Walter Chandoha, The Mob (1961)
A masterpiece of photography, revealing the true nature of cats, precisely as I have always understood them . . .
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Tuesday, April 1, 2025
Monday, March 31, 2025
The Basel Dance of Death 9
"You have danced with noble women,
proud Duke, it has gone well for you.
For this you must atone in the dance.
Be pleased now to greet the dead."
Leave my land, people, wife, child behind?
Then may God have mercy in His kingdom.
Now I become like my dancer."
Sunday, March 30, 2025
Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 54
LIV.
You make yourself contemptible and mean,
A member of the rabble, if obscene
In conversation; wherefore when you find
Some one to lewd discourse too much inclin'd,
Lecture him soundly for it, if there be
A fit convenient opportunity.
Tell him 'tis such as some must needs resent,
Besides 'tis needless and impertinent.
But if by wine or company engag'd,
He by your good advice may be enrag'd,
By silence, frowns, or blushes shew that you
That nauseous conversation disallow.
Saturday, March 29, 2025
Stoic Snippets 260
For with his intellectual part alone he touches the intelligence only, which has flowed and been derived from himself into these bodies.
And if you also used yourself to do this, you will rid yourself of your much trouble.
For he who regards not the poor flesh which envelops him, surely will not trouble himself by looking after raiment and dwelling and fame and such like externals and show.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.2
IMAGE: William Blake, Ezekiel's Vision (c. 1805)
Friday, March 28, 2025
Seneca, Moral Letters 77.3
Tullius Marcellinus, a man whom you knew very well, who in youth was a quiet soul and became old prematurely, fell ill of a disease which was by no means hopeless; but it was protracted and troublesome, and it demanded much attention; hence he began to think about dying.
He called many of his friends together. Each one of them gave Marcellinus advice—the timid friend urging him to do what he had made up his mind to do; the flattering and wheedling friend giving counsel which he supposed would be more pleasing to Marcellinus when he came to think the matter over; but our Stoic friend, a rare man, and, to praise him in language which he deserves, a man of courage and vigor admonished him best of all, as it seems to me.
For he began as follows: “Do not torment yourself, my dear Marcellinus, as if the question which you are weighing were a matter of importance. It is not an important matter to live; all your slaves live, and so do all animals; but it is important to die honorably, sensibly, bravely.
“Reflect how long you have been doing the same thing: food, sleep, lust—this is one’s daily round. The desire to die may be felt, not only by the sensible man or the brave or unhappy man, but even by the man who is merely surfeited."
He called many of his friends together. Each one of them gave Marcellinus advice—the timid friend urging him to do what he had made up his mind to do; the flattering and wheedling friend giving counsel which he supposed would be more pleasing to Marcellinus when he came to think the matter over; but our Stoic friend, a rare man, and, to praise him in language which he deserves, a man of courage and vigor admonished him best of all, as it seems to me.
For he began as follows: “Do not torment yourself, my dear Marcellinus, as if the question which you are weighing were a matter of importance. It is not an important matter to live; all your slaves live, and so do all animals; but it is important to die honorably, sensibly, bravely.
“Reflect how long you have been doing the same thing: food, sleep, lust—this is one’s daily round. The desire to die may be felt, not only by the sensible man or the brave or unhappy man, but even by the man who is merely surfeited."
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 77
Don’t ask how long you should live, but how well you should die. This is only frightening if we consider death to be an evil, when the only human evils are the vices.
The Alexandrian ships may come in early, or they may come in late, or they may never come in at all, and it is rather fretting over such timing that brings us to grief. Likewise, any fixation on accidents is a surefire way to neglect the essence, so that adding additional days to a life is no substitute for seizing upon just one single day.
The story of Marcellinus makes us uncomfortable, because it challenges the common assumption that survival must come first. No, character must come first.
I once believed that an animal’s basic instinct was to stay alive at all costs, but then I saw a cat defending her kittens; even the beast, which lacks reason, has a sense of purpose that goes beyond merely prolonging its existence. While a man should know better than to fear death, it is ironically his freedom of judgment that permits him to ignore his very nature.
It is not for me to decide whether Marcellinus was right or wrong: I do not know his particular circumstances, and I do not know the merit of his intentions. I do know, however, that we should be indifferent to dying, neither seeking it out for its own sake, nor dreading its arrival when the time is ripe. Whatever the circumstances, the pursuit of the virtues must be the end, and what remains is about the means.
