Seven Days with Seneca
What is most important in human life? That is a perennial question that almost all of us ask ourselves, in one form or another, at some point in our lives. Unfortunately, many of us neglect to confront that question until late in life or when unforeseen circumstances force the question upon us. There, amid the faintly glowing embers of a long life approaching its end, or within the smoking and smoldering embers of a cataclysmic life event, we are more likely to listen to our inner sage as it admonishes us to consider what is really important in life before it is too late. Seneca, the wealthy and once powerful Roman senator repeatedly asked what is important in the preface to Book 3 of his Natural Questions. He was looking back on his life from old age when he wrote this work. From that perspective, he admits his motive for asking, “What is most important in life?” He wrote,
Old age is at my back and accuses me of having used up my years in fruitless pursuits. (Natural Questions III, praef. 2)
Many of us, maybe most, feel the weight of that same accusation at some point. We ask ourselves, what am I doing with my life? The question may be prompted by external events like divorce, a disabling accident, the death of a loved one, a brush with death, a terminal medical diagnosis, the birth of a child, etc. Likewise, the question may arise during meditation or a quiet moment of self-reflection. Many occasions might prompt the question. Nevertheless, it is fair to say that few of us ask it often enough or reflect on it deeply enough to effect lasting change in our life.
Fortunately, as Seneca points out, it is never too late to begin anew. No matter what stage of life we are in, we can “press on all the more” and give “hard work” the opportunity to “repair the losses of a misspent life” (Natural Questions III, praef. 2). How? By giving our mind—our rational faculty—time to itself for “contemplation of itself.” Here, Seneca echoes Epictetus’ confidence in our rational faculty’s self-judging and self-healing capabilities (Discourses 1.1). Nonetheless, we must create the time and space for our mind to work on itself. According to Seneca, if we create the time in our busy lives to allow our rational faculty to work on itself, it can “recover by using its present life with care.” While it is helpful to create a time and place for regular meditation or thoughtful reflection, it far more important to the recovery process that we practice constant attention (prosoche) throughout the day. This practice of attention focuses our rational faculty on our present judgments, present desires, and present actions; this is the real inner work of a practicing Stoic. Once we are paying attention, we can deploy the three Stoic disciplines to help us “transition from remorse to honorable action.” (Natural Questions III, praef. 2-3).
Seneca asks, “What is most important in life?” seven times and provides seven thought-provoking insights in Natural Questions, Book 3, praef. 10-16. This episode is the first of a week-long meditation program that draws from Seneca’s responses to that question to challenge and inspire practicing Stoics. Each daily meditation is short enough to be listened to or read quickly during a morning meditation and will give you something to consider throughout the day. The goal of this week-long meditation is twofold. First, I trust that Seneca’s responses to the question “What is important in life?” will provide some insight into this question. Second, my wish is that Seneca’s responses will provoke some deep soul-searching and motivate us to ask and answer this potentially life-changing question more frequently.
The Inner Work of Stoicism
What is most important in human life? Not filling the seas with fleets, nor setting up standards on the shore of the Red Sea, nor, when the earth runs out of sources of harm, wandering the ocean to seek the unknown; rather it is seeing everything with one’s mind, and conquering one’s faults, which is the greatest victory possible. There are countless people who have been in control of nations and cities, very few who have been in control of themselves. (Natural Questions III, praef. 10)
Seneca opens his examination of what is most important in life by directing us inward. The real work of the Stoic life, the work that provides the greatest victory, is inner work. This inner work, Seneca suggests, is done by directing our attention inward toward the only things we can control: The judgments, desires and aversions, and impulses to act that form our character faults. External successes are “indifferents” to the Stoic. That does not mean they have no value at all. Instead, it means they have no bearing on our moral excellence and well-being. These externals are indifferents because they are neither good nor bad in themselves and they are beyond our control—they are “not up to us” (Enchiridion1). There is no causal relationship between virtue (moral excellence) and externals. We can become the head of a company, the leader of a social movement, a city, or a nation while having a vicious moral character. Likewise, we can possess an excellent moral character while being poor, powerless, and nameless.
