The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Thursday, April 9, 2026
Stoic Snippets 281
To those who ask, where have you seen the gods, or how do you comprehend that they exist and so worship them, I answer, in the first place, they may be seen even with the eyes.
In the second place, neither have I seen even my own soul, and yet I honor it.
Thus then with respect to the gods, from what I constantly experience of their power, from this I comprehend that they exist, and I venerate them.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.28
Wednesday, April 8, 2026
Tuesday, April 7, 2026
Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 44
For instance, stepping one time into the studio of Parrhasius the painter, and getting into conversation with him:
"I suppose," Parrhasius," said Socrates, "painting may be defined as 'a representation of visible objects,' may it not? That is to say, by means of colors and palette you painters represent and reproduce as closely as possible the ups and downs, lights and shadows, hard and soft, rough and smooth surfaces, the freshness of youth and the wrinkles of age, do you not?"
"You are right," Parrhasius answered, "that is so."
Socrates: "Further, in portraying ideal types of beauty, seeing it is not easy to light upon any one human being who is absolutely devoid of blemish, you cull from many models the most beautiful traits of each, and so make your figures appear completely beautiful?"
Parrhasius: "Yes, that is how we do."
"Well, but stop," Socrates continued; "do you also pretend to represent in similar perfection the characteristic moods of the soul, its captivating charm and sweetness, with its deep wells of love, its intensity of yearning, its burning point of passion? or is all this quite incapable of being depicted?"
"No," he answered, "how should a mood be other than inimitable, Socrates, when it possesses neither linear proportion nor color, nor any of those qualities which you named just now; when, in a word, it is not even visible?"
"No," he answered, "how should a mood be other than inimitable, Socrates, when it possesses neither linear proportion nor color, nor any of those qualities which you named just now; when, in a word, it is not even visible?"
Socrates: "Well, but the kindly look of love, the angry glance of hate at any one, do find expression in the human subject, do they not?"
Parrhasius: "No doubt they do."
Socrates: "Then this look, this glance, at any rate may be imitated in the eyes, may it not?"
"Undoubtedly," he answered.
Socrates: "And do anxiety and relief of mind occasioned by the good or evil fortune of those we love both wear the same expression?"
"Undoubtedly," he answered.
Socrates: "And do anxiety and relief of mind occasioned by the good or evil fortune of those we love both wear the same expression?"
"By no means," he answered; "at the thought of good we are radiant, at that of evil a cloud hangs on the brow."
Socrates: "Then here again are the looks with it possible to represent?"
Parrhasius: "Decidedly."
Socrates: "Furthermore, as through some chink or crevice, there pierces through the countenance of a man, through the very posture of his body as he stands or moves, a glimpse of his nobility and freedom, or again of something in him low and groveling—the calm of self-restraint, and wisdom, or the swagger of insolence and vulgarity?"
Socrates: "Then here again are the looks with it possible to represent?"
Parrhasius: "Decidedly."
Socrates: "Furthermore, as through some chink or crevice, there pierces through the countenance of a man, through the very posture of his body as he stands or moves, a glimpse of his nobility and freedom, or again of something in him low and groveling—the calm of self-restraint, and wisdom, or the swagger of insolence and vulgarity?"
"You are right," he answered.
Socrates: "Then these too may be imitated?"
"No doubt," he said.
Socrates: "And which is the pleasanter type of face to look at, do you think—one on which is imprinted the characteristics of a beautiful, good, and lovable disposition, or one which bears the impress of what is ugly, and bad, and hateful?"
Parrhasius: "Doubtless, Socrates, there is a vast distinction between the two."
Socrates: "Then these too may be imitated?"
"No doubt," he said.
Socrates: "And which is the pleasanter type of face to look at, do you think—one on which is imprinted the characteristics of a beautiful, good, and lovable disposition, or one which bears the impress of what is ugly, and bad, and hateful?"
Parrhasius: "Doubtless, Socrates, there is a vast distinction between the two."
At another time Socrates entered the workshop of the sculptor Cleiton, and in course of conversation with him said:
"You have a gallery of handsome people here, Cleiton, runners, and wrestlers, and boxers, and pancratiasts—that I see and know; but how do you give the magic touch of life to your creations, which most of all allures the soul of the beholder through his sense of vision?"
As Cleiton stood perplexed, and did not answer at once, Socrates added: "Is it by closely imitating the forms of living beings that you succeed in giving that touch of life to your statues?"
"No doubt," he answered.
Socrates: "It is, is it not, by faithfully copying the various muscular contractions of the body in obedience to the play of gesture and poise, the wrinklings of flesh and the sprawl of limbs, the tensions and the relaxations, that you succeed in making your statues like real beings—make them 'breathe' as people say?"
Cleiton: "Without a doubt."
Socrates: "And does not the faithful imitation of the various affections of the body when engaged in any action impart a particular pleasure to the beholder?"
Cleiton: "I should say so."
Socrates: "Then the threatenings in the eyes of warriors engaged in battle should be carefully copied, or again you should imitate the aspect of a conqueror radiant with success?"
Cleiton: "Above all things."
Socrates: "It would seem then that the sculptor is called upon to incorporate in his ideal form the workings and energies also of the soul?"
Paying a visit to Pistias, the corselet maker, when that artist showed him some exquisite samples of his work, Socrates exclaimed:
"No doubt," he answered.
Socrates: "It is, is it not, by faithfully copying the various muscular contractions of the body in obedience to the play of gesture and poise, the wrinklings of flesh and the sprawl of limbs, the tensions and the relaxations, that you succeed in making your statues like real beings—make them 'breathe' as people say?"
Cleiton: "Without a doubt."
Socrates: "And does not the faithful imitation of the various affections of the body when engaged in any action impart a particular pleasure to the beholder?"
Cleiton: "I should say so."
Socrates: "Then the threatenings in the eyes of warriors engaged in battle should be carefully copied, or again you should imitate the aspect of a conqueror radiant with success?"
Cleiton: "Above all things."
Socrates: "It would seem then that the sculptor is called upon to incorporate in his ideal form the workings and energies also of the soul?"
