Already much of the task is accomplished; nay, rather, if I can bring myself to confess the truth, not much.
For goodness does not mean merely being better than the lowest. Who that could catch but a mere glimpse of the daylight would boast his powers of vision? One who sees the sun shining through a mist may be contented meanwhile that he has escaped darkness, but he does not yet enjoy the blessing of light.
Our souls will not have reason to rejoice in their lot until, freed from this darkness in which they grope, they have not merely glimpsed the brightness with feeble vision, but have absorbed the full light of day and have been restored to their place in the sky—until, indeed, they have regained the place which they held at the allotment of their birth.
The soul is summoned upward by its very origin. And it will reach that goal even before it is released from its prison below, as soon as it has cast off sin and, in purity and lightness, has leaped up into celestial realms of thought.
For goodness does not mean merely being better than the lowest. Who that could catch but a mere glimpse of the daylight would boast his powers of vision? One who sees the sun shining through a mist may be contented meanwhile that he has escaped darkness, but he does not yet enjoy the blessing of light.
Our souls will not have reason to rejoice in their lot until, freed from this darkness in which they grope, they have not merely glimpsed the brightness with feeble vision, but have absorbed the full light of day and have been restored to their place in the sky—until, indeed, they have regained the place which they held at the allotment of their birth.
The soul is summoned upward by its very origin. And it will reach that goal even before it is released from its prison below, as soon as it has cast off sin and, in purity and lightness, has leaped up into celestial realms of thought.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 79
Once I have set my sights on the virtues, I am confronted with another challenge. From thinking far too little of myself, I am tempted to now think far too much of myself, to presume that I have gained a mastery over something by merely glancing at it. I may speak about it with an intense passion, but I have not yet done the rough work of weaving it into my very bones.
Am I a better man today than I was yesterday, or a decade ago? While it is good to be proud of progress, however slight, an advancement is not the same as a completion, just as one step does not conclude the entire journey. To catch a glimmer of light, from the corner of my eye, and to be drawn to its warmth, is not yet to bask in its glow. I am peeking through a dusty windowpane, even as I am being called to stroll freely in the sunshine.
It begins with a transformation of understanding. It continues with a purity of intention. It is expressed in a habit of action; though it may not have to take a long time, it does demand a rigorous practice. Aristotle rightly distinguished between moral continence, where I know something of the good while still struggling to act upon it, and moral virtue, where the exercise of the good becomes like a second nature.
I should not delude myself into believing that there are any shortcuts to an informed character. Latching onto a political creed, or a religious cult, or an ethnic tribe is never a substitute for a personal commitment, because it assumes the appearance without the responsibility. I note how the more I am inclined to scold my supposed enemies, the more I am whitewashing my own hidden vices.
The angry zealot thinks he is already a sage, and the bitter cynic denies that there can ever be any sages, and both of them are victims of their own anxieties. I choose not to fall for either of these traps today, and if I can then manage it again tomorrow, I have achieved a bit of growth. Maturity is not instant, nor is it impossible: it comes from the process of dragging myself out of the shadows and daring to be consumed by the radiance.
It is the rediscovery of the home I have forgotten, a return to my nature, a reverence that unfolds into a recognition.
Once I have set my sights on the virtues, I am confronted with another challenge. From thinking far too little of myself, I am tempted to now think far too much of myself, to presume that I have gained a mastery over something by merely glancing at it. I may speak about it with an intense passion, but I have not yet done the rough work of weaving it into my very bones.
Am I a better man today than I was yesterday, or a decade ago? While it is good to be proud of progress, however slight, an advancement is not the same as a completion, just as one step does not conclude the entire journey. To catch a glimmer of light, from the corner of my eye, and to be drawn to its warmth, is not yet to bask in its glow. I am peeking through a dusty windowpane, even as I am being called to stroll freely in the sunshine.
It begins with a transformation of understanding. It continues with a purity of intention. It is expressed in a habit of action; though it may not have to take a long time, it does demand a rigorous practice. Aristotle rightly distinguished between moral continence, where I know something of the good while still struggling to act upon it, and moral virtue, where the exercise of the good becomes like a second nature.
I should not delude myself into believing that there are any shortcuts to an informed character. Latching onto a political creed, or a religious cult, or an ethnic tribe is never a substitute for a personal commitment, because it assumes the appearance without the responsibility. I note how the more I am inclined to scold my supposed enemies, the more I am whitewashing my own hidden vices.
The angry zealot thinks he is already a sage, and the bitter cynic denies that there can ever be any sages, and both of them are victims of their own anxieties. I choose not to fall for either of these traps today, and if I can then manage it again tomorrow, I have achieved a bit of growth. Maturity is not instant, nor is it impossible: it comes from the process of dragging myself out of the shadows and daring to be consumed by the radiance.
It is the rediscovery of the home I have forgotten, a return to my nature, a reverence that unfolds into a recognition.
—Reflection written in 11/2013
IMAGE: Rembrandt, The Philosopher in Meditation (1632)
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