Chapter 8 : Seneca contra Donne
John Donne famously said, “No man is an island…” (Meditation 17). Seneca, I think, would disagree. In Chapter 7, he maintained that while others might try to hurt the wise man, they’d never be able to. In Chapter 8 he says not only can no one else hurt him…they can’t help him either.
Seneca’s logic is that if the wise man already possesses all “goods” — and remember, for him, the only true goods are virtues — then no one else could possibly possess a “good” they might give the wise man which he didn’t already have.
Consequently, no one can do either harm or good to the wise man, because divine things neither want help nor are capable of being hurt; and the wise man is near, indeed very near to the gods, being like a god in every respect save that he is mortal (p. 32).
Chapter 9 : The Hopelessness of the Wise Man
Seneca’s wise man is beyond hurt and beyond help. In Chapter 9, we find out he is also beyond hope.
After telling us the ideal Stoic, “endures everything in the same spirit” (p. 33), Seneca informs us this man does not place trust in others:
[He does not] suppose that [another man] acts of set purpose, which belongs to the wise man alone. All other men have no plans, but only plots and deceits and irregular impulses of mind… (ibid.).
The next few lines can be confusing, as Seneca discourses about various “sources of injury” (ibid.). He is not, however, reneging on his claim that the wise man cannot be injured. Rather, his point seems to be that the wise man reflects on things which injure other men (e.g., false charges, the animosity of the powerful, loss of prize or profit, etc.). Thus he concludes:
The wise man escapes all this, since he knows not what it is to live for hope or for fear [emphasis added] (p. 34).
This may seem incongruous with the statement, made shortly hereafter, that because the wise man knows he cannot be injured, he is never angry and is therefore, “…elate with constant joy” [emphasis added] (ibid.).
It may be challenging for us to imagine how someone “elate with constant joy” could NOT be characterized by “hope.”
From Seneca’s point of view, hope has to do with an uncertain optimism about the future (i.e., I don’t really know how things are going to turn out, but I’m trusting they’ll be okay). The wise man, in contrast, doesn’t experience such uncertainty. He is 100% convicted that a Good Reason governs the universe. Therefore, whatever happens is what was best. It’s akin to the psychological comfort many Reformed Christians take from the doctrine of Divine Sovereignty.
Before closing the chapter, Seneca insists that the impossibility of harming the wise man should not be understood as excusing the wicked for attempting to injure him.
…while the wise man is being made exempt from injury…nothing is thereby taken away from your insolence, your greediest lusts, your blind rashness and pride; it is without prejudice to your vices that this freedom is sought for the wise man; we do not strive to prevent your doing an injury, but to enable him to sink all injuries beneath himself… (ibid.).
Chapter 10 : The Impossibility of Insulting the Wise Man
Having explained why no real harm can be done to the wise man, in Chapter 10 Seneca explains why such a man cannot even be insulted. As with physical injury or the loss of wealth, Seneca admits that others may — often will — attempt to sleight the wise man. Their efforts will have no effect, however, because the wise man will take no notice of them.
In fact, says Seneca, becoming upset over such petty sleights is a sure mark that one is not a wise and virtuous man.
Through excessive idleness, dispositions naturally weak and womanish and prone to indulge in fancies through want of real injuries are disturbed at these things…He therefore who is affected by insult shows that he possesses neither sense nor trustfulness; for he considers it certain that he is scorned, and this vexation affects him with a certain sense of degradation…whereas the wise man is scorned by no one, for he knows his own greatness…(p. 35).
Interestingly, Seneca closes this chapter with the clarification that he’s not saying the wise man will never feel things like bodily pain, weakness, loss of family, or the distress of his country. It’s simply that when he feels them, he:
…rises superior to them, heals them, and brings them to an end; these more trivial things [i.e., insults and sleights] he does not even feel…but either takes no notice of them or considers them to deserve to be laughed at (p. 36).
Chapter 11 : The magnificence of magnanimity
The wise man’s magnanimity (“great soul-ed ness”) is what enables him to rise above insult and slighting. This was an important virtue to the ancients. (Aristotle has quite a lot to say about it in the Nicomachean Ethics) but I struggle — as I suspect many modern Westerners do — with the concept.
Side note: Here’s a few videos to help explain magnanimity — particularly how it might be understood within a Christian framework.
Seneca next engages in a (potentially confusing) etymological study of the Latin contumelia and its connection to contempt. His basic point seems to be that one can only exercise contempt towards people truly beneath oneself. For example, the king could be contemptuous of me; but I could not be contemptuous of the king.
One need not appeal to examples of royalty, however, to illustrate the point. Seneca uses more mundane examples:
…no one can treat his elders and betters with contempt, even though he does what contemptuous persons are wont to do; for children strike their parents’ faces, infants rumple and tear their mother’s hair, and spit upon her and expose what should be covered before her, and do not shrink from using dirty language; yet we do not call any of these things contemptuous. And why? Because he who does it is not able to show contempt. (p. 36).
This, of course, does not mean that others may not try to show contempt towards the wise man. They may even think themselves “contemptuous” of him. The wise man, however, knows his own worth and recognizes — as his critics do not — that it is, in fact, he who is above them.
First Latin exercise, third translation.
Arion citharista praeclarus erat. Is diu apud Periandrum Corinthiorum regem versatus erat. Tum in Italiam Siciliamque navigare cupivit.
Tum — At that time
in Italiam Siciliamque — in Italy and Sicily
navigare — to sail
cupivit — he/she/it desired
Arion was a famous cithar-player. He was busy for Periander, king of the Corinthians for a long time. Then, he wanted to sail to Italy and Sicily.