Sayings of Ramakrishna 280

The Avadhûta saw a bridal procession passing through a meadow, with the beating of drums and the blowing of trumpets, and with great pomp. 

Hard by the road through which the procession was passing, he saw a hunter deeply absorbed in aiming at a bird, and perfectly inattentive to the noise and pomp of the procession, casting not even a passing look at it. 

The Avadhûta, saluting the hunter, said, "Sir, you are my Guru. When I sit in meditation, let my mind be concentrated on its object of meditation as yours has been on the bird." 

Man's Search for Meaning 19

Occasionally a scientific debate developed in camp. Once I witnessed something I had never seen, even in my normal life, although it lay somewhat near my own professional interests: a spiritualistic séance. 

I had been invited to attend by the camp's chief doctor (also a prisoner), who knew that I was a specialist in psychiatry. The meeting took place in his small, private room in the sick quarters. A small circle had gathered, among them, quite illegally, the warrant officer from the sanitation squad. 

One man began to invoke the spirits with a kind of prayer. The camp's clerk sat in front of a blank sheet of paper, without any conscious intention of writing. 

During the next ten minutes (after which time the séance was terminated because of the medium's failure to conjure the spirits to appear), his pencil slowly drew lines across the paper, forming quite legibly "VAE V."

 It was asserted that the clerk had never learned Latin and that he had never before heard the words "vae victis"—woe to the vanquished. 

In my opinion, he must have heard them once in his life, without recollecting them, and they must have been available to the "spirit" (the spirit of his subconscious mind) at that time, a few months before our liberation and the end of the war. 

—from Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning 

Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 19

Of good things, some are final, some are instrumental, and some are both. 

For the prudent man and one’s friend are only instrumental goods, but joy and good spirits and confidence and prudent walking are only final goods; all the virtues are both instrumental and final goods since they both produce happiness and fulfill it, becoming parts of it. 

Analogously, of bad things some are instrumental to unhappiness, some are final, and some are both. 

For the imprudent man and one’s enemy are only instrumental bad things, but pain and fear and theft and imprudent questioning and similar things are only final bad things; the vices are both instrumental and final bad things since they produce unhappiness and fulfill it, becoming parts of it. 

IMAGE: Rebecca Dulcibella Orpen, The Philosopher's Morning Walk (c. 1880) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.2

Certain of the Peripatetics reply to this syllogism by interpreting “unperturbed,” “unwavering,” and “free from sadness” in such a way as to make “unperturbed” mean one who is rarely perturbed and only to a moderate degree, and not one who is never perturbed. 
 
Likewise, they say that a person is called “free from sadness” who is not subject to sadness, one who falls into this objectionable state not often nor in too great a degree. It is not, they say, the way of human nature that a man’s spirit should be exempt from sadness, or that the wise man is not overcome by grief but is merely touched by it, and other arguments of this sort, all in accordance with the teachings of their school.
 
They do not abolish the passions in this way; they only moderate them. But how petty is the superiority which we attribute to the wise man, if he is merely braver than the most craven, happier than the most dejected, more self-controlled than the most unbridled, and greater than the lowliest! Would Ladas boast his swiftness in running by comparing himself with the halt and the weak? 
 
“For she could skim the topmost blades of corn 
And touch them not, nor bruise the tender ears; 
Or travel over seas, well-poised above 
The swollen floods, nor dip her flying feet 
In ocean’s waters.” 
 
This is speed estimated by its own standard, not the kind which wins praise by comparison with that which is slowest. Would you call a man well who has a light case of fever? No, for good health does not mean moderate illness. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
In every step of the above argument, each term is intended as a direct connection to the next. This is only possible if we define such terms clearly, without the ambiguity that so commonly gets us wrapped up in pointless squabbling, all because we didn’t take the time to establish what we meant by our words to begin with. 
 
How often have you been forced to sit through some partisan debate, where the opponents were yelling about the trendy cause of the day, only to realize how they were throwing around concepts like “justice” or “freedom”, without any ability to explain their most basic values? 
 
When politicians do this, it is about buying your vote, and when lawyers do this, it is about taking your money, and when scholars do this, it is about stroking their own egos. 
 