Paying a visit to Pistias, the corselet maker, when that artist showed him some exquisite samples of his work, Socrates exclaimed:
"By Hera! A pretty invention this, Pistias, by which you contrive that the corselet should cover the parts of the person which need protection, and at the same time leave free play to the arms and hands . . . but tell me, Pistias," he added, "why do you ask a higher price for these corselets of yours if they are not stouter or made of costlier material than the others?"
"Because, Socrates, Pistias answered, "mine are of much finer proportion."
Socrates: "Proportion! Then how do you make this quality apparent to the customer so as to justify the higher price—by measure or weight? For I presume you cannot make them all exactly equal and of one pattern—if you make them fit, as of course you do?"
"Fit indeed! that I most distinctly do," he answered, "take my word for it: no use in a corselet without that."
"But then are not the wearer's bodies themselves," asked Socrates, "some well proportioned and others ill?"
"Decidedly so," he answered.
Socrates: "Then how do you manage to make the corselet well proportioned if it is to fit an ill-proportioned body?"
"Because, Socrates, Pistias answered, "mine are of much finer proportion."
Socrates: "Proportion! Then how do you make this quality apparent to the customer so as to justify the higher price—by measure or weight? For I presume you cannot make them all exactly equal and of one pattern—if you make them fit, as of course you do?"
"Fit indeed! that I most distinctly do," he answered, "take my word for it: no use in a corselet without that."
"But then are not the wearer's bodies themselves," asked Socrates, "some well proportioned and others ill?"
"Decidedly so," he answered.
Socrates: "Then how do you manage to make the corselet well proportioned if it is to fit an ill-proportioned body?"
Pistias: "To the same degree exactly as I make it fit. What fits is well proportioned."
Socrates: "It seems you use the term 'well-proportioned' not in an absolute sense, but in reference to the wearer, just as you might describe a shield as well proportioned to the individual it suits; and so of a military cloak, and so of the rest of things, in your terminology? But maybe there is another considerable advantage in this 'fitting'?"
Pistias: "Pray instruct me, Socrates, if you have got an idea."
Socrates: "A corselet which fits is less galling by its weight than one which does not fit, for the latter must either drag from the shoulders with a dead weight or press upon some other part of the body, and so it becomes troublesome and uncomfortable; but that which fits, having its weight distributed partly along the collarbone and shoulder blade, partly over the shoulders and chest, and partly the back and belly, feels like another natural integument rather than an extra load to carry."
Socrates: "It seems you use the term 'well-proportioned' not in an absolute sense, but in reference to the wearer, just as you might describe a shield as well proportioned to the individual it suits; and so of a military cloak, and so of the rest of things, in your terminology? But maybe there is another considerable advantage in this 'fitting'?"
Pistias: "Pray instruct me, Socrates, if you have got an idea."
Socrates: "A corselet which fits is less galling by its weight than one which does not fit, for the latter must either drag from the shoulders with a dead weight or press upon some other part of the body, and so it becomes troublesome and uncomfortable; but that which fits, having its weight distributed partly along the collarbone and shoulder blade, partly over the shoulders and chest, and partly the back and belly, feels like another natural integument rather than an extra load to carry."
Pistias: "You have named the very quality which gives my work its exceptional value, as I consider; still there are customers, I am bound to say, who look for something else in a corselet—they must have them ornamental or inlaid with gold."
"For all that," replied Socrates, "if they end by purchasing an ill-fitting article, they only become the proprietors of a curiously-wrought and gilded nuisance, as it seems to me.
"For all that," replied Socrates, "if they end by purchasing an ill-fitting article, they only become the proprietors of a curiously-wrought and gilded nuisance, as it seems to me.
"But," he added, "as the body is never in one fixed position, but is at one time curved, at another raised erect how can an exactly-modeled corselet fit?"
Pistias: "It cannot fit at all."
"You mean," Socrates continued, "that it is not the exactly-modeled corselet which fits, but that which does not gall the wearer in the using?"
Pistias: "There, Socrates, you have hit the very point. I see you understand the matter most precisely."
Monday, April 6, 2026
Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes, Introduction 2
As I have been accustomed to think thus, I have made a bolder attempt than he himself did of whom I am speaking. For Cato is accustomed to treat stoically of magnanimity, of modesty, of death, and of all the glory of virtue, of the immortal gods, and of patriotism, with the addition of the ornaments of eloquence.
But I have, for amusement, digested into common places those topics which the Stoics scarcely prove in their retirement and in their schools. Such topics are termed, even by themselves, paradoxes, because they are remarkable, and contrary to the opinion of all men. I have been desirous of trying whether they might not come into publicity, that is before the forum, and be so expressed as to be approved; or whether learned expressions were one thing, and a popular mode of address another.
I undertook this with the more pleasure, because these very paradoxes, as they are termed, appear to me to be the most Socratic, and by far the most true. Accept therefore this little work, composed during these shorter nights, since that work of my longer writings appeared in your name. You will have here a specimen of the manner I have been accustomed to adopt when I accommodate those things which in the schools are termed theses to our oratorical manner of speaking.
I do not, however, expect that you will look upon yourself as indebted to me for this performance, which is not such as to be placed, like the Minerva of Phidias, in a citadel, but still such as may appear to have issued from the same studio.
But I have, for amusement, digested into common places those topics which the Stoics scarcely prove in their retirement and in their schools. Such topics are termed, even by themselves, paradoxes, because they are remarkable, and contrary to the opinion of all men. I have been desirous of trying whether they might not come into publicity, that is before the forum, and be so expressed as to be approved; or whether learned expressions were one thing, and a popular mode of address another.
I undertook this with the more pleasure, because these very paradoxes, as they are termed, appear to me to be the most Socratic, and by far the most true. Accept therefore this little work, composed during these shorter nights, since that work of my longer writings appeared in your name. You will have here a specimen of the manner I have been accustomed to adopt when I accommodate those things which in the schools are termed theses to our oratorical manner of speaking.
I do not, however, expect that you will look upon yourself as indebted to me for this performance, which is not such as to be placed, like the Minerva of Phidias, in a citadel, but still such as may appear to have issued from the same studio.
