Book 4, Letter 21, To Cicero, on Happiness

Dear Cicero,

This may be my last letter for some time. Everything has its beginning and its end, and now, having finished reading your Tusculan Disputations, I feel that I must leave you in your tomb for a while. I still have your books on the Republic, and the Laws to read, as well as your speeches, and your books on oratory, but I feel that for a time, I must pause in writing these letters to you, and instead focus my attentions on the needs of the living for a time. I will probably write to you again. Who am I kidding, I will definitely write again.

Today I wanted to talk to you about something written by our mutual friend, Plato. For me, the study of philosophy is primarily concerned with the pursuit of happiness. I feel this way because so often, happiness is something that I pursue, but fail to catch, and many days are wasted in the weariness of the pursuit, and in my failure to live up to my own expectations.

So it was, in the fifth book of your Tusculan Disputations, that I find this quote from Plato, taken from Menexenus 247e:

The man who is entirely self-sufficient as regards all the necessary ingredients for leading a happy life, so that these do no in any way depend on other people's good or bad luck or dangle at the uncertain mercy of someone else's fortune – he is the person who has found the right way to live. He has done so by making himself an exemplar of moderation, courage and wisdom. Such a man, as his possessions wax and wane and his children are born and die, will obediently submit to the ancient maxim which directs him to avoid extremes either of joy or grief: for he will always limit his hopes to the things his own unaided efforts can achieve.

I have been reading a modern Japanese author, Fumitage Koga, and in his book The courage to be disliked, he explores the ideas of Alfred Adler, through a Platonic style dialogue with Ichiro Kishimi, and expounds upon the notion of The separation of Tasks, and the idea that all happiness is based upon interpersonal relationships. Certainly, a great majority of my own happiness and despair stems from the joys and failures of my relationships. I am tied to the happiness of my family as a sailor who cannot swim is bound to his ship, and I find my whole life swells and pitches with their favours and fortunes. My own errors in behaviour have been the cause of terrible and prolonged unhappiness, and the disrupting influence of this upon my relationships has given me cause to abandon sound reason, and to rely upon so many externals to provide for my happiness. I have failed to apply myself adequately to the task of my own happiness and self understanding.

My own happiness has long seemed to be beyond my ability to achieve, burdened as I am by shame, guilt and remorse – all forms of grief I suppose, as I stumble from injury to insult, driven half mad by the certain belief that I am rotten to the core, and capable of doing no good in the world. Many days I wake with the mantra in my mind – it doesn't matter what I think, I'm wrong. Many evenings I go to bed reminding myself that I am stupid, and that I am responsible for all the calamities of my life, calamities born of my stupidity, and my inability to accept the world as it truly is.

So I read your books, Cicero; On Duties, On Friendship, on the Nature of the Gods, and finally, the last book of your Tusculan Disputations: Whether virtue alone be sufficient for a happy life, but I find in study of this kind, only a continued confusion, as opinion heaps upon opinion, and my mind spins dizzily with conflicting ideas.

However, the book by Fumitage Koga, has been offering me some new pathways to explore, in particular, regarding the way in which I relate to traumatic experiences, and the responsibility I must take on to provide for my own happiness. This brings me back to the Plato quote, for he will always limit his hopes to the things his own unaided efforts can achieve. A great deal of my daily stress and anxiety stems from being concerned with the outcome of events beyond my control, including (but not limited to) my ability to make others happy. Having brought so much unhappiness into the world, I live in a very tense way, afraid to act out of fear that I will cause further unhappiness through my ignorant actions. I have resisted my own happiness, convinced that I do not deserve to feel good about myself, and, unable to feel that my actions have received adequate punishment, I am incapable of feeling redeemed or forgiven for my mistakes.

I hang onto every bad deed, reminding myself daily of my mistakes, knowing that to forget them or to forgive myself, is to open myself to repeating the same sins. I know that this method of self flagellation is counter-productive, but lifelong habits are hard to break.

Oh Cicero, I am sounding like my life is full of complaints and that I am immune to good advice, (and sometimes I do feel that way), but I acknowledge that these troubles are but a portion of my life, which is also crowded with joys and triumphs. As usual, you have something to say that strikes to the heart of the matter for me:

Tusculan Disputations

Book IV (On other perturbations of the mind) , XXXVII

Where, then, are they who say that anger has its use? Can madness be of any use? But still, it is natural. Can anything be natural that is against reason? Or how is it, if anger is natural, that one person is more inclined to anger than another? Or that lust of revenge should cease before it has revenged itself? Or that any one should repent of what he had done in a passion? (…) Now who that is acquainted with these instances can doubt that this motion of the mind is altogether in opinion and voluntary? For who can doubt that disorders of the mind, such as covetousness and a desire of glory, arise from a great estimation of those things by which the mind is disordered? From whence we may understand that every perturbation of the mind is founded in opinion. And if boldness – that is to say a firm assurance of mind - is a kind of knowledge and serious opinion not hastily taken up, then diffidence is a fear of an expected and impending evil; and if hope is an expectation of good, fear must, of course, be an expectation of evil. Thus fear and other perturbations are evils. Therefore as constancy proceeds from knowledge, so does perturbation from error.

So, Cicero, it is fear of myself, and a desire for revenge upon myself for my own misdeeds that has driven me to a kind of madness; a madness that I have long believed to be of great use but now I see is just another of the many great errors of my unreasoned belief in my own inherent vice. My own voluntary opinions have driven me past the edge of self harm, and now, dwelling in the dark valley of vacillating diffidence, I fear myself. I trust not in my own good intentions, I trust not in my own opinions, memories or senses, but tremble daily in fear of another eruption of disputes, within and without.

Where, Cicero, must I go to seek this boldness, this firm assurance of mind, this constancy of which you speak?

Of course, I must seek it in the only place it could possibly dwell.

In myself.

Thank you Cicero, for the two and a half years of our correspondence. I will continue to read your works, adhering to my promise to read everything you have written, but for the remainder of the Summer, I will keep still my pen, and work on myself.

With Gratitude, and Respect.

Morgan.

PS. I have now read the full text of Plato's Menexenus, and I have to ask, do you find Plato as funny as I do? I feel like I'm swimming through layers of satire and Athenian cultural tropes. It's hard to say for sure if Plato is telling a huge political joke. The translator of the work suggests that it is meant to be a scathing parody of conservative Athenian attitudes, and I feel like he is right, but I just don't know for sure If I'm meant to be laughing, crying, or cheering.

Perhaps that's the point?

PPS. I have just read your speech in support of Pompey's appointment to be commander of the Mithridatic War. I admit I've never understood your admiration and adoration for Pompey, but now that I have read this speech, I can see him better from your perspective. The speech actually explains a lot about the political and military history, customs and beliefs, in Rome at the time.

PPPS. I have just read the first two speeches against Catiline. WOW! Hot stuff. There are some amazing phrases and rather revealing hate-speech in these. Fascinating to see your society through the language you use in a public speech, and how different your manner of expression when addressing the public assembly, or the Senate. Even small passages of text loom large for what they illuminate. I'm quite excited to finally be reading your speeches.

I'll write again in Autumn.

Always grateful, ever thankful,

Morgan.

 

(Also, a few pictures, from my world to yours...)