You reply: “What? Are there no degrees of happiness below your ‘happy’ man? Is there a sheer descent immediately below wisdom?”
I think not. For though he who makes progress is still numbered with the fools, yet he is separated from them by a long interval. Among the very persons who are making progress there are also great spaces intervening. They fall into three classes, as certain philosophers believe.
First come those who have not yet attained wisdom but have already gained a place nearby. Yet even that which is not far away is still outside. These, if you ask me, are men who have already laid aside all passions and vices, who have learned what things are to be embraced; but their assurance is not yet tested. They have not yet put their good into practice, yet from now on they cannot slip back into the faults which they have escaped.
They have already arrived at a point from which there is no slipping back, but they are not yet aware of the fact; as I remember writing in another letter, “They are ignorant of their knowledge.” It has now been vouchsafed to them to enjoy their good, but not yet to be sure of it.
Some define this class, of which I have been speaking—a class of men who are making progress—as having escaped the diseases of the mind, but not yet the passions, and as still standing upon slippery ground; because no one is beyond the dangers of evil except him who has cleared himself of it wholly. But no one has so cleared himself except the man who has adopted wisdom in its stead.
I think not. For though he who makes progress is still numbered with the fools, yet he is separated from them by a long interval. Among the very persons who are making progress there are also great spaces intervening. They fall into three classes, as certain philosophers believe.
First come those who have not yet attained wisdom but have already gained a place nearby. Yet even that which is not far away is still outside. These, if you ask me, are men who have already laid aside all passions and vices, who have learned what things are to be embraced; but their assurance is not yet tested. They have not yet put their good into practice, yet from now on they cannot slip back into the faults which they have escaped.
They have already arrived at a point from which there is no slipping back, but they are not yet aware of the fact; as I remember writing in another letter, “They are ignorant of their knowledge.” It has now been vouchsafed to them to enjoy their good, but not yet to be sure of it.
Some define this class, of which I have been speaking—a class of men who are making progress—as having escaped the diseases of the mind, but not yet the passions, and as still standing upon slippery ground; because no one is beyond the dangers of evil except him who has cleared himself of it wholly. But no one has so cleared himself except the man who has adopted wisdom in its stead.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 75
People are often frustrated by the Stoic insistence that virtue is an all-or-nothing commitment. Can’t I just be “sort of” good, or work on improving my character part-time? The absolute calling of moral excellence disturbs us, of course, because we remain convinced that our real purpose should be gratification, with virtue reduced to a costume we put on when it is convenient.
No, Nature will have her way. She demands unconditional loyalty, and in return she offers total peace of mind.
A part of this rigor comes from the uncompromising Stoic tenet that virtue is the only true human good, from which any other benefit proceeds, but another part of it is simply a matter of plain logic. Whatever degrees we may discern, in the end we are either good or we are not good. The law of the excluded middle is troublesome to the intemperate man, who is sadly desperate to have it both ways.
While there are many ways to approach the ideal, its final achievement stands out from all the rest. We should not be discouraged, however, from being works in progress, for each and every act of understanding and love, however unassuming, aids us in building more perfect habits. I am not yet the complete man, but I am now far beyond the grasping man I once was, ever closer to the saints than to the sinners.
When I am feeling especially confident, I would like to think I have perhaps attained Seneca’s first class of seeker. Then I sensibly reconsider, and I am not so sure my position can be considered that stable. I examine his explanation carefully, and though I have indeed learned something more about the good that should be embraced, I have hardly laid aside all passions and vices.
There are a good number of failings to which I can no longer see myself succumbing: the very prospect of them now fills me with disgust. Yet I remain painfully aware that there are still some wrongs I can find enticing in moments of doubt, so I am quite wary of slipping back. My hold is precarious.
Perhaps I am being too unsettled, even as I would prefer to err on the side of caution. Perhaps I know more than I think I know, and I have built up better defenses than I think I have. The only thing I can say for certain is that progress has been made, from which I have no intention of retreating.
I protest if anyone ever calls me a good man, since that is simply not true. I am dedicated to one day becoming a good man.
People are often frustrated by the Stoic insistence that virtue is an all-or-nothing commitment. Can’t I just be “sort of” good, or work on improving my character part-time? The absolute calling of moral excellence disturbs us, of course, because we remain convinced that our real purpose should be gratification, with virtue reduced to a costume we put on when it is convenient.
No, Nature will have her way. She demands unconditional loyalty, and in return she offers total peace of mind.
A part of this rigor comes from the uncompromising Stoic tenet that virtue is the only true human good, from which any other benefit proceeds, but another part of it is simply a matter of plain logic. Whatever degrees we may discern, in the end we are either good or we are not good. The law of the excluded middle is troublesome to the intemperate man, who is sadly desperate to have it both ways.
While there are many ways to approach the ideal, its final achievement stands out from all the rest. We should not be discouraged, however, from being works in progress, for each and every act of understanding and love, however unassuming, aids us in building more perfect habits. I am not yet the complete man, but I am now far beyond the grasping man I once was, ever closer to the saints than to the sinners.
When I am feeling especially confident, I would like to think I have perhaps attained Seneca’s first class of seeker. Then I sensibly reconsider, and I am not so sure my position can be considered that stable. I examine his explanation carefully, and though I have indeed learned something more about the good that should be embraced, I have hardly laid aside all passions and vices.
There are a good number of failings to which I can no longer see myself succumbing: the very prospect of them now fills me with disgust. Yet I remain painfully aware that there are still some wrongs I can find enticing in moments of doubt, so I am quite wary of slipping back. My hold is precarious.
Perhaps I am being too unsettled, even as I would prefer to err on the side of caution. Perhaps I know more than I think I know, and I have built up better defenses than I think I have. The only thing I can say for certain is that progress has been made, from which I have no intention of retreating.
I protest if anyone ever calls me a good man, since that is simply not true. I am dedicated to one day becoming a good man.
—Reflection written in 10/2013
IMAGE: Honoré Daumier, The Painter (c. 1850)
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