The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Monday, June 10, 2024
Sunday, June 9, 2024
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Saturday, June 8, 2024
Sayings of Ramakrishna 245
As by rubbing gold and brass on a touchstone, their real worth becomes known; so a sincere Sâdhu and a hypocrite are found out when they are rubbed through the touchstone of persecution and adversity.
Seneca, Moral Letters 69.3
If you will give ear to my advice, ponder and practice this—how to welcome death, or even, if circumstances commend that course, to invite it. There is no difference whether death comes to us, or whether we go to death.
Make yourself believe that all ignorant men are wrong when they say: "It is a beautiful thing to die one's own death."
But there is no man who does not die his own death. What is more, you may reflect on this thought: no one dies except on his own day. You are throwing away none of your own time; for what you leave behind does not belong to you. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 69
Over the years, I have gradually come to appreciate how Seneca can take most any topic and relate it back to the problem of mortality; I now smile instead of squirming uncomfortably. Is not death, after all, the final form of rest, and is not the fear of death the worst sort of restlessness? We desire or dread all the wrong things, and so we fail to find tranquility within our own nature.
Some “philosophers”, those who dwell upon their own anxieties, regard dying as an existential threat, and this is because they would rather suffer alone than be of service to Providence. The cessation of my existence is but a condition for the fulfillment of my essence, and once I focus on living well, I am no longer so fixated on merely living. Excise the moral center from a man, and he is now just the shell of a man.
Seneca is critical of a phrase that at first seems harmless: surely it is good to die on our own terms, just as it is good to live on our own terms? The danger may be subtle, but it is nevertheless grave: we are not the masters of our circumstances, only the masters of our judgments, and therefore it is not up to us to pick and choose the setting for our deaths, even as we will choose the attitude toward our deaths.
In other words, every time to die is the right time to die, and there is never a wrong time, though not every man embraces it with character, and many men demean themselves by bargaining about the provisions. As Epictetus said, the Author chooses the particulars of the role and its duration, while the actor is challenged to play it to the best of his ability; when something has only been lent to us, we have no claim to decide when it will be taken away.
Discontent is a result of a failed expectation, and thus no one who relies on what he knows with certainty to be his own must ever feel troubled or dissatisfied.
Over the years, I have gradually come to appreciate how Seneca can take most any topic and relate it back to the problem of mortality; I now smile instead of squirming uncomfortably. Is not death, after all, the final form of rest, and is not the fear of death the worst sort of restlessness? We desire or dread all the wrong things, and so we fail to find tranquility within our own nature.
Some “philosophers”, those who dwell upon their own anxieties, regard dying as an existential threat, and this is because they would rather suffer alone than be of service to Providence. The cessation of my existence is but a condition for the fulfillment of my essence, and once I focus on living well, I am no longer so fixated on merely living. Excise the moral center from a man, and he is now just the shell of a man.
Seneca is critical of a phrase that at first seems harmless: surely it is good to die on our own terms, just as it is good to live on our own terms? The danger may be subtle, but it is nevertheless grave: we are not the masters of our circumstances, only the masters of our judgments, and therefore it is not up to us to pick and choose the setting for our deaths, even as we will choose the attitude toward our deaths.
In other words, every time to die is the right time to die, and there is never a wrong time, though not every man embraces it with character, and many men demean themselves by bargaining about the provisions. As Epictetus said, the Author chooses the particulars of the role and its duration, while the actor is challenged to play it to the best of his ability; when something has only been lent to us, we have no claim to decide when it will be taken away.
Discontent is a result of a failed expectation, and thus no one who relies on what he knows with certainty to be his own must ever feel troubled or dissatisfied.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Hugo Simberg, The Garden of Death (1896)
Friday, June 7, 2024
Stoic Snippets 242
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.7
Seneca, Moral Letters 69.2
Just as he who tries to be rid of an old love must avoid every reminder of the person once held dear (for nothing grows again so easily as love), similarly, he who would lay aside his desire for all the things which he used to crave so passionately, must turn away both eyes and ears from the objects which he has abandoned. The emotions soon return to the attack; at every turn they will notice before their eyes an object worth their attention.
