The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Tuesday, March 24, 2026
Monday, March 23, 2026
Sunday, March 22, 2026
Maxims of Goethe 84
IMAGE: Philipp Foltz, The Funeral Oration of Pericles (1852)
Seneca, Moral Letters 85.11
“It is the doctrine of you Stoics, then,” they reply, “that a brave man will expose himself to dangers.”
By no means; he will merely not fear them, though he will avoid them. It is proper for him to be careful, but not to be fearful.
“What then? Is he not to fear death, imprisonment, burning, and all the other missiles of Fortune?”
Not at all; for he knows that they are not evils, but only seem to be. He reckons all these things as the bugbears of man’s existence.Paint him a picture of slavery, lashes, chains, want, mutilation by disease or by torture—or anything else you may care to mention; he will count all such things as terrors caused by the derangement of the mind. These things are only to be feared by those who are fearful. Or do you regard as an evil that to which some day we may be compelled to resort of our own free will?
What then, you ask, is an evil? It is the yielding to those things which are called evils; it is the surrendering of one’s liberty into their control, when really we ought to suffer all things in order to preserve this liberty.
Liberty is lost unless we despise those things which put the yoke upon our necks. If men knew what bravery was, they would have no doubts as to what a brave man’s conduct should be.
For bravery is not thoughtless rashness, or love of danger, or the courting of fear-inspiring objects; it is the knowledge which enables us to distinguish between that which is evil and that which is not. Bravery takes the greatest care of itself, and likewise endures with the greatest patience all things which have a false appearance of being evils.
By no means; he will merely not fear them, though he will avoid them. It is proper for him to be careful, but not to be fearful.
“What then? Is he not to fear death, imprisonment, burning, and all the other missiles of Fortune?”
Not at all; for he knows that they are not evils, but only seem to be. He reckons all these things as the bugbears of man’s existence.Paint him a picture of slavery, lashes, chains, want, mutilation by disease or by torture—or anything else you may care to mention; he will count all such things as terrors caused by the derangement of the mind. These things are only to be feared by those who are fearful. Or do you regard as an evil that to which some day we may be compelled to resort of our own free will?
What then, you ask, is an evil? It is the yielding to those things which are called evils; it is the surrendering of one’s liberty into their control, when really we ought to suffer all things in order to preserve this liberty.
Liberty is lost unless we despise those things which put the yoke upon our necks. If men knew what bravery was, they would have no doubts as to what a brave man’s conduct should be.
For bravery is not thoughtless rashness, or love of danger, or the courting of fear-inspiring objects; it is the knowledge which enables us to distinguish between that which is evil and that which is not. Bravery takes the greatest care of itself, and likewise endures with the greatest patience all things which have a false appearance of being evils.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85
While we could argue about the best words until the cows come home, it is good for me to embrace the feeling of caution, and it is bad for me to succumb to the feeling of fear. If something can do me genuine harm, it is wise to avoid it, and yet if something is merely alarming, I should not be intimidated by the impression.
All too often, we let the passions push us about, while the stable emotions are always grounded in a sound understanding.
Before I am gripped by terror, wouldn’t it be best to consider the true measure of what will either help or hurt my nature? My most crippling mistakes started when I let my desires rush ahead of my awareness, and they could so easily have been avoided by first knowing what I should want to get and what I should want to avoid.
Over the years, I have been frantically warned about countless dangers, and yet it turns out that so very few of them were really perilous at all.
Yes, the Stoic will make some shocking claims, including the one about no circumstance ever being an evil. We are appalled by this, however, because we haven’t started at the beginning, because we are constantly assuming the conclusions without establishing the premises. This also why we bicker about taxes, and guns, and abortion, while never reasoning from first principles about our human good.
If we swept away the clutter of the passions, we would see that man is a creature of reason and of will, made to know and to love, and the rest is window dressing. Virtue is his only good, and vice is his only evil. He should not fear poverty, or torture, or death, since they need not hinder the act of living well. Indeed, he should not fear anything at all, since it always remains within his power to do what is right, whatever fortune might happen to throw his way.
Will there be pain? Most certainly, and sometimes we will deceive ourselves into believing that the pains are the pleasures. The trick is in employing the hardship as an opportunity to express an excellence of the soul, at which point there is no need for running away from the pain or for chasing after the pleasure—there will be the simplicity of joy.