—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes, Introduction
Sometimes a truth is best expressed with sophistication, and sometimes it is best expressed with simplicity. There are moments when I seek out a refined explanation, and there are moments when I desperately need a blunt pep talk. In the many aspects of our lives, these will rightly complement one another, not clash with one another.
Any philosopher runs the risk of divorcing his profound thinking from his daily living, but this can be especially true for the Stoic, because his values appear so alien to the assumptions of a herd mentality. When push comes to shove, what sort of words will most inspire us to change our attitudes? Do not necessarily frown upon a “popular” style; to get anywhere, we need to start from where we’re at.
In my own experience, the scholars have usually said the most, even as the rank and file have usually said it best. A dozen pages of Seneca would do me little good without some humble friend at my elbow, who pushes me ahead with one pithy saying.
No, Cicero is not mocking Stoicism, or selling it short, but rather submitting an account of the philosophy that can make it more available to the man on the street. Once he can understand more of it, on his own terms, let him then use it as he sees fit.
That Stoicism seems to depend upon paradoxes is surely an obstacle to taking it seriously, and we must learn why there is no contradiction within such principles, only a fitting irony: they will finally make sense once our priorities are no longer upside down. There is a great difference between saying that something is impossible and merely recognizing it as extraordinary.
I have long seen the Stoics as natural successors to Socrates, who so vigorously defended virtue as our defining good, so I am pleased that Cicero is approaching their dilemmas as a continuation of that noble tradition. In most every Socratic dialogue, I find myself realizing how what I had dismissed as ridiculous was actually quite sublime, and what I had believed to be the problem turned out to be the solution.
The Stoic Paradoxes are not an intricate piece of work, nor do they contain any elaborate syllogisms to totally eradicate all of our doubts. Instead, they employ everyday observations and appeal to suitable analogies, in order that we might reconsider our usual opinions about what counts as good in this life. This should be enough to make them worthy of our attention.
Sometimes a truth is best expressed with sophistication, and sometimes it is best expressed with simplicity. There are moments when I seek out a refined explanation, and there are moments when I desperately need a blunt pep talk. In the many aspects of our lives, these will rightly complement one another, not clash with one another.
Any philosopher runs the risk of divorcing his profound thinking from his daily living, but this can be especially true for the Stoic, because his values appear so alien to the assumptions of a herd mentality. When push comes to shove, what sort of words will most inspire us to change our attitudes? Do not necessarily frown upon a “popular” style; to get anywhere, we need to start from where we’re at.
In my own experience, the scholars have usually said the most, even as the rank and file have usually said it best. A dozen pages of Seneca would do me little good without some humble friend at my elbow, who pushes me ahead with one pithy saying.
No, Cicero is not mocking Stoicism, or selling it short, but rather submitting an account of the philosophy that can make it more available to the man on the street. Once he can understand more of it, on his own terms, let him then use it as he sees fit.
That Stoicism seems to depend upon paradoxes is surely an obstacle to taking it seriously, and we must learn why there is no contradiction within such principles, only a fitting irony: they will finally make sense once our priorities are no longer upside down. There is a great difference between saying that something is impossible and merely recognizing it as extraordinary.
I have long seen the Stoics as natural successors to Socrates, who so vigorously defended virtue as our defining good, so I am pleased that Cicero is approaching their dilemmas as a continuation of that noble tradition. In most every Socratic dialogue, I find myself realizing how what I had dismissed as ridiculous was actually quite sublime, and what I had believed to be the problem turned out to be the solution.
The Stoic Paradoxes are not an intricate piece of work, nor do they contain any elaborate syllogisms to totally eradicate all of our doubts. Instead, they employ everyday observations and appeal to suitable analogies, in order that we might reconsider our usual opinions about what counts as good in this life. This should be enough to make them worthy of our attention.
—Reflection written in 5/1999
Sunday, April 5, 2026
Dhammapada 416
Him I call indeed a Brahmana who, leaving all longings, travels about without a home, and in whom all covetousness is extinct.
Man's Search for Meaning 20
In spite of all the enforced physical and mental primitiveness of the life in a concentration camp, it was possible for spiritual life to deepen. Sensitive people who were used to a rich intellectual life may have suffered much pain (they were often of a delicate constitution), but the damage to their inner selves was less.
They were able to retreat from their terrible surroundings to a life of inner riches and spiritual freedom. Only in this way can one explain the apparent paradox that some prisoners of a less hardy makeup often seemed to survive camp life better than did those of a robust nature.
In order to make myself clear, I am forced to fall back on personal experience. Let me tell what happened on those early mornings when we had to march to our work site.
There were shouted commands: "Detachment, forward march! Left-2-3-4! Left-2-3-4! Left-2-3-4! Left-2-3-4! First man about, left and left and left and left! Caps off!" These words sound in my ears even now.
At the order "Caps off!" we passed the gate of the camp, and searchlights were trained upon us. Whoever did not march smartly got a kick. And worse off was the man who, because of the cold, had pulled his cap back over his ears before permission was given.
We stumbled on in the darkness, over big stones and through large puddles, along the one road leading from the camp. The accompanying guards kept shouting at us and driving us with the butts of their rifles. Anyone with very sore feet supported himself on his neighbor’s arm. Hardly a word was spoken; the icy wind did not encourage talk.
Hiding his mouth behind his upturned collar, the man marching next to me whispered suddenly: "If our wives could see us now! I do hope they are better off in their camps and don't know what is happening to us."
That brought thoughts of my own wife to mind. And as we stumbled on for miles, slipping on icy spots, supporting each other time and again, dragging one another up and onward, nothing was said, but we both knew: each of us was thinking of his wife.
Occasionally I looked at the sky, where the stars were fading and the pink light of the morning was beginning to spread behind a dark bank of clouds. But my mind clung to my wife's image, imagining it with an uncanny acuteness. I heard her answering me, saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look was then more luminous than the sun which was beginning to rise.
A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth—that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire.
A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth—that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire.
Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: the salvation of man is through love and in love.
