59. What is Pleasure & Joy ?


What is Pleasure & Joy ? 

What is the difference between pleasure and joy, and they are often mistakenly used interchangeably.

Understand that joy is a state of mind, attained only by the wise, as it is an elation of spirit that never ceases and never changes into its opposite. Pleasure, on the other hand, is often derived from events that are not truly joyous, and is a wayward emotion that is often inspired by an opinion concerning a spurious good. 

The Stoics believe that pleasure is a vice, however they use the word to indicate a happy state of mind. Joy, on the other hand, can only be attained by the wise, and it is characterized by an elation of spirit that never ceases or changes into its opposite. The common usage of joy is often inappropriate, as it refers to events that may actually lead to sorrow. One should strive for joy in things that are truly good.  

The difference between pleasure and joy, and the importance of using words accurately. The importance of staying focused on one’s subject matter in writing, the use of metaphors and similes in prose, and the struggle against vices and self-complacency.  

Alexander, despite being praised as a god-like figure, was reminded of his mortality when he was wounded during a siege. It encourages us to avoid being fooled by flattery and to recognize our own limitations, even in terms of basic needs such as food and drink. 

The wise person is joyful, happy, and calm, living on a plane with the divine.  

To know if you are wise, question yourself if you are never downcast, if your mind is not harassed by any apprehension, through anticipation of what is to come, and if day and night your soul keeps on its even and unswerving course, upright and content with itself.  

Joy springs only from the knowledge that you possess virtues, and the joy which comes to the divine and to those who imitate the deity is not broken off nor does it cease, however it would surely cease were it borrowed from without. 

On Pleasure and Joy 

I received great pleasure from your letter; kindly allow me to use these words in their everyday meaning, without insisting upon their Stoic import. For we Stoics hold that pleasure is a vice. Very likely it is a vice; however we are accustomed to use the word when we wish to indicate a happy state of mind.  

I am aware that if we test words by our formula, even pleasure is a thing of ill repute, and joy can be attained only by the wise. For “joy” is an elation of spirit, – of a spirit which trusts in the goodness and truth of its own possessions. The common usage, however, is that we derive great “joy” from a friend’s position as consul, or from their marriage, or from the birth of their child; however these events, so far from being matters of joy, are more often the beginnings of sorrow to come. No, it is a characteristic of real joy that it never ceases, and never changes into its opposite. 

Accordingly, when our Vergil speaks of : The evil joys of the mind, Their words are eloquent, however not strictly appropriate; For no “joy” can be evil; One has given the name “joy” to pleasures, and has thus expressed its meaning; For one has conveyed the idea that people take delight in their own evil.  

Nevertheless, I was not wrong in saying that I received great “pleasure” from your letter; for although an ignorant person may derive “joy” if the cause be an honourable one, yet, since its emotion is wayward, and is likely soon to take another direction, I call it “pleasure”; for it is inspired by an opinion concerning a spurious good; it exceeds control and is carried to excess. 

However, to return to the subject, let me tell you what delighted me in your letter. You have your words under control; You are not carried away by your language, or borne beyond the limits which you have determined upon. 

Many writers are tempted by the charm of some alluring phrase to some topic other than that which they had set themselves to discuss. However this has not been so in your case; all your words are compact, and suited to the subject, You say all that you wish, and you mean still more than you say. This is a proof of the importance of your subject matter, showing that your mind, as well as your words, contains nothing superfluous or bombastic. 

I do, however, find some metaphors, not indeed, daring ones, but the kind which have stood the test of use. I find similes also; of course, if anyone forbids us to use them, maintaining that poets alone have that privilege, one has not apparently, read any of our ancient prose writers, who had not yet learned to affect a style that should win applause. For those writers, whose eloquence was simple and directed only towards proving their case, are full of comparisons; and I think that these are necessary, not for the same reason which makes them necessary for the poets, but in order that they may serve as props to our feebleness, to bring both speaker and listener face to face with the subject under discussion.  

For example, I am at this very moment reading Sextius; he is a keen man, and a philosopher who, though he writes in Greek, has the Roman standard of ethics. One of his similes appealed especially to me, that of an army marching in hollow square, in a place where the enemy might be expected to appear from any quarter, ready for battle. “This,” said he, “is just what the wise person ought to do; one should have all their fighting qualities deployed on every side, so that wherever the attack threatens, there its supports may be ready to hand and may obey the captain’s command without confusion.” This is what we notice in armies which serve under great leaders; we see how all the troops simultaneously understand their general’s orders, since they are so arranged that a signal given by one person passes down the ranks of cavalry and infantry at the same moment.  

