Letter 83: On drunkenness
You bid me give you an account of each separate day, and of the whole day too; so you must have a good opinion of me if you think that in these days of mine there is nothing to hide.
At any rate, it is thus that we should live—as if we lived in plain sight of all men; and it is thus that we should think—as if there were someone who could look into our inmost souls; and there is one who can so look.
For what avails it that something is hidden from man? Nothing is shut off from the sight of God. He is witness of our souls, and he comes into the very midst of our thoughts—comes into them, I say, as one who may at any time depart.
I shall therefore do as you bid, and shall gladly inform you by letter what I am doing, and in what sequence. I shall keep watching myself continually, and—a most useful habit—shall review each day.
For this is what makes us wicked: that no one of us looks back over his own life. Our thoughts are devoted only to what we are about to do. And yet our plans for the future always depend on the past.
You bid me give you an account of each separate day, and of the whole day too; so you must have a good opinion of me if you think that in these days of mine there is nothing to hide.
At any rate, it is thus that we should live—as if we lived in plain sight of all men; and it is thus that we should think—as if there were someone who could look into our inmost souls; and there is one who can so look.
For what avails it that something is hidden from man? Nothing is shut off from the sight of God. He is witness of our souls, and he comes into the very midst of our thoughts—comes into them, I say, as one who may at any time depart.
I shall therefore do as you bid, and shall gladly inform you by letter what I am doing, and in what sequence. I shall keep watching myself continually, and—a most useful habit—shall review each day.
For this is what makes us wicked: that no one of us looks back over his own life. Our thoughts are devoted only to what we are about to do. And yet our plans for the future always depend on the past.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83
I have been painfully familiar with the vice of drunkenness over the years, and Seneca’s account has lately been a great help in keeping me on the straight and narrow. You will often hear the sanctimonious going on about the evils of alcohol and drugs, yet it takes someone with an actual grasp of human nature, with all of its highs and its lows, to inspire us to bravely take one day at a time. Any remedy must be both principled and sympathetic.
But before he gets to the heavy stuff, Seneca merely reflects upon the routine of a normal day, for it is fitting to become familiar with the ordinary before grappling with the extraordinary. While his descriptions might sound terribly boring to those who crave constant excitement, I have found that there can be great comfort in the mundane, the living of life with absolute simplicity and honesty.
Only the anxious seek out diversions, and only the unscrupulous have something to hide. In hindsight, some of the most satisfying conversations I’ve ever had were about the most common of things, and some of the most sinister discussions were all tied up in sophisticated manipulations. Sometimes a chat about the peculiar weather, or what I saw on my morning walk, is precisely what the doctor ordered.
If I can keep it plain, I can also see the world as pure. I can then keep myself from the vanity of deception, and from a worry about the future. In just a few short lines, Seneca has reminded me how there are no secrets before God, and why the failure to survey my run-of-the-mill yesterday is hindering me from finding any peace with my capricious tomorrow.
This letter hasn’t even mentioned anything about tippling, and yet I am sure it is no accident that being on good terms with my Maker, along with being attentive to my habitual inner workings, can offer me the serenity to avoid crawling into a bottle.
I have been painfully familiar with the vice of drunkenness over the years, and Seneca’s account has lately been a great help in keeping me on the straight and narrow. You will often hear the sanctimonious going on about the evils of alcohol and drugs, yet it takes someone with an actual grasp of human nature, with all of its highs and its lows, to inspire us to bravely take one day at a time. Any remedy must be both principled and sympathetic.
But before he gets to the heavy stuff, Seneca merely reflects upon the routine of a normal day, for it is fitting to become familiar with the ordinary before grappling with the extraordinary. While his descriptions might sound terribly boring to those who crave constant excitement, I have found that there can be great comfort in the mundane, the living of life with absolute simplicity and honesty.
Only the anxious seek out diversions, and only the unscrupulous have something to hide. In hindsight, some of the most satisfying conversations I’ve ever had were about the most common of things, and some of the most sinister discussions were all tied up in sophisticated manipulations. Sometimes a chat about the peculiar weather, or what I saw on my morning walk, is precisely what the doctor ordered.
If I can keep it plain, I can also see the world as pure. I can then keep myself from the vanity of deception, and from a worry about the future. In just a few short lines, Seneca has reminded me how there are no secrets before God, and why the failure to survey my run-of-the-mill yesterday is hindering me from finding any peace with my capricious tomorrow.
This letter hasn’t even mentioned anything about tippling, and yet I am sure it is no accident that being on good terms with my Maker, along with being attentive to my habitual inner workings, can offer me the serenity to avoid crawling into a bottle.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
IMAGE: Domenichino, The Guardian Angel (c. 1615)
No comments:
Post a Comment