Have I understood my place? Have I acted with firm conviction? Have I risen above pleasure and pain? Have I treated my neighbor with the respect he deserves? The confusion arises from compromising these priorities.
I also know that the advice offered by our fellows can easily be muddled by their own fears and desires. Do not tell me what you think I wish to hear, or what you hope will win you favor; you will be a true friend if you help me to help myself, instead of shaping me according to your preferences.
The Stoic explains to Marcellinus that the question is not about life or death, but about honor or dishonor. Will a longer life be in the service of my conscience, or will it become a hindrance to my principles? Will a shorter life allow me to make my stand, or will it become an excuse for an easy way out? There may come a point where less can be more, and more can be less.
If the task is now complete, to the best of my ability, it is not cowardly or selfish to say that I have had my fill. To continue might simply be going through the empty motions of desire, and so I retain the option to depart on my own terms, before my powers have failed me, without any resentments or regrets.
Don’t ask how long you should live, but how well you should die. This is only frightening if we consider death to be an evil, when the only human evils are the vices.
The Alexandrian ships may come in early, or they may come in late, or they may never come in at all, and it is rather fretting over such timing that brings us to grief. Likewise, any fixation on accidents is a surefire way to neglect the essence, so that adding additional days to a life is no substitute for seizing upon just one single day.
The story of Marcellinus makes us uncomfortable, because it challenges the common assumption that survival must come first. No, character must come first.
I once believed that an animal’s basic instinct was to stay alive at all costs, but then I saw a cat defending her kittens; even the beast, which lacks reason, has a sense of purpose that goes beyond merely prolonging its existence. While a man should know better than to fear death, it is ironically his freedom of judgment that permits him to ignore his very nature.
It is not for me to decide whether Marcellinus was right or wrong: I do not know his particular circumstances, and I do not know the merit of his intentions. I do know, however, that we should be indifferent to dying, neither seeking it out for its own sake, nor dreading its arrival when the time is ripe. Whatever the circumstances, the pursuit of the virtues must be the end, and what remains is about the means.
Have I understood my place? Have I acted with firm conviction? Have I risen above pleasure and pain? Have I treated my neighbor with the respect he deserves? The confusion arises from compromising these priorities.
I also know that the advice offered by our fellows can easily be muddled by their own fears and desires. Do not tell me what you think I wish to hear, or what you hope will win you favor; you will be a true friend if you help me to help myself, instead of shaping me according to your preferences.
The Stoic explains to Marcellinus that the question is not about life or death, but about honor or dishonor. Will a longer life be in the service of my conscience, or will it become a hindrance to my principles? Will a shorter life allow me to make my stand, or will it become an excuse for an easy way out? There may come a point where less can be more, and more can be less.
If the task is now complete, to the best of my ability, it is not cowardly or selfish to say that I have had my fill. To continue might simply be going through the empty motions of desire, and so I retain the option to depart on my own terms, before my powers have failed me, without any resentments or regrets.
—Reflection written in 11/2013
IMAGE: John Everett Millais, The Dying Man (c. 1853)
Thursday, March 27, 2025
William Hogarth, Strolling Actresses Dressing in a Barn
So much of Hogarth's work combines exquisite detail with subtle meanings that works on many different levels, and this engraving is an ideal example. The original painting was unfortunately lost to a fire in 1874.
A traveling theater company has made use of an old barn as a dressing room, leading to this surreal scene. The actors play Roman gods and goddesses, contrasting the worlds of the divine and the mortal, the lofty and the mundane.
The playbill, in the lower left, identifies the production as The Devil to Pay in Heaven, and Hogarth may be poking fun at the church-sponsored morality plays so common at the time. A contemporary viewer would also have been aware that Parliament had recently passed a new law, which heavily censored dramatic productions and outlawed unlicensed troupes. This will be their bittersweet final performance.
In the center, Diana practices her pose, though she hardly looks like a chaste goddess. To the right, two children dressed as devils drink from a mug of beer, as if taking an offering from an altar, while to the left Flora, the goddess of the spring, dusts her hair in front of a broken mirror.
A woman grasps a cat as an actress playing a ghost draws blood from its tail, which was apparently a folk remedy for an injury from a fall. Below them, Juno memorizes her lines, Night darns her stocking, and a monkey urinates into a prop helmet.
