Seneca,

This is an interesting section:

“The cures for the spirit also have been discovered by the ancients; but it is our task to learn the method and the time of treatment. 9 Our predecessors have worked much improvement, but have not worked out the problem. They deserve respect, however, and should be worshipped with a divine ritual. Why should I not keep statues of great men to kindle my enthusiasm, and celebrate their birthdays? Why should I not continually greet them with respect and honour? The reverence which I owe to my own teachers I owe in like measure to those teachers of the human race, the source from which the beginnings of such great blessings have flowed.”

It’s not always clear to me when you are engaging in figurative language versus telling us what you actually do.  I suspect, however, that here at least, you mean what you say and say what you mean.

I also suspect that the apotheosis of teachers which is intimated here would be distasteful to many these days.  The god-like nature of Sages seem well established, if only because most folks believe it to be an unattainable state.

Did Zeno and the folks of the early Stoa believe themselves to be Sages?  I think that answer is yes, despite the middle and late Stoa’s stepping away from that title.

It seems, though, that you, Seneca, are harkening back to that early Stoic doctrine of the pseudo-apotheosis of the Sage in treating your teachers in this way.

Farewell.

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

Seneca,

Grief is a funny thing, I’ve paraphrased the sentiments in your letter as “Grieve as long as you need to, and not a moment longer.”

Farewell.

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

Seneca,

Today’s letter touches on a tough subject for most folks.  Grief is a hard thing.  I’m not sure that I entirely agree that our greiving is for others, but I do entirely agree that our watching over ourselves contributes to the extended suffering.

It’s a funny thing, our intuition, whether natural or acculturated, is such that after a great loss, if we find ourselves enjoying some small thing or laughing, we reprimand ourselves severely.  As if our every waking moment is to build a monument of grief.  The extent of our pain is not a measure of our love, and that’s a strangely bitter pill to swallow.

My reading today was just the first part of the letter, and I look forward to finishing it.

Farewell.

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

Seneca,

I find it interesting that you would Demetrius in high regard.  There seems to be a trend of Stoics looking to the Cynics admirably.  Epictetus speaks so highly of Diogenes as to whisper Sage in the same breath, for instance.

You often get short shrift, Seneca, for an opulent lifestyle.  I find it especially interesting as we’ve gotten to known each other better over these past four months (!), that the letters which make it into the abridged versions generally exclude your focus on training and simple living.  Of course, there’s the “take a few days of the month” bit, but this is generally viewed as mere lip service.

The ‘rich inner life’ of the Stoic philosopher is sometimes hard to see when first learning about the school, and I think that letters like these may help clarify the point.

See you next week.

Farewell.

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

Seneca,

“[W]hy is it that folly holds us with such an insistent grasp? It is, primarily, because we do not combat it strongly enough, because we do not struggle towards salvation with all our might; secondly, because we do not put sufficient trust in the discoveries of the wise, and do not drink in their words with open hearts; we approach this great problem in too trifling a spirit.”

Here, this is the reason.  We have many and many modern Stoics who discount the words of the very people the profess to follow.  “No, no, they didn’t really mean we should do these things.  It’s all tricks and lifehacks for dealing with modern stress.”  Bah.

But what’s worse, those who would discount out of hand the teachings or those who see that the teachings are needed, but don’t do it anyway?

““You call me a man of sense, but I understand how many of the things which I crave are useless, and how many of the things which I desire will do me harm. I have not even the knowledge, which satiety teaches to animals, of what should be the measure of my food or my drink. I do not yet know how much I can hold.””

Clearly then, the latter.  Which is the camp I’m firmly in.  I can clearly see that explicit recommendations are laid out… I’m just not doing them.

“But how can a man learn, in the struggle against his vices, an amount that is enough, if the time which he gives to learning is only the amount left over from his vices? None of us goes deep below the surface. We skim the top only, and we regard the smattering of time spent in the search for wisdom as enough and to spare for a busy man.”

It seems that there can be no “part-time philosophers.”  Most of us, myself included, our tourists.  That’s an untenable situation, one which will either result in our buckling down and really getting to work, or moving on to a different hobby at some point.

Thank you for the letter today, it’s an excellent mirror which shows a dingy reflection.

Farewell.

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

Seneca,

We Stoics are often misconstrued a would-be emotionless automatons.  The confusion likes in our wishing to be rid of our πάθη, when the common conception is that ‘passion’ is a good thing, enlivening.  We seek a state called ἀπάθεια, too easily misunderstood as the common sort amotivational apathy.  By the time we get around to discussing εὐπάθη, the average listener already has their mind made up.  Robots.

Your letter today remarks on this distinction, here between ‘pleasure’ and ‘joy.’  The joy of the Sage, then, an unshakeable, rational elation of the spirit in the face of human existence and the breadth of the cosmos is as different from the base pleasures of vice than anything else we can imagine.

Thank you for the letter.

Farewell.

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

Seneca,

The last section of your letter dealing with life and with on which conditions we might assent to end it was interesting to me today.  The Stoics get a lot of flak these days for their stance on suicide, which is almost always misinterpreted.

The qualifications seem reasonable:  mere pain or aging parts is not enough.  If the rational faculty is injured, or the human part of life gone, merely the movements of the body, it might be too late.  So, it is wise to meet the inevitable just before we might become incapable.

Thank you for the letter.

Vale.

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

Seneca,

“None of us is the same man in old age that he was in youth; nor the same on the morrow as on the day preceding. Our bodies are burned along like flowing waters; every visible object accompanies time in its flight; of the things which we see, nothing is fixed.”

This brings to mind the Heraclitus Fragment:

ποταμοῖσι τοῖσιν αὐτοῖσιν ἐμβαίνουσιν ἕτερα καὶ ἕτερα ὕδατα ἐπιρρεῖ.
“On those who enter the same rivers, ever different waters flow.”

Heh, that will teach me to start writing a blog post before finishing the letter!  This same quote is the next line!

“We are weak, watery beings standing in the midst of unrealities; therefore let us turn our minds to the things that are everlasting. Let us look up to the ideal outlines of all things, that flit about on high, and to the God who moves among them and plans how he may defend from death that which he could not make imperishable because its substance forbade, and so by reason may overcome the defects of the body.”

So far, I’ve really enjoyed these days’ readings of the letter.  It’s excellent food for thought.  The lesson that even something as hypothetical as Platonic forms can be turned, like someone would do a sermon, into a message that we can use to better ourselves is a poignant one.

Early on in my study, I began to notice “Stoic messages” in things that I saw.  Whether it was Man of La Mancha (wow, was that really two years ago?), or some other bit of entertainment.  Of course, the authors probably did not mean to make such allusions as I was plucking from their works, but in looking back, I now see that as a crucial step to internalizing the teachings we’re working with.

It’s like “blue car syndrome”  but rather than simply noticing something we now have a greater affinity for, our minds are beginning to filter our sense-impressions, and even our memories through a Stoic lens.

Farewell.

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