Because a man is rid of evil, therefore he is called Brahmana; because he walks quietly, therefore he is called Samana; because he has sent away his own impurities, therefore he is called Pravragita, a pilgrim.
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Saturday, October 12, 2024
Seneca, Moral Letters 71.2
To infer the nature of this Supreme Good, one does not need many words or any round-about discussion; it should be pointed out with the forefinger, so to speak, and not be dissipated into many parts.
For what good is there in breaking it up into tiny bits, when you can say: the Supreme Good is that which is honorable? Besides (and you may be still more surprised at this), that which is honorable is the only good; all other goods are alloyed and debased.
If you once convince yourself of this, and if you come to love virtue devotedly (for mere loving is not enough), anything that has been touched by virtue will be fraught with blessing and prosperity for you, no matter how it shall be regarded by others.
Torture, if only, as you lie suffering, you are more calm in mind than your very torturer; illness, if only you curse not Fortune and yield not to the disease—in short, all those things which others regard as ills will become manageable and will end in good, if you succeed in rising above them.
Let this once be clear, that there is nothing good except that which is honorable, and all hardships will have a just title to the name of "goods," when once virtue has made them honorable.
Many think that we Stoics are holding out expectations greater than our human lot admits of; and they have a right to think so. For they have regard to the body only. But let them turn back to the soul, and they will soon measure man by the standard of God.
Rouse yourself, most excellent Lucilius, and leave off all this word-play of the philosophers, who reduce a most glorious subject to a matter of syllables, and lower and wear out the soul by teaching fragments; then you will become like the men who discovered these precepts, instead of those who by their teaching do their best to make philosophy seem difficult rather than great.
For what good is there in breaking it up into tiny bits, when you can say: the Supreme Good is that which is honorable? Besides (and you may be still more surprised at this), that which is honorable is the only good; all other goods are alloyed and debased.
If you once convince yourself of this, and if you come to love virtue devotedly (for mere loving is not enough), anything that has been touched by virtue will be fraught with blessing and prosperity for you, no matter how it shall be regarded by others.
Torture, if only, as you lie suffering, you are more calm in mind than your very torturer; illness, if only you curse not Fortune and yield not to the disease—in short, all those things which others regard as ills will become manageable and will end in good, if you succeed in rising above them.
Let this once be clear, that there is nothing good except that which is honorable, and all hardships will have a just title to the name of "goods," when once virtue has made them honorable.
Many think that we Stoics are holding out expectations greater than our human lot admits of; and they have a right to think so. For they have regard to the body only. But let them turn back to the soul, and they will soon measure man by the standard of God.
Rouse yourself, most excellent Lucilius, and leave off all this word-play of the philosophers, who reduce a most glorious subject to a matter of syllables, and lower and wear out the soul by teaching fragments; then you will become like the men who discovered these precepts, instead of those who by their teaching do their best to make philosophy seem difficult rather than great.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 71
I know all too well how much scholars, or any professionals in general, like to play around with fancy words, and I still have to restrain myself daily from making a problem far more complex than it has to be. I suspect the appeal of ornate language is a form of diversion, an illusion of confidence where there is only doubt and fear.
The best and the purest things in this life are simple, and you can usually recognize the wise man by his power to explain them in the briefest, clearest, and most direct manner possible. Why reach for many words, when just one will do? Whatever the parts, recognize the whole; excellence may be expressed in various ways, but it all flows from a single source.
For all the window dressing, what makes for a good man? Nothing less than a sense of honor. While this word may carry a lot of baggage for some, it cuts to the chase. On a surface level, we frequently use the term to mean reputation, which is the result of what others think about us, and yet at its core it is the content of character, the result of how we choose to act. Sometimes the former corresponds to the latter, though oftentimes it does not, and this should remind us to always look for the dignity within.
We can also speak of it as virtue, or as character, or as integrity, or as decency, but the shared element is a conscience fixed upon what is right, whatever the weight of the circumstances. Even as many will confidently speak of doing good, just a few will have the knowledge and the commitment to follow through without hesitation. There you have your honorable man.
Others see misery in hardship, and those who love the good, without condition, are eager to take advantage of the opportunity. It hinges upon the estimation of what it means to be human, and so what it entails to be happy. A mere affection will not be enough—only total devotion will be sufficient.
Of all the philosophies that praise honor, I find it is the Stoics who are brave enough to remove all hesitation and equivocation. If virtue is the highest good, by which all other benefits must be measured, then there can be no compromise between the absolute and the relative. Once someone shows you how he will trade a principle for a preference, know that he is a man of convenience, not of honor. Follow this rule, and no harm can ever befall you, in any form that matters.
Yes, it will be true for torture, for sickness, for poverty, or for loneliness. When it comes down to it, there can be no ambiguity about priorities; if I know why it is truly good, I will demand no further reward. Unlike so many of the shifty ideologies, Stoicism does not rely on some distant prize, far off in the murky future, because the joy is already being given, right here and now.
As difficult as the transition may be, the fulfillment is easy. It is those who merely talk, instead of those who consistently do, who make it appear complicated.