Only a restoration of simplicity can restore us to sanity. When the Stoic says that someone is unwavering, or unperturbed, or free from sadness, he means this as specifically as possible, spared from any equivocations that would negate the original sense. Whatever degrees of more or less may be present, a thing is what it is, and it isn’t what it isn’t, and we can’t be sitting on the fence, wishing it to be both. 
 
I have an immense respect for the way a Peripatetic and a Thomist ask us to make the proper distinctions, but this becomes excessive and untenable when we nitpick away at the very identity in question. 
 
I also have an immense respect for the Stoic insistence on never hiding behind conditions and qualifications, such that, regardless of the particular nuances, we recognize a virtuous man as a virtuous man, and a happy man as a happy man. 
 
If we begin with the fact that human nature is specified by reason and will, it follows that the perfection of our nature is within the excellence of such powers, and not merely by the presence or absence of some other conditions. 
 
From this, it becomes clear why happiness, the end for which we are made, is achieved through a knowledge of what is true and a love for what is good; any further circumstance becomes beneficial to us when directed toward virtue, and harmful to us when directed toward vice. 
 
Socrates knew this, and Plato knew this, and Aristotle knew this. The Stoics were simply making sure that we didn’t forget the primacy of this principle, or modify it out of existence by adding any extraneous requirements. And this is why I cling so closely to the Stoics. 
 
A man is truly unwavering, unperturbed, and free from sadness when such excellence remains constant, not when it happens to be present more often than not, or in a slightly greater amount. Mediocrity does not qualify as distinction, as any good athlete should know. 
 
For the critics, who are willing to settle for second-best, what an old friend used to call being “good enough for government work”, the good man has not conquered his passions, but he is satisfied with keeping them at bay, succumbing to them as little as possible. For the Stoic, this is admirable progress, but it is not yet the possession of the virtues. “Close, but no cigar” won’t cut it. 
 
Does this perhaps sound too demanding? Look at it from the other side, such that we will only rise as high as the level of our chosen standards. Nor is the Stoic asking us to abandon our emotions, but rather to tame our disordered feelings, and thereby to be at peace with feelings that are ordered by sound thinking.
 
Remember how the Stoics spoke of apatheia as being freed from unhealthy “passions” (such as distress, fear, lust, and gratification), which allows us to embrace the healthy sentiments of eupatheia (such as caution, wish, and joy). 
 
Neither bodies nor souls become healthy by just scraping by. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

The Cloud's Turmoil, the Sun's Fierce Molten Fire

Edward Frederick Brewtnall, The Cloud's Turmoil, the Sun's Fierce Molten Fire (c. 1889) 

Proverbs 4:1-6

[1] Hear, O sons, a father's instruction,
and be attentive, that you may gain insight;
[2] for I give you good precepts:
do not forsake my teaching.
[3] When I was a son with my father,
tender, the only one in the sight of my mother,
[4] he taught me, and said to me,
"Let your heart hold fast my words;
keep my commandments, and live;
[5] do not forget, and do not turn away from the words of my mouth.
Get wisdom; get insight.
[6] Do not forsake her, and she will keep you;
love her, and she will guard you." 

IMAGE: Eugene Laermans, Father and Son (1920) 

Sayings of Heraclitus 91

Those who speak with understanding must hold fast to what is common to all, as a city holds fast to its law, and even more strongly. 

For all human laws are fed by the one divine law. 

It prevails as much as it will, and suffices for all things, with something to spare. 

IMAGE: Jacob Jordaens, Divine Law as the Basis for Human Justice (1665) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.1

Letter 85: On some vain syllogisms   
 
I had been inclined to spare you, and had omitted any knotty problems that still remained undiscussed; I was satisfied to give you a sort of taste of the views held by the men of our school, who desire to prove that virtue is of itself sufficiently capable of rounding out the happy life. 
 
But now you bid me include the entire bulk either of our own syllogisms or of those which have been devised by other schools for the purpose of belittling us. If I shall be willing to do this, the result will be a book, instead of a letter. And I declare again and again that I take no pleasure in such proofs. I am ashamed to enter the arena and undertake battle on behalf of gods and men armed only with an awl.
 
