If every good is in the soul, then whatever strengthens, uplifts, and enlarges the soul, is a good; virtue, however, does make the soul stronger, loftier, and larger.
For all other things, which arouse our desires, depress the soul and weaken it, and when we think that they are uplifting the soul, they are merely puffing it up and cheating it with much emptiness. Therefore, that alone is good which will make the soul better.
All the actions of life, taken as a whole, are controlled by the consideration of what is honorable or base; it is with reference to these two things that our reason is governed in doing or not doing a particular thing.
I shall explain what I mean: a good man will do what he thinks it will be honorable for him to do, even if it involves toil; he will do it even if it involves harm to him; he will do it even if it involves peril; again, he will not do that which will be base, even if it brings him money, or pleasure, or power. Nothing will deter him from that which is honorable, and nothing will tempt him into baseness.
Therefore, if he is determined invariably to follow that which is honorable, invariably to avoid baseness, and in every act of his life to have regard for these two things, deeming nothing else good except that which is honorable, and nothing else bad except that which is base; if virtue alone is unperverted in him and by itself keeps its even course, then virtue is that man’s only good, and nothing can thenceforth happen to it which may make it anything else than good.
It has escaped all risk of change; folly may creep upwards towards wisdom, but wisdom never slips back into folly.
For all other things, which arouse our desires, depress the soul and weaken it, and when we think that they are uplifting the soul, they are merely puffing it up and cheating it with much emptiness. Therefore, that alone is good which will make the soul better.
All the actions of life, taken as a whole, are controlled by the consideration of what is honorable or base; it is with reference to these two things that our reason is governed in doing or not doing a particular thing.
I shall explain what I mean: a good man will do what he thinks it will be honorable for him to do, even if it involves toil; he will do it even if it involves harm to him; he will do it even if it involves peril; again, he will not do that which will be base, even if it brings him money, or pleasure, or power. Nothing will deter him from that which is honorable, and nothing will tempt him into baseness.
Therefore, if he is determined invariably to follow that which is honorable, invariably to avoid baseness, and in every act of his life to have regard for these two things, deeming nothing else good except that which is honorable, and nothing else bad except that which is base; if virtue alone is unperverted in him and by itself keeps its even course, then virtue is that man’s only good, and nothing can thenceforth happen to it which may make it anything else than good.
It has escaped all risk of change; folly may creep upwards towards wisdom, but wisdom never slips back into folly.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 76
Who would have thought that Plato’s Meno, the first proper text of philosophy I was ever asked to read, ended up containing the most practical lesson I ever needed to learn?
At that time, as a frenzied teenager, I was mainly struck by what I thought was Socrates’ clever bickering, so I failed to see how the argument was leading me toward an ultimate self-awareness: whatever is good in this life, only becomes good because it is accompanied by virtue, and virtue, in turn, is only acquired through the means of understanding.
And now, decades later, as I once again consider this letter by Seneca, I recollect, with no pun intended, why character is the sole measure of human nature. Every other condition of my life, however pleasant or painful, convenient or frustrating, revolves around this absolute.
If I merely pack this away as a profound abstraction, I will continue to be anxious and miserable, constantly seduced by false promises. It is rather the daily practice of prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice that fulfills my nature, and thereby brings me peace of mind. The naysayers dismiss this as a burden, while I seek it out as a joy, thanks to what Socrates and the Stoics have taught me.
On those days when I fail, it is due to a lack of clarity, simplicity, and focus, having permitted diversions to get in the way of my true calling. An impression may be strong at a certain moment, so I allow myself to get turned around, confusing the lesser for the greater, but this is not an excuse for despair. It is always within my power to change my direction, to return to my conscience as my guide.
Sometimes it feels too difficult, and then I recognize why the drudgery is a consequence of my attitude. A rightly formed habit flows from the exercise of conviction, such that worldly trinkets and facile amusements are not quite so tempting when a nobler purpose is revealed. I have found that a good man never feels disheartened by a sacrifice for the sake of what he truly loves.
The fact that I remain so in awe of someone who will unfailingly stand his ground proves why I remain a work in progress. The Stoic ideal of the sage, the one who will never return to his old vices, is only bewildering to those of us who are still desperately trying to sit on the fence. The sage, however, knows it to be true and good through every fiber of his being, and so he can no longer even conceive of doing otherwise.
On a far more trivial level, it is something like craving processed foods once you’ve eaten straight from the farm. The vanities of wealth, luxury, or fame are just appealing to the poor souls who don’t yet know any better.
Who would have thought that Plato’s Meno, the first proper text of philosophy I was ever asked to read, ended up containing the most practical lesson I ever needed to learn?
At that time, as a frenzied teenager, I was mainly struck by what I thought was Socrates’ clever bickering, so I failed to see how the argument was leading me toward an ultimate self-awareness: whatever is good in this life, only becomes good because it is accompanied by virtue, and virtue, in turn, is only acquired through the means of understanding.
And now, decades later, as I once again consider this letter by Seneca, I recollect, with no pun intended, why character is the sole measure of human nature. Every other condition of my life, however pleasant or painful, convenient or frustrating, revolves around this absolute.
If I merely pack this away as a profound abstraction, I will continue to be anxious and miserable, constantly seduced by false promises. It is rather the daily practice of prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice that fulfills my nature, and thereby brings me peace of mind. The naysayers dismiss this as a burden, while I seek it out as a joy, thanks to what Socrates and the Stoics have taught me.
On those days when I fail, it is due to a lack of clarity, simplicity, and focus, having permitted diversions to get in the way of my true calling. An impression may be strong at a certain moment, so I allow myself to get turned around, confusing the lesser for the greater, but this is not an excuse for despair. It is always within my power to change my direction, to return to my conscience as my guide.
Sometimes it feels too difficult, and then I recognize why the drudgery is a consequence of my attitude. A rightly formed habit flows from the exercise of conviction, such that worldly trinkets and facile amusements are not quite so tempting when a nobler purpose is revealed. I have found that a good man never feels disheartened by a sacrifice for the sake of what he truly loves.
The fact that I remain so in awe of someone who will unfailingly stand his ground proves why I remain a work in progress. The Stoic ideal of the sage, the one who will never return to his old vices, is only bewildering to those of us who are still desperately trying to sit on the fence. The sage, however, knows it to be true and good through every fiber of his being, and so he can no longer even conceive of doing otherwise.
On a far more trivial level, it is something like craving processed foods once you’ve eaten straight from the farm. The vanities of wealth, luxury, or fame are just appealing to the poor souls who don’t yet know any better.
—Reflection written in 10/2013
IMAGE: Pieter Boel, Allegory of the Vanities of the World (1663)
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