Sometimes, as a result of noble conduct, one wins great joy even in a very short and fleeting space of time; and though none of the fruits of a deed that has been done will accrue to the doer after he is dead and removed from the sphere of human affairs, yet the mere contemplation of a deed that is to be done is a delight, and the brave and upright man, picturing to himself the rewards of his death—rewards such as the freedom of his country and the deliverance of all those for whom he is paying out his life—partakes of the greatest pleasure and enjoys the fruit of his own peril.
But that man also who is deprived of this joy, the joy which is afforded by the contemplation of some last noble effort, will leap to his death without a moment’s hesitation, content to act rightly and dutifully. Moreover, you may confront him with many discouragements; you may say: “Your deed will speedily be forgotten,” or “Your fellow citizens will offer you scant thanks.”
He will answer: “All these matters lie outside my task. My thoughts are on the deed itself. I know that this is honorable. Therefore, whithersoever I am led and summoned by honor, I will go.”
This, therefore, is the only good, and not only is every soul that has reached perfection aware of it, but also every soul that is by nature noble and of right instincts; all other goods are trivial and mutable. For this reason, we are harassed if we possess them. Even though, by the kindness of Fortune, they have been heaped together, they weigh heavily upon their owners, always pressing them down and sometimes crushing them.
But that man also who is deprived of this joy, the joy which is afforded by the contemplation of some last noble effort, will leap to his death without a moment’s hesitation, content to act rightly and dutifully. Moreover, you may confront him with many discouragements; you may say: “Your deed will speedily be forgotten,” or “Your fellow citizens will offer you scant thanks.”
He will answer: “All these matters lie outside my task. My thoughts are on the deed itself. I know that this is honorable. Therefore, whithersoever I am led and summoned by honor, I will go.”
This, therefore, is the only good, and not only is every soul that has reached perfection aware of it, but also every soul that is by nature noble and of right instincts; all other goods are trivial and mutable. For this reason, we are harassed if we possess them. Even though, by the kindness of Fortune, they have been heaped together, they weigh heavily upon their owners, always pressing them down and sometimes crushing them.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 76
When pressed, most people will tell you that they do something because it feels good. They will then look at you funny if you suggest that maybe we should do something because it is good. That we struggle to grasp the difference speaks volumes about a crisis of identity, one that goes far beyond mere academic debates into our very standards of daily living.
Plato first challenged me to question whether desire measures the good, or the good measures desire, and Aristotle sealed the deal when he explained how the value of the feeling is only as good as the merit of the action from which it proceeds. In other words, subjective emotions must always be estimated through an objective understanding.
This idea slowly snuck its way into my habits, until one day I found myself experiencing a remarkably vivid sensation: I suddenly felt a deep satisfaction from having just a performed a kind deed, mundane and unseen, knowing full well how my only reward would be the act itself. In my jumbled teenage brain, there was now a direct connection between virtue and contentment.
Yet while I had usually thought that pleasure was somehow the goal, I now realized that it was meant to be a consequence of the goal, a natural outgrowth of my character. Is that what some people called joy, as distinct from a base gratification? The beautiful irony was that if I chased the cheap thrills, I would always want more, but if I first paid attention to my duties, I would also feel at peace.
The purest pleasures come to us precisely when we do not pursue them—another instance of the Stoic Turn.
While I have not reached any state of nobility, I am familiar with a glimmer of what Seneca describes. How appropriate that the man who chooses to live with integrity is given a confirmation of his efforts, not required though certainly appreciated, much like receiving a “thank you” for a favor. He does not demand riches, or fame, or the keys to Heaven; he knows that he has done right, and he knows that this fulfills his nature, in harmony with the whole of Nature, and so he is delighted by the fact.
There will be times, of course, when the severity of the circumstances does not allow for an opportunity to placidly reflect, but the honorable man is not disappointed by this, since the task was already complete just by being good.
The critic, who fills his inner emptiness with worldly diversions, cannot deter him by saying he will soon be forgotten, as it was not about the appearances to begin with. Chasing after Fortune was never a part of the deal. He takes his virtues neat.
When pressed, most people will tell you that they do something because it feels good. They will then look at you funny if you suggest that maybe we should do something because it is good. That we struggle to grasp the difference speaks volumes about a crisis of identity, one that goes far beyond mere academic debates into our very standards of daily living.
Plato first challenged me to question whether desire measures the good, or the good measures desire, and Aristotle sealed the deal when he explained how the value of the feeling is only as good as the merit of the action from which it proceeds. In other words, subjective emotions must always be estimated through an objective understanding.
This idea slowly snuck its way into my habits, until one day I found myself experiencing a remarkably vivid sensation: I suddenly felt a deep satisfaction from having just a performed a kind deed, mundane and unseen, knowing full well how my only reward would be the act itself. In my jumbled teenage brain, there was now a direct connection between virtue and contentment.
Yet while I had usually thought that pleasure was somehow the goal, I now realized that it was meant to be a consequence of the goal, a natural outgrowth of my character. Is that what some people called joy, as distinct from a base gratification? The beautiful irony was that if I chased the cheap thrills, I would always want more, but if I first paid attention to my duties, I would also feel at peace.
The purest pleasures come to us precisely when we do not pursue them—another instance of the Stoic Turn.
While I have not reached any state of nobility, I am familiar with a glimmer of what Seneca describes. How appropriate that the man who chooses to live with integrity is given a confirmation of his efforts, not required though certainly appreciated, much like receiving a “thank you” for a favor. He does not demand riches, or fame, or the keys to Heaven; he knows that he has done right, and he knows that this fulfills his nature, in harmony with the whole of Nature, and so he is delighted by the fact.
There will be times, of course, when the severity of the circumstances does not allow for an opportunity to placidly reflect, but the honorable man is not disappointed by this, since the task was already complete just by being good.
The critic, who fills his inner emptiness with worldly diversions, cannot deter him by saying he will soon be forgotten, as it was not about the appearances to begin with. Chasing after Fortune was never a part of the deal. He takes his virtues neat.
—Reflection written in 10/2013
IMAGE: Gavin Hamilton, Hector's Farewell to Andromache (c. 1775)
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