“He that possesses prudence is also self-restrained; he that possesses self-restraint is also unwavering; he that is unwavering is unperturbed; he that is unperturbed is free from sadness; he that is free from sadness is happy. Therefore, the prudent man is happy, and prudence is sufficient to constitute the happy life." 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
I came to philosophy early, because I felt a desperate need for answers to the fundamental questions, and I then stayed in it for the long haul, because I was amazed at how we did not merely have to assume, but we could work to offer sound reasons for our convictions. I will still maintain that this exercise must come before any other human endeavor, for the what is meaningless without the why. 
 
I have no special gift for logic, so I take my sweet time when working through a chain of syllogisms, fully aware of how my conclusions will only be as good as the proofs that stand behind them. I have made it a lifelong effort not to confuse my preferences with my principles. 
 
I too often come across those who take an argument to be a form of quarreling, not a form of demonstration, much like those who treat a judgment as a condemnation of another person, not as an estimation of a shared truth. This sort of conflict, driven by pride instead of prudence, is what sadly gives philosophy such a bad name. 
 
So, while I do enjoy my syllogisms, I am, like Seneca, not so terribly fond of the endless haranguing and bickering that can easily go along with them. The example of the Stoics has taught me a little about walking away from a debate that is lacking in goodwill and common sense, though if the various factions insist on exhibiting their catalogs of disputes and grievances, I will do my best to find something of worth out of the contest. 
 
Indeed, a contrast between the views of the Stoics and their critics might help us to overcome some confusion about the relationship of the virtues and happiness, not to vindicate this or that school, but to clarify the very truth of the matter. Unclear terms will inevitably lead us to sloppy conclusions. 
 
If an ordered understanding can provide us with all that is necessary for a good life, then we do not need to rely on other conditions beyond our control; where self-mastery is present, all circumstances can become opportunities. If we take these definitions strictly and precisely, the Stoic train of thought establishes a sure connection between the veracity of our judgments and the quality of our happiness. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

Self-portrait

J.M.W. Turner, Self-portrait (c. 1799) 

From what I have read about the man, Turner was quite the eccentric, not easy to get along with, and ridden with profound thoughts that his peers could not fathom. He sounds exactly like my sort of fellow, which is why he is on my list of the "three Williams" I admire so much: Turner, Blake, and Hogarth. 

I am told he once rowed out into the middle of the Thames, so as to not be counted in the census. I heartily approve of his tiny act of rebellion. 

I often gaze at this painting for far too long, imagining how Turner was the sort of man I would have been proud to have as a friend. His expression speaks volumes to me. 

I do not have any of his talent, but he still seems to be a kindred spirit. If there is indeed a Heaven, where we retain anything of our former identities, I look forward to meeting him. If not, he has continued to live through me, during every day of my anonymous life. 

Bach 5, Mass in B minor

Johann Sebastian Bach, Mass in B minor, BWV 232, Netherlands Bach Society 

A Litany in Time of Plague

"A Litany in Time of Plague" 

Thomas Nashe (1567-1601) 

Adieu, farewell, earth's bliss;
This world uncertain is;
Fond are life's lustful joys;
Death proves them all but toys;
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade.
All things to end are made,
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate,
Earth still holds open her gate.
"Come, come!" the bells do cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Wit with his wantonness
Tasteth death's bitterness;
Hell's executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Haste, therefore, each degree,
To welcome destiny;
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player's stage;
Mount we unto the sky.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us! 

On Pain

"On Pain" 

Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931) 

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain. 
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears. 

Roll the Dice

"Roll the Dice" 

Charles Bukowski (1920-1994) 

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way. this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or
4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the
worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the
gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter,
it’s the only good fight
there is. 

The Mother Road 12

Old Route 66, Ash Fork AZ 

IMAGES by Lee Lundberg 

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 188

If a man has this peace—not the peace proclaimed by Caesar (how indeed should he have it to proclaim?), nay, but the peace proclaimed by God through reason, will not that suffice him when alone, when he beholds and reflects: 

"Now can no evil happen unto me; for me there is no robber, for me no earthquake; all things are full of peace, full of tranquillity; neither highway nor city nor gathering of men, neither neighbor nor comrade can do me hurt. 

"Another supplies my food, whose care it is; another my raiment; another has given me perceptions of sense and primary conceptions. 

"And when He supplies my necessities no more, it is that He is sounding the retreat, that He has opened the door, and is saying to you, Come!—Wither? 