When I can master myself in this way, with no demands for ruling anyone or anything else, I will have attained a total freedom for myself. It sounds poetic to proclaim that fear is a form of slavery, but it is philosophical to explain why fear is a surrender to the things beyond our control, and therefore we ironically make indifferent things evil by giving them an authority over us.
A brave man no longer fears death, because he cares first and foremost for the integrity of his character, and what once felt so big now feels rather small. It is the same with the prudent man, who knows he can conquer his own ignorance, and the temperate man, who knows he can moderate his own appetites, and the just man, who knows he can gladly give what he owes without expecting any further reward.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
IMAGE: Briton Riviere, Daniel in the Lion's Den (1872)
Saturday, March 21, 2026
Delphic Maxims 93
Deal kindly with everyone
IMAGE: Orazio Gentileschi, The Finding of Moses (c. 1630)
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Stockdale on Stoicism 55
So much for Stoicism as a guide to where one begins and where one leaves off in the world of free will. I now take leave of that relatively happy place, stale and jaded though it may have become in those years, and shift to the much worse circumstances of a political prison, a house of compulsion. There I found Stoicism an even more perfect fit.
I’m about to tell you more about the psychological side of life in a political prison than many of you will want to know. I assure you it isn’t done for political instruction or shock effect but to take you inside the human mind in a state of its ultimate duress and show how Stoicism can elevate the dignity of man even in worst-case scenarios.
I got to that political prison just a little over a year after I blew those tanks off the map. The Tonkin Gulf Resolution had been passed by the Congress two days later, and the air war in North Vietnam was on. It was on September 9, 1965, after a couple of hundred bombing missions in that war, and just three years after I left graduate school, that my airplane was finally shot out of the sky. I arrived at the old French dungeon called Hoa Lo ("Fiery Furnace") Prison in Hanoi, as a stretcher case, three days later.
I identify Hoa Lo as a political prison rather than a "P.O.W. camp," not just because of its honeycomb of tiny cells, each with a cement-slab bed, leg irons at its foot, a food chute above the irons, a toilet bucket beside, and a "rat hole" to the outside drainage ditch for flushing, but because it was a place where people are sent to be used, to have their minds changed, or both.
Political prisons are not to be confused with penitentiaries or prison camps where people are locked up to preserve the public peace or pay their debts to society. Little attention is given to terms of confinement or time schedules. They are institutions devoted only to the discrediting of the inmates’ causes; when all the prisoner’s juices have been squeezed out, when his forced confession of crimes never committed are judged as convincing as they can be made to be, he is usually free to go.
It’s not generally known, but Americans held in Hanoi were free to go any time, provided the prisoner (1) cut juicy enough anti-American tapes, and (2) he was then willing to violate our prisoners’ underground organization’s self-imposed creed of comradeship: "Accept no parole or amnesty; we all go home together."
Thus we came to imprison ourselves, for honor, in accordance with our Code of Conduct. I might add that this mystified several high officials of our government here in Washington. They didn’t know their own code.
—from James B. Stockdale, Epictetus' Enchiridion: Conflict and Character
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Friday, March 20, 2026
Sayings of Ramakrishna 281
An angler was fishing in a pond. The Avadhûta, approaching him, asked, "Brother, which way leads to such and such a place?"
The float of the rod at that time was indicating that the fish was nibbling the bait: so the man did not give any reply, but was all attention to his fishing rod.
When the fish was caught, he turned round and said, "What is it you have been saying, sir?"
The Avadhûta saluted him and said, "Sir, you are my Guru. When I sit in the contemplation of the Paramâtman, let me follow your example, and before finishing my devotions let me not attend to anything else."
IMAGE: Robert Seldon Duncanson, Man Fishing (1848)
Seneca, Moral Letters 85.10
“He who is brave is fearless; he who is fearless is free from sadness; he who is free from sadness is happy.”
It is our own school which has framed this syllogism; they attempt to refute it by this answer, namely, that we Stoics are assuming as admitted a premise which is false and distinctly controverted—that the brave man is fearless.
