The Seven Ages of Man 2

Stephen Ayling (after Robert Smirke), The Seven Ages of Man (c. 1860) 

The Infant

The Schoolboy 

The Lover 

The Soldier 

The Justice 

The Pantaloon 

The Old Age 

The Seven Ages of Man 1

Robert Smirke, The Seven Ages of Man (1801) 

The Infant

The Schoolboy 

The Lover 

The Soldier 

The Justice 

The Pantaloon 

The Old Age 

All the World's a Stage . . .

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." 

—William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII 

IMAGE: William Mulready, The Seven Ages of Man (1838) 

The Limits of Reason

Paul Klee, The Limits of Reason (1927) 

Maxims of Goethe 61

When intelligent and sensible people despise knowledge in their old age, it is only because they have asked too much of it and of themselves. 

IMAGE: Giorgione, The Old Woman (1506) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 74.11

Love reason! The love of reason will arm you against the greatest hardships. 
 
Wild beasts dash against the hunter's spear through love of their young, and it is their wildness and their unpremeditated onrush that keep them from being tamed.
 
Often a desire for glory has stirred the mind of youth to despise both sword and stake; the mere vision and semblance of virtue impel certain men to a self-imposed death. 
 
In proportion as reason is stouter and steadier than any of these emotions, so much the more forcefully will she make her way through the midst of utter terrors and dangers. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 74 
 
Almost all of my history teachers worked from a general assumption on the tension between rationalism and romanticism, and an unfortunate consequence was that we spoke far too confidently about the mind and the passions being in conflict with one another. I suggest that this is not only bad history, but also bad philosophy. 
 
Knowing and feeling were always made to go together, even as we are presented with a caricature of the human, where coldly calculating brains are constantly at war with fiery sentimental spirits. Extremes are a mark of perplexity, not of a balanced state, so I should hardly believe that Kant and Blake have nothing to do with one another, or are locked in two incompatible worlds. 
 
When Seneca calls upon me to love reason, it is therefore a relief to find peace in the harmony of the whole. I realize I am getting somewhere if a moment of profound insight then fuels an ardor of the will, all wrapped up in crisp emotions. The head gazes upon the truth, the heart longs for the good, and the belly is filled to satisfaction—in precisely that order of priority. 
 
How can I rightly feel about what I do not love, and how can I rightly love what I do not understand? 
 
My commitment to action will be at its strongest when it is rooted in the conviction of conscience; the virtues become invincible if I can comprehend why I am serving the supreme good. Lovers sacrifice everything for their beloved, parents will gladly die for their children, and the virtuous are undaunted in the face of any wickedness.
 
Reason inspires a certainty and a durability of purpose, a degree of determination far greater than any fleeting appetite. I like to joke that I once actually did walk an entire mile for a Camel cigarette, though I have now outgrown that craving, and I once spontaneously hopped on a midnight train out of an infatuation with a girl, though I have now forgotten what all the fuss was about. 
 
But through it all, from the highest highs to the lowest lows, a reverence for wisdom has never steered me wrong. Following her has always brought me joy, just as neglecting her has always brought me misery. 

—Reflection written in 10/2013 

IMAGE: Pietro Testa, The Allegorical Figures of Reason and Wisdom (1630) 

Abandoned Places 58

IMAGE by Keith Dotson 

Nature 60

Delphic Maxims 70

Ἁπλῶς διαλέγου 

Speak plainly 

IMAGE: John C. McRae, "Father, I cannot tell a lie: I cut the tree." (c. 1867) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 74.10

The fate of many cities will prove the truth of this; their sway has ceased at the very prime because they were given to luxury, and excess has ruined all that had been won by virtue. We should fortify ourselves against such calamities. 
 
But no wall can be erected against Fortune which she cannot take by storm; let us strengthen our inner defenses. If the inner part be safe, man can be attacked, but never captured. 
 
Do you wish to know what this weapon of defense is? It is the ability to refrain from chafing over whatever happens to one, of knowing that the very agencies which seem to bring harm are working for the preservation of the world, and are a part of the scheme for bringing to fulfilment the order of the Universe and its functions. 
 
Let man be pleased with whatever has pleased God; let him marvel at himself and his own resources for this very reason, that he cannot be overcome, that he has the very powers of evil subject to his control, and that he brings into subjection chance and pain and wrong by means of that strongest of powers—reason. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 74 
 
One of my neighbors, a lovable old curmudgeon, has a rousing speech he recites whenever we meet. It concerns America’s vast military might, and how no nation on Earth can ever defeat us. If I understand him correctly, this is why the Stars and Stripes will wave forever. 
 
I once dared to suggest how nations rot from the inside, not from the outside, but he would have none of it. I now just nod along, and I change the subject as quickly as I can, because I hardly have the chops to ask that he reconsider his very measure of strength and weakness, of right and wrong. 
 
The walls of Rome might have kept out the barbarians, but they could not save an empire. For that, the Romans would have needed to maintain the content of their character, which had sadly decayed over the years. The politician will tell you it’s about the leverage, and the economist will tell you it’s about the money, but the philosopher, at least the one with his head on straight, will tell you it’s about the virtue. 
 
