history teach us?
I sadly know so many people who are intensely cynical and bitter about the human condition; my vocation as a teacher makes this a hazard of the trade. Far too often, I permit it to get to me, with the ironic result that I then make myself just as jaundiced as they are, for there is an unwritten rule in the world of academia that disenchantment is somehow glamorous.
If I speak to all that is best in the human condition, I am usually met with a smug rolling of the eyes and a dismissive wave of the hand. Let this become something good for me—let me respond to rejection with acceptance.
Despite the claims to the contrary, there are many decent folks out there, though the nature of genuine character is such that it does not deliberately draw attention to itself. The sort of good man Seneca describes acts with understanding and love regardless of the circumstances, and he does not ask whether it will bring him any other benefit beyond the exercise of his conscience.
If I assume there is nothing good within me besides feeding my own appetites, it is no wonder when I assume others must be the same; to question the integrity of others is to make an excuse for myself. No, the true proof of my humanity will be when I care little for poverty or riches, pleasure or pain, fame or obscurity, and I instead find peace in virtue fort its own sake, free from greed, from lust, from recognition.
Strip away the conditions, and only the purity and the simplicity remain. Fortune does not alter the equal dignity of every righteous thought or deed, however “big” or “small”, and no modification of the trimmings will add or subtract any of its innate worth.
Back in college, while fellow students in a class on the French Revolution were swept up in the angry tribalism of class warfare, I came across a painting called A Good Deed is Never Forgotten. It portrayed the warm reunion of two men who had been on opposite sides during the Reign of Terror, but who could look beyond political self-interest to embrace unconditional compassion.
Joseph Cange was a peasant who had become a jailkeeper to the aristocratic Monsieur George. When Cange saw the plight of George’s family, he supported them secretly, and when George was eventually released, he promised to seek out and thank his anonymous benefactor. Regardless of the risk or the cost, one man committed himself to charity, and another committed himself to gratitude. What better lesson could history teach us?
To crave after glory and luxury is to be a slave to Fortune. To love virtue is to be liberated by Nature. Cast aside the trinkets, and a perfect serenity remains.
—Reflection written in 7/2013
IMAGE: Pierre Nicolas Legrand, A Good Deed is Never Forgotten (1795)
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