I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved.
In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way—an honorable way— in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment.
For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory."
In front of me a man stumbled and those following him fell on top of him. The guard rushed over and used his whip on them all. Thus my thoughts were interrupted for a few minutes. But soon my soul found its way back from the prisoner's existence to another world, and I resumed talk with my loved one: I asked her questions, and she answered; she questioned me in return, and I answered.
"Stop!" We had arrived at our work site. Everybody rushed into the dark hut in the hope of getting a fairly decent tool. Each prisoner got a spade or a pickaxe.
"Can't you hurry up, you pigs?" Soon we had resumed the previous day's positions in the ditch. The frozen ground cracked under the point of the pickaxes, and sparks flew. The men were silent, their brains numb.
My mind still clung to the image of my wife. A thought crossed my mind: I didn't even know if she were still alive. I knew only one thing—which I have learned well by now: love goes very far beyond the physical person of the beloved. It finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self. Whether or not he is actually present, whether or not he is still alive at all, ceases somehow to be of importance.
I did not know whether my wife was alive, and I had no means of finding out (during all my prison life there was no outgoing or incoming mail); but at that moment it ceased to matter. There was no need for me to know; nothing could touch the strength of my love, my thoughts, and the image of my beloved.
In front of me a man stumbled and those following him fell on top of him. The guard rushed over and used his whip on them all. Thus my thoughts were interrupted for a few minutes. But soon my soul found its way back from the prisoner's existence to another world, and I resumed talk with my loved one: I asked her questions, and she answered; she questioned me in return, and I answered.
"Stop!" We had arrived at our work site. Everybody rushed into the dark hut in the hope of getting a fairly decent tool. Each prisoner got a spade or a pickaxe.
"Can't you hurry up, you pigs?" Soon we had resumed the previous day's positions in the ditch. The frozen ground cracked under the point of the pickaxes, and sparks flew. The men were silent, their brains numb.
My mind still clung to the image of my wife. A thought crossed my mind: I didn't even know if she were still alive. I knew only one thing—which I have learned well by now: love goes very far beyond the physical person of the beloved. It finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self. Whether or not he is actually present, whether or not he is still alive at all, ceases somehow to be of importance.
I did not know whether my wife was alive, and I had no means of finding out (during all my prison life there was no outgoing or incoming mail); but at that moment it ceased to matter. There was no need for me to know; nothing could touch the strength of my love, my thoughts, and the image of my beloved.
Had I known then that my wife was dead, I think that I would still have given myself, undisturbed by that knowledge, to the contemplation of her image, and that my mental conversation with her would have been just as vivid and just as satisfying.
"Set me like a seal upon thy heart, love is as strong as death."
—from Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning
Saturday, April 4, 2026
Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes, Introduction 1
Addressed to Marcus Brutus
I have often observed, O Brutus, that your uncle Cato, when he delivered his opinion in the senate, was accustomed to handle important points of philosophy, inconsistent with popular and forensic usage; but that yet, in speaking, he managed them so that even these seemed to the people worthy of approbation; which was so much the greater excellency in him, than either in you or in me, because we are more conversant in that philosophy which has produced a copiousness of expression, and in which those things are propounded which do not widely differ from the popular opinion.
But Cato, in my opinion a complete Stoic, both holds those notions which certainly do not approve themselves to the common people; and belongs to that sect which aims at no embellishments, and does not spin out an argument. He therefore succeeds in what he has purposed, by certain pithy and, as it were, stimulating questions. There is, however, nothing so incredible that it may not be made plausible by eloquence; nothing so rough and uncultivated that it may not, in oratory, become brilliant and polished.
I have often observed, O Brutus, that your uncle Cato, when he delivered his opinion in the senate, was accustomed to handle important points of philosophy, inconsistent with popular and forensic usage; but that yet, in speaking, he managed them so that even these seemed to the people worthy of approbation; which was so much the greater excellency in him, than either in you or in me, because we are more conversant in that philosophy which has produced a copiousness of expression, and in which those things are propounded which do not widely differ from the popular opinion.
—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes, Introduction
My colleagues have long insisted that Cicero isn’t a “real” philosopher, but I became the butt of even more jokes when I was caught reading these Stoic Paradoxes. It was a feeble text, I was told, at best a mediocre rhetorical exercise, and at worst a piece of lazy sophistry, which passes over complex distinctions in favor of facile cliches. Besides, don’t we all know how Cicero was an Academic skeptic, so this brief work can hardly be treated as sincere?
I can only reply that Cicero’s opening offers us a helpful context for its purpose, and that his healthy eclecticism does not exclude any philosophy based upon mere dogmatic loyalties. To me, Cicero was first and foremost a disciple of common sense, and if this happened to touch on the teachings of the Stoics, then it was worth his time to learn something from their principles. To introduce an argument in an accessible manner is not to water it down, and to immerse oneself in a different point of view is not to be dishonest.
While I don’t imagine that Cicero and Cato were friends, at least not in the usual sense, they both remained loyal to their principles, and they were united in a love for the values of the Republic. To Cicero, Cato probably seemed too headstrong, and to Cato, Cicero probably seemed too yielding. Yet for all their differences of personality, I would like to think that these two statesmen had very much in common when it came to their sense of right and wrong.
At the risk of falling for a stereotype, I can see why the Stoics might have appeared as haughty and impractical, and why their teachings did not immediately appeal to the outlook of the everyman. Might it be possible to express the basic values of Stoicism in a more enticing package, with a bit more of an engaging style, and without the association of a high-minded obscurity? For all the power a chain of syllogisms may have for the sage, what could convince the average joe to seek a life of virtue as his highest good?
In other words, it doesn’t need to sound snooty for it to be meaningful. The best truths will surely shine in the language of both the idealist and the pragmatist, just as there is no shame in tugging at the heartstrings in order to bring some clarity into the head.
My colleagues have long insisted that Cicero isn’t a “real” philosopher, but I became the butt of even more jokes when I was caught reading these Stoic Paradoxes. It was a feeble text, I was told, at best a mediocre rhetorical exercise, and at worst a piece of lazy sophistry, which passes over complex distinctions in favor of facile cliches. Besides, don’t we all know how Cicero was an Academic skeptic, so this brief work can hardly be treated as sincere?