I know all too well how much scholars, or any professionals in general, like to play around with fancy words, and I still have to restrain myself daily from making a problem far more complex than it has to be. I suspect the appeal of ornate language is a form of diversion, an illusion of confidence where there is only doubt and fear.
The best and the purest things in this life are simple, and you can usually recognize the wise man by his power to explain them in the briefest, clearest, and most direct manner possible. Why reach for many words, when just one will do? Whatever the parts, recognize the whole; excellence may be expressed in various ways, but it all flows from a single source.
For all the window dressing, what makes for a good man? Nothing less than a sense of honor. While this word may carry a lot of baggage for some, it cuts to the chase. On a surface level, we frequently use the term to mean reputation, which is the result of what others think about us, and yet at its core it is the content of character, the result of how we choose to act. Sometimes the former corresponds to the latter, though oftentimes it does not, and this should remind us to always look for the dignity within.
We can also speak of it as virtue, or as character, or as integrity, or as decency, but the shared element is a conscience fixed upon what is right, whatever the weight of the circumstances. Even as many will confidently speak of doing good, just a few will have the knowledge and the commitment to follow through without hesitation. There you have your honorable man.
Others see misery in hardship, and those who love the good, without condition, are eager to take advantage of the opportunity. It hinges upon the estimation of what it means to be human, and so what it entails to be happy. A mere affection will not be enough—only total devotion will be sufficient.
Of all the philosophies that praise honor, I find it is the Stoics who are brave enough to remove all hesitation and equivocation. If virtue is the highest good, by which all other benefits must be measured, then there can be no compromise between the absolute and the relative. Once someone shows you how he will trade a principle for a preference, know that he is a man of convenience, not of honor. Follow this rule, and no harm can ever befall you, in any form that matters.
Yes, it will be true for torture, for sickness, for poverty, or for loneliness. When it comes down to it, there can be no ambiguity about priorities; if I know why it is truly good, I will demand no further reward. Unlike so many of the shifty ideologies, Stoicism does not rely on some distant prize, far off in the murky future, because the joy is already being given, right here and now.
As difficult as the transition may be, the fulfillment is easy. It is those who merely talk, instead of those who consistently do, who make it appear complicated.
—Reflection written in 9/2013
IMAGE: Giuseppe Asioli, Honor (1809)
Friday, October 11, 2024
Justus Lipsius, On Constancy 1.6
The praise of constancy: and an earnest exhortation thereto.
"You see then, Lipsius, that inconstancy is the companion of opinion and that the property of it is to be soon changed, and to wish that undone, which a little before it caused to be done. But constancy is a mate always matched with reason. Unto this, therefore, I do earnestly exhort you.
"Why fly you to these vain outward things? This is only that fair beautiful Helena who will present unto you a wholesome cup of counter-poison, wherewith you shall expel the memory of all cares and sorrows, and whereof when you have once taken a taste, being firmly settled against all casualties, bearing yourself upright in all misfortunes, neither puffed up nor pressed down with either fortune, you may challenge to your self that great title, the nearest that man can have to God, to be immovable.
"Have you not seen in the arms and targets of some men of our time that lofty poesy? Neither with hope, nor with fear. It shall agree to you: you shall be a king, indeed free indeed, only subject unto God, enfranchised from the servile yoke of fortune and affections.
"As some rivers are said to run through the sea and yet keep their stream fresh, so shall you pass through the confused tumults of this world, and not be infected with any briny saltiness of this sea of sorrows.
"Are you like to be cast down? Constancy will lift you up. Do you stagger in doubtfulness? She holds you fast. Are you in danger of fire or water? She will comfort you and bring you back from the pit's brink: only take unto you a good courage, steer your ship into this port, where is security and quietness, a refuge and sanctuary against all turmoils and troubles: where if you have once moored your ship, let your country not only be troubled, but even shaken at the foundation, you shall remain unmoved: let showers, thunders, lightnings, and tempests fall round about you, you shall cry boldly with a loud voice, I lie at rest amid the waves."
Thursday, October 10, 2024
Maxims of Goethe 55
This it is that causes that hideous conflict which wastes life and deprives it of all pleasure.
Seneca, Moral Letters 71.1
Letter 71: On the Supreme Good
You are continually referring special questions to me, forgetting that a vast stretch of sea sunders us. Since, however, the value of advice depends mostly on the time when it is given, it must necessarily result that by the time my opinion on certain matters reaches you, the opposite opinion is the better.
For advice conforms to circumstances; and our circumstances are carried along, or rather whirled along. Accordingly, advice should be produced at short notice; and even this is too late; it should "grow while we work," as the saying is. And I propose to show you how you may discover the method.
As often as you wish to know what is to be avoided or what is to be sought, consider its relation to the Supreme Good, to the purpose of your whole life. For whatever we do ought to be in harmony with this; no man can set in order the details unless he has already set before himself the chief purpose of his life.
The artist may have his colors all prepared, but he cannot produce a likeness unless he has already made up his mind what he wishes to paint. The reason we make mistakes is because we all consider the parts of life, but never life as a whole.
The archer must know what he is seeking to hit; then he must aim and control the weapon by his skill. Our plans miscarry because they have no aim. When a man does not know what harbor he is making for, no wind is the right wind. Chance must necessarily have great influence over our lives, because we live by chance.