There is but one antidote to Fortune, and that is a loyalty to Nature. I have found that the best way to start is a thorough and excruciating examination of my conscience, a sharp reflection upon my moral successes and failures. As soon as I begin, I notice a pattern: I am complaining about the things beyond my power, while neglecting the things within my power. 
 
The ideologue, whether from the right or from the left, is always judging his enemies. Would it not better if I had no enemies, and judged only myself? 
 
If it has been given to me, however painful or pleasant, Providence has done so for a reason. I rely daily, sometimes even hourly, upon the wisdom of Cardinal Newman: 
 
He knows what He is about.
 
To dwell upon the fault of another is a curse; to reform the fault within myself is a blessing. I would prefer if all of the zealots, the socialists, the fascists, the hipsters, and the yuppies would shut the heck up, and somehow decide to do things the way I happen to prefer. That is, unfortunately, contrary to right principles—it is not what Nature intended. 
 
How could I possibly face such a challenge? The question itself is its own answer, for awareness offers freedom. I have the capacity to understand, and by the power of reason I am granted a sliver of the Divine. I do not need to react with my gut, I can respond through my head. I do not need to condemn, I can accept. I do not need to hate, I can love. 
 
It is reason that allows me to rise above Fortune. Reason is mightier than any city wall. Reason is the solution to the griping and the bickering. 

—Reflection written in 10/2013 

IMAGE: Anonymous, City Walls of Rome Seen from the Countryside (c. 1840) 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 258

A man, after fourteen years of hard asceticism in a lonely forest, obtained at last the power of walking over the waters. 

Overjoyed at this acquisition, he went to his Guru, and told him of his grand feat. 

At this the Master replied, "My poor boy, what you have accomplished after fourteen years' arduous labor, ordinary men do the same by paying a penny to the boatman." 

IMAGE by Lily Seika Jones 

Stockdale on Stoicism 47

Epictetus once gave a lecture to his faculty complaining about the common tendency of new teachers to slight the stark realism of Stoicism 's challenges in favor of giving the students an uplifting, rosy picture of how they could meet the harsh requirements of the good life painlessly. 

Epictetus said: "Men, the lecture-room of the philosopher is a hospital; students ought not to walk out of it in pleasure, but in pain." 

If Epictetus 's lecture room was a hospital, my prison was a laboratory—a laboratory of human behavior. I chose to test his postulates against the demanding real-life challenges of my laboratory. 

I'm not talking about brainwashing; there is no such thing. I'm talking about having looked over the brink, and seen the bottom of the pit, and realizing the truth of that linchpin of Stoic thought: that the thing that brings down a man is not pain but shame! 

—from James B. Stockdale, Master of My Fate: A Stoic Philosopher in a Hanoi Prison 

IMAGE: Rembrandt, St. Peter in Prison (1631) 

Stoic Snippets 255

The Pythagoreans bid us in the morning look to the heavens that we may be reminded of those bodies which continually do the same things and in the same manner perform their work, and also be reminded of their purity and nudity. For there is no veil over a star. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.27 

Seneca, Moral Letters 74.9

Let everything of this nature be added to us, and not stick fast to us, so that, if it is withdrawn, it may come away without tearing off any part of us. 
 
Let us use these things, but not boast of them, and let us use them sparingly, as if they were given for safe-keeping and will be withdrawn. Anyone who does not employ reason in his possession of them never keeps them long; for prosperity of itself, if uncontrolled by reason, overwhelms itself. 
 
If anyone has put his trust in goods that are most fleeting, he is soon bereft of them, and, to avoid being bereft, he suffers distress. Few men have been permitted to lay aside prosperity gently. The rest all fall, together with the things amid which they have come into eminence, and they are weighted down by the very things which had before exalted them. 
 
For this reason, foresight must be brought into play, to insist upon a limit or upon frugality in the use of these things, since license overthrows and destroys its own abundance. That which has no limit has never endured, unless reason, which sets limits, has held it in check. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 74 
 
As one who proclaims with Ferris Bueller that a man should not believe in an “-ism”, I am sometimes asked why I nevertheless have such a strong attachment to the Stoics. It is because this school, while teaching principles in line with most any of the world’s Wisdom Traditions, has the blunt courage to follow through on the truth that virtue is the sole human good, and so ardently refuses to compromise the greater for the lesser. 
 
In practice, this means that I can better free myself from trying to have it both ways, the lazy contradiction of seeking to serve two masters. Let me learn to accept either riches or poverty with equal dignity, and to cease making shifty deals for my convenience in private, while I merely pay lip service to my character in public. 
 
Circumstances will come and go, but only an informed conscience can bring me peace of mind, through the thick and the thin. When I am sharply focused on the essential, it is far easier for me to remain indifferent to the accidental, to keep these “possessions” in their proper place. They are simply tools, though I myself will sadly become the tool if I allow my preferences to gain the upper hand. 
 
Once I become enamored of a pleasant diversion, it is often difficult to then let it go. I must therefore be meticulous in my self-awareness and my self-restraint, both of them exercised with patience instead of panic. I would rather err on the side of temperance than be consumed by a hunger that can never be satisfied. 
 
