Seneca,

There seems to be two sorts of people, those who know from an early age exactly what they are meant to do, and those who have to find it.  Of the latter sort, there are those who do, and those who do not.

I don’t know what causes this distinction in the first.  And hopefully I figure out what causes it in the second.

For whatever we do ought to be in harmony with this; no man can set in order the details unless he has already set before himself the chief purpose of his life. The artist may have his colours all prepared, but he cannot produce a likeness unless he has already made up his mind what he wishes to paint.  The reason we make mistakes is because we all consider the parts of life, but never life as a whole. The archer must know what he is seeking to hit; then he must aim and control the weapon by his skill. Our plans miscarry because they have no aim. When a man does not know what harbour he is making for, no wind is the right wind.

It’d be a shame for quarter-life crisis to just roll right into the mid-life one.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

I enjoyed the sections today, if such a thing can be said, of common (or I think as you might have meant, “lowly”) who embraced death willingly.  That we need not be a Cato or a Socrates to meet the inevitable on a level footing.

“Reason, too, advises us to die, if we may, according to our taste; if this cannot be, she advises us to die according to our ability, and to seize upon whatever means shall offer itself for doing violence to ourselves. It is criminal to “live by robbery;” but, on the other hand, it is most noble to “die by robbery.” “

This letter had me doing a lot of thinking on the issue, and some reading besides.  I noticed that when I was looking up the specific… methodologies, let’s say, that I found the topic uncomfortable.  I’ve read about the general practice of suicide, and of a “voluntary exist” as it were.  I didn’t any of these things stressful.  I’d even written some about it.  No problems.

Yet, when I was looking at the brass tacks of the issue, I discovered a deep-seated discomfort,  the result of which was to a slightly sick feeling to the stomach, even a back pain.  This took me quite by surprise, and it did not seem so far off to ponder the how as the what, but the former resulted in my judgments which yielded discomfort.

All of that being said, the thing that I am no considering is that for the past two years I’ve been doing memento mori incorrectly.  Well, not the whole time, but much of it.  At the outset, the thought of my own eventual death was disquieting.  Now, there’s a sufficient callous built up so that such is not the case.  However, I know see how shallowly I was attempting to swim, a mere splashing on the stairs.

Maybe the Buddhists are closer to correct with their meditations on death, of sitting in a charnel house, or cemetery and watching a body decompose.  That seems pretty morbid, there might be some happy medium there, I’ll have to ponder that a bit more.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

One of the things which the mob occasionally grasps hold of is Stoicism’s position on suicide.  It’s a difficult thing to handle for our culture today.  Suicide is seen either as a selfish and indulgent act, or the result of severe mental illness, and therefore a tragedy.

It might be that Stoicism is one of the last rational schools on the subject.  We have some irrational schools of thought on the issue, however, from suicide cults, UFOs cults, and The Voluntary Human Extinction Movement.

The East has preserved this, especially in traditions like Jainism.  The final ethical vow of the Jains is one which I can see Zeno approving of.  Generally, the report is that Zeno died after a fall, but I’ve seen in a few places that he may have fasted until death.  If that’s the case, then I can see a reasonable analogue.

While you, Seneca, note that the manner is basically irrelevant, citing Cato’s sword, or poision, or even hanging, it seems to me that if the ideal sort of ‘rational exit’ were possible, it would be this one:  the removing of food and water until the body dies.

“Every man ought to make his life acceptable to others besides himself, but his death to himself alone.
…
Keep thinking of the fact that some day you will be deprived of this tenure; then you will be more brave against the necessity of departing.”

Stoicism’s memento mori is a hard thing for the average fellow to grok, but it’s one I’ve come to appreciate more and more in my studies.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

The metaphor of sailors and voyages is a good one.  It’s often hard to see how one could admit that a short life is just as valuable as a long one.  Especially if the life in questions ends so quickly as to make the attainment of virtue unlikely.  That seems to be one of the challenges our school faces.

I’m thinking indeed of the death of children.  We do, of course, see examples of children bravely facing down debilitating and even terminal illnesses.  One cannot but wonder though if this because they don’t quite understand what’s happening, or is the same sort (or a higher) of bravery one faces later in life under similar circumstance?

One of classic “Stoic paradoxes” are that attaining virtue for a moment is just as great as having it for a long time.  We see others say that the Sage would never backslide, but those two statements seem in contradiction such that they can’t both be true unless it’s possible for one to be virtuous a little and not a Sage.  But that would fly in the face of other Stoic doctrines, like the unity of virtue.  Ah well, that’s question for others, I think.

I can easily accept the voyage metaphor.  Especially when we come to accept that the only evil is our own moral evil.  Then, the sorts of things which are sometimes called “natural evils”  (a term the Stoics would take umbrage with), like illness, death, natural disasters, etc. are more akin to inclement weather on the voyage than the moral evils we are combating in ourselves.

If that’s the case, then maybe the childhood illness are like a rogue wave that sweeps a sailor overboard, and quickly pulls him out to sea?  We might toss him a life-preserver, but the storm is surely stronger than the ship and its crew in the matter of disposing of their bodies and possessions.  We, the crew, however have it in us to use our προαίρεσις well an in accordance with nature.  Not even the meanest storm can touch that unless we will it so.

