I will tell you what is the source of this error: men do not understand that the happy life is a unit; for it is its essence, and not its extent, that establishes such a life on the noblest plane.
Hence there is complete equality between the life that is long and the life that is short, between that which is spread out and that which is confined, between that whose influence is felt in many places and in many directions, and that which is restricted to one interest.
Those who reckon life by number, or by measure, or by parts, rob it of its distinctive quality. Now, in the happy life, what is the distinctive quality? It is its fullness.
Satiety, I think, is the limit to our eating or drinking. A eats more and B eats less; what difference does it make? Each is now sated. Or A drinks more and B drinks less; what difference does it make? Each is no longer thirsty. Again, A lives for many years and B for fewer; no matter, if only A’s many years have brought as much happiness as B’s few years.
He whom you maintain to be “less happy” is not happy; the word admits of no diminution.
Hence there is complete equality between the life that is long and the life that is short, between that which is spread out and that which is confined, between that whose influence is felt in many places and in many directions, and that which is restricted to one interest.
Those who reckon life by number, or by measure, or by parts, rob it of its distinctive quality. Now, in the happy life, what is the distinctive quality? It is its fullness.
Satiety, I think, is the limit to our eating or drinking. A eats more and B eats less; what difference does it make? Each is now sated. Or A drinks more and B drinks less; what difference does it make? Each is no longer thirsty. Again, A lives for many years and B for fewer; no matter, if only A’s many years have brought as much happiness as B’s few years.
He whom you maintain to be “less happy” is not happy; the word admits of no diminution.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85
Happiness is not an accumulation of bits and pieces, but rather a purity of presence. One of my most important moments of insight came when I finally saw how my peace of mind had nothing to do with having more or less, and indeed, had nothing to do with possessing anything at all.
The quality of contentment is never determined by the quantity of the components; it is the integrity of the act itself, whatever the circumstances, that leaves nothing else to be desired.
The Stoic Turn will seem nonsensical until such a fundamental awareness is reached. Only then can I say that, beyond my preferences, it will make no difference how many years I might live, or in what place I happen to find myself, or in which occupation I strive to do my best.
While the people around me are worried about living longer, and collecting new trinkets, and building a reputation, I should concern myself first and foremost with the content of my character.
The satisfaction comes from finding the good in any conditions, such that the happiness lies in the perfecting of our own attitudes. I appreciate Seneca’s image of feeling satiated after a meal, because there is really nothing quite like that sense of knowing that you have now had enough.
How much is enough? If there is an elaborate feast set before me, the amount that I eat is measured by my appetite. Perhaps I will heap my plate with steak and lobster, or perhaps I will be delighted with merely a single grape. The most effective way to be satisfied is to moderate our desires.
One of my many eccentricities is a love of Chinese buffets, and I will often travel well off the beaten path to find some hidden gem. As I have grown older, however, I can no longer eat nearly as much as I once did, and so I feared that my glorious road trips would soon be over: where’s the fun in just sampling one or two dishes? I had somehow convinced myself that the adventure was only worthwhile when I consumed those heroic portions.
What a pleasant surprise it was to learn that I didn’t need to compete with the fellow at the next table over how many chicken wings we could devour, and that there was no point in calculating the value of the meal by ounces per dollar. The other day, I was perfectly happy with a bowl of hot and sour soup and a small plate of dumplings, which ended up being far more rewarding than any marathon gorging.
One of my many weaknesses is a love of the pint and the dram, and I had far too many nights where I didn’t have the sense to say, “no more”. The beer and the whiskey were not themselves the problem—my own intemperance, an unwillingness to establish a limit, was always the problem. I now deeply admire the man who finds his joy while sipping from one drink for the entire evening.
When it comes to happiness, there is no more or less, no “kind of” or “sort of”. If anyone asks me if I am happy, I won’t pretend to be the sage. I can see it around the bend, but for right now, I am very much a work in progress.
Happiness is not an accumulation of bits and pieces, but rather a purity of presence. One of my most important moments of insight came when I finally saw how my peace of mind had nothing to do with having more or less, and indeed, had nothing to do with possessing anything at all.
The quality of contentment is never determined by the quantity of the components; it is the integrity of the act itself, whatever the circumstances, that leaves nothing else to be desired.
The Stoic Turn will seem nonsensical until such a fundamental awareness is reached. Only then can I say that, beyond my preferences, it will make no difference how many years I might live, or in what place I happen to find myself, or in which occupation I strive to do my best.
While the people around me are worried about living longer, and collecting new trinkets, and building a reputation, I should concern myself first and foremost with the content of my character.
The satisfaction comes from finding the good in any conditions, such that the happiness lies in the perfecting of our own attitudes. I appreciate Seneca’s image of feeling satiated after a meal, because there is really nothing quite like that sense of knowing that you have now had enough.
How much is enough? If there is an elaborate feast set before me, the amount that I eat is measured by my appetite. Perhaps I will heap my plate with steak and lobster, or perhaps I will be delighted with merely a single grape. The most effective way to be satisfied is to moderate our desires.
One of my many eccentricities is a love of Chinese buffets, and I will often travel well off the beaten path to find some hidden gem. As I have grown older, however, I can no longer eat nearly as much as I once did, and so I feared that my glorious road trips would soon be over: where’s the fun in just sampling one or two dishes? I had somehow convinced myself that the adventure was only worthwhile when I consumed those heroic portions.
What a pleasant surprise it was to learn that I didn’t need to compete with the fellow at the next table over how many chicken wings we could devour, and that there was no point in calculating the value of the meal by ounces per dollar. The other day, I was perfectly happy with a bowl of hot and sour soup and a small plate of dumplings, which ended up being far more rewarding than any marathon gorging.
One of my many weaknesses is a love of the pint and the dram, and I had far too many nights where I didn’t have the sense to say, “no more”. The beer and the whiskey were not themselves the problem—my own intemperance, an unwillingness to establish a limit, was always the problem. I now deeply admire the man who finds his joy while sipping from one drink for the entire evening.
When it comes to happiness, there is no more or less, no “kind of” or “sort of”. If anyone asks me if I am happy, I won’t pretend to be the sage. I can see it around the bend, but for right now, I am very much a work in progress.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
IMAGE: Adriaen van Utrecht, Banquet Still Life (1644)
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