It is the case with certain men, however, that they do not know that they know certain things. Just as we often go searching for those who stand beside us, so we are apt to forget that the goal of the Supreme Good lies near us.
You are continually referring special questions to me, forgetting that a vast stretch of sea sunders us. Since, however, the value of advice depends mostly on the time when it is given, it must necessarily result that by the time my opinion on certain matters reaches you, the opposite opinion is the better.
For advice conforms to circumstances; and our circumstances are carried along, or rather whirled along. Accordingly, advice should be produced at short notice; and even this is too late; it should "grow while we work," as the saying is. And I propose to show you how you may discover the method.
As often as you wish to know what is to be avoided or what is to be sought, consider its relation to the Supreme Good, to the purpose of your whole life. For whatever we do ought to be in harmony with this; no man can set in order the details unless he has already set before himself the chief purpose of his life.
The artist may have his colors all prepared, but he cannot produce a likeness unless he has already made up his mind what he wishes to paint. The reason we make mistakes is because we all consider the parts of life, but never life as a whole.
The archer must know what he is seeking to hit; then he must aim and control the weapon by his skill. Our plans miscarry because they have no aim. When a man does not know what harbor he is making for, no wind is the right wind. Chance must necessarily have great influence over our lives, because we live by chance.
It is the case with certain men, however, that they do not know that they know certain things. Just as we often go searching for those who stand beside us, so we are apt to forget that the goal of the Supreme Good lies near us.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 71
Advice is such an odd thing, for we are always seeking it, yet we are never quite content with what we end up receiving. I suppose that’s actually true for so many aspects of life, and it’s really because we aren’t sure what we’re looking for to begin with.
I have often complained about how some good counsel came too late, totally oblivious to the fact that I remain far too caught up in the whirlwind of the circumstances. Would I even have listened if you had told me back then? All I know now is that I am still discontent, clueless about something universal to provide guidance through the many particulars.
Every so often, usually as a last resort, a student will come to me seeking a suggestion about a specific problem. Now sometimes he will listen, and sometimes he will resist me, but I must be very patient if he returns again a month later, presenting a whole new conundrum that calls for precisely the same principles. I have walked in his shoes many times, so he is always welcome, as long as it takes.
While working through the means is certainly a challenge, I face the greatest obstacle when I am ignorant of the end; I desire the best results in this case, though I have failed to consider what is best for me in every case. As I grow older, and hopefully a bit wiser, I find that the details will take care of themselves once I embrace the ultimate goal, and I won’t sweat the small stuff when my mind is focused on the big picture.
The balance in my bank account is of far less importance than the state of my character, and the quantity of my friends is insignificant compared to the quality in a single act of love.
When I ask for directions, I must first have a destination in mind. I speak of a job being good, or my health being good, or my reputation being good, and the whole time I cannot explain my Supreme Good, that to which all lower conditions must conform, that to which nothing else can be added. A seeming conflict between two worldly situations is immediately resolved once I perceive my broader moral purpose.
If I say that the Supreme Good is too vague, or is so very far away, I am looking in the wrong places. It is rather the clearest thing to me, and the closest thing to me, because it is already an integral part of who I am. It’s like those hokey but wonderful movies from the 1980’s, when the hero discovers how the love of his life had been his best friend all along.
Advice is such an odd thing, for we are always seeking it, yet we are never quite content with what we end up receiving. I suppose that’s actually true for so many aspects of life, and it’s really because we aren’t sure what we’re looking for to begin with.
I have often complained about how some good counsel came too late, totally oblivious to the fact that I remain far too caught up in the whirlwind of the circumstances. Would I even have listened if you had told me back then? All I know now is that I am still discontent, clueless about something universal to provide guidance through the many particulars.
Every so often, usually as a last resort, a student will come to me seeking a suggestion about a specific problem. Now sometimes he will listen, and sometimes he will resist me, but I must be very patient if he returns again a month later, presenting a whole new conundrum that calls for precisely the same principles. I have walked in his shoes many times, so he is always welcome, as long as it takes.
While working through the means is certainly a challenge, I face the greatest obstacle when I am ignorant of the end; I desire the best results in this case, though I have failed to consider what is best for me in every case. As I grow older, and hopefully a bit wiser, I find that the details will take care of themselves once I embrace the ultimate goal, and I won’t sweat the small stuff when my mind is focused on the big picture.
The balance in my bank account is of far less importance than the state of my character, and the quantity of my friends is insignificant compared to the quality in a single act of love.
When I ask for directions, I must first have a destination in mind. I speak of a job being good, or my health being good, or my reputation being good, and the whole time I cannot explain my Supreme Good, that to which all lower conditions must conform, that to which nothing else can be added. A seeming conflict between two worldly situations is immediately resolved once I perceive my broader moral purpose.
If I say that the Supreme Good is too vague, or is so very far away, I am looking in the wrong places. It is rather the clearest thing to me, and the closest thing to me, because it is already an integral part of who I am. It’s like those hokey but wonderful movies from the 1980’s, when the hero discovers how the love of his life had been his best friend all along.
