The other answer, which I promised to make to your objection, follows from this reasoning. The wise man is not distressed by the loss of children or of friends. For he endures their death in the same spirit in which he awaits his own. And he fears the one as little as he grieves for the other. For the underlying principle of virtue is conformity; all the works of virtue are in harmony and agreement with virtue itself.
But this harmony is lost if the soul, which ought to be uplifted, is cast down by grief or a sense of loss. It is ever a dishonor for a man to be troubled and fretted, to be numbed when there is any call for activity. For that which is honorable is free from care and untrammeled, is unafraid, and stands girt for action.
But this harmony is lost if the soul, which ought to be uplifted, is cast down by grief or a sense of loss. It is ever a dishonor for a man to be troubled and fretted, to be numbed when there is any call for activity. For that which is honorable is free from care and untrammeled, is unafraid, and stands girt for action.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 74
We can fall into a creeping cynicism, where we suppose that life must aways be wretched, and “getting used to it” remains the only option. It doesn’t help when feeling sorry for ourselves becomes a mark of pride, and cultivating the image of the romantic victim, complete with a dramatic drinking problem, is a sort of desperate release valve.
Loss will be necessary, but the suffering is optional—bad feelings are the consequences of bad thinking. It may sound heartless for the Stoic to say that we need not grieve, but it begins to make more sense once we choose to be responsible for ourselves, instead of letting happiness come and go with the changes in the weather.
Post-modern man has a knack for letting his passions run away from his reason, and so he is inclined to glorify his despair. If only he realized how his emotions are informed with meaning and purpose by his judgments, he could also discover how to no longer feed his most unhealthy moods.
Just as lust can be healed by love, or fear can be tamed by understanding, so grief can be transformed into acceptance. That she is gone, with no prospect of ever returning, is now an opportunity to act with greater conviction, and stands as proof of how much I care, not as some denial of her significance. This is why the good man seeks the virtue in harmony, never wallowing in the vice of conflict.
If Providence has permitted it, how might I learn to work together with Nature? In each case, I have the power to master myself, and to proudly serve the order of the whole. Where there is true love, there will be a mutual encouragement in such a task, with no place for any resentment or regret.
We can fall into a creeping cynicism, where we suppose that life must aways be wretched, and “getting used to it” remains the only option. It doesn’t help when feeling sorry for ourselves becomes a mark of pride, and cultivating the image of the romantic victim, complete with a dramatic drinking problem, is a sort of desperate release valve.
Loss will be necessary, but the suffering is optional—bad feelings are the consequences of bad thinking. It may sound heartless for the Stoic to say that we need not grieve, but it begins to make more sense once we choose to be responsible for ourselves, instead of letting happiness come and go with the changes in the weather.
Post-modern man has a knack for letting his passions run away from his reason, and so he is inclined to glorify his despair. If only he realized how his emotions are informed with meaning and purpose by his judgments, he could also discover how to no longer feed his most unhealthy moods.
Just as lust can be healed by love, or fear can be tamed by understanding, so grief can be transformed into acceptance. That she is gone, with no prospect of ever returning, is now an opportunity to act with greater conviction, and stands as proof of how much I care, not as some denial of her significance. This is why the good man seeks the virtue in harmony, never wallowing in the vice of conflict.
If Providence has permitted it, how might I learn to work together with Nature? In each case, I have the power to master myself, and to proudly serve the order of the whole. Where there is true love, there will be a mutual encouragement in such a task, with no place for any resentment or regret.
—Reflection written in 10/2013
IMAGE: Edmund Leighton, God Speed (1900)
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