“What!” they say, “will the brave man have no fear of evils that threaten him? That would be the condition of a madman, a lunatic, rather than of a brave man. The brave man will, it is true, feel fear in only a very slight degree; but he is not absolutely free from fear.”
Now those who assert this are doubling back to their old argument, in that they regard vices of less degree as equivalent to virtues. For indeed the man who does feel fear, though he feels it rather seldom and to a slight degree, is not free from wickedness, but is merely troubled by it in a milder form.
“Not so,” is the reply, “for I hold that a man is mad if he does not fear evils which hang over his head.”
What you say is perfectly true, if the things which threaten are really evils; but if he knows that they are not evils and believes that the only evil is baseness, he will be bound to face dangers without anxiety and to despise things which other men cannot help fearing.
Or, if it is the characteristic of a fool and a madman not to fear evils, then the wiser a man is the more he will fear such things!
It is our own school which has framed this syllogism; they attempt to refute it by this answer, namely, that we Stoics are assuming as admitted a premise which is false and distinctly controverted—that the brave man is fearless.
“What!” they say, “will the brave man have no fear of evils that threaten him? That would be the condition of a madman, a lunatic, rather than of a brave man. The brave man will, it is true, feel fear in only a very slight degree; but he is not absolutely free from fear.”
Now those who assert this are doubling back to their old argument, in that they regard vices of less degree as equivalent to virtues. For indeed the man who does feel fear, though he feels it rather seldom and to a slight degree, is not free from wickedness, but is merely troubled by it in a milder form.
“Not so,” is the reply, “for I hold that a man is mad if he does not fear evils which hang over his head.”
What you say is perfectly true, if the things which threaten are really evils; but if he knows that they are not evils and believes that the only evil is baseness, he will be bound to face dangers without anxiety and to despise things which other men cannot help fearing.
Or, if it is the characteristic of a fool and a madman not to fear evils, then the wiser a man is the more he will fear such things!
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85
We have come to a point where the distinctions must be subtle, and I fear that I lack the proper words to express them, but it remains critical to maintain the power of the virtues to rise above the passions, for otherwise we will all settle for being just a little less vicious than the next fellow.
To be fearless must involve being free from fear, whether that means feeling no distress at all, or possessing a mastery over any passions that might be present. If I have no anxiety about my future, then my mind can truly be at peace, and so I can rightly say that I am happy; while the miserable man will always be consumed by worry, the blessed man can now face his hardships with confidence.
The critic, doubting the influence of our judgments, will protest that it is impossible to remove fear from our lives, and that an absence of fear could therefore only be a symptom of ignorance, recklessness, or insanity. As someone who still regularly struggles with dread, I am quite sympathetic to such objections, wondering whether the Stoics have crossed the line into dismissing the essential place of our emotions.
It is commonly said that courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the ability to conquer fear. Indeed, we are told that every soldier is terrified before he goes into battle, or even that every man has to tremble at the approach of his death, however ordinary. How can it be reasonable to expect a total lack of fear? How could we face any danger without feeling deeply disturbed?
Yet I have heard some veterans speak of the horror leaving them completely upon making a valiant choice, and I have watched people die in a state of absolute acceptance. I will not question their integrity, or attribute this to derangement. To say that perfect serenity might be rare makes it neither unattainable nor undesirable.
Some feelings come to us through the instincts of the body, and we must listen carefully to what they say, while never allowing them to decide for us. Other feelings come to us through the workings of the mind, and we must always be conscious of how our thinking informs the shape of those emotions. Slowly but surely, our feelings become ordered when they are in harmony with our understanding, since our estimation of good or bad is ultimately the measure of our desire or aversion.
No, the Stoic is not asking us to repress our emotions; he is instead suggesting that we take responsibility for them, and to direct them according to our reason. A passion, in the particular Stoic sense of an unhealthy feeling, can always be transformed into a healthy sentiment that supports our nature.
What was once gratification can now be joy. What was once lust can now be good will. What was once fear can now be caution. And there never needs to be any despair, because an attitude of acceptance always allows us to discover the opportunity within our own character.
The critic may be confused about the definitions of benefit and harm, assuming that certain things are evils, when they can actually be occasions for good. Poverty, obscurity, and even death itself are not, in themselves, to be feared. The vices of avarice, vanity, and cowardice are far more pernicious.