—Reflection written in 9/2013
IMAGE: Dominic Serres, Foudroyant and Pegase Entering Portsmouth Harbor (1782)
Wednesday, October 9, 2024
The Cave
I have come across many fine images of the Allegory of the Cave from Plato's Republic, but this one is surely my favorite.
I am struck by the packed crowd of those who can see only the shadows, and I can almost feel their misery. Most depictions of the Cave are rather neutral, yet here we can vividly sense the despair that comes with ignorance,
I feel the urgency of the two men who are trying to convince the crowd to escape from their dark corner, though their arguments are met only with disbelief.
The eye is naturally drawn to the circle of "wise men", who are surely discussing the true nature of reality. And yet, we must remember from the text, they perceive only the physical world, their backs still turned to the exit.
And standing outside, barely noticeable, are three figures who gaze upon the reality of the Universal Forms, illuminated by the Sun of the True, the Good, and the Beautiful.
I don't have many framed prints, mainly because it is such an expensive hobby, so over the years I have only collected copies of Raphael's The School of Athens, Delacroix's The Last Words of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, and Gerome's Diogenes. This fine work by Saenredam, apparently copied from a lost painting by van Haarlem, is now the only one I would ever consider adding to the others.
—12/2014
Jan Saenredam, The Allegory of the Cave (1604)
Tuesday, October 8, 2024
Delphic Maxims 64
Gain possessions justly
IMAGE: Jan van Buken, An Italianate Market Scene with Remnants of a Roman Temple (c. 1680)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.38
M. But as the cause of perturbations is now discovered, for all of them arise from the judgment or opinion, or volition, I shall put an end to this discourse.
But we ought to be assured, since the boundaries of good and evil are now discovered, as far as they are discoverable by man, that nothing can be desired of philosophy greater or more useful than the discussions which we have held these four days.
For besides instilling a contempt of death, and relieving pain so as to enable men to bear it, we have added the appeasing of grief, than which there is no greater evil to man. For though every perturbation of mind is grievous, and differs but little from madness, yet we are used to say of others when they are under any perturbation, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are agitated and disturbed; but of those who give themselves up to grief, that they are miserable, afflicted, wretched, unhappy.
So that it does not seem to be by accident, but with reason proposed by you, that I should discuss grief, and the other perturbations separately; for there lies the spring and head of all our miseries; but the cure of grief, and of other disorders, is one and the same in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opinion; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do.
Philosophy undertakes to eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils: let us therefore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured; for while these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be right in our minds.
We must either deny that reason can effect anything, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done right without reason, or else, since philosophy depends on the deductions of reason, we must seek from her, if we would be good or happy, every help and assistance for living well and happily.
But we ought to be assured, since the boundaries of good and evil are now discovered, as far as they are discoverable by man, that nothing can be desired of philosophy greater or more useful than the discussions which we have held these four days.
For besides instilling a contempt of death, and relieving pain so as to enable men to bear it, we have added the appeasing of grief, than which there is no greater evil to man. For though every perturbation of mind is grievous, and differs but little from madness, yet we are used to say of others when they are under any perturbation, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are agitated and disturbed; but of those who give themselves up to grief, that they are miserable, afflicted, wretched, unhappy.
So that it does not seem to be by accident, but with reason proposed by you, that I should discuss grief, and the other perturbations separately; for there lies the spring and head of all our miseries; but the cure of grief, and of other disorders, is one and the same in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opinion; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do.
Philosophy undertakes to eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils: let us therefore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured; for while these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be right in our minds.
We must either deny that reason can effect anything, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done right without reason, or else, since philosophy depends on the deductions of reason, we must seek from her, if we would be good or happy, every help and assistance for living well and happily.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.38
Though troubles within the emotions may take on many forms, and express themselves to different degrees, their root cause is always one and the same: the way I am inclined to feel will only be as good or as bad as the way I choose to think. I hardly believe this diminishes the significance of the passions, but rather offers the proper context for their deeper meaning.
This is a blessed relief for me, because I need no longer suffer under the illusion that my pain is somehow beyond my power. Do I find myself drowning in gratification, or driven to lust, or laid low by grief, or consumed by fear? By attending to my own judgements about the true nature of benefit and harm, I can learn to find the strength inside of me, instead of relying on the circumstances outside of me. I am now free to stand on my own two feet, not to be tossed about by fortune.
While grief may seem to be the most oppresive of these disorders, for it has such an immediate knack for stifling any possibility of joy, all four varieties are ultimately problems of estimation. Instead of crying out, “Why has this happened to me?”, I retain the option of stating clearly, “You will only harm me as much as I permit you to do so. My happiness is for me to determine!”
This will not come to me magically, or just by wishing, or without my rigorous effort: it demands the formation of a conscience, which is, in turn, a fruit of philosophy, understood in its most vital sense. A book won’t be enough, and a fancy degree won’t cut it, and it certainly has nothing to do with putting on an intellectual charade, since philosophy is only of use when we join the theory and the practice, the ideal to the real, the thinking with the doing.
