The same thing holds good regarding men as regarding things. A ship is said to be good not when it is decorated with costly colors, nor when its prow is covered with silver or gold or its figure-head embossed in ivory, nor when it is laden with the imperial revenuesor with the wealth of kings, but when it is steady and staunch and taut, with seams that keep out the water, stout enough to endure the buffeting of the waves’ obedient to its helm, swift and caring naught for the winds.
You will speak of a sword as good, not when its sword-belt is of gold, or its scabbard studded with gems, but when its edge is fine for cutting and its point will pierce any armor. Take the carpenter’s rule: we do not ask how beautiful it is, but how straight it is. Each thing is praised in regard to that attribute which is taken as its standard, in regard to that which is its peculiar quality.
Therefore, in the case of man also, it is not pertinent to the question to know how many acres he ploughs, how much money he has out at interest, how many callers attend his receptions, how costly is the couch on which he lies, how transparent are the cups from which he drinks, but how good he is.
He is good, however, if his reason is well-ordered and right and adapted to that which his nature has willed. It is this that is called virtue; this is what we mean by “honorable”; it is man’s unique good. For since reason alone brings man to perfection, reason alone, when perfected, makes man happy.
This, moreover, is man’s only good, the only means by which he is made happy. We do indeed say that those things also are goods which are furthered and brought together by virtue—that is, all the works of virtue; but virtue itself is for this reason the only good, because there is no good without virtue.
You will speak of a sword as good, not when its sword-belt is of gold, or its scabbard studded with gems, but when its edge is fine for cutting and its point will pierce any armor. Take the carpenter’s rule: we do not ask how beautiful it is, but how straight it is. Each thing is praised in regard to that attribute which is taken as its standard, in regard to that which is its peculiar quality.
Therefore, in the case of man also, it is not pertinent to the question to know how many acres he ploughs, how much money he has out at interest, how many callers attend his receptions, how costly is the couch on which he lies, how transparent are the cups from which he drinks, but how good he is.
He is good, however, if his reason is well-ordered and right and adapted to that which his nature has willed. It is this that is called virtue; this is what we mean by “honorable”; it is man’s unique good. For since reason alone brings man to perfection, reason alone, when perfected, makes man happy.
This, moreover, is man’s only good, the only means by which he is made happy. We do indeed say that those things also are goods which are furthered and brought together by virtue—that is, all the works of virtue; but virtue itself is for this reason the only good, because there is no good without virtue.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 76
The ship is no sturdier from having bright sails, and the sword is no deadlier from resting in an ornate scabbard. So too, a man is no better from accumulating trinkets or basking in applause. How odd that we immediately grasp why things are never improved by their embellishments, and yet we still struggle to accept this same fact about people.
I think of how corporations take a dull car of dubious construction, and then proceed to slap on different badges and trims, topped off by a higher price tag, as if this has somehow improved its quality. Though we all say we are wise to such tricks, many of us continue to buy merely for the sake of appearances, revealing the ignorance behind our vanities.
I am still of a generation that remembers hood ornaments and hubcaps, along with all the status such accessories could provide. While the hood ornament originally served as a clever way to disguise the radiator cap, by my time in was a gimmick. I was not surprised, however, when teenagers started stealing them, and wearing them around their necks like badges of honor.
Yet if I were to degrade myself into being a thief, why not just swipe the actual car, which is far more useful? Or would I now be too afraid that some other rascal might then run off with my new hood ornament and hubcaps, thereby hopelessly damaging my reputation within the tribe?
Or how about that cheap plastic “woodgrain” on our old station wagons, or those tacky vinyl roofs so we could pretend we owned sexy convertibles? They are like the automotive equivalents to toupees: no one is really fooled, but we continue to play the game.
Make no mistake, I appreciate style as a supplement to substance, all the while remaining wary of craving the former at the expense of the latter. If it is within my means to drive a Rolls-Royce, I should do so for its impeccable craftsmanship, not because I wish to strut about like a Saudi prince.
And I fear I have unwittingly just caught myself in the same trap, by rambling on for too long about the evils of pursuing the image. It should make no difference to me if another man prefers a hood ornament or a toupee, as long as I stand by my principles. I should worry less about the depths of his motives, and instead focus a bit more on the integrity of my own intentions.
It is easy to slip back into resentment, to condemn what is on the outside, when I must attend to what is on the inside, with purity and simplicity. Where there is understanding, there will be virtue, and where there is virtue, there will be happiness. This insight comes from a direct reflection upon my nature as a creature of reason and will, not from idle theory or wishful thinking.
Let there be ships, and swords, and carpentry tools, and paneled station wagons with glorious hood ornaments, and let me be mindful of why only the presence of honor can imbue them with any good for us. Virtue makes us, and vice breaks us.
The ship is no sturdier from having bright sails, and the sword is no deadlier from resting in an ornate scabbard. So too, a man is no better from accumulating trinkets or basking in applause. How odd that we immediately grasp why things are never improved by their embellishments, and yet we still struggle to accept this same fact about people.
I think of how corporations take a dull car of dubious construction, and then proceed to slap on different badges and trims, topped off by a higher price tag, as if this has somehow improved its quality. Though we all say we are wise to such tricks, many of us continue to buy merely for the sake of appearances, revealing the ignorance behind our vanities.
I am still of a generation that remembers hood ornaments and hubcaps, along with all the status such accessories could provide. While the hood ornament originally served as a clever way to disguise the radiator cap, by my time in was a gimmick. I was not surprised, however, when teenagers started stealing them, and wearing them around their necks like badges of honor.
Yet if I were to degrade myself into being a thief, why not just swipe the actual car, which is far more useful? Or would I now be too afraid that some other rascal might then run off with my new hood ornament and hubcaps, thereby hopelessly damaging my reputation within the tribe?
Or how about that cheap plastic “woodgrain” on our old station wagons, or those tacky vinyl roofs so we could pretend we owned sexy convertibles? They are like the automotive equivalents to toupees: no one is really fooled, but we continue to play the game.
Make no mistake, I appreciate style as a supplement to substance, all the while remaining wary of craving the former at the expense of the latter. If it is within my means to drive a Rolls-Royce, I should do so for its impeccable craftsmanship, not because I wish to strut about like a Saudi prince.
And I fear I have unwittingly just caught myself in the same trap, by rambling on for too long about the evils of pursuing the image. It should make no difference to me if another man prefers a hood ornament or a toupee, as long as I stand by my principles. I should worry less about the depths of his motives, and instead focus a bit more on the integrity of my own intentions.
It is easy to slip back into resentment, to condemn what is on the outside, when I must attend to what is on the inside, with purity and simplicity. Where there is understanding, there will be virtue, and where there is virtue, there will be happiness. This insight comes from a direct reflection upon my nature as a creature of reason and will, not from idle theory or wishful thinking.
Let there be ships, and swords, and carpentry tools, and paneled station wagons with glorious hood ornaments, and let me be mindful of why only the presence of honor can imbue them with any good for us. Virtue makes us, and vice breaks us.
—Reflection written in 10/2013
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