There is no evil that does not offer inducements. Avarice promises money; luxury, a varied assortment of pleasures; ambition, a purple robe and applause, and the influence which results from applause, and all that influence can do. Vices tempt you by the rewards which they offer; but in the life of which I speak, you must live without being paid.
Scarcely will a whole lifetime suffice to bring our vices into subjection and to make them accept the yoke, swollen as they are by long-continued indulgence; and still less, if we cut into our brief span by any interruptions. Even constant care and attention can scarcely bring anyone undertaking to full completion.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 69
This section of the letter hits very close to home, since I made myself quite the expert on being consumed by unrequited love. To this day, I will still berate myself for avoiding the old neighborhood to keep her out of my thoughts, when I should really be grateful for the chance to avoid further temptation. No good will come from dwelling on past failures.
Passions can be tricky things, for they speak to us so forcefully, even as they cannot do anything to explain themselves. To understand how and why I feel, and to provide any meaning to their movements, is the work of the mind, that defining power of my humanity which I too often leave neglected. In the absence of judgements to rein them in, the desires will run wild, and there is not a vice or a misery in this life that is not a consequence of lazy thinking.
There is no shame to feeling with great intensity, yet there is nothing but slavery in feeling without understanding. Love fulfills, while lust destroys. I must only examine the impression to reveal its false promises, to recognize why the things that first present themselves as good are hardly good at all.
Wealth is only as beneficial as the conscience that guides it. The value of a pleasure is relative to the merit of the action from which it proceeds. Fame is all about the opinions of others, and it says nothing about our own virtues.
If the practice of self-mastery sounds like a work to occupy all of our years, that is precisely the point. There is no greater achievement than leaving this world with the head firmly in charge of the gut, through the medium of the heart. There is no time for being distracted by fake rewards, when the only reward that counts is a soul at peace with itself.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Władysław Podkowiński, Frenzy of Exultations (1893)
Thursday, June 6, 2024
Dhammapada 378
The Bhikshu whose body and tongue and mind are quieted, who is collected, and has rejected the baits of the world, he is called quiet.
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Seneca, Moral Letters 69.1
Letter 69: On rest and restlessness
I do not like you to change your headquarters and scurry about from one place to another. My reasons are—first, that such frequent flitting means an unsteady spirit. And the spirit cannot through retirement grow into unity unless it has ceased from its inquisitiveness and its wanderings. To be able to hold your spirit in check, you must first stop the runaway flight of the body.
I do not like you to change your headquarters and scurry about from one place to another. My reasons are—first, that such frequent flitting means an unsteady spirit. And the spirit cannot through retirement grow into unity unless it has ceased from its inquisitiveness and its wanderings. To be able to hold your spirit in check, you must first stop the runaway flight of the body.
My second reason is, that the remedies which are most helpful are those which are not interrupted. You should not allow your quiet, or the oblivion to which you have consigned your former life, to be broken into. Give your eyes time to unlearn what they have seen, and your ears to grow accustomed to more wholesome words. Whenever you stir abroad you will meet, even as you pass from one place to another, things that will bring back your old cravings.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 69
Though I was still raised with an old-school reverence for peace and quiet, very few of my peers could fathom the concept, and there were even times when I got caught up in the grind of being frantically obsessed with noisy trivialities. The yuppies had recently arrived, insisting upon a life of constant busywork, and the soccer moms were just around the corner, ready to brag about their power to be in three places at once.
When effort is now about putting on a show, and the hustle and bustle becomes the tedious norm, we have sadly crossed the line from diligence into diversions. Just as junk food is a cheap substitute for a hearty meal, so an attraction to fleeting images stands in for lasting commitments. If there is no serenity on the inside, there is a fixation with the frippery on the outside, and a steady stream of ever-changing impressions is required to keep the mind distracted.
I will win no friends for saying this, but I find it notable how the generation that feels the irresistible urge to regularly move house and change jobs is the same generation that habitually treats love as a disposable commodity. The school of hard knocks has taught me why feeling dissatisfied with my circumstances is a sign of how I am unhappy with myself, such that no amount of modifying the scenery will cure me of my ills. The lust for novel gratifications is a mark of the lost soul, always trying to fill the emptiness with the addiction of the day.