When Cicero insists that a love of wisdom is the cure, I do not imagine a stern portrait of a whiskered man. I instead find inspiration by turning to one of my favorite paintings by Mattia Preti, in which Lady Philosophy offers comfort to the despondent Boethius, whose adversity illustrates the challenges each one of us must face. She presents him with hard reasons, not cheap excuses, and that is surely the greatest kindness.
Though troubles within the emotions may take on many forms, and express themselves to different degrees, their root cause is always one and the same: the way I am inclined to feel will only be as good or as bad as the way I choose to think. I hardly believe this diminishes the significance of the passions, but rather offers the proper context for their deeper meaning.
This is a blessed relief for me, because I need no longer suffer under the illusion that my pain is somehow beyond my power. Do I find myself drowning in gratification, or driven to lust, or laid low by grief, or consumed by fear? By attending to my own judgements about the true nature of benefit and harm, I can learn to find the strength inside of me, instead of relying on the circumstances outside of me. I am now free to stand on my own two feet, not to be tossed about by fortune.
While grief may seem to be the most oppresive of these disorders, for it has such an immediate knack for stifling any possibility of joy, all four varieties are ultimately problems of estimation. Instead of crying out, “Why has this happened to me?”, I retain the option of stating clearly, “You will only harm me as much as I permit you to do so. My happiness is for me to determine!”
This will not come to me magically, or just by wishing, or without my rigorous effort: it demands the formation of a conscience, which is, in turn, a fruit of philosophy, understood in its most vital sense. A book won’t be enough, and a fancy degree won’t cut it, and it certainly has nothing to do with putting on an intellectual charade, since philosophy is only of use when we join the theory and the practice, the ideal to the real, the thinking with the doing.
When Cicero insists that a love of wisdom is the cure, I do not imagine a stern portrait of a whiskered man. I instead find inspiration by turning to one of my favorite paintings by Mattia Preti, in which Lady Philosophy offers comfort to the despondent Boethius, whose adversity illustrates the challenges each one of us must face. She presents him with hard reasons, not cheap excuses, and that is surely the greatest kindness.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Mattia Preti, Boethius and Philosophy (c. 1680)
Monday, October 7, 2024
Ruins 11
_-_Coastal_landscape_with_fishermen_and_ruins_of_the_Temple_of_Minerva_Medica.jpg)
Sunday, October 6, 2024
Sayings of Ramakrishna 252
The modern Brâhmas are content with the single note of Brahman, while the Hindu religion is made up of several notes producing a sweet and melodious harmony.
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.37
M. Where, then, are they who say that anger has its use? Can madness be of any use?
“But still it is natural.”
Can anything be natural that is against reason? Or how is it, if anger is natural, that one person is more inclined to anger than another? Or that the lust of revenge should cease before it has revenged itself? Or that anyone should repent of what he had done in a passion? As we see that Alexander the king did, who could scarcely keep his hands from himself, when he had killed his favorite Cleitus, so great was his compunction.
Now who that is acquainted with these instances can doubt that this motion of the mind is altogether in opinion and voluntary? For who can doubt that disorders of the mind, such as covetousness and a desire of glory, arise from a great estimation of those things by which the mind is disordered? From whence we may understand that every perturbation of the mind is founded in opinion.
And if boldness—that is to say, a firm assurance of mind—is a kind of knowledge and serious opinion not hastily taken up, then diffidence is a fear of an expected and impending evil; and if hope is an expectation of good, fear must, of course, be an expectation of evil. Thus fear and other perturbations are evils. Therefore, as constancy proceeds from knowledge, so does perturbation from error.
Now, they who are said to be naturally inclined to anger, or to pity, or to envy, or to any feeling of this kind, their minds are constitutionally, as it were, in bad health; yet they are curable, as the disposition of Socrates is said to have been; for when Zopyrus, who professed to know the character of everyone from his person, had heaped a great many vices on him in a public assembly, he was laughed at by others, who could perceive no such vices in Socrates; but Socrates kept him in countenance by declaring that such vices were natural to him, but that he had got the better of them by his reason.
Therefore, as anyone who has the appearance of the best constitution may yet appear to be naturally rather inclined to some particular disorder, so different minds may be more particularly inclined to different diseases.
But as to those men who are said to be vicious, not by nature, but their own fault, their vices proceed from wrong opinions of good and bad things, so that one is more prone than another to different motions and perturbations.
But, just as it is in the case of the body, an inveterate disease is harder to be got rid of than a sudden disorder; and it is more easy to cure a fresh tumor in the eyes than to remove a defluxion of any continuance.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.37
I was never very fond of how the ideological bullies would order me to toe the line, by a pure power of the will, without any concern for the circumstances of my head and my heart. In their quest for perfection, they were quick to ignore the quirks of the human condition. “Suck it up, buttercup!”
At the same time, I never improved one bit when I allowed myself to be coddled by relativism, making all sorts of excuses for self-indulgence. Once every desire was acceptable, and any inclination was natural, I was actually abandoning my responsibility in favor of slavery “If it feels good, do it!”
Only an upside-down view of the human person will start with the passions, and then concoct a convenient reason to justify them. In reality, it is working from the false premise that meaning is to be found in the emotions, when an emotion is merely an impression.