I can only reply that Cicero’s opening offers us a helpful context for its purpose, and that his healthy eclecticism does not exclude any philosophy based upon mere dogmatic loyalties. To me, Cicero was first and foremost a disciple of common sense, and if this happened to touch on the teachings of the Stoics, then it was worth his time to learn something from their principles. To introduce an argument in an accessible manner is not to water it down, and to immerse oneself in a different point of view is not to be dishonest.
While I don’t imagine that Cicero and Cato were friends, at least not in the usual sense, they both remained loyal to their principles, and they were united in a love for the values of the Republic. To Cicero, Cato probably seemed too headstrong, and to Cato, Cicero probably seemed too yielding. Yet for all their differences of personality, I would like to think that these two statesmen had very much in common when it came to their sense of right and wrong.
At the risk of falling for a stereotype, I can see why the Stoics might have appeared as haughty and impractical, and why their teachings did not immediately appeal to the outlook of the everyman. Might it be possible to express the basic values of Stoicism in a more enticing package, with a bit more of an engaging style, and without the association of a high-minded obscurity? For all the power a chain of syllogisms may have for the sage, what could convince the average joe to seek a life of virtue as his highest good?
In other words, it doesn’t need to sound snooty for it to be meaningful. The best truths will surely shine in the language of both the idealist and the pragmatist, just as there is no shame in tugging at the heartstrings in order to bring some clarity into the head.
—Reflection written in 5/1999
Friday, April 3, 2026
Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 20
All those which are subject to reasonable choice for the sake of nothing else are worth choosing for their own sakes, whereas those which are subject to reasonable choice because they produce other things are said to be worth choosing in the instrumental sense.
IMAGE: John Everett Millais, The Pearl of Great Price (1864)
_MET_DP835752.jpg)
Proverbs 4:7-9
and whatever you get, get insight.
[8] Prize her highly, and she will exalt you;
she will honor you if you embrace her.
[9] She will place on your head a fair garland;
she will bestow on you a beautiful crown."
IMAGE: David Klöcker Ehrenstrahl, The Crown of Immortality (c. 1675)
Thursday, April 2, 2026
Seneca, Moral Letters 85.16
So the wise man will develop virtue, if he may, in the midst of wealth, or, if not, in poverty; if possible, in his own country—if not, in exile; if possible, as a commander—if not, as a common soldier; if possible, in sound health—if not, enfeebled.
Whatever fortune he finds, he will accomplish therefrom something noteworthy.
Animal tamers are unerring; they take the most savage animals, which may well terrify those who encounter them, and subdue them to the will of man; not content with having driven out their ferocity, they even tame them so that they dwell in the same abode.
The trainer puts his hand into the lion’s mouth; the tiger is kissed by his keeper. The tiny Aethiopian orders the elephant to sink down on its knees, or to walk the rope.
Similarly, the wise man is a skilled hand at taming evils. Pain, want, disgrace, imprisonment, exile—these are universally to be feared; but when they encounter the wise man, they are tamed. Farewell.
Whatever fortune he finds, he will accomplish therefrom something noteworthy.
Animal tamers are unerring; they take the most savage animals, which may well terrify those who encounter them, and subdue them to the will of man; not content with having driven out their ferocity, they even tame them so that they dwell in the same abode.
The trainer puts his hand into the lion’s mouth; the tiger is kissed by his keeper. The tiny Aethiopian orders the elephant to sink down on its knees, or to walk the rope.
Similarly, the wise man is a skilled hand at taming evils. Pain, want, disgrace, imprisonment, exile—these are universally to be feared; but when they encounter the wise man, they are tamed. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85
But doesn’t there have to be some limit, a bare minimum of conditions for me to work with? How can I be expected to bear such an intensity of hardship and suffering? There must surely be a point when it all becomes too much.
In the depths of despair, I cannot blame anyone for thinking and feeling this way. I have been there myself, and I know very well how those impressions will frantically rush about, or they will firmly attach themselves in the most inauspicious of places.
Yet I also know how quickly we can underestimate the strength of our understanding to bring meaning and purpose to even the fiercest of emotions. Ironically, I find the trick to not be in applying more brute force, but rather in yielding to an inner calm.
It is an illusion to believe that a happy life demands more money, or greater authority, or even better health. Take both their presence and their absence as matters of indifference, in the total awareness that they can never define the dignity of our choices. I have often been at my best when everything else seemed to fall apart, and I have often been at my worst when the perks seemed to fall into my lap. It was estimation that made all the difference.
Apply, rinse, and repeat: change the measures, and you change the outcomes. Once I no longer care so much for the accidents, I can finally get to work on the essence.
It is hard enough for me to live in a precarious equilibrium with my headstrong tomcat, so I don’t foresee any animal training in my future.; I am content when he is being himself, and he is content when I am scratching his head. Nevertheless, the analogy is fitting, because the appetitive, however savage or intimidating, calls out for the guidance of the rational, however gentle or modest. Serenity is ultimately about taming those lions, tigers, and bears running around inside of our souls.
Those pesky syllogisms can only be of some use when they aid us in forming our daily habits, which, in turn, allow us to become our own masters. When I cry out in fear and distress over the circumstances, it is a sign that I have not yet come to fully know myself.
But doesn’t there have to be some limit, a bare minimum of conditions for me to work with? How can I be expected to bear such an intensity of hardship and suffering? There must surely be a point when it all becomes too much.
In the depths of despair, I cannot blame anyone for thinking and feeling this way. I have been there myself, and I know very well how those impressions will frantically rush about, or they will firmly attach themselves in the most inauspicious of places.
Yet I also know how quickly we can underestimate the strength of our understanding to bring meaning and purpose to even the fiercest of emotions. Ironically, I find the trick to not be in applying more brute force, but rather in yielding to an inner calm.
