Again, it makes no difference how great the passion is; no matter what its size may be, it knows no obedience, and does not welcome advice. Just as no animal, whether wild or tamed and gentle, obeys reason, since nature made it deaf to advice, so the passions do not follow or listen, however slight they are. Tigers and lions never put off their wildness; they sometimes moderate it, and then, when you are least prepared, their softened fierceness is roused to madness. Vices are never genuinely tamed.
Again, if reason prevails, the passions will not even get a start; but if they get under way against the will of reason, they will maintain themselves against the will of reason. For it is easier to stop them in the beginning than to control them when they gather force. This half-way ground is accordingly misleading and useless; it is to be regarded just as the declaration that we ought to be “moderately” insane, or “moderately” ill.
Virtue alone possesses moderation; the evils that afflict the mind do not admit of moderation. You can more easily remove than control them. Can one doubt that the vices of the human mind, when they have become chronic and callous (“diseases” we call them), are beyond control, as, for example, greed, cruelty, and wantonness?
Therefore, the passions also are beyond control; for it is from the passions that we pass over to the vices. Again, if you grant any privileges to sadness, fear, desire, and all the other wrong impulses, they will cease to lie within our jurisdiction. And why? Simply because the means of arousing them lie outside our own power. They will accordingly increase in proportion as the causes by which they are stirred up are greater or less.
Again, if reason prevails, the passions will not even get a start; but if they get under way against the will of reason, they will maintain themselves against the will of reason. For it is easier to stop them in the beginning than to control them when they gather force. This half-way ground is accordingly misleading and useless; it is to be regarded just as the declaration that we ought to be “moderately” insane, or “moderately” ill.
Virtue alone possesses moderation; the evils that afflict the mind do not admit of moderation. You can more easily remove than control them. Can one doubt that the vices of the human mind, when they have become chronic and callous (“diseases” we call them), are beyond control, as, for example, greed, cruelty, and wantonness?
Therefore, the passions also are beyond control; for it is from the passions that we pass over to the vices. Again, if you grant any privileges to sadness, fear, desire, and all the other wrong impulses, they will cease to lie within our jurisdiction. And why? Simply because the means of arousing them lie outside our own power. They will accordingly increase in proportion as the causes by which they are stirred up are greater or less.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85
I never cease to be amazed at how some folks, in other ways perfectly sensible, will convince themselves that one can easily domesticate a wild animal. Even the trusty dog, who has become man’s best friend through millennia of breeding, retains his own instincts, and he might still turn on you at a moment’s notice. He cannot follow reason, precisely because he does not possess reason, being ruled exclusively by his appetites.
A family down the street were recently showing off their new puppy, who had suddenly appeared in their back yard one evening. I struggled to explain to them, as politely as I could, that this was no dog, but rather a coyote. Even when they begrudgingly accepted the point, they remained confident that he would soon become a well-adapted member of the family. A few days later, a trip to the emergency room for their son quickly decided the question.
My own tomcat, Jack, has been as loyal a companion as I can imagine, and yet I respect him enough to know that he marches to the beat of his own drum. While I offer him affection, and occasionally a reprimand, I am under no illusion that he will yield to a sound argument. I work around his impulses, never expecting him to submit to my will.
I cannot treat my vices like a dog or a cat, tolerating their occasional outbursts for the sake of the comforts they otherwise bring. No, like the coyote pup, the vices have no place in my home, and if they have established themselves, they must be driven away as firmly as possible. Otherwise, they will grow roots, like that crazy relative who visits for a week, and somehow ends up living in the garage.
Though she did not appreciate it at the time, I once had to lay down the law when my daughter brought home a young snapping turtle from the park. No, put him back in his pond. Let him be what he must be, but he will only bring you grief if he is living in your bathtub. Perhaps she will one day thank me both for sending the turtle away and for always nagging her about the necessity of building character.
The relativists would have you believe that a certain degree of vice is acceptable, perhaps even natural, and that there can never be such a thing as a bad feeling. They are right to show compassion to those of us who are wrestling with our faults, but they are mistaken in claiming success by lowering the bar. They are also right to point out that emotions do not, in and of themselves, have moral value, but they are mistaken in treating every impulse as if it were healthy.
The passions, in the narrow Stoic sense of disordered feelings, are ultimately connected to disordered judgments. Whenever I deliberately encourage my despair, fear, gratification, or lust, I am also issuing an open invitation to vices like injustice, cowardice, or avarice. Such pesky habits have a way of burrowing their way into my life, and before I know it, they will become nearly impossible to eliminate.
When your child is eager to climb a fence at the zoo so he can pet the pretty tiger, hold him back. When you are tempted to wallow in sadness or to become consumed by desire, redirect your thoughts to a joy in something noble.
I never cease to be amazed at how some folks, in other ways perfectly sensible, will convince themselves that one can easily domesticate a wild animal. Even the trusty dog, who has become man’s best friend through millennia of breeding, retains his own instincts, and he might still turn on you at a moment’s notice. He cannot follow reason, precisely because he does not possess reason, being ruled exclusively by his appetites.
A family down the street were recently showing off their new puppy, who had suddenly appeared in their back yard one evening. I struggled to explain to them, as politely as I could, that this was no dog, but rather a coyote. Even when they begrudgingly accepted the point, they remained confident that he would soon become a well-adapted member of the family. A few days later, a trip to the emergency room for their son quickly decided the question.
My own tomcat, Jack, has been as loyal a companion as I can imagine, and yet I respect him enough to know that he marches to the beat of his own drum. While I offer him affection, and occasionally a reprimand, I am under no illusion that he will yield to a sound argument. I work around his impulses, never expecting him to submit to my will.
I cannot treat my vices like a dog or a cat, tolerating their occasional outbursts for the sake of the comforts they otherwise bring. No, like the coyote pup, the vices have no place in my home, and if they have established themselves, they must be driven away as firmly as possible. Otherwise, they will grow roots, like that crazy relative who visits for a week, and somehow ends up living in the garage.
Though she did not appreciate it at the time, I once had to lay down the law when my daughter brought home a young snapping turtle from the park. No, put him back in his pond. Let him be what he must be, but he will only bring you grief if he is living in your bathtub. Perhaps she will one day thank me both for sending the turtle away and for always nagging her about the necessity of building character.
The relativists would have you believe that a certain degree of vice is acceptable, perhaps even natural, and that there can never be such a thing as a bad feeling. They are right to show compassion to those of us who are wrestling with our faults, but they are mistaken in claiming success by lowering the bar. They are also right to point out that emotions do not, in and of themselves, have moral value, but they are mistaken in treating every impulse as if it were healthy.
The passions, in the narrow Stoic sense of disordered feelings, are ultimately connected to disordered judgments. Whenever I deliberately encourage my despair, fear, gratification, or lust, I am also issuing an open invitation to vices like injustice, cowardice, or avarice. Such pesky habits have a way of burrowing their way into my life, and before I know it, they will become nearly impossible to eliminate.
When your child is eager to climb a fence at the zoo so he can pet the pretty tiger, hold him back. When you are tempted to wallow in sadness or to become consumed by desire, redirect your thoughts to a joy in something noble.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
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