How will I now choose to understand it, to guide it, to transform it? A day does not pass without the temptation of anger or lust, but that does not mean it is natural for me to succumb—it is natural for me to form a conscience.
I was often told it was good for me to outraged at someone who offended me, or to satisfy my libido whenever I felt the urge, as if I were bound by some primal necessity. Yet I am a man, not a beast, since I possess the power of judgment.
What if I decided to express a rapport instead of a resentment, or to be respectful instead of randy? If it is natural to obey every longing, then why are these libertines so miserable? If it is impossible to resist a compulsion, then why are those modest folks in the corner so at peace?
There was nothing great about Alexander when he killed Cleitus during a drunken argument, and his remorse was then hardly noble when he succumbed to despair. He was not required to act as he did, but he could only have mastered his excesses by comprehending his own predilections.
Yes, whether we are somehow born with them or we acquire them through long practice, our tendencies become like a part of our makeup. No, such dispositions do not bind us to our fate. The improvement of our nature is to decide how we will find a way to rise above them.
In other words, an ailment is not our natural state. Of course, Socrates knew that he had flaws, though what made him a man of worth was his willingness to overcome them, by means of seeking wisdom and virtue. By struggling to know himself, his own peculiar personality within the greater design of Nature, he becomes something of a role model for the confused thinker desperately trying to find his way.
While it remains a work in progress, and I imagine I will never be done with it, I learn more about my instincts and proclivities every day, and by doing so I discover my unique position in the bigger picture. How I build the patterns of my habits, for good or for ill, is a function of my deliberate estimation.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Andre Castaigne, The Killing of Cleitus by Alexander the Great (1899)
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Saturday, October 5, 2024
Friday, October 4, 2024
Stoic Snippets 249
The voice ought to be plainly written on the forehead. Such as a man's character is, he immediately shows it in his eyes, just as he who is beloved forthwith reads everything in the eyes of lovers.
The man who is honest and good ought to be exactly like a man who smells strong, so that the bystander as soon as he comes near him must smell, whether he choose or not.
But the affectation of simplicity is like a crooked stick. Nothing is more disgraceful than a wolfish friendship. Avoid this most of all. The good and simple and benevolent show all these things in the eyes, and there is no mistaking.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.15
IMAGE: Gustave Doré, The Wolf Turned Shepherd (1868)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.36
M. Anger, too, when it disturbs the mind any time, leaves no room to doubt its being madness: by the instigation of which we see such contention as this between brothers:
“Where was there ever impudence like thine?
Who on thy malice ever could refine?”
You know what follows: for abuses are thrown out by these brothers with great bitterness in every other verse; so that you may easily know them for the sons of Atreus, of that Atreus who invented a new punishment for his brother:
“I who his cruel heart to gall am bent,
Some new, unheard-of torment must invent.”
Now, what were these inventions? Hear Thyestes:
“My impious brother fain would have me eat
My children, and thus serves them up for meat.”
To what length now will not anger go? Even as far as madness. Therefore, we say, properly enough, that angry men have given up their power, that is, they are out of the power of advice, reason, and understanding; for these ought to have power over the whole mind.
Now, you should put those out of the way whom they endeavor to attack till they have recollected themselves; but what does recollection here imply but getting together again the dispersed parts of their mind into their proper place?
Or else you must beg and entreat them, if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another opportunity, until their anger cools.
But the expression of cooling implies, certainly, that there was a heat raised in their minds in opposition to reason; from which consideration that saying of Archytas is commended, who being somewhat provoked at his steward “How would I have treated you,” said he, “if I had not been in a passion?"
“Where was there ever impudence like thine?
Who on thy malice ever could refine?”
You know what follows: for abuses are thrown out by these brothers with great bitterness in every other verse; so that you may easily know them for the sons of Atreus, of that Atreus who invented a new punishment for his brother:
“I who his cruel heart to gall am bent,
Some new, unheard-of torment must invent.”
Now, what were these inventions? Hear Thyestes:
“My impious brother fain would have me eat
My children, and thus serves them up for meat.”
To what length now will not anger go? Even as far as madness. Therefore, we say, properly enough, that angry men have given up their power, that is, they are out of the power of advice, reason, and understanding; for these ought to have power over the whole mind.
Now, you should put those out of the way whom they endeavor to attack till they have recollected themselves; but what does recollection here imply but getting together again the dispersed parts of their mind into their proper place?
Or else you must beg and entreat them, if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another opportunity, until their anger cools.
But the expression of cooling implies, certainly, that there was a heat raised in their minds in opposition to reason; from which consideration that saying of Archytas is commended, who being somewhat provoked at his steward “How would I have treated you,” said he, “if I had not been in a passion?"
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.36
Even as I can distinguish between the nature of different emotions, they are invariably bound up together in daily living, each one feeding into another. It is no accident, for example, that lust and anger are so closely aligned, since the failure to acquire what I crave will soon be turned into wrath, and my disappointment with myself is redirected toward blaming someone else.
Indeed, the degree of the grudge is often in a direct proportion to the degree of the longing. That lost love of my life is now so livid that she refuses to acknowledge me when we pass on the street, though, to be fair, she once pointed her finger at me and laughed hysterically. I instinctively feel the pain, of course, but then I remember how I can choose not to wallow in gloom or to stew in resentment.