If Lucilius is going to take his retirement seriously, not simply as a withdrawal from public entanglements but as a pledge to a private transformation, he must avoid the longing for short-lived trifles; it reveals a failure of inner constancy, as well as placing a stumbling block in the way of outer progress. If I say that my current surroundings are not enough, I am forgetting the dignity within me to find joy in any setting.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2024
The Basel Dance of Death 5
Matthäus Merian, The Basel Dance of Death: The King (1616)
"Lord King, your power has an end,
I lead you here by my hand
to this dance with dry brothers.
There they will give you the death-garland."
I lead you here by my hand
to this dance with dry brothers.
There they will give you the death-garland."
"I have lived in power
and hovered in high honor.
Now I am in Death's bond,
caught in his hands."
and hovered in high honor.
Now I am in Death's bond,
caught in his hands."
Tuesday, June 4, 2024
Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 50
When you have ought to do, or are to treat
With persons whose authority is great,
Let Socrates and Zeno shew you how,
And what their prudence would think fit to do,
Were they to manage this affair for you.
With what a temper, how serene and brave,
In such a case, would they themselves behave!
For neither would they crouch, nor yield thro' fear,
Nor would they rude or insolent appear;
Nor would they any thing unseemly say,
Nor yet through flatt'ry give the cause away.
By these great patterns act, you cannot fail;
Wisdom and courage, joyn'd, must needs prevail.
Let Socrates and Zeno shew you how,
And what their prudence would think fit to do,
Were they to manage this affair for you.
With what a temper, how serene and brave,
In such a case, would they themselves behave!
For neither would they crouch, nor yield thro' fear,
Nor would they rude or insolent appear;
Nor would they any thing unseemly say,
Nor yet through flatt'ry give the cause away.
By these great patterns act, you cannot fail;
Wisdom and courage, joyn'd, must needs prevail.
Seneca, Moral Letters 68.6
Would that in earlier days you had been minded to follow this purpose! Would that we were not discussing the happy life in plain view of death! But even now let us have no delay. For now we can take the word of experience, which tells us that there are many superfluous and hostile things; for this we should long since have taken the word of reason.
Let us do what men are wont to do when they are late in setting forth, and wish to make up for lost time by increasing their speed—let us ply the spur.
Our time of life is the best possible for these pursuits; for the period of boiling and foaming is now past. The faults that were uncontrolled in the first fierce heat of youth are now weakened, and but little further effort is needed to extinguish them.
"And when," you ask, "will that profit you which you do not learn until your departure, and how will it profit you?"
Precisely in this way, that I shall depart a better man.
You need not think, however, that any time of life is more fitted to the attainment of a sound mind than that which has gained the victory over itself by many trials and by long and oft-repeated regret for past mistakes, and, its passions assuaged, has reached a state of health.
This is indeed the time to have acquired this good; he who has attained wisdom in his old age, has attained it by his years. Farewell.
Let us do what men are wont to do when they are late in setting forth, and wish to make up for lost time by increasing their speed—let us ply the spur.
Our time of life is the best possible for these pursuits; for the period of boiling and foaming is now past. The faults that were uncontrolled in the first fierce heat of youth are now weakened, and but little further effort is needed to extinguish them.
"And when," you ask, "will that profit you which you do not learn until your departure, and how will it profit you?"
Precisely in this way, that I shall depart a better man.
You need not think, however, that any time of life is more fitted to the attainment of a sound mind than that which has gained the victory over itself by many trials and by long and oft-repeated regret for past mistakes, and, its passions assuaged, has reached a state of health.
This is indeed the time to have acquired this good; he who has attained wisdom in his old age, has attained it by his years. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 68
It is right and proper to embrace virtue at any age, but it seems to become most approachable in old age.
I can no longer count the number of people I have known who had a profound change of character as they turned the final bend. It is only to be expected, because the end of life, that moment when the whole picture comes into view and there can be no more illusions about our mortality, is unyielding in its demands. One of the most bitter and nasty fellows I ever met transformed into a saint during his last year.
I often regret the follies of my youth, when virtue was just one of the many things I desired, and as a result I was often quick to neglect her, especially if a mighty passion presented itself. I did not yet understand why I could not serve many masters, or to have my cake and eat it too. I would regularly start with a preference, and then try to clothe it in the appearance of a principle, so I had my priorities out of order. If only I had committed myself to virtue, instead of merely flirting with her!
