Seneca, Moral Letters 81.12

But just as we take on faith such estimates of values, so let us take on the faith of the people this truth, that nothing is more honorable than a grateful heart. 
 
This phrase will be echoed by all cities, and by all races, even those from savage countries. Upon this point good and bad will agree. Some praise pleasure, some prefer toil; some say that pain is the greatest of evils, some say it is no evil at all; some will include riches in the Supreme Good, others will say that their discovery meant harm to the human race, and that none is richer than he to whom Fortune has found nothing to give. 
 
Amid all this diversity of opinion all men will yet with one voice, as the saying is, vote “aye” to the proposition that thanks should be returned to those who have deserved well of us. 
 
On this question the common herd, rebellious as they are, will all agree, but at present we keep paying back injuries instead of benefits, and the primary reason why a man is ungrateful is that he has found it impossible to be grateful enough.
 
Our madness has gone to such lengths that it is a very dangerous thing to confer great benefits upon a person; for just because he thinks it shameful not to repay, so he would have none left alive whom he should repay. 
 
“Keep for yourself what you have received; I do not ask it back; I do not demand it. Let it be safe to have conferred a favor.” There is no worse hatred than that which springs from shame at the desecration of a benefit. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 81 
 
I was a bit confused upon first reading the conclusion to this letter, since I couldn’t make sense of the claim that everyone in the whole wide world reveres gratitude. If I begin to list all the completely self-absorbed people I have known over the years, I run the grave risk of triggering my cynicism, which in turn feeds my melancholy, so I will only say that I am deeply suspicious. 
 
Looking more carefully, however, I consider the vast disconnect between our theory and our practice, and the clever way we try to twist the rules into something more advantageous. The ideal of being thankful does indeed sound noble, especially when it’s the other guy who is indebted to us. But once the roles are reversed, as soon as we sense an obligation to that other guy, we feel extremely uncomfortable, squirming to find a way out. 
 
Even the most selfish folks will concede that it is right to be grateful for a benefit; at some level, we all know to return a favor, however far our habits have led us astray. We are in awe when we see such a purity of purpose, much as the biggest scoundrel gets teary-eyed when they play the national anthem. On the inside, there is often shame for not living up to the proper standards. 
 
Yet we run into a problem when the rubber meets the road, for the giving of benefits provides us with the illusion of importance, while the receiving of benefits leaves us with an appearance of weakness. You should not be surprised when the bigwig likes to lord it over you, and he will also do his best to erase any evidence that he is dependent on you. 
 
Would he even kill you to cover the tracks? If it doesn’t tarnish his image or land him behind bars, I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m afraid I know all too well how vicious people can be, but I also know how virtuous people can be, so I turn to the inspiration of the latter when I am faced with any evidence of the former. I choose to find comfort in the man who isn’t afraid to reach out his hand, to bow down, to feel small, because he understands why his humility and charity are what actually make him big. 
 
I think of a wonderful painting by Norman Rockwell, Saying Grace, where the customers at a diner are taken aback by the mealtime prayers of a woman and a boy. They all recognize how fitting it is to give thanks to God, though they struggle to do the same themselves. Like most any work by Rockwell, it offers a fine lesson for every setting. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Norman Rockwell, Saying Grace (1951) 

Stoic Snippets 224

If a man is mistaken, instruct him kindly and show him his error. 

But if you are not able, blame yourself, or blame not even yourself. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.4 

IMAGE: Norman Rockwell, A Country School (1946) 

The Four Freedoms

Norman Rockwell, The Four Freedoms (1943) 

Freedom of Speech

Freedom of Worship 

Freedom from Want 

Freedom from Fear 

Stoic Snippets 198

Both man and God and the Universe produce fruit; at the proper seasons each produces it. 

But if usage has especially fixed these terms to the vine and like things, this is nothing. 

Reason produces fruit both for all and for itself, and there are produced from it other things of the same kind as reason itself. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 9.10 

IMAGE: Norman Rockwell, Fruit of the Vine (1930) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 47.6

I do not wish to involve myself in too large a question, and to discuss the treatment of slaves, towards whom we Romans are excessively haughty, cruel, and insulting. But this is the kernel of my advice: Treat your inferiors as you would be treated by your betters. And as often as you reflect how much power you have over a slave, remember that your master has just as much power over you.
 
"But I have no master," you say. You are still young; perhaps you will have one. Do you not know at what age Hecuba entered captivity, or Croesus, or the mother of Darius, or Plato, or Diogenes?
 
Associate with your slave on kindly, even on affable, terms; let him talk with you, plan with you, live with you. I know that at this point all the exquisites will cry out against me in a body; they will say: "There is nothing more debasing, more disgraceful, than this." But these are the very persons whom I sometimes surprise kissing the hands of other men's slaves.
 
Do you not see even this—how our ancestors removed from masters everything invidious, and from slaves everything insulting? They called the master "father of the household," and the slaves "members of the household," a custom which still holds in the mime. 
 
They established a holiday on which masters and slaves should eat together—not as the only day for this custom, but as obligatory on that day in any case. They allowed the slaves to attain honors in the household and to pronounce judgment; they held that a household was a miniature commonwealth. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 47 
 
When it comes to how those of superior social rank should behave toward those under their authority, Seneca suggest a variation of the classic Golden Rule. The beauty of such a maxim is that it cuts through all the clutter of the circumstances, and it asks quite simply whether I would wish to be treated in the same way I am treating my fellows. If I believe I deserve kindness and concern, why shouldn’t that be true for my brother, whatever his standing in life? 
 