We have come to a point where the distinctions must be subtle, and I fear that I lack the proper words to express them, but it remains critical to maintain the power of the virtues to rise above the passions, for otherwise we will all settle for being just a little less vicious than the next fellow.
To be fearless must involve being free from fear, whether that means feeling no distress at all, or possessing a mastery over any passions that might be present. If I have no anxiety about my future, then my mind can truly be at peace, and so I can rightly say that I am happy; while the miserable man will always be consumed by worry, the blessed man can now face his hardships with confidence.
The critic, doubting the influence of our judgments, will protest that it is impossible to remove fear from our lives, and that an absence of fear could therefore only be a symptom of ignorance, recklessness, or insanity. As someone who still regularly struggles with dread, I am quite sympathetic to such objections, wondering whether the Stoics have crossed the line into dismissing the essential place of our emotions.
It is commonly said that courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the ability to conquer fear. Indeed, we are told that every soldier is terrified before he goes into battle, or even that every man has to tremble at the approach of his death, however ordinary. How can it be reasonable to expect a total lack of fear? How could we face any danger without feeling deeply disturbed?
Yet I have heard some veterans speak of the horror leaving them completely upon making a valiant choice, and I have watched people die in a state of absolute acceptance. I will not question their integrity, or attribute this to derangement. To say that perfect serenity might be rare makes it neither unattainable nor undesirable.
Some feelings come to us through the instincts of the body, and we must listen carefully to what they say, while never allowing them to decide for us. Other feelings come to us through the workings of the mind, and we must always be conscious of how our thinking informs the shape of those emotions. Slowly but surely, our feelings become ordered when they are in harmony with our understanding, since our estimation of good or bad is ultimately the measure of our desire or aversion.
No, the Stoic is not asking us to repress our emotions; he is instead suggesting that we take responsibility for them, and to direct them according to our reason. A passion, in the particular Stoic sense of an unhealthy feeling, can always be transformed into a healthy sentiment that supports our nature.
What was once gratification can now be joy. What was once lust can now be good will. What was once fear can now be caution. And there never needs to be any despair, because an attitude of acceptance always allows us to discover the opportunity within our own character.
The critic may be confused about the definitions of benefit and harm, assuming that certain things are evils, when they can actually be occasions for good. Poverty, obscurity, and even death itself are not, in themselves, to be feared. The vices of avarice, vanity, and cowardice are far more pernicious.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
IMAGE: Francois Gerard, Gallic Courage (1832)
Thursday, March 19, 2026
Henry David Thoreau 14
And the cost of a thing, it will be remembered as the amount of life it requires to be exchanged for it.
—from Henry David Thoreau, Journals (6 December, 1845)
Ralph Waldo Emerson 19
A sect or party is an elegant incognito devised to save a man from the vexation of thinking.
—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals (20 June, 1831)
Wednesday, March 18, 2026
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The Basel Dance of Death 16
many sweet songs in your choir.
Now hear the sound of my fife,
Announcing that your death is here."
"I sang as a free canon,
of many voices and melodies.
Death's fife sounds so different;
It has so deeply frightened me."
Tuesday, March 17, 2026
Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 61
When women once their dear Fourteen attain,
They first our love and admiration gain;
They mistresses are call'd, and now they find,
That they for man's diversion are design'd,
To which they're not averse: perceiving then
That their preferment lies in pleasing men,
In being made companions of their beds,
They straight begin to curl, to adorn their heads,
To comb, perfume, and to consult the glass,
To study what attire commends a face,
To practice smiles, and a beguiling air;
Each thinks she is as happy as she's fair,
As she can please, as she can conquer hearts:
In these, and thousand other such like arts
They place their only hopes, on these depend,
And earnestly expect the wish'd for end.
Wherefore 'tis fit that they be taught to know,
That these respects, and honours, that we shew
To them, on this account are only due,
That as they're fair, so they are modest too;
That they are spotless, grave, reserv'd, and wise,
That these ingaging virtues are the tyes,
That more oblige, than arts, or amorous eyes.
