How shall we describe “progress”?
It is the state of him who having learned from philosophers that man wills to get what is good, and wills to avoid what is evil, and having learned also that peace and calm come to a man only if he fails not to get what he wills, and if he falls not into that which he avoids, has put away from him altogether the will to get anything and has postponed it to the future, and wills to avoid only such things as are dependent on his will.
For if he tries to avoid anything beyond his will, he knows that, for all his avoidance, he will one day come to grief and be unhappy.
And if this is the promise that virtue makes to us—the promise to produce happiness and peace and calm, surely progress toward virtue is progress toward each of these. For to whatever end the perfection of a thing leads, to that end is progress an approach.
How is it then that, though we admit that this is the nature of virtue, we search elsewhere for progress and display it elsewhere?
To many people, the tenets of Stoicism can seem alien and confusing, as if they are asking us to be the exact opposite of everything we believe we are. I know the frustration well, having spent so much time struggling with a single step forward, only to find that I have somehow managed to take two steps back.
A simple and direct explanation, like this one from Epictetus, can help me to recognize that it isn’t my nature itself that is getting in the way at all, but rather my own terrible confusion about my nature, the weight of all those misguided habits, that is dragging me down.
I must commit to a fundamental change in my judgments, one that casts aside all the clutter and the diversions, in order to point myself in the right direction. Once that is done, in however unassuming a manner, I am now making progress.
I can start with the basic awareness that I want to go after what is good, and to stay away from what is bad, and yet I get myself in trouble as soon as I make hasty assumptions about what will actually benefit or hurt me.
If it is something good for me, it will have to be mine to possess, and not subject to being lost. If it is something bad for me, it will have to be within my power to fend it off, and not able to inflict any harm.
And so, my happiness depends upon forming a mastery over what can be under my control, and of leaving aside what cannot be under my control. I will only find misery when I surrender my will to what I am not able to determine.
It makes perfect sense to say that I should cling to what is reliable and constant, though I am usually doing quite the opposite, aren’t I? I lust for property, reputation, and objects of pleasure, all of which come and go through outside forces. Is it any wonder that I am restless, anxious, and dissatisfied?
Virtue, the excellence of my own thoughts, words, and deeds, is the key to progress.
Now some will speak of virtue as a form of moral posturing, an air of superiority, a need to dictate to others, or a cold conformity to soulless rules, but that is not what the Stoic means.
I am on my way to becoming a better man when I concern myself, first and foremost, with working on my own sense of awareness, commitment, discipline, and respect; everything else that I do then proceeds from that inner source.
“I will only be happy when the world gives me all of these things!”
No, it would be better to say, “I will only be happy when I learn to give all of these things!”
“I am making progress, because I have finally received this or that circumstance!”
But is there any reason why you should regard them as sayings of Epicurus and not common property? How many poets give forth ideas that have been uttered, or may be uttered, by philosophers! I need not touch upon the tragedians and our writers of national drama; for these last are also somewhat serious, and stand halfway between comedy and tragedy. What a quantity of sagacious verses lie buried in the mime! How many of Publilius's lines are worthy of being spoken by buskin-clad actors, as well as by wearers of the slipper!
I shall quote one verse of his, which concerns philosophy, and particularly that phase of it which we were discussing a moment ago, wherein he says that the gifts of Chance are not to be regarded as part of our possessions:
“Still alien is whatever you have gained by coveting.”
I recall that you yourself expressed this idea much more happily and concisely:
“What Chance has made yours is not really yours.”
And a third, spoken by you still more happily, shall not be omitted:
“The good that could be given, can be removed.”
I shall not charge this up to the expense account, because I have given it to you from your own stock. Farewell.
I always appreciate the fact that Seneca quotes thinkers from other traditions, as it serves to remind me not to get caught up in any sort of tribal ideology. I wasted too many years of my life following this or that “-ism”, sadly losing touch with what was shared by all of us in common.
It matters far less who said it, than whether or not it happens to be true. Yes, the Stoics and the Epicureans had many points of difference, and yet when it came to where the deepest freedom could be found, they both saw, eye to eye, that any liberation follows from right awareness.
Despite all of our cubbyholes and divisions, what is human remains human, and also what is Divine remains Divine.
Look at your neighbor squarely in the face and you will, after setting aside the many petty resentments, see yourself. Look even more closely, and you will, after moving past all the diverting circumstances, see a unity of meaning and purpose. The particular names we may choose to give to the order of life matter less than the reality behind it all.
I do my best not to dictate to anyone else, but I will, if anyone happens to be listening, always insist that our separation from one another is self-imposed, that Nature, however we may choose to describe it, is one and the same for all of us. Whenever I have failed in putting this into concrete practice, it was only my own stubbornness and vanity that held me back.
There is truth, goodness, and beauty to be found, by whatever degree or distinction, in every sort of human expression, from philosophy and poetry to music and drama. Even a smile or a frown, a handshake or a clenched fist, will reveal something of worth. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in this world from which a helpful lesson cannot somehow be learned; I need to respect what makes us the same before I consider what sets us apart.
What can the Roman poet and actor, Publilius Syrus, tell us here about such a universal heritage? Much the same as what the Stoic would preach: Whenever I demand something above and beyond who I already am, and what I already possess, I have grown too big for my britches.
How wonderful that Seneca also turns to some of the very things Lucilius had himself said, to teach the same lesson: Luck has nothing to do with my merit; if I have to supplement myself with it, it wasn’t mine to begin with.
"If you would enjoy real freedom, you must be the slave of Philosophy."
The man who submits and surrenders himself to her is not kept waiting; he is emancipated on the spot. For the very service of Philosophy is freedom.