To the top left, Cupid recover a pair of stockings for Apollo, and below, a Siren gives Ganymede a drink to help numb his toothache. Aurora is frustrated with fixing Ganymede's dress. An actress dressed as Juno's eagle feeds a child, with the bowl resting on a crown and a copy of the Act against Strolling Players. The playbill is precariously perched over a chamberpot.
My favorite element of the picture is a caricature of a vanitas painting at the bottom, where two kittens are playing with an orb and a harp. And if you look very closely, a man is peering down through a hole in the roof, referencing the myth of Actaeon seeing Diana naked.
The little things that happen on Earth are like reflections of the grand drama we imagine is playing itself out in the Heavens, sometimes as a comedy, and sometimes as a tragedy. Do the gods also have to worry about intrusive politicians, or how to feed the baby after losing one's livelihood?
William Hogarth, Strolling Actresses Dressing in a Barn (1738)
Wednesday, March 26, 2025
James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 20
20.
Ὧι ἂν ἐντυγχάνῃς, εὐθὺς σαυτῷ πρόλεγε: οὖτος τίνα δόγματα ἔχει περὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ κακῶν; εἰ γὰρ περὶ ἡδονῆς καὶ πόνου καὶ τῶν ποιητικῶν ἑκατέρου καὶ περὶ δόξης, ἀδοξίας, θανάτου, ζωῆς, τοιάδε τινὰ δόγματα ἔχει, οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν: ἢ ξένον μοι δόξει, ἐὰν τάδε τινὰ ποιῇ, καὶ μεμνήσομαι ὅτι ἀναγκάζεται οὕτως ποιεῖν.
Μέμνησο ὅτι, ὥσπερ αἰσχρόν ἐστι ξενίζεσθαι, εἰ ἡ συκῆ σῦκα φέρει, οὕτως, εἰ ὁ κόσμος τάδε τινὰ φέρει ὧν ἐστι φορός.
Remember that as it is monstrously stupid to be
surprised if a fig-tree bears figs, so is it downright
addle-pated to be taken aback if the world around us
produces the things that accord with its kind.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.14-15
20.
Upon a fig-tree that a fig it bore,
Or rate a fen that there one finds a frog,
Or cry down fire that’s florid, snow that’s frore.
And sooth, if all according to its kind
Puts forth, will not man do it, body and soul?
Thus always ask thyself, and have in mind
Briefly: What manner of man is this in whole?
What thinks he good? What bad? What pain, or pleasure?
What ignominious or what reputable?
And answering this, expect in that same measure,
Nor let thy heart be vainly vulnerable.
Stare not, I say, at fig-trees growing figs,
Nor swinish thoughts a-building little pigs.
Tuesday, March 25, 2025
Dhammapada 396
He is indeed arrogant, and he is wealthy: but the poor man, who is free from all attachments, him I call indeed a Brahmana.
IMAGE: School of Domenico Fetti, Lazarus and the Rich Man (c. 1620)
Seneca, Moral Letters 77.2
While everybody was bustling about and hurrying to the waterfront, I felt great pleasure in my laziness, because, although I was soon to receive letters from my friends, I was in no hurry to know how my affairs were progressing abroad, or what news the letters were bringing; for some time now I have had no losses, nor gains either.
Even if I were not an old man, I could not have helped feeling pleasure at this; but as it is, my pleasure was far greater.
For, however small my possessions might be, I should still have left over more travelling money than journey to travel, especially since this journey upon which we have set out is one which need not be followed to the end. An expedition will be incomplete if one stops half-way, or anywhere on this side of one’s destination; but life is not incomplete if it is honorable.
At whatever point you leave off living, provided you leave off nobly, your life is a whole. Often, however, one must leave off bravely, and our reasons therefore need not be momentous; for neither are the reasons momentous which hold us here.
Even if I were not an old man, I could not have helped feeling pleasure at this; but as it is, my pleasure was far greater.
For, however small my possessions might be, I should still have left over more travelling money than journey to travel, especially since this journey upon which we have set out is one which need not be followed to the end. An expedition will be incomplete if one stops half-way, or anywhere on this side of one’s destination; but life is not incomplete if it is honorable.
At whatever point you leave off living, provided you leave off nobly, your life is a whole. Often, however, one must leave off bravely, and our reasons therefore need not be momentous; for neither are the reasons momentous which hold us here.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 77
What many of us call being “busy” is really just the scuffling to acquire more in the future, even as Nature has already provided us with all the material we need to build a peace of mind in the present. The school now is for the job later, the job now is for the comforts later, and we beg to be remembered after we are dead. Observe how much we borrow, both in money and in favors over the span of decades, wishing for some nebulous happy ending that seems ever out of reach.