It is an illusion to believe that a happy life demands more money, or greater authority, or even better health. Take both their presence and their absence as matters of indifference, in the total awareness that they can never define the dignity of our choices. I have often been at my best when everything else seemed to fall apart, and I have often been at my worst when the perks seemed to fall into my lap. It was estimation that made all the difference.
Apply, rinse, and repeat: change the measures, and you change the outcomes. Once I no longer care so much for the accidents, I can finally get to work on the essence.
It is hard enough for me to live in a precarious equilibrium with my headstrong tomcat, so I don’t foresee any animal training in my future.; I am content when he is being himself, and he is content when I am scratching his head. Nevertheless, the analogy is fitting, because the appetitive, however savage or intimidating, calls out for the guidance of the rational, however gentle or modest. Serenity is ultimately about taming those lions, tigers, and bears running around inside of our souls.
Those pesky syllogisms can only be of some use when they aid us in forming our daily habits, which, in turn, allow us to become our own masters. When I cry out in fear and distress over the circumstances, it is a sign that I have not yet come to fully know myself.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
.jpg)
Wednesday, April 1, 2026
Sayings of Heraclitus 92
To the soul belongs the self-multiplying Logos.
IMAGE: Hendrick ter Brugghen, Heraclitus (1628)
Seneca, Moral Letters 85.15
Besides, he is not prevented from helping others, even at the time when constraining circumstances press him down. Because of his poverty he is prevented from showing how the State should be handled; but he teaches, nonetheless, how poverty should be handled. His work goes on throughout his whole life.
Thus no fortune, no external circumstance, can shut off the wise man from action. For the very thing which engages his attention prevents him from attending to other things. He is ready for either outcome: if it brings goods, he controls them; if evils, he conquers them.
So thoroughly, I mean, has he schooled himself that he makes manifest his virtue in prosperity as well as in adversity, and keeps his eyes on virtue itself, not on the objects with which virtue deals. Hence neither poverty, nor pain, nor anything else that deflects the inexperienced and drives them headlong, restrains him from his course.
Do you suppose that he is weighed down by evils? He makes use of them. It was not of ivory only that Phidias knew how to make statues; he also made statues of bronze. If you had given him marble, or a still meaner material, he would have made of it the best statue that the material would permit.
Thus no fortune, no external circumstance, can shut off the wise man from action. For the very thing which engages his attention prevents him from attending to other things. He is ready for either outcome: if it brings goods, he controls them; if evils, he conquers them.
So thoroughly, I mean, has he schooled himself that he makes manifest his virtue in prosperity as well as in adversity, and keeps his eyes on virtue itself, not on the objects with which virtue deals. Hence neither poverty, nor pain, nor anything else that deflects the inexperienced and drives them headlong, restrains him from his course.
Do you suppose that he is weighed down by evils? He makes use of them. It was not of ivory only that Phidias knew how to make statues; he also made statues of bronze. If you had given him marble, or a still meaner material, he would have made of it the best statue that the material would permit.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85
When they tell me that I’m going to need to get all kinds of other stuff before I can ever do any of the good stuff, I fear there is some confusion about the nature of the good, and thus an unhealthy fixation on hoarding more stuff.
A preference for comfort and convenience is surely reasonable, but I grow suspicious when a pursuit of the easy way becomes an excuse to hesitate on committing to the right way. If acting on my conscience requires no risk, and cannot involve the prospect of some other loss, then I should hardly dare to call it a conscience.
You say it is impossible to act with charity without first being rich? Or that a danger to my own security releases me from caring for my neighbor? I would ask you to consider whether the virtues are about spending money or about spending ourselves. Even if I don’t have the means to buy you a new car, I always have the means to offer you unconditional love, and that is, after all, the force that really makes the world go around.
I can be prudent, brave, temperate, and just under any circumstances, and I would dare to suggest that there are times when the richest opportunities for excellence can actually arise from situations of poverty instead of prosperity.
With my priorities in order, I can be happy with more or with less, because character is about quality, and not about quantity. With the end clearly in sight, I can take both privilege and adversity as benefits, because everything in this whole wide world becomes a means to living well.
The inspired artist, like Phidias, will gladly work in a variety of mediums to express his message. I knew a man who one day ran out of blocks of wood for whittling, and I then found him hard at work on a bar of soap. I still have the greatest admiration for the clever fellow who realized he did not need briar root to craft a pipe, because he could smoke his tobacco out of a corncob. Once we are at peace within ourselves, we are at peace with whatever Fortune throws our way.
Draw wisdom out of ignorance. Build fortitude in the face of cowardice. Increase temperance in times of deprivation. Practice justice whenever and wherever you have been wronged. Affluence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
When they tell me that I’m going to need to get all kinds of other stuff before I can ever do any of the good stuff, I fear there is some confusion about the nature of the good, and thus an unhealthy fixation on hoarding more stuff.
A preference for comfort and convenience is surely reasonable, but I grow suspicious when a pursuit of the easy way becomes an excuse to hesitate on committing to the right way. If acting on my conscience requires no risk, and cannot involve the prospect of some other loss, then I should hardly dare to call it a conscience.
You say it is impossible to act with charity without first being rich? Or that a danger to my own security releases me from caring for my neighbor? I would ask you to consider whether the virtues are about spending money or about spending ourselves. Even if I don’t have the means to buy you a new car, I always have the means to offer you unconditional love, and that is, after all, the force that really makes the world go around.
I can be prudent, brave, temperate, and just under any circumstances, and I would dare to suggest that there are times when the richest opportunities for excellence can actually arise from situations of poverty instead of prosperity.
With my priorities in order, I can be happy with more or with less, because character is about quality, and not about quantity. With the end clearly in sight, I can take both privilege and adversity as benefits, because everything in this whole wide world becomes a means to living well.
The inspired artist, like Phidias, will gladly work in a variety of mediums to express his message. I knew a man who one day ran out of blocks of wood for whittling, and I then found him hard at work on a bar of soap. I still have the greatest admiration for the clever fellow who realized he did not need briar root to craft a pipe, because he could smoke his tobacco out of a corncob. Once we are at peace within ourselves, we are at peace with whatever Fortune throws our way.
