Seneca, Moral Letters 71.11

And so, when one has just begun, or is on one's way to the heights and is cultivating virtue, or even if one is drawing near the perfect good but has not yet put the finishing touch upon it, one will retrograde at times and there will be a certain slackening of mental effort. 
 
For such a man has not yet traversed the doubtful ground; he is still standing in slippery places. 
 
But the happy man, whose virtue is complete, loves himself most of all when his bravery has been submitted to the severest test, and when he not only, endures but welcomes that which all other men regard with fear, if it is the price which he must pay for the performance of a duty which honor imposes, and he greatly prefers to have men say of him: "how much more noble!" rather than "how much more lucky!" 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 71 
 
The cynic will claim that the moral relapse is a proof of how virtue is impossible, and that we will forever be subject to debauchery, even as the man of conviction will continue to see it as yet another opportunity for improvement. I am always deeply frustrated when I fall down, once again, but I have learned to get back on my feet immediately, for hesitation merely breeds further doubt. 
 
While it may feel like the torment of Sisyphus, with no end in sight, I remind myself how the goal is not somewhere up there, at the top of a hill, and is instead to be found in the formation of my inner character, a reward that seeks nothing beyond the excellence of the task itself. Understood rightly, there is a profound joy in doing what I know to be right, regardless of whether anyone happens to be watching, or pats me on the back. 
 
On occasion, my wife will suddenly take note of some thankless task I am performing, and she will suddenly say, “You’re a good man.” 
 
I will object to this vehemently, and she assumes I am just humblebragging, not realizing how painfully aware I am of my own weakness. I never call myself a philosopher, only a student of philosophy, and I never claim virtue, only an aspiration to virtue. I am a constant work in progress. If I ever became sufficiently wise, or genuinely honorable, I would gladly take on such titles. Today is not yet that day. 
 
Where is the merit in being lucky? It has nothing to do with me. If, however, I can manage to make a sincere effort, I have nobility in my sights, and my achievement, as worthless as it seems, is a sign of growth. Boasting is never required, because the braggart is concerned with appearances, not with content. 
 
I see red when professionals, especially academics, list their impressive credentials, or refer to one another as “esteemed”. As Marcus Aurelius, would say, stop with the talking—show me with your deeds, in the face of the most severe hardship, and there will be the only proof needed. 
 
While my peers roll their eyes at poems by Kipling, I still find the deepest inspiration:
 
If you can make one heap of all your winnings 
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 
And never breathe a word about your loss; 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 
To serve your turn long after they are gone, 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!' 

 
—Reflection written in 9/2013 

IMAGE: Titian, Sisyphus (c. 1549)