I classify as “indifferent”—that is, neither good nor evil—sickness, pain, poverty, exile, death. None of these things is intrinsically glorious; but nothing can be glorious apart from them. For it is not poverty that we praise, it is the man whom poverty cannot humble or bend.
Nor is it exile that we praise, it is the man who withdraws into exile in the spirit in which he would have sent another into exile. It is not pain that we praise, it is the man whom pain has not coerced. One praises not death, but the man whose soul death takes away before it can confound it.
All these things are in themselves neither honorable nor glorious; but any one of them that virtue has visited and touched is made honorable and glorious by virtue; they merely lie in between, and the decisive question is only whether wickedness or virtue has laid hold upon them.
For instance, the death which in Cato’s case is glorious, is in the case of Brutus forthwith base and disgraceful. For this Brutus, condemned to death, was trying to obtain postponement; he withdrew a moment in order to ease himself; when summoned to die and ordered to bare his throat, he exclaimed: “I will bare my throat, if only I may live!”
What madness it is to run away, when it is impossible to turn back! “I will bare my throat, if only I may live!” He came very near saying also: “even under Antony!” This fellow deserved indeed to be consigned to life!
Nor is it exile that we praise, it is the man who withdraws into exile in the spirit in which he would have sent another into exile. It is not pain that we praise, it is the man whom pain has not coerced. One praises not death, but the man whose soul death takes away before it can confound it.
All these things are in themselves neither honorable nor glorious; but any one of them that virtue has visited and touched is made honorable and glorious by virtue; they merely lie in between, and the decisive question is only whether wickedness or virtue has laid hold upon them.
For instance, the death which in Cato’s case is glorious, is in the case of Brutus forthwith base and disgraceful. For this Brutus, condemned to death, was trying to obtain postponement; he withdrew a moment in order to ease himself; when summoned to die and ordered to bare his throat, he exclaimed: “I will bare my throat, if only I may live!”
What madness it is to run away, when it is impossible to turn back! “I will bare my throat, if only I may live!” He came very near saying also: “even under Antony!” This fellow deserved indeed to be consigned to life!
—from Seneca. Moral Letters 82
A severe Thomist once told me I was going to Hell, because I had defended the Stoic concept of indifference. He was not swayed when I suggested that St. Ignatius of Loyola had argued in a similar manner, and he assured me that most of the Jesuits would also be going to Hell. I began to wonder who might be left to populate his vision of a glorious Heaven, until I remembered how it was meant exclusively for those who received the Blessed Sacrament on the tongue, while kneeling, and speaking in Latin.
To be fair, I was open to his concern, because I understood why indifference could be seen as a form of relativism. The claim is not, however, that external things have no value in themselves, but rather that they will only become good or bad for us by how we choose to employ them. Harm can arise from money, pleasure, and fame, just as benefit can arise from poverty, pain, and obscurity: what will matter the most is whether it was utilized for the sake of virtue or vice.
This applies to any circumstance I can imagine, and yes, this includes both living and dying. If character is indeed the true measure of our nature, then it is possible to live poorly and to die well; some will survive in the flesh but perish in the spirit, and some will stand with integrity even if means surrendering their bodies.
The Roman Stoics tended to hold Cato the Younger in very high esteem, not because he died by his own hand, but because he believed that his death was the only way to avoid committing a grave dishonor. Despite what the severe Thomist might tell me, Cato’s death was a sacrifice out of courage, not a suicide out of despair, and while I might not choose that particular option, I can still have the deepest respect for those who do.
I originally struggled with this passage, because I wondered why Seneca was being so critical of Brutus, setting him up as a counterpoint to Cato. I then realized I was confusing the more famous Marcus Junius Brutus with his cousin, Decimus Junius Brutus, who was also involved in the plot against Caesar, but who instead died as a coward, begging for his life to be spared. Yes, that turns out to be a fitting contrast: one who so desperately wished to live at the expense of his convictions, and another who was so happy to die in a service to his convictions.
I unfortunately find that most of the people in my circles are tied to their conveniences, doing whatever is most advantageous to maintaining a comfortable life, and I am unfortunately also inclined to complain about this fact. Let me cease feeling sorry for myself, secure in the knowledge that I am hardly the first to feel alienated for attempting to form a conscience. For every Brutus, there is also a Cato.
A severe Thomist once told me I was going to Hell, because I had defended the Stoic concept of indifference. He was not swayed when I suggested that St. Ignatius of Loyola had argued in a similar manner, and he assured me that most of the Jesuits would also be going to Hell. I began to wonder who might be left to populate his vision of a glorious Heaven, until I remembered how it was meant exclusively for those who received the Blessed Sacrament on the tongue, while kneeling, and speaking in Latin.
To be fair, I was open to his concern, because I understood why indifference could be seen as a form of relativism. The claim is not, however, that external things have no value in themselves, but rather that they will only become good or bad for us by how we choose to employ them. Harm can arise from money, pleasure, and fame, just as benefit can arise from poverty, pain, and obscurity: what will matter the most is whether it was utilized for the sake of virtue or vice.
This applies to any circumstance I can imagine, and yes, this includes both living and dying. If character is indeed the true measure of our nature, then it is possible to live poorly and to die well; some will survive in the flesh but perish in the spirit, and some will stand with integrity even if means surrendering their bodies.
The Roman Stoics tended to hold Cato the Younger in very high esteem, not because he died by his own hand, but because he believed that his death was the only way to avoid committing a grave dishonor. Despite what the severe Thomist might tell me, Cato’s death was a sacrifice out of courage, not a suicide out of despair, and while I might not choose that particular option, I can still have the deepest respect for those who do.
I originally struggled with this passage, because I wondered why Seneca was being so critical of Brutus, setting him up as a counterpoint to Cato. I then realized I was confusing the more famous Marcus Junius Brutus with his cousin, Decimus Junius Brutus, who was also involved in the plot against Caesar, but who instead died as a coward, begging for his life to be spared. Yes, that turns out to be a fitting contrast: one who so desperately wished to live at the expense of his convictions, and another who was so happy to die in a service to his convictions.
I unfortunately find that most of the people in my circles are tied to their conveniences, doing whatever is most advantageous to maintaining a comfortable life, and I am unfortunately also inclined to complain about this fact. Let me cease feeling sorry for myself, secure in the knowledge that I am hardly the first to feel alienated for attempting to form a conscience. For every Brutus, there is also a Cato.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
IMAGE: Abel de Pujol, Caesar Going to the Senate on the Ides of March (1819)
No comments:
Post a Comment