The excellent life—the life of virtue—is achieved through inward victory over the erroneous judgments and inappropriate desires and aversions that damage our virtue and diminish our well-being. Through the practice of attention (prosoche) and the disciplines of assent and desire, we turn inward to examine the thoughts, desires, and aversions that trouble our mind and cause us to “find fault with both gods and human beings” (Enchiridion 1). This is the path of the prokopton (one making progress) and it leads to the creation of what Pierre Hadot calls the inner citadel,[1] where the vicissitudes of fortune cannot affect our tranquility. This inner citadel is within our soul (psyche), and it is there that we must focus our attention. As Marcus Aurelius wrote:
People seek retreats for themselves in the countryside, by the seashore, in the hills; and you too have made it your habit to long for that above all else. But this is altogether unphilosophical, when it is possible for you to retreat into yourself whenever you please; for nowhere can one retreat into greater peace or freedom from care than within one’s own soul. (Meditations 4.3)
Marcus further asserts that we have the power to stop our inner turmoil, which is caused by faulty judgments, at any moment:
If you suffer distress because of some external cause, it is not the thing itself that troubles you but your judgement about it, and it is within your power to cancel that judgement at any moment. (Meditations 8.47)
The inner citadel is created from the realization that nothing can touch the soul of the Stoic. This circumscribed Self is immune from harm by anything external to it.
Things as such have not the slightest hold on our soul, nor do they have access to the soul, nor can they alter it or move it; but the soul alone alters and moves itself, and ensures that whatever is submitted to it conforms to the judgements of which it considers itself worthy. (Meditations 5.19)
Inner work is not easy. Uprooting faulty judgments, desires, and aversions that cause us distress is hard work. That is precisely why, as Seneca notes, few people are actually in control of themselves. Most people live lives that are driven by impressions of externals to prompt them to desire and seek that which they do not control. As Epictetus frequently points out, most people are not the masters of their own impulses; instead, they are slaves to their desires and aversions.
The path of the Stoic prokopton can free us from this slavery to our desires and aversions. However, this path traverses a challenging, sometimes steep, and occasionally precarious route. It is easy to assume, mistakenly, that the lush valley below offers a safer and shorter path to virtue and happiness. It probably does not. There are no shortcuts or quick fixes in Stoicism. The path of the Stoic prokopton is the practice of philosophy as a way of life, and it requires continued learning and constant training. However, the reward is worth the effort because the Stoic path leads to an excellent moral character and well-being.
Nevertheless, as I have written before, the inward-directed nature of Stoic practice is not a call to withdraw from life’s tempestuous seas; quite the opposite. Through the creation of inner virtue and the application of the dichotomy of control, Stoics are prepared to fulfill their roles in society while maintaining their virtue and tranquility. Stoics shun the peaceful garden of the Epicureans for the rough-and-tumble world of human society. Because, as Seneca notes:
To fashion a [Stoic] who can genuinely be called a [Stoic], a stronger fate is needed. For him, the way will not be flat: he must go up and down, he must be tossed by waves, and must guide his vessel on a stormy sea. He must hold his course against fortune. Many things will happen that are hard and rough— but things he can soften and smooth out himself. Fire proves gold; misery, brave men [and women]. (On Providence 5.10)
The practice of the three Stoic disciplines that define the path of the prokopton allows us to gain control of our judgments, desires and aversions, and impulses to act. The inner citadel of our psyche is not created as a safe place to hide from the turmoil of life. Instead, the inner citadel is our psychological stronghold that derives its strength from the knowledge that nothing external to us can touch our soul. From that place of inner strength, we can perform our roles in society with purpose. Our purpose is to live in agreement with cosmic Nature, our rational human nature, and our unique individual nature. As naturally social creatures, that means we must live in, engage with, and contribute to the society we are part of. There are innumerable ways to accomplish our social role; that is not the focus of this episode. However, it is important to remember our place in not within the Epicurean garden; Stoics operate within the marketplace of humanity.
Unless you are a sage, you are likely to encounter at least one moment of discontent or disturbance to your tranquility every day. It may be triggered by a thought, event, or person. When that occurs, try asking yourself these thought-provoking yet straightforward questions. Questions like these turn your attention inward and allow you to engage in the inner work of Stoic practice. Ask yourself:
- What is the impression being presented to my mind right now that is causing this disturbance to my tranquility?
- What judgments do I have about that impression?
- Am I judging this impression as either good or bad?
- Is this an impression of something I desire that I do not currently have?
- Is the desire for something within my control?
- How would my mental state change if I relinquished that desire?
- Is this an impression of something I fear may happen?
- Is this aversion a fear of something within my control?
- How would my mental state change if I relinquished that fear?
- Are there other ways of judging this current situation that are consistent with the dichotomy of control and loving acceptance of the events of Nature?
- How would this impression appear different if I accept that I cannot control external circumstances?
- If I accept this event of Nature with an attitude of gratitude, how will it change my current mental state?
There is no magic in these questions. You may come up with more or better questions to ask yourself. The power is not in the questions; the power lies in the turn inward toward our judgments, desires and aversions, and impulses to act. It is there and only there that we have any power to break the bonds of slavery that keep us bound to externals and cause us to blame God and other humans for our unhappiness. It is there and only there that we can discover the true freedom and human well-being that accompanies an excellent moral character.
ENDNOTES:
[1] Hadot, P., & Chase, M. (1998). The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press