Draw wisdom out of ignorance. Build fortitude in the face of cowardice. Increase temperance in times of deprivation. Practice justice whenever and wherever you have been wronged. Affluence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
IMAGE: Jozsef Dorffmeister, Phidias Sculpting the Bust of Zeus (1802)
.jpg)
Tuesday, March 31, 2026
Dio Chrysostom, On Slavery and Freedom 1.2
Dio: But have not many men paid down money for many who are free, when they have paid a ransom, at one time to enemies in warfare and at another to pirates, and some few have paid their own value to their masters? And yet surely these last are not slaves to themselves?
"No, but whenever another has the power to have a man scourged or imprisoned or put to death, or have anything else done to him that he wishes, then that man is the slave of the other."
Dio: How is that? Do not pirates have the power to treat the men they have captured in this way? And yet none the less the captives are not slaves. Then again, have not judges the power to impose the penalty of imprisonment or death or anything else they wish upon many of those who are before them for trial? And yet surely these men are not slaves. But if they are slaves for the one day during which they each are on trial, this means nothing; for is a man really ever said to have been a slave for one day?
"But surely we may put the matter briefly and declare that whoever has the power to do whatever he wishes is free, and that whoever has not that power is a slave."
Dio: No, you cannot say this in the case of those on board ship nor of the sick either, nor of those serving in the field, nor of those learning to read and write or to play the harp or to wrestle or to acquire any other art; for these have not the right to follow their own preferences, but must act as the captain, physician, or teacher, as the case may be, instructs. If that is so, then men in general are not allowed to do what they wish, but if they violate the established laws, they will be punished.
"Then I say that the man who has the power to act or not, just as he pleases, in regard to those matters which are not forbidden by the laws or enjoined by them, is free, and that the man who on the contrary lacks that power is a slave."
Dio: Well then, do you think that it is permitted to you to do all things, which, while they are not expressly forbidden by the laws, yet are regarded as base and unseemly by mankind? I mean, for example, collecting taxes, or keeping a brothel, or doing other such things.
"O no, indeed. I should say that it is not permissible for the free to do such things either. And indeed for these acts the penalty fixed is to be hated or abominated by men."
Dio: Well then, in the case of intemperate men, whatever acts they commit by reason of their intemperance, and in the case of the ignorant all that they do owing to their ignorance in neglecting either their property or their person or in treating their fellows unjustly and inconsiderately, do not all these things impose a penalty upon those that do them? For they are injured either in their person or in their property or, most serious of all, in their own soul.
"What you now say is true."
Dio: Therefore it is not permissible to do these things either?
"No, certainly not."
Dio: In a word, then, it is not permissible to do mean and unseemly and unprofitable things, but things that are just and profitable and good we must say that it is both proper and permissible to do?
"It seems so to me at any rate."
Dio: Therefore no one may do that which is mean and unprofitable without suffering the penalty, whether he be Greek or barbarian . . . or a man for whom one has paid a price in cash?
"No, indeed."
Dio: But the opposite things are allowed to all alike, and those who do what is allowed continue free from penalty, while those who do what is forbidden are punished. Now do you think that any others do what is permissible except those who know what that is, or that any others do the opposite except those who do not know?
"Oh, no!"
Dio: Therefore, the wise are permitted to do anything whatsoever they wish, while the foolish attempt to do what they wish although it is not permissible; so that it follows of necessity that while the wise are free and are allowed to act as they wish, the ignorant are slaves and do that which is not allowable for them?
"Perhaps."
Dio: Therefore we are forced to define freedom as the knowledge of what is allowable and what is forbidden, and slavery as ignorance of what is allowed and what is not.
According to this definition there is nothing to prevent the Great King, while wearing a very tall tiara upon his head, from being a slave and not being allowed to do anything that he does; for every act that he performs will bring a penalty and be unprofitable.
But some other man who is regarded as a slave and is so called, who has not once but often, if it so chance, been sold, and if it should so happen, wears very heavy fetters, will be more free than the Great King.
"To me it appears exceeding strange that one who wears fetters or has been branded or who grinds in a mill will be more free than the Great King."
Dio: Well, now have you ever been in Thrace?
"Yes."
Dio: Then you have seen the women there, the free women, covered with branded marks, and having the more such marks and the more elaborate in proportion to their social standing and that of the families to which they belong?
"Now, pray, what does this signify?"
Dio: That, as it seems, there is nothing to prevent a queen from being tattooed; but do you think that there is anything to prevent a king? And further, have you never heard of that race, either, where the king is kept under guard in a very high tower and may not descend from that tower?
"To me it appears exceeding strange that one who wears fetters or has been branded or who grinds in a mill will be more free than the Great King."
Dio: Well, now have you ever been in Thrace?
"Yes."
Dio: Then you have seen the women there, the free women, covered with branded marks, and having the more such marks and the more elaborate in proportion to their social standing and that of the families to which they belong?
"Now, pray, what does this signify?"
Dio: That, as it seems, there is nothing to prevent a queen from being tattooed; but do you think that there is anything to prevent a king? And further, have you never heard of that race, either, where the king is kept under guard in a very high tower and may not descend from that tower?
But, if you had heard, you would have understood that it is possible for a man to be king even if kept closely confined. And you might perhaps have heard those people expressing surprise if you had tried to tell them about the Persian King, and refusing to believe that there is such a thing as a king who drives about in a chariot and goes wherever he wishes.
"But you cannot give an instance of a king who is in bonds."
Dio: No king of men, perhaps, and yet the King of the Gods, the first and eldest one, is in bonds, they say, if we are to believe Hesiod and Homer and other wise men who tell this tale about Cronus, and indeed he does not receive this treatment unjustly from a personal enemy, but from one most just who loved him dearly, who evidently treats him thus because it is fit treatment for a king and profitable to him.
"But you cannot give an instance of a king who is in bonds."
Dio: No king of men, perhaps, and yet the King of the Gods, the first and eldest one, is in bonds, they say, if we are to believe Hesiod and Homer and other wise men who tell this tale about Cronus, and indeed he does not receive this treatment unjustly from a personal enemy, but from one most just who loved him dearly, who evidently treats him thus because it is fit treatment for a king and profitable to him.