Thank you for the food for thought this morning.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

It’s funny to me, most of the time when we’re reading your Letters, Seneca, they’re abridged, or it’s merely a selection of them.  There is a decided selection bias in those Letters, as I’ve seen.  Letters like the one of today are rarely included.

“… the remedies which are most helpful are those which are not interrupted. a 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.”

How can one read these, and not see a decidedly ascetic, renounced tone to the practice of Stoicism?  Letters like these are not outliers, but well in the standard of the School.  Some like to point out Musonius and Epictetus as outliers, but it’s clearly not the case.

Training, and for the reasons you’ve stated here, are absolutely required of a Stoic practicing in accord with the school.

“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 life-time 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 any one undertaking to full completion.”

Thank you for the letter.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

Your presupposed interlocutor’s question about retirement and the tenets of Epicureanism mirror concerns of my own.  We spoke previously about how we handle both the mandate to be a citizen of the world and personal retirement, or renunciation.

It’s still an issue I’m working over.  Previously, we discussed a retirement’s utility to training, and then to return to the world having instilled in ourselves the tenets of the school.  But in this letter, esp. as in the context of the twilight of life, it seems there is no return?

Either way, more food for thought.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

As you by now know, the ideas of retreat of have been on my mind now for months.  That’s an understatement, really.  It’s something I’ve been pondering off and on again for years.  Previously, the retreat was hidden in an urge to travel.  Of course, no problems are solved by travel, as you yourself have noted, as you take your problems with you.

Instead, the idea of retreat is to ply a special sort of attention to the maladies of the soul.

“If I were to show you a swollen foot, or an inflamed hand, or some shrivelled sinews in a withered leg, you would permit me to lie quiet in one place and to apply lotions to the diseased member.b 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.”

I’m looking forward to the rest of your letter.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

The three categories of goods, if we can dispense for the third which is not a proper good, is useful here.  We might rephrase the categories:

Type A:  Goods we want regardless of circumstance
    – Wisdom, courage, justice, fortitude, etc.

Type B:  Goods we want in specific circumstances
    – Endurance under torture, self-control under illness, bravery and lack of perturbation in the face of death, etc.

Of course, it can be said the Type B are merely applications of A.  This may need to be restructured.  The point being, that while torture itself is not something to be wished for, should we stubble to it, we should hope to have the courage, bravery, honor, and equanimity of spirit that the good man would have under such a condition.

I remember reading a blog sometime ago, about a fellow who was a practicing Stoic.  He had been practicing for some number of years, and he was told he might have a medical issue which would take from him the sight of one eye.

He mentioned that not only was he calm in the face of this news, a piece of him was moved at the opportunity to express virtue under this new test, this circumstance of blindness in one eye.

I’m not at all entirely sure that’s the most proper outlook for one making progress, it seems to run into this injunction on proper training from Epictetus:

“We ought not to train ourselves in unnatural or extraordinary actions, for in that case we who claim to be philosophers shall be no better than mountebanks. For it is difficult to walk on a tight-rope, and not only difficult but dangerous as well…”

—Epictetus, Discourses III.12:

Seneca, you yourself also seem to tend away from this form of extreme practice.  It’ certainly something to think about.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

Even here in the last part of your letter we find a trace of Aristo’s position, that there are no preferred nor dispreferred indifferents:  merely indifferents.

If in one situation we might “prefer” the harder, then the preference isn’t a natural one, as the standard Stoic position states.  It’s not merely health, wealth, and high birth:  but we might prefer that which trains our souls:  the harder.

I intend to write an essay here before too long on Aristo’s position.  He was a contemporary of Zeno, and his position was subsumed in the standard Zenoian one.

But maybe, he was right.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

“To explain my thought briefly, the material with which a good is concerned is sometimes contrary to nature, but a good itself never is contrary, since no good is without reason, and reason is in accordance with nature.”

The fact that by defintion, indifferents are not goods, but the manner in which we handle indifferents can be is often overlooked.  This is the basis of the ascetic training of Musonius, Epictetus, and Marcus.  It’s well worth remembering.

It seems as if you are setting up three categories of goods, primary, secondary, and tertiary.  It’s important to note, as you’ve said, that the primary ones are not more virtuous than the secondary, it’s maybe better to call them Type A, B, and C then primary.

Type A:
– victory
– good children,
– the welfare of one’s country.

Type B:
these become manifest only in adversity,
– equanimity in enduring severe illness or exile.

Type C: Certain goods are indifferent; these are no more according to nature than contrary to nature,
– a discreet gait
– sedate posture in a chair.

I’m going to assume these are descriptive categories, and not prescriptive types.  In fact, I’d only want to call Types A and B goods per se.  I’m pretty sure Type C misses the mark for Stoic criteria for goods.  I’m sure certain folks, or parts of society, would call Type C goods, but a philosopher should not, as you note:  they’re indifferents.

The issue might be one of terminology, the common use of good and the philosophical.  Despite the already jargony nature of Stoic discourse, it might be better to use the Greek for these words: ἀγαθός (agathos) — good or καλός (kalos) — beautiful, good.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.