I am sometimes asked why the Stoic model of the passions doesn’t have a separate place for anger, and I can only suggest that any sort of hatred is also just another perversion of love. Instead of wishing the good for another, I somehow perceive a benefit in another suffering harm: it can be called anger when I still hope for a bitter satisfaction, and malice when I finally take my nasty delight.
And how swiftly it can drive us to insanity! I cannot bear to dwell for too long on most of the things I thought were out of joy and love, though they were really symptoms of gratification and lust. That I wince at the thought of them can, I suppose, be taken as a good sign, for at least something of my conscience remains intact.
I should never mock the lover when he is infatuated, or later denounce him when he is vengeful, because I have hardly done any better myself; though it is self-inflicted, it is nevertheless a sort of madness.
I have learned so much from the tragic tales of the House of Atreus, and yet these, too, make me shudder, such that I almost become consumed by the intensity of the feeling, no longer knowing right from wrong. I need to forget about who started it, and to focus on who is going to have the decency to finish it without any spite.
We rightly advise a period of “cooling off” when we feel angry, though in the worst cases a passage of time might only make the hostility more ferocious. Whatever the severity of the rage, however, the key is always in recovering a control over our judgments, and thereby taming our emotions, which is properly a return to our natural state.
Even as I can distinguish between the nature of different emotions, they are invariably bound up together in daily living, each one feeding into another. It is no accident, for example, that lust and anger are so closely aligned, since the failure to acquire what I crave will soon be turned into wrath, and my disappointment with myself is redirected toward blaming someone else.
Indeed, the degree of the grudge is often in a direct proportion to the degree of the longing. That lost love of my life is now so livid that she refuses to acknowledge me when we pass on the street, though, to be fair, she once pointed her finger at me and laughed hysterically. I instinctively feel the pain, of course, but then I remember how I can choose not to wallow in gloom or to stew in resentment.
I am sometimes asked why the Stoic model of the passions doesn’t have a separate place for anger, and I can only suggest that any sort of hatred is also just another perversion of love. Instead of wishing the good for another, I somehow perceive a benefit in another suffering harm: it can be called anger when I still hope for a bitter satisfaction, and malice when I finally take my nasty delight.
And how swiftly it can drive us to insanity! I cannot bear to dwell for too long on most of the things I thought were out of joy and love, though they were really symptoms of gratification and lust. That I wince at the thought of them can, I suppose, be taken as a good sign, for at least something of my conscience remains intact.
I should never mock the lover when he is infatuated, or later denounce him when he is vengeful, because I have hardly done any better myself; though it is self-inflicted, it is nevertheless a sort of madness.
I have learned so much from the tragic tales of the House of Atreus, and yet these, too, make me shudder, such that I almost become consumed by the intensity of the feeling, no longer knowing right from wrong. I need to forget about who started it, and to focus on who is going to have the decency to finish it without any spite.
We rightly advise a period of “cooling off” when we feel angry, though in the worst cases a passage of time might only make the hostility more ferocious. Whatever the severity of the rage, however, the key is always in recovering a control over our judgments, and thereby taming our emotions, which is properly a return to our natural state.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Anonymous, Atreus and Thyestes (c. 1410)
Thursday, October 3, 2024
Chuang Tzu 6.1
He who knows the part which the Heavenly plays knows that it is naturally born with him; he who knows the part which the Human ought to play proceeds with the knowledge which he possesses to nourish it in the direction of what he does not yet know—to complete one's natural term of years and not come to an untimely end in the middle of his course is the fullness of knowledge.
Although it be so, there is an evil attending this condition. Such knowledge still awaits the confirmation of it as correct; it does so because it is not yet determined.
How do we know that what we call the Heavenly in us is not the Human? And that what we call the Human is not the Heavenly? There must be the True man, and then there is the True knowledge.
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.35
M. Now, the cure for one who is affected in this manner is to show how light, how contemptible, how very trifling he is in what he desires; how he may turn his affections to another object, or accomplish his desires by some other means; or else to persuade him that he may entirely disregard it: sometimes he is to be led away to objects of another kind, to study, business, or other different engagements and concerns: very often the cure is effected by change of place, as sick people, that have not recovered their strength, are benefited by change of air.
Some people think an old love may be driven out by a new one, as one nail drives out another: but, above all things, the man thus afflicted should be advised what madness love is: for of all the perturbations of the mind, there is not one which is more vehement; for (without charging it with rapes, debaucheries, adultery, or even incest, the baseness of any of these being very blamable; not, I say, to mention these) the very perturbation of the mind in love is base of itself, for, to pass over all its acts of downright madness, what weakness do not those very things which are looked upon as indifferent argue?
"Affronts and jealousies, jars, squabbles, wars,
Then peace again. The man who seeks to fix
These restless feelings, and to subjugate
Them to some regular law, is just as wise
As one who’d try to lay down rules by which
Men should go mad."
Now, is not this inconstancy and mutability of mind enough to deter anyone by its own deformity?