They mistresses are call'd, and now they find,
That they for man's diversion are design'd,
To which they're not averse: perceiving then
That their preferment lies in pleasing men,
In being made companions of their beds,
They straight begin to curl, to adorn their heads,
To comb, perfume, and to consult the glass,
To study what attire commends a face,
To practice smiles, and a beguiling air;
Each thinks she is as happy as she's fair,
As she can please, as she can conquer hearts:
In these, and thousand other such like arts
They place their only hopes, on these depend,
And earnestly expect the wish'd for end.
Wherefore 'tis fit that they be taught to know,
That these respects, and honours, that we shew
To them, on this account are only due,
That as they're fair, so they are modest too;
That they are spotless, grave, reserv'd, and wise,
That these ingaging virtues are the tyes,
That more oblige, than arts, or amorous eyes.
William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode 5
A "bagnio" is one of those wonderfully obscure and fascinating terms, though not necessarily the sort of place in which you would like to find yourself. Since I have only seen the word in print, it turns out that I have been mispronouncing it for years.
Apparently, through the Italian, it could mean either a Turkish prison or bath, and for Londoners it also referred to an exotic coffee house, which quickly degraded into the kind of establishment that would rent rooms for illicit liaisons. A bill on the floor identifies this one as "The Turk's Head".
After attending the masquerade, as they were planning during the previous installment, everything falls apart for our crafty couple. We can reconstruct the events by the tragic evidence of this scene.
Silvertongue and the Countess were hoping for a night all to themselves, but it seems that the Earl decided to follow them, confronting the shifty lawyer after breaking down the door. The two men drew their swords, much like contemporary men at a bar might make the challenge to "take it outside", and the cuckolded husband was run through twice.
Silvertongue now flees out the window in only his nightshirt, as the owner and the night watchman rush into the room. The countess is distraught. Is there actually some genuine love for the Earl in her heart, or is she just realizing that this is the end for her life of luxury? I would like to believe that the shock of loss can suddenly restore our sense of decency and loyalty, even if it has come too little and too late.
As always, the art on the walls gives us food for thought. Over the door is a depiction of St. Luke, which I initially found odd, until I remembered how our local priest would have his way with women in the sacristy—it takes all kinds. Luke is the patron saint of artists, so it is fitting that Providence is keeping a record.
The rear wall has a tapestry of the Judgment of Solomon, though I fear that the lesson of sticking to our priorities is sadly wasted on these folks. I am told that the picture on the right is a pastoral scene of a shepherdess, though it has been marred by the twisted face and the exaggerated bosom of a prostitute. A professor once implied that the squirrel on her hand was a dirty reference, yet I can't for the life of me make the connection. Perhaps I am far more prudish and naive than I had thought.
Those darn mercury pills keep showing up on the floor!
My many "progressive" friends speak of sex as a casual and liberating thing, even as they overlook how the abuse of love can only result in pain. Nature means for marriage to be an act of absolute and unconditional commitment, so is it any surprise when jealousy rears its ugly head? There is a good reason why your blessed polyamory will leave everyone betrayed, bitter, and alone.
William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode V: The Bagnio (painting, 1743)
William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode V: The Bagnio (engraving, 1743)
Monday, March 16, 2026
Stoic Snippets 280
Cast away opinion: you are saved.
Who then hinders you from casting it away?
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.25
Seneca, Moral Letters 85.9
I will tell you what is the source of this error: men do not understand that the happy life is a unit; for it is its essence, and not its extent, that establishes such a life on the noblest plane.
Hence there is complete equality between the life that is long and the life that is short, between that which is spread out and that which is confined, between that whose influence is felt in many places and in many directions, and that which is restricted to one interest.
Those who reckon life by number, or by measure, or by parts, rob it of its distinctive quality. Now, in the happy life, what is the distinctive quality? It is its fullness.
Satiety, I think, is the limit to our eating or drinking. A eats more and B eats less; what difference does it make? Each is now sated. Or A drinks more and B drinks less; what difference does it make? Each is no longer thirsty. Again, A lives for many years and B for fewer; no matter, if only A’s many years have brought as much happiness as B’s few years.
He whom you maintain to be “less happy” is not happy; the word admits of no diminution.
Hence there is complete equality between the life that is long and the life that is short, between that which is spread out and that which is confined, between that whose influence is felt in many places and in many directions, and that which is restricted to one interest.