As Pascal said, it is an odd way to make us happy, when it is the best way to make us miserable.
Seneca understood enough to not get caught up in the frenzy, and the broader perspective of old age only confirmed his sense that life is not governed by any schedule or measured by a collection of passport stamps. There is a sure relief in no longer worrying about the distractions, leaving us with the simplicity of the essential.
They will call you lazy for resigning from the rat race, but don’t forget how they have decided to define success, and why you have chosen a different path, one that ends in an honorable mindset, not at a certain location or on a specific date.
I had a friend in high school who was unable to function during the day without copies of the Boston Globe, the New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal. He insisted that he had to read everything important that was happening in the world, as quickly as possible.
I was enamored of a girl in college who had her whole life mapped out, down to the tiniest detail of choosing birth years, names, and schools for the future children. I have no idea how deeply the plan was affected by not marrying a college professor, but she robotically followed the rest, almost to the letter.
I had a neighbor who prided himself on his extensive travels, and he looked down on anyone who had not attended the opera in Vienna, London, Milan, and New York. One day, after consuming too much wine, he confessed to me that he no longer knew who he was.
I think it no accident that all three were sadly among the most anxious and dejected people I have ever met; they were so obsessed with checking the boxes on some list that their souls had withered. There were places they had to go, and people they had to meet, and the possibility that a life could be complete under the humblest of circumstances had never occurred to them.
Will I make to ninety, or will I die tomorrow? Will I live in a townhouse on Beacon Hill or in a trailer outside Amarillo? Will there be excursions to the Riviera or a stroll to the corner store? None of it matters, as long as whatever is done, is done in the company of virtue, and whenever it ends, it ends with integrity.
Easy come and easy go. Once I have done my duty, there is no need to linger. The quality of character should not be confused with the quantity of trophies.
What many of us call being “busy” is really just the scuffling to acquire more in the future, even as Nature has already provided us with all the material we need to build a peace of mind in the present. The school now is for the job later, the job now is for the comforts later, and we beg to be remembered after we are dead. Observe how much we borrow, both in money and in favors over the span of decades, wishing for some nebulous happy ending that seems ever out of reach.
As Pascal said, it is an odd way to make us happy, when it is the best way to make us miserable.
Seneca understood enough to not get caught up in the frenzy, and the broader perspective of old age only confirmed his sense that life is not governed by any schedule or measured by a collection of passport stamps. There is a sure relief in no longer worrying about the distractions, leaving us with the simplicity of the essential.
They will call you lazy for resigning from the rat race, but don’t forget how they have decided to define success, and why you have chosen a different path, one that ends in an honorable mindset, not at a certain location or on a specific date.
I had a friend in high school who was unable to function during the day without copies of the Boston Globe, the New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal. He insisted that he had to read everything important that was happening in the world, as quickly as possible.
I was enamored of a girl in college who had her whole life mapped out, down to the tiniest detail of choosing birth years, names, and schools for the future children. I have no idea how deeply the plan was affected by not marrying a college professor, but she robotically followed the rest, almost to the letter.
I had a neighbor who prided himself on his extensive travels, and he looked down on anyone who had not attended the opera in Vienna, London, Milan, and New York. One day, after consuming too much wine, he confessed to me that he no longer knew who he was.
I think it no accident that all three were sadly among the most anxious and dejected people I have ever met; they were so obsessed with checking the boxes on some list that their souls had withered. There were places they had to go, and people they had to meet, and the possibility that a life could be complete under the humblest of circumstances had never occurred to them.
Will I make to ninety, or will I die tomorrow? Will I live in a townhouse on Beacon Hill or in a trailer outside Amarillo? Will there be excursions to the Riviera or a stroll to the corner store? None of it matters, as long as whatever is done, is done in the company of virtue, and whenever it ends, it ends with integrity.
Easy come and easy go. Once I have done my duty, there is no need to linger. The quality of character should not be confused with the quantity of trophies.
—Reflection written in 11/2013
IMAGE: Joos de Momper the Younger, The Journey of Tobias (c. 1620)
Monday, March 24, 2025
Sayings of Publilius Syrus 172
Many consult their reputation; but few their conscience.
