Letter 74: On virtue as a refuge from worldly distractions
Your letter has given me pleasure, and has roused me from sluggishness. It has also prompted my memory, which has been for some time slack and nerveless.
You are right, of course, my dear Lucilius, in deeming the chief means of attaining the happy life to consist in the belief that the only good lies in that which is honorable. For anyone who deems other things to be good, puts himself in the power of Fortune, and goes under the control of another; but he who has in every case defined the good by the honorable, is happy with an inward happiness.
One man is saddened when his children die; another is anxious when they become ill; a third is embittered when they do something disgraceful, or suffer a taint in their reputation.
One man, you will observe, is tortured by passion for his neighbor’s wife, another by passion for his own. You will find men who are completely upset by failure to win an election, and others who are actually plagued by the offices which they have won.
But the largest throng of unhappy men among the host of mortals are those whom the expectation of death, which threatens them on every hand, drives to despair. For there is no quarter from which death may not approach.
Hence, like soldiers scouting in the enemy's country, they must look about in all directions, and turn their heads at every sound; unless the breast be rid of this fear, one lives with a palpitating heart.
Your letter has given me pleasure, and has roused me from sluggishness. It has also prompted my memory, which has been for some time slack and nerveless.
You are right, of course, my dear Lucilius, in deeming the chief means of attaining the happy life to consist in the belief that the only good lies in that which is honorable. For anyone who deems other things to be good, puts himself in the power of Fortune, and goes under the control of another; but he who has in every case defined the good by the honorable, is happy with an inward happiness.
One man is saddened when his children die; another is anxious when they become ill; a third is embittered when they do something disgraceful, or suffer a taint in their reputation.
One man, you will observe, is tortured by passion for his neighbor’s wife, another by passion for his own. You will find men who are completely upset by failure to win an election, and others who are actually plagued by the offices which they have won.
But the largest throng of unhappy men among the host of mortals are those whom the expectation of death, which threatens them on every hand, drives to despair. For there is no quarter from which death may not approach.
Hence, like soldiers scouting in the enemy's country, they must look about in all directions, and turn their heads at every sound; unless the breast be rid of this fear, one lives with a palpitating heart.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 74
The opening of this letter immediately challenges me to address a recurring problem from my daily life: I get confused about what it means to be honorable. As much as I may work out the theory while sitting at my desk, I am inclined to hesitate once I find myself in the trenches, entangling the true merit of my actions with the way others happen to perceive them.
Though I am far from being a scholar of Latin, I couldn’t resist looking up the original term Seneca uses here. As I suspected, he speaks of honestas, honor in the sense of our internal virtues, as distinct from honos, honor in the sense of our external fame. In an ideal world, the latter would mirror the former, but we all know how easily the appearance can stray from the reality.
As much as I might prefer to win esteem, it is far more important that I stand on the principle of private excellence, regardless of any popular reputation. In this, the Stoic will gladly wander from the herd.
There is no great complexity in understanding why my good will be in my own thoughts, words, and deeds, not in the thoughts, words, and deeds of others—the hindrance is rather in my old habits, and in a lingering feeling of insecurity. Yet I do not need to be pleasing to them, only good enough to be myself, with integrity and conviction.
Once the circumstance becomes the measure, we are enslaved to Fortune, at the mercy of what is beyond our power, and so we will never find a moment of peace. At first glance, from a distance, the grasping man looks glorious, but then a closer examination reveals his crippling anxiety. He is in constant need of gaining more, and he is terrified of losing what he believes he already has. If only he clung to the virtues, he would possess what cannot be taken away.
Behind all of our other fears, from being deprived of our children to being shamed for our secrets, lies the greatest dread of all, the very end of our existence. This should only trouble us, however, if we live in a way where having more is mistaken for being good.
The opening of this letter immediately challenges me to address a recurring problem from my daily life: I get confused about what it means to be honorable. As much as I may work out the theory while sitting at my desk, I am inclined to hesitate once I find myself in the trenches, entangling the true merit of my actions with the way others happen to perceive them.
Though I am far from being a scholar of Latin, I couldn’t resist looking up the original term Seneca uses here. As I suspected, he speaks of honestas, honor in the sense of our internal virtues, as distinct from honos, honor in the sense of our external fame. In an ideal world, the latter would mirror the former, but we all know how easily the appearance can stray from the reality.
As much as I might prefer to win esteem, it is far more important that I stand on the principle of private excellence, regardless of any popular reputation. In this, the Stoic will gladly wander from the herd.
There is no great complexity in understanding why my good will be in my own thoughts, words, and deeds, not in the thoughts, words, and deeds of others—the hindrance is rather in my old habits, and in a lingering feeling of insecurity. Yet I do not need to be pleasing to them, only good enough to be myself, with integrity and conviction.
Once the circumstance becomes the measure, we are enslaved to Fortune, at the mercy of what is beyond our power, and so we will never find a moment of peace. At first glance, from a distance, the grasping man looks glorious, but then a closer examination reveals his crippling anxiety. He is in constant need of gaining more, and he is terrified of losing what he believes he already has. If only he clung to the virtues, he would possess what cannot be taken away.
Behind all of our other fears, from being deprived of our children to being shamed for our secrets, lies the greatest dread of all, the very end of our existence. This should only trouble us, however, if we live in a way where having more is mistaken for being good.
—Reflection written in 10/2013
IMAGE: Pieter van Aelst, Fortune (c. 1520)
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