"What, then," you ask, "is reason?" It is copying Nature.
"And what," you say, "is the greatest good that man can possess?" It is to conduct oneself according to what Nature wills.
"There is no doubt," says the objector, "that peace affords more happiness when it has not been assailed than when it has been recovered at the cost of great slaughter."
"There is no doubt also," he continues, "that health which has not been impaired affords more happiness than health which has been restored to soundness by means of force, as it were, and by endurance of suffering, after serious illnesses that threaten life itself. And similarly, there will be no doubt that joy is a greater good than a soul's struggle to endure to the bitter end the torments of wounds or burning at the stake."
By no means. For things that result from hazard admit of wide distinctions, since they are rated according to their usefulness in the eyes of those who experience them, but with regard to goods, the only point to be considered is that they are in agreement with Nature; and this is equal in the case of all goods.
When at a meeting of the Senate we vote in favor of someone's motion, it cannot be said, "A. is more in accord with the motion than B." All alike vote for the same motion. I make the same statement with regard to virtues—they are all in accord with Nature; and I make it with regard to goods also—they are all in accord with Nature.
One man dies young, another in old age, and still another in infancy, having enjoyed nothing more than a mere glimpse out into life. They have all been equally subject to death, even though death has permitted the one to proceed farther along the pathway of life, has cut off the life of the second in his flower, and has broken off the life of the third at its very beginning.
Some get their release at the dinner table. Others extend their sleep into the sleep of death. Some are blotted out during dissipation. Now contrast with these persons individuals who have been pierced by the sword, or bitten to death by snakes, or crushed in ruins, or tortured piecemeal out of existence by the prolonged twisting of their sinews.
Some of these departures may be regarded as better, some as worse; but the act of dying is equal in all. The methods of ending life are different; but the end is one and the same. Death has no degrees of greater or less; for it has the same limit in all instances—the finishing of life.
"And what," you say, "is the greatest good that man can possess?" It is to conduct oneself according to what Nature wills.
"There is no doubt," says the objector, "that peace affords more happiness when it has not been assailed than when it has been recovered at the cost of great slaughter."
"There is no doubt also," he continues, "that health which has not been impaired affords more happiness than health which has been restored to soundness by means of force, as it were, and by endurance of suffering, after serious illnesses that threaten life itself. And similarly, there will be no doubt that joy is a greater good than a soul's struggle to endure to the bitter end the torments of wounds or burning at the stake."
By no means. For things that result from hazard admit of wide distinctions, since they are rated according to their usefulness in the eyes of those who experience them, but with regard to goods, the only point to be considered is that they are in agreement with Nature; and this is equal in the case of all goods.
When at a meeting of the Senate we vote in favor of someone's motion, it cannot be said, "A. is more in accord with the motion than B." All alike vote for the same motion. I make the same statement with regard to virtues—they are all in accord with Nature; and I make it with regard to goods also—they are all in accord with Nature.
One man dies young, another in old age, and still another in infancy, having enjoyed nothing more than a mere glimpse out into life. They have all been equally subject to death, even though death has permitted the one to proceed farther along the pathway of life, has cut off the life of the second in his flower, and has broken off the life of the third at its very beginning.
Some get their release at the dinner table. Others extend their sleep into the sleep of death. Some are blotted out during dissipation. Now contrast with these persons individuals who have been pierced by the sword, or bitten to death by snakes, or crushed in ruins, or tortured piecemeal out of existence by the prolonged twisting of their sinews.
Some of these departures may be regarded as better, some as worse; but the act of dying is equal in all. The methods of ending life are different; but the end is one and the same. Death has no degrees of greater or less; for it has the same limit in all instances—the finishing of life.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 66
Appeals to reason are often taken to be cold and distant, as if they must be a rejection of the zealous passions, and that is deeply unfortunate. I suppose I could mumble something about the missteps of the Enlightenment, yet I fear it is a universal human weakness to be caught in false dichotomies, to insist upon a conflict where there is no conflict at all.
Thinking and feeling are made to go together, being but two aspects to the order of the whole—the trick is in working out how that relationship is intended to unfold, and only then will there be a harmony. Impressions provide the matter, and understanding reveals the meaning. An emotion fuels a thought, and a thought informs an emotion: with the human, there is no one without the other.
So, I am relieved when a thinker like Seneca does not reduce reason to a calculation abstracted from an underlying unity, for he here defines reason as a conformity to Nature, such that the awareness within the mind is in agreement with an absolute purpose. By knowing something, I identify with its rightful place, and thereby I also come to perfect my own rightful place.
Nevertheless, I may be tempted to want it both ways, to pursue the best life while also insisting it be the easiest life, failing to recognize how the circumstances I face are a necessary part of the happiness I seek. Just as reason operates through all varieties of impressions, so virtue expresses itself under all conditions, however pleasurable or painful.
Reason has the power to distinguish the good from the bad in anything and everything made present to it, and virtue has the capacity to thrive in both prosperity and in hardship; the events do not make the man, but the man makes himself by the events.
If I have said “yes”, it will not be any greater or lesser if I do so in plenty or in want. If I have said “no”, my character is not increased or decreased by comfort or by injury. It will be in the affirmative or in the negative, as the principle of the excluded middle properly teaches us. While I can speak of degrees in the process, or about the variety of ways to arrive, the destination is one and the same.
When the Stoics turn to the topic of death, it serves as a great equalizer, not as a source of doom and gloom. That we must all die is inevitable, however much time we are given. That we are all called to virtue is essential, whether the weight of the circumstances be light or heavy.
Appeals to reason are often taken to be cold and distant, as if they must be a rejection of the zealous passions, and that is deeply unfortunate. I suppose I could mumble something about the missteps of the Enlightenment, yet I fear it is a universal human weakness to be caught in false dichotomies, to insist upon a conflict where there is no conflict at all.
Thinking and feeling are made to go together, being but two aspects to the order of the whole—the trick is in working out how that relationship is intended to unfold, and only then will there be a harmony. Impressions provide the matter, and understanding reveals the meaning. An emotion fuels a thought, and a thought informs an emotion: with the human, there is no one without the other.
So, I am relieved when a thinker like Seneca does not reduce reason to a calculation abstracted from an underlying unity, for he here defines reason as a conformity to Nature, such that the awareness within the mind is in agreement with an absolute purpose. By knowing something, I identify with its rightful place, and thereby I also come to perfect my own rightful place.
Nevertheless, I may be tempted to want it both ways, to pursue the best life while also insisting it be the easiest life, failing to recognize how the circumstances I face are a necessary part of the happiness I seek. Just as reason operates through all varieties of impressions, so virtue expresses itself under all conditions, however pleasurable or painful.
Reason has the power to distinguish the good from the bad in anything and everything made present to it, and virtue has the capacity to thrive in both prosperity and in hardship; the events do not make the man, but the man makes himself by the events.
If I have said “yes”, it will not be any greater or lesser if I do so in plenty or in want. If I have said “no”, my character is not increased or decreased by comfort or by injury. It will be in the affirmative or in the negative, as the principle of the excluded middle properly teaches us. While I can speak of degrees in the process, or about the variety of ways to arrive, the destination is one and the same.
When the Stoics turn to the topic of death, it serves as a great equalizer, not as a source of doom and gloom. That we must all die is inevitable, however much time we are given. That we are all called to virtue is essential, whether the weight of the circumstances be light or heavy.
I have often wished my life had played itself out differently, and then I remember why the cards I was dealt were already a part of the plan. What will I now choose to make of them?
—Reflection written in 7/2013
IMAGE: Nicolas Beatrizet, Combat between Reason and Passion (1545)
No comments:
Post a Comment