But as they say, there is no use in crying over spilt milk, and while they were hardly justifiable or necessary, my many errors became the very means by which I have arrived where I am now. Providence does nothing in vain, even permitting an evil so that out if it may ultimately come a good. Hard experience, along with all the pain that accompanies it, are brutal teachers.
When so little time remains, the need to finally become human, in the deepest sense, is now all the more urgent. As the body decays, the mind can also mature; the lust now seems ridiculous, and the true work can really begin. Viewed correctly, it is a blessing, not a curse, for the roaring flames to reduce to smoldering embers. After all those decades of running about, it is pleasant to retire, not from a life of action, but into the best life of action.
If I complain about not having more time, I am confusing the quantity of life with the quality of life. Death is indeed the end, and the question is now about how I will face that end: dying with excellence or clutching at straws. It may have taken a while, though late is always better than never. While I would have wished to get my house in order as a young man, I am now at peace with my destination.
It is right and proper to embrace virtue at any age, but it seems to become most approachable in old age.
I can no longer count the number of people I have known who had a profound change of character as they turned the final bend. It is only to be expected, because the end of life, that moment when the whole picture comes into view and there can be no more illusions about our mortality, is unyielding in its demands. One of the most bitter and nasty fellows I ever met transformed into a saint during his last year.
I often regret the follies of my youth, when virtue was just one of the many things I desired, and as a result I was often quick to neglect her, especially if a mighty passion presented itself. I did not yet understand why I could not serve many masters, or to have my cake and eat it too. I would regularly start with a preference, and then try to clothe it in the appearance of a principle, so I had my priorities out of order. If only I had committed myself to virtue, instead of merely flirting with her!
But as they say, there is no use in crying over spilt milk, and while they were hardly justifiable or necessary, my many errors became the very means by which I have arrived where I am now. Providence does nothing in vain, even permitting an evil so that out if it may ultimately come a good. Hard experience, along with all the pain that accompanies it, are brutal teachers.
When so little time remains, the need to finally become human, in the deepest sense, is now all the more urgent. As the body decays, the mind can also mature; the lust now seems ridiculous, and the true work can really begin. Viewed correctly, it is a blessing, not a curse, for the roaring flames to reduce to smoldering embers. After all those decades of running about, it is pleasant to retire, not from a life of action, but into the best life of action.
If I complain about not having more time, I am confusing the quantity of life with the quality of life. Death is indeed the end, and the question is now about how I will face that end: dying with excellence or clutching at straws. It may have taken a while, though late is always better than never. While I would have wished to get my house in order as a young man, I am now at peace with my destination.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Jenö Gyárfás, Youth and Age (1887)
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Monday, June 3, 2024
Stoic Snippets 241
What is your art?
To be good.
And how is this accomplished well, except by general principles, some about the Nature of the Universe, and others about the proper constitution of man?
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.5
IMAGE: Anima Mundi, Illustration from Robert Fludd, History of the Macrocosm and the Microcosm (1617)
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Seneca, Moral Letters 68.5
Then you say: "Is it retirement, Seneca, that you are recommending to me? You will soon be falling back upon the maxims of Epicurus!"
I do recommend retirement to you, but only that you may use it for greater and more beautiful activities than those which you have resigned; to knock at the haughty doors of the influential, to make alphabetical lists of childless old men, to wield the highest authority in public life—this kind of power exposes you to hatred, is short-lived, and, if you rate it at its true value, is tawdry.
One man shall be far ahead of me as regards his influence in public life, another in salary as an army officer and in the position which results from this, another in the throng of his clients; but it is worthwhile to be outdone by all these men, provided that I myself can outdo Fortune. And I am no match for her in the throng; she has the greater backing.
I do recommend retirement to you, but only that you may use it for greater and more beautiful activities than those which you have resigned; to knock at the haughty doors of the influential, to make alphabetical lists of childless old men, to wield the highest authority in public life—this kind of power exposes you to hatred, is short-lived, and, if you rate it at its true value, is tawdry.