I can no longer remember where I first heard it said, but I was deeply inspired by the distinction between being free from something and being free in something. Here I had been convinced that liberty meant keeping things away from me, and it hadn’t occurred to me that liberty could be a promise of commitment.
At some point, I began to think of it as the choice of which sort of person I would like to be, the one who says, “Get off my back!” or the one who says, “Let me carry you.” It is easy to reject, but it requires character to embrace.
To find freedom in service and submission? Yes, it sounds like a paradox, but it all depends on how I consider my own nature, and my place within all of Nature.
As a creature of reason and will, I am made to rule myself, and yet when my judgment comes to grasp the good inherent in everything around me, I cannot help but become joined and bound to the whole world. I am now free to cooperate with Nature, not fight against her, to gladly play the part to which I am called, however humble.
Philosophy, rightly understood as a way of living instead of an intellectual pretension, is the love of wisdom, and the true lover surrenders himself completely to his beloved. By giving of himself without condition, he is now most fully himself.
The genuine philosopher becomes liberated from loss, fear, and doubt as soon as he recognizes that his human dignity does not depend on being chained to his circumstances, and that he now bears the responsibility for making something of himself. The truth will indeed set him free, because he is no longer driven by a lust for the things beneath him.
I might be a slave in my body, like Epictetus, but I can still be completely emancipated in my soul, also like Epictetus. I might be locked in a prison, like Boethius, but it is philosophy that gives me wings, also like Boethius.
I have often complained about how this or that person is trampling on my rights, or how much I wish to rid myself of the injustices committed against me, and yet the Stoic Turn teaches me that I really only suffer from the injustices I commit against myself, the ones I allow to enter my heart and mind.
Believe me, those who seem to be busied with nothing are busied with the greater tasks; they are dealing at the same time with things mortal and things immortal.
I regularly hear all sorts of advice about becoming successful, most of it involving clever tricks on how to accumulate money, or win fame, or influence other people to do what I want. What I do not hear regularly, however, is an account of why they constitute success, the reasons for calling such things good.
When I found myself becoming a teacher, I quickly had to learn a hard lesson, that unless I was going to use this as a stepping-stone to becoming a self-important bureaucrat, I would have to be content with none of the usual signs of success. There would be little money in it if I was dedicated, no fame in it if I was honest, and it would be a rare day when someone followed my suggestions.
Over the years, I can think of only a small handful of students who became better from anything I offered them, and I regularly struggled against feeling a resentment toward those who turned education into a game of power and popularity. Through all of it, I planted a seed here or there, and I managed to become just a bit more patient and compassionate.
That’s hardly the sort of stuff I can use to promote myself on a professional résumé, but maybe that’s the whole point, that the most valuable achievements in life cannot be measured by wealth, honors, or bragging rights. As soon as I even want to show off, I’m already confused about what I should be doing, and where I need to be going.
I imagine that some of Seneca’s old colleagues back in Rome would snicker at what a failure he had become, running away to the country and wasting his time on reflection and writing. The practice of business, and law, and politics is, after all, what such people think to be important.
And yet merely by asking himself what was good and bad in life, Seneca was doing something they had never done, and he was busying himself with the work of being human, not just the chore of appearing grand.
Besides the fact that he held a number of Roman procuratorships, I do not know what became of Lucilius, or whether his correspondence with Seneca ultimately helped him to become a better and a happier man. I have a hunch that it did, however, because I know how much these letters, which were never even addressed to me, have offered me a sense of meaning and purpose, all those centuries later.
“Eat merely to relieve your hunger; drink merely to quench your thirst; dress merely to keep out the cold; house yourself merely as a protection against personal discomfort. It matters little whether the house be built of turf, or of variously colored imported marble; understand that a man is sheltered just as well by a thatch as by a roof of gold.
“Despise everything that useless toil creates as an ornament and an object of beauty. And reflect that nothing except the soul is worthy of wonder; for to the soul, if it be great, nothing is great."
Most people I know choose to define themselves by the gratification of the body, along with its various accessories. I may believe that they are mistaken in doing so, but I can understand very well what urges them on. The passions make constant demands, and they can do so with great insistence.
If they are ignored, they complain ever more loudly, and if they are fed, they will always reach out for another portion. Is it any wonder that we let them lead us around by the nose?
I also know some people who, perhaps burned too often by their longing, decide that they must now hate their bodies, and treat the desires of the flesh like unwanted intruders. I may believe that they are mistaken in doing so, but I can understand very well what urges them on. Once bitten, twice shy.
If I transform someone, or something, into my enemy, it becomes so much easier to condemn and to cast aside. Is it any wonder that we like to despise what makes us feel uncomfortable?
I know all too well how it is to be tossed between these two extremes, and I have only slowly been learning to strike a balance, by starting with a rather different measure.
I am faced with the circumstances of pleasure, property, or position, and I assume they must be everything that matters, or they must be nothing at all. It takes a broader perspective to see them merely as something, just another part of the whole picture, and to make them relative instead of absolute, to distinguish between the means and the ends.
There is neither a need to surrender to the wants of the body, nor is there is a need to exclude them. They must exist in proportion, by how well they are in service to the needs of the soul. Once I no longer consider them for their own sake, they no longer have any power of their own accord.
Let me rise above what it asks of me, and instead let me consider what I should ask of it.
How much is enough? Only what Nature requires to get the bigger job done. As a tool is something I take up at one moment to achieve a task, and I lay it down as soon as the work is complete, so too all the conveniences of this life do not have to become diversions. They have their place, and it is my place to learn to master them.
Food, drink, clothing, or shelter should indeed be very satisfying, but they are only good for me when they help me improve my ability to know and to love. The same is true for money, power, or sex, such that what they are to me follows from a sense of who I wish to become.
Right or wrong living always takes precedence over more or less taking. If it is no longer the sum total of what I want, then I will only use as much as I need.