IMAGE: William Holman Hunt, The Light of the World (1852)
Seneca, Moral Letters 77.1
Letter 77: On taking one’s own life
Suddenly there came into our view today the “Alexandrian” ships—I mean those which are usually sent ahead to announce the coming of the fleet; they are called “mail boats.” The Campanians are glad to see them; all the rabble of Puteoli stand on the docks, and can recognize the “Alexandrian” boats, no matter how great the crowd of vessels, by the very trim of their sails.
For they alone may keep spread their topsails, which all ships use when out at sea, because nothing sends a ship along so well as its upper canvas; that is where most of the speed is obtained. So when the breeze has stiffened and becomes stronger than is comfortable, they set their yards lower; for the wind has less force near the surface of the water.
Accordingly, when they have made Capreae and the headland whence
“Tall Pallas watches on the stormy peak,”
all other vessels are bidden to be content with the mainsail, and the topsail stands out conspicuously on the “Alexandrian” mail boats.
Suddenly there came into our view today the “Alexandrian” ships—I mean those which are usually sent ahead to announce the coming of the fleet; they are called “mail boats.” The Campanians are glad to see them; all the rabble of Puteoli stand on the docks, and can recognize the “Alexandrian” boats, no matter how great the crowd of vessels, by the very trim of their sails.
For they alone may keep spread their topsails, which all ships use when out at sea, because nothing sends a ship along so well as its upper canvas; that is where most of the speed is obtained. So when the breeze has stiffened and becomes stronger than is comfortable, they set their yards lower; for the wind has less force near the surface of the water.
Accordingly, when they have made Capreae and the headland whence
“Tall Pallas watches on the stormy peak,”
all other vessels are bidden to be content with the mainsail, and the topsail stands out conspicuously on the “Alexandrian” mail boats.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 77
Seneca here returns to an argument that flies in the face of modern sensibilities, even as an honest reflection on the proper goal of living could do us all a world of good. For myself, I am tempted to fear death more than I fear dishonor, clinging to a mere subsistence at the expense of a constant character.
The opening of this letter exemplifies the sort of writing I most enjoy, containing an insight on the universal human condition within the context of a particular human experience. The image of the Romans eagerly awaiting the arrival of the ships from Egypt, bearing news from abroad and heralding the next cargo of grain, is like countless other instances of our personal expectations, the anxious feeling that everything will surely be better, now that the prize is in sight.
I think of the many times I stood waiting at the international arrivals section of the airport, peeking through the crowd and past the sliding doors to catch a glimpse of my grandmother or one of my uncles. The priceless detail about spying the topsails in Seneca’s story reminds me of seeking out those three little squares of red tape that always graced my family’s luggage.
Our days are so full of anticipation, to the point where we can barely consider who we are right now without hoping for what is yet to come. But when will we cease to rely upon the future prospects, and finally be at peace in the present? We assume the journey is all about reaching a certain destination, while we overlook the complete dignity within each and every step taken.
It has less to do with where we might happen to end up, than with how we do our work as we go along. Would the people in Puteoli have been failures if the ships had never come over the horizon? Is my own life now incomplete because I will never again find the suitcases with the red stickers?
Some ships rush ahead, while others lag behind. A sailor wishes to find a safe harbor, but a man’s happiness is not bound by a time or a place.
Seneca here returns to an argument that flies in the face of modern sensibilities, even as an honest reflection on the proper goal of living could do us all a world of good. For myself, I am tempted to fear death more than I fear dishonor, clinging to a mere subsistence at the expense of a constant character.
The opening of this letter exemplifies the sort of writing I most enjoy, containing an insight on the universal human condition within the context of a particular human experience. The image of the Romans eagerly awaiting the arrival of the ships from Egypt, bearing news from abroad and heralding the next cargo of grain, is like countless other instances of our personal expectations, the anxious feeling that everything will surely be better, now that the prize is in sight.
I think of the many times I stood waiting at the international arrivals section of the airport, peeking through the crowd and past the sliding doors to catch a glimpse of my grandmother or one of my uncles. The priceless detail about spying the topsails in Seneca’s story reminds me of seeking out those three little squares of red tape that always graced my family’s luggage.
Our days are so full of anticipation, to the point where we can barely consider who we are right now without hoping for what is yet to come. But when will we cease to rely upon the future prospects, and finally be at peace in the present? We assume the journey is all about reaching a certain destination, while we overlook the complete dignity within each and every step taken.