But they do not know this and would never imagine that a beggar or a prisoner or man without repute was once king, although they hear that Odysseus, for all his being a beggar and begging of the suitors, was none the less a king and the owner of the house, while Antinous and Eurymachus, whom Homer named 'kings,' were miserable and unfortunate wretches.
But this, as I said, they do not know, and as badges of royalty they clothe themselves with tiaras and scepters and crowns so that none may fail to know that they are kings; just as, I imagine, owners mark their cattle to make them easily distinguishable.
This undoubtedly is the reason why the King of the Persians ordained that he alone should wear his tiara upright; and if anyone else did this, he straightway ordered his execution, in the belief that it was not good or advantageous that in the midst of so many myriads of people two men should wear tiaras upright; but that he should have his mind upright and that no one should have greater wisdom than himself, for this he had no concern.
So I fear that just as in those days there were such symbols of royalty as we have described, so now also there ought to be similar badges to mark the free man, and that he ought to walk abroad wearing a felt skullcap, else we shall not be able to distinguish between the free man and the slave.
.png)
Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 8.2
For such a reflection as this, which suggests to us continually, what their nature and circumstances are, is no other, than a meditating upon the loss of them. And such a meditation would render the thing easy and familiar to us; and when any accident of this kind befalls us, would prevent all that surprise and confusion, and extravagant concern, which the unthinking part of the world are oppressed with upon such occasions.
And indeed the case here is the very same with several other instances, wherein we find, that the troubles and pains of body and mind both, though very grievous at first and in themselves, yet grow much more supportable by custom and use.
To this purpose, the next words give us very good counsel: to begin at first with little matters, nay, not only with little, but with the least and most inconsiderable. For according to the old Greek Proverb, the potter must try a cup, before he can make a jar.
To this purpose, the next words give us very good counsel: to begin at first with little matters, nay, not only with little, but with the least and most inconsiderable. For according to the old Greek Proverb, the potter must try a cup, before he can make a jar.
He that undertakes the biggest first, is presently worsted, proves unsuccessful, spends his strength to no purpose, and gives out in utter despair. But he that sets out leisurely, and begins with small and easy trials, grows stronger and bolder with his good success, and by gaining ground upon what was a match for him before, advances more surely, and conquers still greater and greater difficulties.
Thus a man used to four meals a day, if he attempts all on the sudden to fast a whole day together, will find the change too violent for his body to bear, and never get through the trouble and pain of it. And this force upon nature is the reason, why such warm undertakings are generally of dangerous consequence, only just for a spurt, and away.
But if such a one abates of his former indulgence by degrees, first takes himself down to three meals, and, when this proportion is grown habitual and easy, then allows himself but two: thus it will be very feasible, and afterwards he may, without any great trouble, come to content himself with one; and such a change will be infinitely more safe, and more likely to continue.
Apply this now to the instance before us: we should consider those things that are dear to us, upon the account of their usefulness and convenience; and from such among them as are of least consequence and value, acquaint ourselves with the condition of all the rest, as that their nature is corruptible, the enjoyment of them uncertain, and the loss of them what we have reason to expect every moment.
Apply this now to the instance before us: we should consider those things that are dear to us, upon the account of their usefulness and convenience; and from such among them as are of least consequence and value, acquaint ourselves with the condition of all the rest, as that their nature is corruptible, the enjoyment of them uncertain, and the loss of them what we have reason to expect every moment.
As in an earthen pot, which can have nothing but its usefulness to incline us to value it, we are to remember, it is of a brittle substance, and dashed to pieces with the least accident. And what can be a poorer and more contemptible instance than this, to begin with?
Yet mean and trifling as it is, a man that lays a good foundation here, and rises by degrees to matters of greater concern, shall be able at last to encounter his affection for a child; and not only in mere speculation, and empty formal words to say it, but to make his whole behavior speak, and all the dispositions of his mind to carry the impression of this wise and seasonable reflection, that what he thus dotes upon, is but a man; if a man, consequently a brittle and frail creature, and such as he is in a continual possibility of losing.
And if his mind be once thoroughly possessed with this consideration, and confirmed with an habitual recollection of it, whenever that child is snatched away from him, he is prepared for the stroke, and cannot be surprised and confounded with passion, as if some strange or new thing had happened to him.
And here it is very well worth a remark, what abundance of wisdom and artifice there is in this management of things. For by it we get a mastery over those that are not by nature within our power, and deal with them as though they were.
And here it is very well worth a remark, what abundance of wisdom and artifice there is in this management of things. For by it we get a mastery over those that are not by nature within our power, and deal with them as though they were.
The saving my child from death, is a thing not in my power.
But a due consideration of his being liable to it, the rendering this consideration familiar and easy to me, and living in expectation of it, as a thing no less natural and likely than his life, the not being disturbed if he does die, and the behaving myself with such evenness of temper, as if he were not dead: these are in my power, and which is a great deal more, they do in effect bring the very accident of his death, which is of itself not so, within it too.
For a man thus composed may say, "My child is not dead to me." Or, to speak more truly and properly, "Though he be dead, yet I am still the same man, as if he were still alive."
I only observe farther, that the instances produced here by Epictetus, are fetched from the two latter sorts of things; such as are useful and beneficial to us, and such as nature, and affinity gives us a more than ordinary tenderness for. And these were prudently chosen, with an intent, I presume to intimate, that those things, which are for entertainment and diversion, and can only pretend to please without profiting us, are so very mean and despicable, as to deserve no consideration at all, for persons who have made any tolerable advances in the study of wisdom and virtue.
I only observe farther, that the instances produced here by Epictetus, are fetched from the two latter sorts of things; such as are useful and beneficial to us, and such as nature, and affinity gives us a more than ordinary tenderness for. And these were prudently chosen, with an intent, I presume to intimate, that those things, which are for entertainment and diversion, and can only pretend to please without profiting us, are so very mean and despicable, as to deserve no consideration at all, for persons who have made any tolerable advances in the study of wisdom and virtue.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)