This, he declares, is still more necessary for people like ourselves; for soldiers have often feared an enemy without reason, and the march which they thought most dangerous has in fact been most secure; however folly brings no repose, fear haunts it both in the van and in the rear of the column, and both flanks are in a panic. Folly is pursued, and confronted, by peril; It blenches at everything; it is unprepared; it is frightened even by auxiliary troops. The wise person is fortified against all inroads; one is alert; one will not retreat before the attack of poverty, or of sorrow, or of disgrace, or of pain. They will walk undaunted both against them and among them. 

We human beings are fettered and weakened by many vices; we have wallowed in them for a long time, and it is hard for us to be cleansed. We are not merely defiled; we are dyed by them. However, to refrain from passing from one figure to another, I will raise this question, which I often consider in my own heart: why 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.  

How can a person learn, in the struggle against their vices, an amount that is enough, if the time which one gives to learning is only the amount left over from their 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 person.  

What hinders us most of all is that we are too readily satisfied with ourselves; if we meet with someone who calls us good people, or sensible people, we see ourselves in their description. Not content with praise in moderation, we accept everything that shameless flattery heaps upon us, as if it were our due. We agree with those who declare us to be the best and wisest of people, although we know that they are given to much lying. And we are so self-complacent that we desire praise for certain actions when we are especially addicted to the very opposite. Yonder person hears themselves called “most gentle” when one is inflicting tortures, or “most generous” when one is engaged in looting, or “most temperate” when one is in the midst of drunkenness and lust. Thus it follows that we are unwilling to be reformed, just because we believe ourselves to be the best of everyone. 

Alexander was roaming as far as India, ravaging tribes that were but little known, even to their neighbours. During the blockade of a certain city, while he was reconnoitring the walls and hunting for the weakest spot in the fortifications, he was wounded by an arrow. Nevertheless, he long continued the siege, intent on finishing what he had begun. The pain of his wound, however, as the surface became dry and as the flow of blood was checked, increased; his leg gradually became numb as he sat his horse; and finally, when he was forced to withdraw, he exclaimed: “All people swear that I am the son of Jupiter, but this wound cries out that I am mortal.” 

Let us also act in the same way. Each person, according to their lot in life, is stultified by flattery. We should say to those who flatters us: “You call me a person of sense, however 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.” 

I shall now show you how you may know that you are not wise. The wise person is joyful, happy and calm, unshaken; lives on a plane with the gods. Now go, question yourself; if you are never downcast, if your mind is not harassed by any apprehension, through anticipation of what is to come, if day and night your soul keeps on its even and unswerving course, upright and content with itself, then you have attained to the greatest good that mortals can possess. If, however, you seek pleasures of all kinds in all directions, you must know that you are as far short of wisdom as you are short of joy. Joy is the goal which you desire to reach, but you are wandering from the path, if you expect to reach your goal while you are in the midst of riches and official titles, – in other words, if you seek joy in the midst of cares. These objects for which you strive so eagerly, as if they would give you happiness and pleasure, are merely causes of grief. 

All people of this stamp, I maintain, are pressing on in pursuit of joy, however they do not know where they may obtain a joy that is both great and enduring. One person seeks it in feasting and self-indulgence; another, in canvassing for honours and in being surrounded by a throng of clients; another, in their mistress; another, in idle display of culture and in literature that has no power to heal; all these people are led astray by delights which are deceptive and short-lived – like drunkenness for example, which pays for a single hour of hilarious madness by a sickness of many days, or like applause and the popularity of enthusiastic approval which are gained, and atoned for, at the cost of great mental disquietude. 

Reflect, therefore on this, that the effect of wisdom is a joy that is unbroken and continuous. The mind of the wise person is like the ultra-lunar firmament; eternal calm pervades that region. You have then, a reason for wishing to be wise, if the wise person is never deprived of joy. This joy springs only from the knowledge that you possess the virtues. None but the brave, the just, the self-restrained, can rejoice.  