One man shall be far ahead of me as regards his influence in public life, another in salary as an army officer and in the position which results from this, another in the throng of his clients; but it is worthwhile to be outdone by all these men, provided that I myself can outdo Fortune. And I am no match for her in the throng; she has the greater backing.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 68
The intellectual always runs the risk of becoming an elitist, and of believing that his special insights excuse him from rubbing shoulders with the unwashed masses. He may be right to note how his willingness to reflect makes him different, perhaps painfully so, and yet he is mistaken in assuming he must therefore insulate himself.
For man to be rational he must also be social, though how he expresses such a commitment to his fellows may not fit into the usual pigeonholes. When human dignity is defined by character instead of circumstance, the appeal of fortune and fame will gradually fade, and blind conformity will give way to a conscience that is no longer intimidated by fashion. The good man goes his own way, even as he is hardly running away; he loves his neighbors, but he feels no need to pander to them.
While the Epicureans would often suggest withdrawing from society as much as possible, the Stoics recognized why the part has no purpose without the whole. Retiring from the life of the busybody means casting off all the flashy ornaments, and so returning to the simplicity of our nature. It may look like idleness or isolation to the go-getters, yet that is only because they have no conception of a value without a price tag.
The genuine activity of this life is to understand and to love, not to see and to be seen; the greatest vitality is in nurturing the soul, not in putting on a show. Permit others to beg for promotions, or scheme about investments, or feud with their enemies, though also be ready to offer them comfort and encouragement when they have reduced themselves to nervous wrecks.
There is never any need either to surrender or to flee from Fortune: fools aim to conquer her on her terms, but the wise know to rise above her on Nature’s terms. A philosopher finds peace of mind by not allowing his happiness to be decided by a toss of the dice or the end of a stick.
The intellectual always runs the risk of becoming an elitist, and of believing that his special insights excuse him from rubbing shoulders with the unwashed masses. He may be right to note how his willingness to reflect makes him different, perhaps painfully so, and yet he is mistaken in assuming he must therefore insulate himself.
For man to be rational he must also be social, though how he expresses such a commitment to his fellows may not fit into the usual pigeonholes. When human dignity is defined by character instead of circumstance, the appeal of fortune and fame will gradually fade, and blind conformity will give way to a conscience that is no longer intimidated by fashion. The good man goes his own way, even as he is hardly running away; he loves his neighbors, but he feels no need to pander to them.
While the Epicureans would often suggest withdrawing from society as much as possible, the Stoics recognized why the part has no purpose without the whole. Retiring from the life of the busybody means casting off all the flashy ornaments, and so returning to the simplicity of our nature. It may look like idleness or isolation to the go-getters, yet that is only because they have no conception of a value without a price tag.
The genuine activity of this life is to understand and to love, not to see and to be seen; the greatest vitality is in nurturing the soul, not in putting on a show. Permit others to beg for promotions, or scheme about investments, or feud with their enemies, though also be ready to offer them comfort and encouragement when they have reduced themselves to nervous wrecks.
There is never any need either to surrender or to flee from Fortune: fools aim to conquer her on her terms, but the wise know to rise above her on Nature’s terms. A philosopher finds peace of mind by not allowing his happiness to be decided by a toss of the dice or the end of a stick.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Jan Adriaensz van Staveren, A Hermit in a Ruin (c. 1660)
Sunday, June 2, 2024
Dhammapada 377
Seneca, Moral Letters 68.4
What, then, am I myself doing with my leisure? I am trying to cure my own sores. If I were to show you a swollen foot, or an inflamed hand, or some shriveled sinews in a withered leg, you would permit me to lie quiet in one place and to apply lotions to the diseased member.
But my trouble is greater than any of these, and I cannot show it to you. The abscess, or ulcer, is deep within my breast.
Pray, pray, do not commend me, do not say: "What a great man! He has learned to despise all things; condemning the madnesses of man's life, he has made his escape!"
I have condemned nothing except myself. There is no reason why you should desire to come to me for the sake of making progress. You are mistaken if you think that you will get any assistance from this quarter; it is not a physician that dwells here, but a sick man.
I would rather have you say, on leaving my presence: "I used to think him a happy man and a learned one, and I had pricked up my ears to hear him; but I have been defrauded. I have seen nothing, heard nothing which I craved and which I came back to hear."
