Seneca thought he knew Nero. He was confident in his ability to teach or contain or even control him. Other Stoics knew better. Thrasea (whose story we tell in Lives of the Stoics) opposed him from the start. Agrippinus (another fascinating Stoic in Lives) wouldn’t even attend Nero’s parties, because it was clear to him that the man was a tyrant.
Surely these men (and women) communicated their concerns to Seneca. Surely people raised questions. But Seneca thought he knew better. He was also paid so handsomely by Nero, was so powerful as a result of his position as Nero’s teacher and advisor, that it became hard for him to see what was there. It was a classic case of that problem outlined by Upton Sinclair many centuries later: It’s very hard to get someone to see something that their salary (or status or identity) depends on them not seeing.
We all have blindspots like this. Some are more forgivable than others (Marcus Aurelius with his stepbrother Lucius Verus…ahem and recent presidents and their children). The reason we have trouble seeing what is so obvious to everyone isn’t just that we’re close to these people, it’s that we don’t want to admit we’re wrong. We don’t want to hear what we’re being told because it would mean changing our minds, having tough conversations, making painful decisions.
Yet even Marcus Aurelius would write in Meditations that false friends should be avoided at all costs. He spoke of needing to understand the true character of those we’re dealing with. This doesn’t mean we have to cut everyone who isn’t perfect out of our lives. It doesn’t mean we have to betray them (although in Seneca’s case, Nero did need to be conspired against and eventually Seneca did). But it does mean we can’t be naive. We can’t deny what is obviously true…or that will cause us and others we love even more trouble. It’s only delaying the inevitable, only deferring the painful choices (or consequences) we’ll inevitably face.
Today marks the three hundred and thirtieth birthday of the Frenchman François-Marie Arouet, better known by his nom de plume, Voltaire (1694-1778).
Born into a bourgeois family during the reign of Louis XIV, the “Sun King” (r. 1643-1715), Voltaire suffered tragedy at a young age when his mother died. Never close with his father or brother, Voltaire exhibited a rebellious attitude toward authority from his youth. His brilliant mind was fostered in the care of the Society of Jesus, who introduced him to the joys of literature and theater. Despite his later criticisms against the Church, Voltaire, throughout his life, fondly recalled his dedicated Jesuit teachers.
Although he spent time as a civil servant in the French embassy to the Hague, Voltaire’s main love was writing—an endeavor where he excelled in various genres, including poetry, which led to his appointment as the royal court poet for King Louis XV. Widely recognized as one of the greatest French writers, and even hyperbolically referred to by ...
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XIII
The Proud Minister
One day there came into the Garden a man in torn clothes badly bruised and cut, who said to the Lover, “In the name of the Beloved I demand your help.”
So the Lover and the Disciple let him in and dressed his wounds and prepared the best of the vegetables from the Garden for him to eat. When his wounds had been dressed and he had eaten and rested the Lover asked him how he had fallen into this plight, to which the man replied, “I was Minister of the Beloved in a city near this place, where I preached His gospel and expounded His doctrine to the people. I pointed out to them how their sins had made them wholly hateful to the Beloved and how therefore they were utterly beyond the range of His love and He would condemn them to eternal torments, whereon some fell into despair and wept bitterly but many were angry. One day the magistrates called me before them and begged me to leave the city and preach elsewhere for they said I had made many people so angry and desperate that they feared there might be a riot and they might not be able to protect me but that I might suffer some injury. I, however, very zealous for the Beloved and believing that the magistrates only feared that their own sins might be proclaimed, preached the more vehemently, denounced the magistrates and made it abundantly clear that the whole wicked city was foredoomed to eternal punishment by the just provision of the Beloved. Whereon a mob, stirred up no doubt by the corrupt and venal magistrates, fell upon me with sticks and stones, nearly killing me and driving me out of the city in the state in which I came to you.”
“My friend,” said the Lover, “this was not a good deed of yours, for besides denying the unfathomable compassion of the Beloved, you have by your obstinacy caused these people to commit a grievous sin, and this cannot be pleasing to the Beloved, that through you who profess to be His minister the people should become worse. Surely you remember that He Himself said, ‘If they persecute you in one city flee to another.’”
Therefore the man was very angry, and cursing the Lover, said, “I see that I have had a very false report of you and I do not believe that you are a servant of the Beloved at all. When I came to you so injured for the Beloved’s sake you set before me only herbs and fruits although the garden is full of birds which you could have killed to make me a worthy meal. I shall proclaim everywhere that you are no true servant of the Beloved but a mere falterer who dares not suffer in the cause of the Beloved. Be sure that you are foreordained to eternal torments who suffer nothing here.”
For the man was so blinded by his own pride that he could not perceive the scars on the hands and feet and the brows of the Lover nor how the cloth beneath the armpits of his tunic was dyed with a red dye. So he went out of the Garden cursing and shouting.
But the Lover looked sad and said, “A man like this does much harm to the cause of the Beloved, for by thus speaking falsely about the Beloved he may bring men to fear Him but none to love Him, and by love alone can any man approach the Beloved.”
