What, then, am I myself doing with my leisure? I am trying to cure my own sores. If I were to show you a swollen foot, or an inflamed hand, or some shriveled sinews in a withered leg, you would permit me to lie quiet in one place and to apply lotions to the diseased member.
But my trouble is greater than any of these, and I cannot show it to you. The abscess, or ulcer, is deep within my breast.
Pray, pray, do not commend me, do not say: "What a great man! He has learned to despise all things; condemning the madnesses of man's life, he has made his escape!"
I have condemned nothing except myself. There is no reason why you should desire to come to me for the sake of making progress. You are mistaken if you think that you will get any assistance from this quarter; it is not a physician that dwells here, but a sick man.
I would rather have you say, on leaving my presence: "I used to think him a happy man and a learned one, and I had pricked up my ears to hear him; but I have been defrauded. I have seen nothing, heard nothing which I craved and which I came back to hear."
If you feel thus, and speak thus, some progress has been made. I prefer you to pardon rather than envy my retirement.
But my trouble is greater than any of these, and I cannot show it to you. The abscess, or ulcer, is deep within my breast.
Pray, pray, do not commend me, do not say: "What a great man! He has learned to despise all things; condemning the madnesses of man's life, he has made his escape!"
I have condemned nothing except myself. There is no reason why you should desire to come to me for the sake of making progress. You are mistaken if you think that you will get any assistance from this quarter; it is not a physician that dwells here, but a sick man.
I would rather have you say, on leaving my presence: "I used to think him a happy man and a learned one, and I had pricked up my ears to hear him; but I have been defrauded. I have seen nothing, heard nothing which I craved and which I came back to hear."
If you feel thus, and speak thus, some progress has been made. I prefer you to pardon rather than envy my retirement.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 68
Though it is commonly taken as a condition for success, I have little patience for any sort of bragging. Now you may tell me this is precisely why I have failed to leave my mark on the world, but I will quietly remind you how I have chosen a different model of achievement. You think it worse, and I think it better, and I am quite happy to leave it at that.
Seneca here shows me that he is not interested in promoting himself, and so by refusing to paint himself as an example, he actually becomes worthy to be an example. When attention is deliberately drawn to the messenger, inevitably at the expense of the message, we reveal our vanities, born of a desperate need to feel significant. If we cannot find value in simply being ourselves, we desperately hope the acclaim of others will provide it.
But perhaps Seneca’s self-deprecation is just another clever tool of manipulation? Even if this were true, he would still be half right, because he is at least willing to address his own weakness. For all the great things we can achieve, our nature as creatures of choice makes us prone to grave error, and Seneca considers how he remains critically ill in his soul—a condition from which each and every one of us suffers, to whatever degree. I can begin by admitting that fact, however much I might try to spin it.
If I examine myself honestly, I find that I do most things poorly, a very few with competence, and none at all with excellence. This is not an occasion for despair, but a foundation for progress: I have it within me to improve my nature, and an awareness of what is lacking must come before an effort at fulfillment. Habit comes from repeatedly doing, not from wishing or displaying.
No man is in a perfect state, since his happiness is a process, not a state. Find joy in a noble achievement, and even cautiously call it pride, while always remembering to focus on what remains to be done; a renewed commitment is always preferable to resting on your laurels. If the thoughts, words, or deeds are already good in themselves, no addition of fame is required to complete them.
Though it is commonly taken as a condition for success, I have little patience for any sort of bragging. Now you may tell me this is precisely why I have failed to leave my mark on the world, but I will quietly remind you how I have chosen a different model of achievement. You think it worse, and I think it better, and I am quite happy to leave it at that.
Seneca here shows me that he is not interested in promoting himself, and so by refusing to paint himself as an example, he actually becomes worthy to be an example. When attention is deliberately drawn to the messenger, inevitably at the expense of the message, we reveal our vanities, born of a desperate need to feel significant. If we cannot find value in simply being ourselves, we desperately hope the acclaim of others will provide it.
But perhaps Seneca’s self-deprecation is just another clever tool of manipulation? Even if this were true, he would still be half right, because he is at least willing to address his own weakness. For all the great things we can achieve, our nature as creatures of choice makes us prone to grave error, and Seneca considers how he remains critically ill in his soul—a condition from which each and every one of us suffers, to whatever degree. I can begin by admitting that fact, however much I might try to spin it.
If I examine myself honestly, I find that I do most things poorly, a very few with competence, and none at all with excellence. This is not an occasion for despair, but a foundation for progress: I have it within me to improve my nature, and an awareness of what is lacking must come before an effort at fulfillment. Habit comes from repeatedly doing, not from wishing or displaying.
No man is in a perfect state, since his happiness is a process, not a state. Find joy in a noble achievement, and even cautiously call it pride, while always remembering to focus on what remains to be done; a renewed commitment is always preferable to resting on your laurels. If the thoughts, words, or deeds are already good in themselves, no addition of fame is required to complete them.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Laurits Andersen Ring, The Sick Man (1902)
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