In the end, my hesitation to commit, one way or another, reveals a confusion about my priorities. Yes, most everyone around me chases after money, fame, and pleasure, but I don’t need to listen to them—I need to understand my nature. To make this immediately clear, I think about the young rich man from the Gospels: 
 
“If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” 
 
When the young man heard this, he went away sorrowful; for he had great possessions.
 
To borrow a phrase from the 1990’s, “Don’t be that guy.” Completely redefine your model of success, by flipping the standard from the trivial to the substantial. 

—Reflection written in 10/2013 

IMAGE: Heinrich Hofmann, Christ and the Rich Young Man (1889) 

Henry David Thoreau 6

Truth, Goodness, Beauty—those celestial thrins,
Continually are born; e'en now the Universe,
With thousand throats, and eke with greener smiles,
Its joy confesses at their recent birth. 

—Henry David Thoreau, Journals (14 June, 1838) 

IMAGE: Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night (1889) 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 11

What strength belongs to every plant and animal in nature. The tree or the brook has no duplicity, no pretentiousness, no show. 

It is, with all its might and main, what it is, and makes one and the same impression and effect at all times. All the thoughts of a turtle are turtles, and of a rabbit, rabbits. 

But a man is broken and dissipated by the giddiness of his will; he does not throw himself into his judgments; his genius leads him one way but 'tis likely his trade or politics in quite another. 

—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Natural History of Intellect 

IMAGE: Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller, Tree by the Brook (c. 1831) 

Dhammapada 393

A man does not become a Brahmana by his plaited hair, by his family, or by birth; in whom there is truth and righteousness, he is blessed, he is a Brahmana. 

IMAGE: "They only want our good" 

Seneca, Moral Letters 74.8

This being so, you should consider whether one has a right to call anything good in which God is outdone by man. 
 
Let us limit the Supreme Good to the soul; it loses its meaning if it is taken from the best part of us and applied to the worst, that is, if it is transferred to the senses; for the senses are more active in dumb beasts. 
 
The sum total of our happiness must not be placed in the flesh; the true goods are those which reason bestows, substantial and eternal; they cannot fall away, neither can they grow less or be diminished. 
 
Other things are goods according to opinion, and though they are called by the same name as the true goods, the essence of goodness is not in them. Let us therefore call them "advantages," and, to use our technical term, "preferred" things. 
 
Let us, however, recognize that they are our chattels, not parts of ourselves; and let us have them in our possession, but take heed to remember that they are outside ourselves. 
 
Even though they are in our possession, they are to be reckoned as things subordinate and poor, the possession of which gives no man a right to plume himself. For what is more foolish than being self-complacent about something which one has not accomplished by one's own efforts? 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 74 
 
I’ve said it before, and I’m afraid I’ll keep saying it: we get terribly confused about God when we apply limits to the notion of the Absolute. That which is the measure of all is itself beyond any measure, and so Is the fullness of Being in all its possible forms. Once I conceive of the Divine, the only necessity, as without any boundaries whatsoever, what presents itself as so big and transcendent then also becomes so small and immanent. 
 
“Doesn’t God get bored?” 
 
What is perfect can never be exhausted. 
 
“If God is so great, why would he even care about me?” 
 
Because nothing is insignificant for that which is total. 
 
“It must be so annoying for God not to have a body like mine!” 
 
No, the flesh as we experience it is the constraint. As the Peripatetic might say, it is a principle of mere potency, not of pure act. 
 
The sensitive, whether the impressions be external or internal, is a far narrower sort of awareness, and for us only a steppingstone to the power of reason, through which we grasp the identity behind the appearance. The beast will often have the sharper senses, for that is its proper mode, while a man is further gifted with the deeper capacity to understand. 
 
The human good, in its essence, will be found in the rightful exercise of our simple human nature, and will be lost to us as soon as we break ourselves into fragments, a multitude of means without an overarching end. That good is in wisdom and virtue, by which all other qualities must be judged: there is nothing in this world that can harm a man if he is of fine character, and nothing in this world that can benefit him if he is of poor character. 
 
Even after many years of learning about Stoicism, I still catch myself calling something “good” when I really mean that it is something I happen to prefer. As long as I keep my priorities straight, the sloppy language can be forgiven, but I daily see the grief that comes from mistaking a preference for a principle. As much as I may have a taste for money and fame, I should be willing to take them or to leave them, depending entirely upon how they affect the state of my soul. 
 
I grow tired of being told how my worth flows from the wine I drink, or the neighborhood where I live, or the party flag I happen to wave about. These are all quite secondary to the virtues, such that only prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice make any difference in this life. Assess the conditions on the outside by the integrity on the inside. 

—Reflection written in 10/2013

The Mother Road 4

The Basel Dance of Death 8

Matthäus Merian, The Basel Dance of Death: The Bishop (1616) 

"Your dignity has been turned, 

Lord Bishop, wise and well-learned; 

I will draw you into the dance, 

You cannot flee from Death." 

"I have been highly esteemed, 

While I lived in my bishop's office. 

Now the shapeless draw me in, 

To their dance like an ape."