Some people snicker at the Golden Rule, but I should take note of how they usually struggle with the very concept of personal dignity to begin with, whether their own or that of others, and though they might get rich very quickly, they are always intensely bitter and lonely. 
 
Some brush the Golden Rule aside as a merely religious sentiment, and while it is indeed common to all the great faiths of the world, it is also firmly grounded in reason. It flows from the logical principle of identity, such that what is necessarily true for the one instance of a type must also be true for the other. If you and I are both human, and we therefore share the same human good, there can be no differences in our fundamental responsibilities to one another. 
 
If another has power over me, I hope he will exercise it for my benefit. Now what possible excuse can I have to expect otherwise when the roles are reversed? Strip away the accoutrements, and we are all the same underneath. 
 
I will resist the temptation to dwell on any further metaphysical musings. Suffice it to say, on a purely practical level, a man who tries to squirm his way out of the Golden Rule is a man who wants to have it both ways. He believes he has a special dispensation because he will not accept himself as a part of the whole. 
 
Can I perhaps escape such a duty by making certain that no one else ever has any power over me? I am then failing to understand how volatile Fortune will be, and why my own actions, however much they proceed from my own judgments, can never exist outside of a just relationship to what is greater, lesser, and equal to myself. 
 
Once again, Seneca says that the Romans of the past were more capable of living with their slaves rather than lording over them. Now I do wonder why we would even tolerate the institution of slavery if our joined purpose should be one of cooperation instead of exploitation, and I suppose the trick to it would be that any legal theory, however entrenched in custom, could dissolve into a friendship of practice, as soon as we look at one another as people, not as things. 
 
I have absolutely no desire to “own” a slave, yet our own contemporary practices do mean that I can become the “boss,” who has far-reaching powers over the welfare of others. If I find myself in that position, let me use the authority given to me as way to serve before I demand to be served. 
 
I must have been seven or eight years old when I first saw Norman Rockwell’s Golden Rule, for that was a time when such values still commanded a certain respect. As with so many of his other works, it helped me to find comfort in a universal moral law. 
 
A kind school librarian, who I will never forget, noticed my interest, and showed me a photograph of the notes Rockwell had used to help him with the painting. 
 
When we cynically roll our eyes at Rockwell, or Fred Rogers, or classic Westerns like Gunsmoke, we run the risk of losing that critical sense of solidarity. 

—Reflection written in 3/2013 

IMAGES: Norman Rockwell, Golden Rule (1961), together with his typed notes. 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 205

Q: How can I perform devotion when I must always think of my daily bread? 

A: He for whom you work will supply your necessities. God has made provision for your support before he sent you here. 

IMAGE: Norman Rockwell, Dining Out (1924) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 13.7

"But," you say, "something will happen to it." 
 
First of all, consider whether your proofs of future trouble are sure. For it is more often the case that we are troubled by our apprehensions, and that we are mocked by that mocker, rumor, which is wont to settle wars, but much more often settles individuals.
 
Yes, my dear Lucilius; we agree too quickly with what people say. We do not put to the test those things which cause our fear; we do not examine into them; we blench and retreat just like soldiers who are forced to abandon their camp because of a dust-cloud raised by stampeding cattle, or are thrown into a panic by the spreading of some unauthenticated rumor.
 
And somehow or other it is the idle report that disturbs us most. For truth has its own definite boundaries, but that which arises from uncertainty is delivered over to guesswork and the irresponsible license of a frightened mind. That is why no fear is so ruinous and so uncontrollable as panic fear. For other fears are groundless, but this fear is witless.
 
A sense of foreboding is a powerful feeling, even when, or perhaps especially when, the expectation is full of uncertainty. 
 
I am not qualified to make any general claims about psychology, but my own experience has been that the unknown can be far more intimidating than the known. The very fact that I am not sure about what will happen itself becomes a source of terror. 
 
The mind, of course, is made for knowing, and will become restless if its wants are not fulfilled. 
 
Where I do not understand, I will be tempted to engage in crazy speculation, and then pretend as if this can take the place of understanding. It may take the form of superstition, or gossip, or wishful thinking, and I may actually come to believe in deceptions dressed up as answers. 
 
Sometimes, I will find an odd sort of pleasure in claiming to “know” that something bad will occur, much like I can find a perverse comfort in feeling miserable. I am filling in the blanks, however sloppily, since anything seems preferable to the unintelligible. So I end up following my worst instincts, or listen to all of the wrong people. 
 
Once again, some calm and patience are in order. Of all these things I am merely guessing at, is it really necessary for me to know them? Is it even possible for me to know them? 
 
Yes, I should be familiar with my circumstances, and yet I cannot predict them with certainty at all, since I have no immediate power over them. Instead, the first object of my awareness should be my own soul, over which I do have some immediate power. My need for a sure thing has simply been misdirected. 
 
A panic runs ahead of me, only when I have allowed an attention to my own character fall behind. 
 
The captain might not know the state of the ocean for tomorrow, and he is left to rely just on his own seafaring skills to get him through, come what may. 
 
No good can come from listening to the rumors of the crew, who have determined that there is a typhoon ahead, based on the entrails of a chicken they ate for dinner. 

Written in 6/2012

IMAGE: Norman Rockwell, The Gossips (1948)