Having
only recently acquired the three books of your epistles, I am just
now discovering the large collection of your other books that still
exists in my day. I find in your Naturales Quaestiones a
reference to your exile, and of life under Caligula.
- At the court of Gaius (Caligula) I used to see torture, I used to see fire. I knew that under him human existence had already deteriorated to the point where those who were killed were held up as examples of mercy.
I
will have to read more of this book, for there is much to discuss. I
bring it up here only by way of introducing an idea for discussion.
I find your philosophy to be so peaceful, so beautiful and forgiving,
yet you lived in a world of terror and madness in the Imperial court.
Epictetus too, whose life was anything but easy, seems to float
above it all with magnanimous nobility of spirit. You see, it is not
just your writing that inspires, it is the nature of the life in
which it was written that seems to give it greater weight. I find
the same thing among some of Yamamoto Tsunetomo's writing, and of
course, of Marcus Aurelius.
I
found this in the introduction to Naturales Quaestiones, I
need to share this section with you, from the Harry M Hine
translation of 2010:
Seneca’s
practice exemplifies his conviction that progress can best be made by
critical dialogue with the thinkers of the past. He has a clear
vision of meteorology as a collaborative effort by numerous
investigators over many centuries, a process that will continue far
into the future. Progress depends on the patient collection of
information about the phenomena in question and on critical probing
of the theories of one’s predecessors. He warns against dismissing
the theories of the earliest thinkers as crude or silly, because they
took the essential first steps, and later thinkers were building on
their efforts (6.5.2–3). And just as their ideas seemed antiquated
by Seneca’s day, so Seneca is sure that his ideas will seem just as
antiquated to people far in the future (7.25.4–7; 7.30.5).12 Here
is an implicit signal to us later readers to be as critical of his
ideas as he is of the ideas of his predecessors.
I
have been reading Plato, and have discovered a deep affection for the
Socratic method. Starting from a position of assumed ignorance, and
through questioning everything one might come to know something like
the truth. It has been a major motivation behind my entire letter
writing project to engage with the minds of the ancients and through
a process of discussion and questioning, come to find the truth in my
own life. It is not within the scope of my present life to attend
university lectures and to surround myself with philosophers with
whom I might have these discussions. I do what I can within the
circle of friends and family that I have, and I find that I do not
feel alone in my quest for wisdom.
Which
brings me back around to the original topic of this letter.
There
is a flexible contradiction to be found in your books which I enjoy.
It is plain from your writing that you have devoted your life to
reading many authors, studying everything you can and immersing
yourself in a diverse range of contrasting philosophical schools.
Yet here in letter II, in your epistles I find this:
The primary
indication, to my thinking, of a well ordered mind is a man's ability
to remain in one place and linger in his own company. Be careful,
however, lest this reading of many authors and books of every sort
may tend to make you discursive and unsteady. You must linger among
a limited number of master thinkers, and digest their works if you
would derive ideas which shall win firm hold in your mind.
Everywhere means nowhere. When a person spends all his time in
foreign travel, he ends by having many acquaintances, but no friends.
It
is good advice, yet it seems that neither you nor I follow it truly.
The stack of books on my bedside table at the present moment come
from eleven different authors, across many eras. The bookshelf next
to my bed contains all the books from Cicero that I own, plus
Plutarch and Herodotus. They all seem like good friends to keep
close, and regardless of which book sits atop the pile, having them
near gives me the comfort of their wisdom.
Yet,
Epictetus reminds me that there is another source of wisdom:
(Bk
1, Ch. 14, George Long translation, 1952)
When, then,
you have shut the doors and made darkness within, remember never to
say that you are alone, for you are not; but God is within, and your
Demon is within, and what need have they of light to see what you are
doing? To this God you ought to swear an oath just as the soldiers
do to Caesar.
This
nameless God, this nameless Demon that lives within us, and is the
source of our wisdom and our torment, is perhaps the most important
of all the master thinkers. Inside me is a circle of voices
who vie for attention and who speak at times loudly, and at others in
whispers like the wind. They have many names, and many faces.
Perhaps you might enjoy reading my exploration of this room of
mirrors...
A
discussion for another day, my dear friend Seneca.
With
Gratitude and Respect
Morgan.
No comments:
Post a Comment