It has less to do with where we might happen to end up, than with how we do our work as we go along. Would the people in Puteoli have been failures if the ships had never come over the horizon? Is my own life now incomplete because I will never again find the suitcases with the red stickers?
Some ships rush ahead, while others lag behind. A sailor wishes to find a safe harbor, but a man’s happiness is not bound by a time or a place.
—Reflection written in 11/2013
Sunday, March 23, 2025
Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 21
It is said, moreover, that he was in peril from the many who crowded upon him in their zeal and affection, and could hardly make his way for the crowd into the forum. He was declared tribune with others (including Metellus), and seeing that the consular elections were attended with bribery, he berated the people; and in concluding his speech he swore that he would prosecute the briber, whoever he might be, making an exception only of Silanus because of their relationship. For Silanus was the husband of Cato's sister, Servilia.
For this reason he let Silanus alone, but he prosecuted Lucius Murena on the charge of having secured his election to the consulship with Silanus by bribery. Now, there was a law by which the defendant could set a man to watch the prosecutor, in order that there might be no secret about the material which he was collecting and preparing for the prosecution. Accordingly, the man appointed by Murena to watch Cato would follow him about and keep him under observation.
When, however, he saw that Cato was doing nothing insidiously or unjustly, but was honorably and considerately following a straightforward and righteous course in the prosecution, he had such admiration for Cato's lofty spirit and noble character that he would come up to him in the forum or go to his house and ask him whether he intended that day to attend to any matters connected with the prosecution; and if Cato said no, the man would take his word and go away.
When the trial was held, Cicero, who was consul at that time and one of Murena's advocates, took advantage of Cato's fondness for the Stoics to rail and jest at length about those philosophers and what were called their "paradoxes," thus making the jurors laugh. Cato, accordingly, as we are told, said with a smile to the bystanders: "My friends, what a droll fellow our consul is!"
And after Murena had been acquitted, he did not feel towards Cato as a base or senseless man might have done; for during his consulship he asked his advice in the most important matters, and in other ways constantly showed him honor and trust. And Cato himself was responsible for this; on the tribunal and in the senate he was severe and terrible in his defense of justice, but afterwards his manner towards all men was benevolent and kindly.
.jpg)
Saturday, March 22, 2025
Kindred Spirits
Sonnet VII ("To Solitude")
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
IMAGE: Asher Brown Durand, Kindred Spirits (1849)
Chrysippus, Fragments from the Passions 2
And so we say that such people are irrationally moved, not as though they make a bad calculation, which would be the sense opposite to "reasonably", but rather in the sense of a rejection of reason. . . .
That is what such conditions are like, uncontrolled, as though they were not masters of themselves but were carried away in the way that those who run strenuously are swept away and cannot control their motion.
But those who move according to reason, as though it were their leader, and steer their course by it wherever it might lead, these people are in control of this sort of motion and the impulses that go with it.
Friday, March 21, 2025
Justus Lipsius, On Constancy 1.8
"What think you, Lipsius, have I not betrayed constancy into your hands in pleading the cause of your sorrow? Not so. But herein I have played the part of a good captain, in drawing out all your troops into the field, to the end that I might fight it out manfully with them.
"But first I will begin with light skirmishes and afterward join with you in plain battle. In skirmishing I am to assault foot by foot, as the ancients speak, three affections utter enemies to this our constancy. Dissimulation, piety, commiseration or pity.
"I will begin with the first of them. You say you cannot endure to see these public miseries, that it is a grief, yea even a death unto you. Do you speak that from your heart, or only from the teeth outward?"
Herewithal I being somewhat angry, asked whether he jested or gibed with me.
"Nay," said Langius. "I speak in good earnest for that many of your crew do beguile the physicians, making them believe that the public evils do grieve them when their private losses are the true cause. I demand therefore again, whether the care which now does boil and bubble in your breast, is for your country's sake or for your own?"
"What," said I, "do you make question of that? Surely, Langius, for my country's sake alone am I thus disquieted."
"See it be so," said he, "for I marvel that there should be in you such an excellent sincere duty which few attain unto. I deny not but that most men do complain of common calamities, neither is there any kind of sorrow so usual as this in the tongues of people. But examine the matter to the quick, and you shall find many times great difference between the tongue and the heart.