We are to demonstrate, as was said of every perturbation, that there are no such feelings which do not consist entirely of opinion and judgment, and are not owing to ourselves. For if love were natural, all would be in love, and always so, and all love the same object; nor would one be deterred by shame, another by reflection, another by satiety.
Some people think an old love may be driven out by a new one, as one nail drives out another: but, above all things, the man thus afflicted should be advised what madness love is: for of all the perturbations of the mind, there is not one which is more vehement; for (without charging it with rapes, debaucheries, adultery, or even incest, the baseness of any of these being very blamable; not, I say, to mention these) the very perturbation of the mind in love is base of itself, for, to pass over all its acts of downright madness, what weakness do not those very things which are looked upon as indifferent argue?
"Affronts and jealousies, jars, squabbles, wars,
Then peace again. The man who seeks to fix
These restless feelings, and to subjugate
Them to some regular law, is just as wise
As one who’d try to lay down rules by which
Men should go mad."
Now, is not this inconstancy and mutability of mind enough to deter anyone by its own deformity?
We are to demonstrate, as was said of every perturbation, that there are no such feelings which do not consist entirely of opinion and judgment, and are not owing to ourselves. For if love were natural, all would be in love, and always so, and all love the same object; nor would one be deterred by shame, another by reflection, another by satiety.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.35
A diversion can offer me a bit of relief from the agitation, or some support in overcoming my fixation, but it is never, in itself, a complete solution. I nod as I go over Cicero’s list, recalling how a change of scenery helped me for a time, or some fresh company lightened the load, or a new project kept my mind occupied, and yet my troubles always returned if I didn’t go to the root, by addressing the errors in my thinking that produced such disordered feelings.
Lust, as the twisted version of love, comes over me when my judgments about the good are confused. While I might wish to blame my beloved for not desiring me in return, or to curse the world for not providing me with the satisfaction I demand, the cure for what ails me is a thorough reform of my priorities. An obese man will not become healthy without finally mastering his own cravings.
What is the point to moving around, when every place will ultimately offer the very same temptations? Where is the benefit to finding new friends, if I fail to understand what it even means to be a friend? As much as I can keep myself busy, won’t there eventually come the time when I am once again idle? The change must occur in the substance on the inside, not in the accidents on the outside.
A fellow I knew some years ago was convinced that hanging out a different pub would relieve him of his melancholy, and I rudely laughed at him, even as I later convinced myself to take a completely different job as a repellant against my own version of the Black Dog. I wish I could meet him again, so we might now laugh together, in much better spirits.
When a girl in college lied to me once too often, I promptly became enamored of a totally different girl, and when her attention quickly drifted elsewhere, I foolishly assumed that I simply had poor taste. I certainly did have poor taste, but in my own values, not in the merits of others. Find fault with the agent, or the efficient cause, not with the occasion, or the material cause.
I have now acquired many eccentric hobbies, and though each of them has brought me great joy, not a one of them has exorcised my demons. Collecting obscure records only goes so far to engage my interests, and it just takes a single sour mood to turn the words and music of any song into a sad reflection of my own resentment.
There is an elephant in the room, and he is my own discontent, which is the inevitable offspring of my distorted expectations. I wish him no harm, but he’s the one who needs to find some new digs.
A diversion can offer me a bit of relief from the agitation, or some support in overcoming my fixation, but it is never, in itself, a complete solution. I nod as I go over Cicero’s list, recalling how a change of scenery helped me for a time, or some fresh company lightened the load, or a new project kept my mind occupied, and yet my troubles always returned if I didn’t go to the root, by addressing the errors in my thinking that produced such disordered feelings.
Lust, as the twisted version of love, comes over me when my judgments about the good are confused. While I might wish to blame my beloved for not desiring me in return, or to curse the world for not providing me with the satisfaction I demand, the cure for what ails me is a thorough reform of my priorities. An obese man will not become healthy without finally mastering his own cravings.
What is the point to moving around, when every place will ultimately offer the very same temptations? Where is the benefit to finding new friends, if I fail to understand what it even means to be a friend? As much as I can keep myself busy, won’t there eventually come the time when I am once again idle? The change must occur in the substance on the inside, not in the accidents on the outside.
A fellow I knew some years ago was convinced that hanging out a different pub would relieve him of his melancholy, and I rudely laughed at him, even as I later convinced myself to take a completely different job as a repellant against my own version of the Black Dog. I wish I could meet him again, so we might now laugh together, in much better spirits.
When a girl in college lied to me once too often, I promptly became enamored of a totally different girl, and when her attention quickly drifted elsewhere, I foolishly assumed that I simply had poor taste. I certainly did have poor taste, but in my own values, not in the merits of others. Find fault with the agent, or the efficient cause, not with the occasion, or the material cause.
I have now acquired many eccentric hobbies, and though each of them has brought me great joy, not a one of them has exorcised my demons. Collecting obscure records only goes so far to engage my interests, and it just takes a single sour mood to turn the words and music of any song into a sad reflection of my own resentment.
There is an elephant in the room, and he is my own discontent, which is the inevitable offspring of my distorted expectations. I wish him no harm, but he’s the one who needs to find some new digs.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Jan Steen, The Lovesick Maiden (c. 1660)
Wednesday, October 2, 2024
Dhammapada 387
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