And when you query: “What do you mean? Do not the foolish and the wicked also rejoice?” I reply, no more than lions who have caught their prey. When people have wearied themselves with wine and lust, when night fails them before their debauch is done, when the pleasures which they have heaped upon a body that is too small to hold them begin to fester, at such times they utter in their wretchedness those lines of Vergil: 

Thou knowest how, amid false-glittering joys; We spent that last of nights. 

Pleasure-lovers spend every night amid false-glittering joys, and just as if it were their last. However the joy which comes to the gods, and to those who imitate the gods, is not broken off, nor does it cease; but it would surely cease were it borrowed from without. Just because it is not in the power of another to bestow, neither is it subject to another’s whims.  

That which Fortune has not given, it cannot take away.  

Farewell, Seneca, StoicTaoist. 

57. Why we Fear? 

Why we Fear?

Why we Fear? 

Travelling through darkness, with torches, it enable us not to see amid the darkness, but to see Darkness, &, nature reminds courage how perishable a thing it is. 

How foolish are we, to fear something more than others, as you fall from a 1,000 feet or 10,000 feet, what difference does it make? 

So true it is that fear looks not, to the effect, but to the cause of the effect.    

On the Trials of Travel 

When it was time for me to return to Naples from Baiae, I easily persuaded myself that a storm was raging, that I might avoid another trip by sea; and yet the road was so deep in mud, all the way that I may be thought none the less to have made a voyage. 

No place could be longer than that prison; nothing could be dimmer than those torches, which enabled us, not to see amid the darkness, but to see the darkness. 

Yet, even supposing that there was light in the place, the dust, which is an oppressive and disagreeable thing even in the open air, would destroy the light; how much worse the dust is there, where it rolls back upon itself, and being shut in without ventilation, blows back in the faces of those who set it going! 

So we endured two inconveniences at the same time, and they were diametrically different: we struggled both with mud and with dust on the same road and on the same day. 

The gloom, however, furnished me with some food for thought; I felt a certain mental thrill, and a transformation unaccompanied by fear, due to the novelty and the unpleasantness of an unusual occurrence. 

Of course I am not speaking to you of myself at this point, because I am far from being a perfect person, or even a person of middling qualities; I refer to one over whom fortune has lost its control; Even such a person’s mind will be smitten with a thrill and it will change colour.  

For there are certain emotions, my dear Lucilius, which no courage can avoid; nature reminds courage how perishable a thing it is, And so it will contract it’s brow when the prospect is forbidding, will shudder at sudden apparitions, and will become dizzy when it stands at the edge of a high precipice and looks down; This is not fear; it is a natural feeling which reason cannot rout.  

That is why certain brave people, most willing to shed their own blood, cannot bear to see the blood of others; Some people collapse and faint at the sight of a freshly inflicted woound; others are affected similarly on handling an old wound which is festering, And others meet the sword more readily than they see it dealt. 

Accordingly, as I said, I experienced a certain transformation, though it could not be called confusion; Then at the first glimpse of restored daylight my good spirits returned without forethought or command, And I began to muse and think how foolish we are to fear certain objects to a greater or less degree, since all of them end in the same way.  

For what difference does it make whether a watchtower or a mountain crashes down upon us?  

No difference at all, you will find; Nevertheless, there will be some people who fear the latter mishap to a greater degree, though both accidents are equally deadly; so true it is that fear looks not to the effect, but to the cause of the effect.  

Do you suppose that I am now referring to the Stoics, who hold that the soul of a person crushed by a great weight cannot abide, and is scattered forthwith, because it has not had a free opportunity to depart?, That is not what I am doing; those who think thus are in my opinion, wrong.  

Just as fire cannot be crushed out, since it will escape round the edges of the body which overwhelms it; just as the air cannot be damaged by lashes and blows, or even cut into, but flows back about the object to which it gives place; similarly the soul, which consists of the subtlest particles, cannot be arrested or destroyed inside the body, but by virtue of its delicate substance, it will rather escape through the very object by which it is being crushed.  

Just as lightning, no matter how widely it strikes and flashes, makes its return through a narrow opening, so the soul, which is still subtler than fire, has a way of escape through any part of the body.  

We therefore come to this question, – whether the soul can be immortal, However be sure of this: if the soul survives the body after the body is crushed, the soul can in no wise be crushed out, precisely because it does not perish; for the rule of immortality never admits of exceptions, and nothing can harm that which is everlasting. 

Farewell, Seneca, StoicTaoist.