"These words, 'my country's calamity afflicts me,' carry with them more vainglory than verity. And as it is recorded in histories of Polus, a notable stage-player, that playing his part on the stage wherein it behooved him to express some great sorrow, he brought with him privily the bones of his dead son, and so the remembrance thereof caused him to fill the theater with true tears indeed. Even so may I say by the most part of you. You play a comedy, and under the person your country, you bewail with tears your private miseries.
"One says 'The whole world is a stage play.' Truly in this case it is so. Some cry out, 'These civil wars torment us, the blood of innocents spilt, the loss of laws and liberty.' Is it so? I see your sorrow indeed, but the cause I must search out more narrowly. Is it for the commonwealth's sake? O player, put off your mask: you yourself self are the cause thereof.
"We see oftentimes the country boors trembling and running together with earnest prayers when any sudden misfortune or insurrection approaches, but as soon as the danger is past, examine them well and you shall perceive that every one was afraid of his own field and corn.
"If fire should happen to be kindled in this city, we should have a general outcry: the lame and almost the blind would hasten to help quench it. What think you? For their country's sake? Ask them and you shall see, it was, because the loss would have redounded to all, or at the least, the fear thereof.
"So falls it out in this case. Public evils do move and disquiet many men, not because the harm touches a great number, but because they themselves are of that number."
IMAGE: Honoré Daumier, The Melodrama (c. 1860)
Thursday, March 20, 2025
Maxims of Goethe 64
Seneca, Moral Letters 76.13
If a man can behold with unflinching eyes the flash of a sword, if he knows that it makes no difference to him whether his soul takes flight through his mouth or through a wound in his throat, you may call him happy; you may also call him happy if, when he is threatened with bodily torture, whether it be the result of accident or of the might of the stronger, he can without concern hear talk of chains, or of exile, or of all the idle fears that stir men’s minds, and can say:
“O maiden, no new sudden form of toil
I have forestalled and surveyed everything.”
Today it is you who threaten me with these terrors; but I have always threatened myself with them, and have prepared myself as a man to meet man’s destiny.
If an evil has been pondered beforehand, the blow is gentle when it comes. To the fool, however, and to him who trusts in fortune, each event as it arrives “comes in a new and sudden form,” and a large part of evil, to the inexperienced, consists in its novelty.
This is proved by the fact that men endure with greater courage, when they have once become accustomed to them, the things which they had at first regarded as hardships.
Hence, the wise man accustoms himself to coming trouble, lightening by long reflection the evils which others lighten by long endurance.
We sometimes hear the inexperienced say: “I knew that this was in store for me.”
But the wise man knows that all things are in store for him. Whatever happens, he says: “I knew it.” Farewell.
“O maiden, no new sudden form of toil
I have forestalled and surveyed everything.”
Today it is you who threaten me with these terrors; but I have always threatened myself with them, and have prepared myself as a man to meet man’s destiny.
If an evil has been pondered beforehand, the blow is gentle when it comes. To the fool, however, and to him who trusts in fortune, each event as it arrives “comes in a new and sudden form,” and a large part of evil, to the inexperienced, consists in its novelty.
This is proved by the fact that men endure with greater courage, when they have once become accustomed to them, the things which they had at first regarded as hardships.
Hence, the wise man accustoms himself to coming trouble, lightening by long reflection the evils which others lighten by long endurance.
We sometimes hear the inexperienced say: “I knew that this was in store for me.”
But the wise man knows that all things are in store for him. Whatever happens, he says: “I knew it.” Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 76
I have a markedly sensitive disposition, so Stoicism would, at first glance, hardly seem a good fit for me. You will not inspire me with calls to toughness, and I am unsuited to the way of the warrior; all that bravado about a glorious death, or the gritty endurance of torture, will sadly leave me cold.
Yet while I am not a man’s man, I have also learned how Stoicism has never been a creed of brute strength, but rather a calling to serenity. The steely resolve that may appear on the outside is actually the result of a refined understanding on the inside, and I should not assume that constancy implies heartlessness. While some will repress their feelings, and others will be swept away by their feelings, the Stoic will become the master of his feelings.
Should I fear the sword, or the rack, or any of the torments in this life? When willpower alone fails to quell the dread, it is then time to modify my very judgments, to reconsider what I even mean by benefit or harm. Let the impressions have their say, and then let the mind offer its verdict—this cannot truly injure me, as long as my virtues remain intact.