"To nought that you need fear, but to the friendly kindred elements whence you did spring. 

"Whatsoever of fire is in you, unto fire shall return; whatsoever of earth, unto earth; of spirit, unto spirit; of water, unto water. 

"There is no Hades, no fabled rivers of Sighs, of Lamentation, or of Fire: but all things are full of Beings spiritual and divine." 

With thoughts like these, beholding the Sun, Moon, and Stars, enjoying earth and sea, a man is neither helpless nor alone! 

IMAGE: Abraham Janssens, The Four Elements (c. 1615) 

Stoic Snippets 279

Consider that everything is opinion, and opinion is in your power. 

Take away, then, when you choose your opinion, and like a mariner who has doubled the promontory, you will find calm, everything stable, and a waveless bay.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.22 

IMAGE: William Bradford, A Sunset Calm in the Bay of Fundy (1860) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 84.6

Do you behold yonder homes of the great, yonder thresholds uproarious with the brawling of those who would pay their respects? They have many an insult for you as you enter the door, and still more after you have entered. 
 
Pass by the steps that mount to rich men’s houses, and the porches rendered hazardous by the huge throng; for there you will be standing, not merely on the edge of a precipice but also on slippery ground. 
 
Instead of this, direct your course hither to wisdom, and seek her ways, which are ways of surpassing peace and plenty. Whatever seems conspicuous in the affairs of men—however petty it may really be and prominent only by contrast with the lowest objects—is nevertheless approached by a difficult and toilsome pathway. 
 
It is a rough road that leads to the heights of greatness; but if you desire to scale this peak, which lies far above the range of Fortune, you will indeed look down from above upon all that men regard as most lofty, but nonetheless you can proceed to the top over level ground. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 84 
 
Make no mistake, a life of serenity will not come easy, but a life of jumping through the hoops will bring you far greater difficulties, forever dependent on the whims and the schemes of the greedy and the shifty. If you fight to tame your own inclinations, success or failure is entirely within your power, but if you fight to win against the conspirators, success or failure will always remain beyond your power. 
 
If I look closely, behind all the pomp and circumstance, I will notice how the world of the wheeler-dealers is driven by anxiety and malice. As much as he pretends, a man is not happy when he is grasping, and he is not secure because he is bragging. We desperately rush about to fill the emptiness on the inside with diversions from the outside, and we ignorantly assume that the only way forward is to take advantage of the next guy. 
 
If I desire peace, I will require philosophy. Not the philosophy of the academic, which is little more than bickering and posturing, but the philosophy of the daily grind, where solid principles for living are drawn out from the broad range of common experiences, both pleasant and painful. From a wider perspective, it becomes clear that what once seemed so imposing actually turns out to be quite puny. 
 
Some will claim that philosophy is just a luxury, an amusement for those who, after their basic needs have been met, now possess the leisure to ponder life’s profound questions. Yet this statement is itself working from certain philosophical assumptions, as if food, clothing, and shelter are the vital necessities, when absolutely everything a man does is already tied up in the exercise of his reason and his will. We are minds carrying around bodies, not bodies first, and then minds later. 
 
Perhaps you will tell me that none of it makes a difference if I starve or freeze to death. I do not deny that the security of the flesh matters, but I will insist that mere survival is pointless without a sense of meaning and purpose; the creature comforts are a means, not an end. I will surely shock you by saying that some of us, however few, would rather die than choose to act without understanding and love. 
 
I do not need to tread on anyone else, or to raise my empire upon the corpses of my enemies. Even as I walk over the most humble ground, I have the opportunity to rise far above the madness of a life ruled by fortune. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Shen Zhou, Poet on a Mountaintop (c. 1500) 

Sunrise

J.M.W. Turner, Sunrise, a Castle on a Bay: Solitude (c. 1845) 

Song of Summer

Frederick Delius, Song of Summer, John Barbirolli/London Symphony Orchestra (1967) 

Dhammapada 414

Him I call indeed a Brahmana who has traversed this miry road, the impassable world and its vanity, who has gone through, and reached the other shore, is thoughtful, guileless, free from doubts, free from attachment, and content. 

IMAGE: Paul Nash, The Menin Road (1919)