If you feel thus, and speak thus, some progress has been made. I prefer you to pardon rather than envy my retirement.
But my trouble is greater than any of these, and I cannot show it to you. The abscess, or ulcer, is deep within my breast.
Pray, pray, do not commend me, do not say: "What a great man! He has learned to despise all things; condemning the madnesses of man's life, he has made his escape!"
I have condemned nothing except myself. There is no reason why you should desire to come to me for the sake of making progress. You are mistaken if you think that you will get any assistance from this quarter; it is not a physician that dwells here, but a sick man.
I would rather have you say, on leaving my presence: "I used to think him a happy man and a learned one, and I had pricked up my ears to hear him; but I have been defrauded. I have seen nothing, heard nothing which I craved and which I came back to hear."
If you feel thus, and speak thus, some progress has been made. I prefer you to pardon rather than envy my retirement.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 68
Though it is commonly taken as a condition for success, I have little patience for any sort of bragging. Now you may tell me this is precisely why I have failed to leave my mark on the world, but I will quietly remind you how I have chosen a different model of achievement. You think it worse, and I think it better, and I am quite happy to leave it at that.
Seneca here shows me that he is not interested in promoting himself, and so by refusing to paint himself as an example, he actually becomes worthy to be an example. When attention is deliberately drawn to the messenger, inevitably at the expense of the message, we reveal our vanities, born of a desperate need to feel significant. If we cannot find value in simply being ourselves, we desperately hope the acclaim of others will provide it.
But perhaps Seneca’s self-deprecation is just another clever tool of manipulation? Even if this were true, he would still be half right, because he is at least willing to address his own weakness. For all the great things we can achieve, our nature as creatures of choice makes us prone to grave error, and Seneca considers how he remains critically ill in his soul—a condition from which each and every one of us suffers, to whatever degree. I can begin by admitting that fact, however much I might try to spin it.
If I examine myself honestly, I find that I do most things poorly, a very few with competence, and none at all with excellence. This is not an occasion for despair, but a foundation for progress: I have it within me to improve my nature, and an awareness of what is lacking must come before an effort at fulfillment. Habit comes from repeatedly doing, not from wishing or displaying.
No man is in a perfect state, since his happiness is a process, not a state. Find joy in a noble achievement, and even cautiously call it pride, while always remembering to focus on what remains to be done; a renewed commitment is always preferable to resting on your laurels. If the thoughts, words, or deeds are already good in themselves, no addition of fame is required to complete them.
Though it is commonly taken as a condition for success, I have little patience for any sort of bragging. Now you may tell me this is precisely why I have failed to leave my mark on the world, but I will quietly remind you how I have chosen a different model of achievement. You think it worse, and I think it better, and I am quite happy to leave it at that.
Seneca here shows me that he is not interested in promoting himself, and so by refusing to paint himself as an example, he actually becomes worthy to be an example. When attention is deliberately drawn to the messenger, inevitably at the expense of the message, we reveal our vanities, born of a desperate need to feel significant. If we cannot find value in simply being ourselves, we desperately hope the acclaim of others will provide it.
But perhaps Seneca’s self-deprecation is just another clever tool of manipulation? Even if this were true, he would still be half right, because he is at least willing to address his own weakness. For all the great things we can achieve, our nature as creatures of choice makes us prone to grave error, and Seneca considers how he remains critically ill in his soul—a condition from which each and every one of us suffers, to whatever degree. I can begin by admitting that fact, however much I might try to spin it.
If I examine myself honestly, I find that I do most things poorly, a very few with competence, and none at all with excellence. This is not an occasion for despair, but a foundation for progress: I have it within me to improve my nature, and an awareness of what is lacking must come before an effort at fulfillment. Habit comes from repeatedly doing, not from wishing or displaying.
No man is in a perfect state, since his happiness is a process, not a state. Find joy in a noble achievement, and even cautiously call it pride, while always remembering to focus on what remains to be done; a renewed commitment is always preferable to resting on your laurels. If the thoughts, words, or deeds are already good in themselves, no addition of fame is required to complete them.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Laurits Andersen Ring, The Sick Man (1902)
Saturday, June 1, 2024
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Seneca, Moral Letters 68.3
When you withdraw from the world your business is to talk with yourself, not to have men talk about you.