Once I know where to find my good, the way I feel is now put in its proper context; both the pleasant and the painful can now be transformed through purpose, into an excellence of character that is unassailable. And with that kind of awareness, it now makes sense why hardship need not be an obstacle to happiness, but can become an occasion for happiness: so little is lost, and so much is gained!
In simpler terms, I don’t have to be the enraged guy in order to overcome fear. I can be the loving guy in order to overcome fear. I think of those who used their distress to offer compassion.
I should not seek out adversity, but I should accept it willingly, and I should prepare myself for it, conscious of its deeper significance as a means for self-improvement, and mindful of how Fortune is a fickle mistress. If I cannot determine the way of the word, I can certainly determine my own response, ready to face with dignity whatever life sends my way.
As much as this may sound cynical to the critic, a jaded surrender to Murphys’ Law, I suggest that it is rather an expression of a committed faith in the human capacity to do what is right, under any conditions. It will do me little good to be ready for the most routine nuisances, when it is always the earth-shattering catastrophes that truly put me to the test. Until the wolf came along, those other little pigs laughed at the one who had thought ahead.
Habit is a potent force, far too often underestimated, so it is better for me to consider when it will happen, not merely if it will happen. Then I am armed against any threat, not with the foolish confidence that I will destroy my foe, but with the calm assurance that I can retain the integrity of my conscience. My actions, and not my circumstances, are what reflect on me.
Having already experienced more than his fair share of tragedies before visiting the underworld, Aeneas was not speaking out of despair. He knew his calling, and he had steeled himself for any possibility. Though they made little sense to me back then, the torments from my darkest days have now become the foundation for my endurance. It is better to learn this lesson in old age, than to have never learned it at all.
I have a markedly sensitive disposition, so Stoicism would, at first glance, hardly seem a good fit for me. You will not inspire me with calls to toughness, and I am unsuited to the way of the warrior; all that bravado about a glorious death, or the gritty endurance of torture, will sadly leave me cold.
Yet while I am not a man’s man, I have also learned how Stoicism has never been a creed of brute strength, but rather a calling to serenity. The steely resolve that may appear on the outside is actually the result of a refined understanding on the inside, and I should not assume that constancy implies heartlessness. While some will repress their feelings, and others will be swept away by their feelings, the Stoic will become the master of his feelings.
Should I fear the sword, or the rack, or any of the torments in this life? When willpower alone fails to quell the dread, it is then time to modify my very judgments, to reconsider what I even mean by benefit or harm. Let the impressions have their say, and then let the mind offer its verdict—this cannot truly injure me, as long as my virtues remain intact.
Once I know where to find my good, the way I feel is now put in its proper context; both the pleasant and the painful can now be transformed through purpose, into an excellence of character that is unassailable. And with that kind of awareness, it now makes sense why hardship need not be an obstacle to happiness, but can become an occasion for happiness: so little is lost, and so much is gained!
In simpler terms, I don’t have to be the enraged guy in order to overcome fear. I can be the loving guy in order to overcome fear. I think of those who used their distress to offer compassion.
I should not seek out adversity, but I should accept it willingly, and I should prepare myself for it, conscious of its deeper significance as a means for self-improvement, and mindful of how Fortune is a fickle mistress. If I cannot determine the way of the word, I can certainly determine my own response, ready to face with dignity whatever life sends my way.
As much as this may sound cynical to the critic, a jaded surrender to Murphys’ Law, I suggest that it is rather an expression of a committed faith in the human capacity to do what is right, under any conditions. It will do me little good to be ready for the most routine nuisances, when it is always the earth-shattering catastrophes that truly put me to the test. Until the wolf came along, those other little pigs laughed at the one who had thought ahead.
Habit is a potent force, far too often underestimated, so it is better for me to consider when it will happen, not merely if it will happen. Then I am armed against any threat, not with the foolish confidence that I will destroy my foe, but with the calm assurance that I can retain the integrity of my conscience. My actions, and not my circumstances, are what reflect on me.
Having already experienced more than his fair share of tragedies before visiting the underworld, Aeneas was not speaking out of despair. He knew his calling, and he had steeled himself for any possibility. Though they made little sense to me back then, the torments from my darkest days have now become the foundation for my endurance. It is better to learn this lesson in old age, than to have never learned it at all.
—Reflection written in 10/2013
IMAGE: Jan Bruegel the Younger, Aeneas and the Sibyl in the Underworld (c. 1630)
Wednesday, March 19, 2025
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)