Letter 72: On business as the enemy of philosophy
The subject concerning which you question me was once clear to my mind, and required no thought, so thoroughly had I mastered it. But I have not tested my memory of it for some time, and therefore it does not readily come back to me.
I feel that I have suffered the fate of a book whose rolls have stuck together by disuse; my mind needs to be unrolled, and whatever has been stored away there ought to be examined from time to time, so that it may be ready for use when occasion demands.
Let us therefore put this subject off for the present; for it demands much labor and much care. As soon as I can hope to stay for any length of time in the same place, I shall then take your question in hand.
For there are certain subjects about which you can write even while travelling in a gig, and there are also subjects which need a study-chair, and quiet, and seclusion.
The subject concerning which you question me was once clear to my mind, and required no thought, so thoroughly had I mastered it. But I have not tested my memory of it for some time, and therefore it does not readily come back to me.
I feel that I have suffered the fate of a book whose rolls have stuck together by disuse; my mind needs to be unrolled, and whatever has been stored away there ought to be examined from time to time, so that it may be ready for use when occasion demands.
Let us therefore put this subject off for the present; for it demands much labor and much care. As soon as I can hope to stay for any length of time in the same place, I shall then take your question in hand.
For there are certain subjects about which you can write even while travelling in a gig, and there are also subjects which need a study-chair, and quiet, and seclusion.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 72
Since we no longer have copies of the letters from Lucilius, I can only speculate on the original inquiry here, though it still offers the perfect segue into a reflection on keeping our knowledge fresh and vital.
I have been a voracious reader since I was a young pup, and yet I am familiar with that dreadful feeling of slowly forgetting so much of what I had once understood. If it is indeed a good book, I must return to it regularly, refreshing my appreciation for its truth and its beauty, reveling in every tiny detail, so it may again inspire me to live with enthusiasm.
All knowledge is like that, for it will atrophy as soon as we cease to apply it. While most will assume that philosophy is a luxury for idle intellectuals, an abstract theory to be left behind when returning to the real world, Seneca stands firm with the perennial common sense that wisdom is perfected in daily practice.
What use is that old guitar, gathering dust in the back of your closet, the one you bought in hopes becoming a rock god? What use is that noble education, wasting away in the back of your brain, now that you crunch numbers and lick the boss’s boots? Instead of being an escape from the world, philosophy, properly conceived, is your very guide to the world.
One of the difficulties with philosophy, however, is that she does demand your complete loyalty, and she doesn’t take kindly to being neglected in favor of your menial tasks. There is the sort of thinking you can do while you are busy with your chores, and then there is the sort of thinking you can only do in serene concentration.
Now while the world will tell to put your career first, and any quest for wisdom second, Nature will always firmly remind you to get your priorities in order. Philosophy informs absolutely every judgment you make, and so she should always remain your true love—being a rich man will be pointless if you are not first a good man. To be soundly principled is to be genuinely pragmatic.
Since we no longer have copies of the letters from Lucilius, I can only speculate on the original inquiry here, though it still offers the perfect segue into a reflection on keeping our knowledge fresh and vital.
I have been a voracious reader since I was a young pup, and yet I am familiar with that dreadful feeling of slowly forgetting so much of what I had once understood. If it is indeed a good book, I must return to it regularly, refreshing my appreciation for its truth and its beauty, reveling in every tiny detail, so it may again inspire me to live with enthusiasm.
All knowledge is like that, for it will atrophy as soon as we cease to apply it. While most will assume that philosophy is a luxury for idle intellectuals, an abstract theory to be left behind when returning to the real world, Seneca stands firm with the perennial common sense that wisdom is perfected in daily practice.
What use is that old guitar, gathering dust in the back of your closet, the one you bought in hopes becoming a rock god? What use is that noble education, wasting away in the back of your brain, now that you crunch numbers and lick the boss’s boots? Instead of being an escape from the world, philosophy, properly conceived, is your very guide to the world.
One of the difficulties with philosophy, however, is that she does demand your complete loyalty, and she doesn’t take kindly to being neglected in favor of your menial tasks. There is the sort of thinking you can do while you are busy with your chores, and then there is the sort of thinking you can only do in serene concentration.
Now while the world will tell to put your career first, and any quest for wisdom second, Nature will always firmly remind you to get your priorities in order. Philosophy informs absolutely every judgment you make, and so she should always remain your true love—being a rich man will be pointless if you are not first a good man. To be soundly principled is to be genuinely pragmatic.
—Reflection written in 9/2013
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