But what shall you talk about? Do just what people are fond of doing when they talk about their neighbors—speak ill of yourself when by yourself; then you will become accustomed both to speak and to hear the truth.
Above all, however, ponder that which you come to feel is your greatest weakness. Each man knows best the defects of his own body. And so one relieves his stomach by vomiting, another props it up by frequent eating, another drains and purges his body by periodic fasting. Those whose feet are visited by pain abstain either from wine or from the bath. In general, men who are careless in other respects go out of their way to relieve the disease which frequently afflicts them.
So it is with our souls; there are in them certain parts which are, so to speak, on the sick list, and to these parts the cure must be applied.
But what shall you talk about? Do just what people are fond of doing when they talk about their neighbors—speak ill of yourself when by yourself; then you will become accustomed both to speak and to hear the truth.
Above all, however, ponder that which you come to feel is your greatest weakness. Each man knows best the defects of his own body. And so one relieves his stomach by vomiting, another props it up by frequent eating, another drains and purges his body by periodic fasting. Those whose feet are visited by pain abstain either from wine or from the bath. In general, men who are careless in other respects go out of their way to relieve the disease which frequently afflicts them.
So it is with our souls; there are in them certain parts which are, so to speak, on the sick list, and to these parts the cure must be applied.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 68
If a fellow won’t first converse with himself, how can he expect to engage with others? I know far too many people who can’t stand to be alone with themselves, and so they act out when in company.
I have now reread this section many dozens of times, first because I wanted to make sure I rightly understood the point, and then because I was so impressed by how effective this method can be to get myself back on track. When I am anxious and insecure, I am likely to distract myself by criticizing others. Before I am quick to judge my neighbor, however, might not the effort be better spent on carefully learning about my own flaws?
The moment I am tempted to cast blame, let me remember what is properly meant to be my business. Instead of thinking I will feel superior by putting someone else down, I could actually raise myself up by rebuilding my character. All that energy can immediately be redirected from a nasty insult toward a healthy introspection—turn the urge to grumble and gossip inward, and then it will at least serve a good purpose.
Once I am more comfortable with admonishing myself, I will also no longer be so hurt when I receive an insult from another. I think of how Diogenes would beg for alms from statues, so he could grow familiar with being refused.
As much as a doctor can diagnose my symptoms, I am, in the end, the one who has the most direct experience about my body’s unique quirks. This is all the more true for the soul, the inner workings of which are the effects of my own private judgments. That awareness will not be instant, and it will require hard work, but if I choose to be completely honest with myself, I am closest to both my strengths and my weaknesses.
The mental exercise puts a new twist on the phrase “Physician, heal thyself!” To look to the inside with the same critical eye I cast on the outside is both deeply humbling and refreshingly liberating.
If a fellow won’t first converse with himself, how can he expect to engage with others? I know far too many people who can’t stand to be alone with themselves, and so they act out when in company.
I have now reread this section many dozens of times, first because I wanted to make sure I rightly understood the point, and then because I was so impressed by how effective this method can be to get myself back on track. When I am anxious and insecure, I am likely to distract myself by criticizing others. Before I am quick to judge my neighbor, however, might not the effort be better spent on carefully learning about my own flaws?
The moment I am tempted to cast blame, let me remember what is properly meant to be my business. Instead of thinking I will feel superior by putting someone else down, I could actually raise myself up by rebuilding my character. All that energy can immediately be redirected from a nasty insult toward a healthy introspection—turn the urge to grumble and gossip inward, and then it will at least serve a good purpose.
Once I am more comfortable with admonishing myself, I will also no longer be so hurt when I receive an insult from another. I think of how Diogenes would beg for alms from statues, so he could grow familiar with being refused.
As much as a doctor can diagnose my symptoms, I am, in the end, the one who has the most direct experience about my body’s unique quirks. This is all the more true for the soul, the inner workings of which are the effects of my own private judgments. That awareness will not be instant, and it will require hard work, but if I choose to be completely honest with myself, I am closest to both my strengths and my weaknesses.
The mental exercise puts a new twist on the phrase “Physician, heal thyself!” To look to the inside with the same critical eye I cast on the outside is both deeply humbling and refreshingly liberating.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
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