Those who reckon life by number, or by measure, or by parts, rob it of its distinctive quality. Now, in the happy life, what is the distinctive quality? It is its fullness.
Satiety, I think, is the limit to our eating or drinking. A eats more and B eats less; what difference does it make? Each is now sated. Or A drinks more and B drinks less; what difference does it make? Each is no longer thirsty. Again, A lives for many years and B for fewer; no matter, if only A’s many years have brought as much happiness as B’s few years.
He whom you maintain to be “less happy” is not happy; the word admits of no diminution.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85
Happiness is not an accumulation of bits and pieces, but rather a purity of presence. One of my most important moments of insight came when I finally saw how my peace of mind had nothing to do with having more or less, and indeed, had nothing to do with possessing anything at all.
The quality of contentment is never determined by the quantity of the components; it is the integrity of the act itself, whatever the circumstances, that leaves nothing else to be desired.
The Stoic Turn will seem nonsensical until such a fundamental awareness is reached. Only then can I say that, beyond my preferences, it will make no difference how many years I might live, or in what place I happen to find myself, or in which occupation I strive to do my best.
While the people around me are worried about living longer, and collecting new trinkets, and building a reputation, I should concern myself first and foremost with the content of my character.
The satisfaction comes from finding the good in any conditions, such that the happiness lies in the perfecting of our own attitudes. I appreciate Seneca’s image of feeling satiated after a meal, because there is really nothing quite like that sense of knowing that you have now had enough.
How much is enough? If there is an elaborate feast set before me, the amount that I eat is measured by my appetite. Perhaps I will heap my plate with steak and lobster, or perhaps I will be delighted with merely a single grape. The most effective way to be satisfied is to moderate our desires.
One of my many eccentricities is a love of Chinese buffets, and I will often travel well off the beaten path to find some hidden gem. As I have grown older, however, I can no longer eat nearly as much as I once did, and so I feared that my glorious road trips would soon be over: where’s the fun in just sampling one or two dishes? I had somehow convinced myself that the adventure was only worthwhile when I consumed those heroic portions.
What a pleasant surprise it was to learn that I didn’t need to compete with the fellow at the next table over how many chicken wings we could devour, and that there was no point in calculating the value of the meal by ounces per dollar. The other day, I was perfectly happy with a bowl of hot and sour soup and a small plate of dumplings, which ended up being far more rewarding than any marathon gorging.
One of my many weaknesses is a love of the pint and the dram, and I had far too many nights where I didn’t have the sense to say, “no more”. The beer and the whiskey were not themselves the problem—my own intemperance, an unwillingness to establish a limit, was always the problem. I now deeply admire the man who finds his joy while sipping from one drink for the entire evening.
When it comes to happiness, there is no more or less, no “kind of” or “sort of”. If anyone asks me if I am happy, I won’t pretend to be the sage. I can see it around the bend, but for right now, I am very much a work in progress.
Happiness is not an accumulation of bits and pieces, but rather a purity of presence. One of my most important moments of insight came when I finally saw how my peace of mind had nothing to do with having more or less, and indeed, had nothing to do with possessing anything at all.
The quality of contentment is never determined by the quantity of the components; it is the integrity of the act itself, whatever the circumstances, that leaves nothing else to be desired.
The Stoic Turn will seem nonsensical until such a fundamental awareness is reached. Only then can I say that, beyond my preferences, it will make no difference how many years I might live, or in what place I happen to find myself, or in which occupation I strive to do my best.
While the people around me are worried about living longer, and collecting new trinkets, and building a reputation, I should concern myself first and foremost with the content of my character.
The satisfaction comes from finding the good in any conditions, such that the happiness lies in the perfecting of our own attitudes. I appreciate Seneca’s image of feeling satiated after a meal, because there is really nothing quite like that sense of knowing that you have now had enough.
How much is enough? If there is an elaborate feast set before me, the amount that I eat is measured by my appetite. Perhaps I will heap my plate with steak and lobster, or perhaps I will be delighted with merely a single grape. The most effective way to be satisfied is to moderate our desires.
One of my many eccentricities is a love of Chinese buffets, and I will often travel well off the beaten path to find some hidden gem. As I have grown older, however, I can no longer eat nearly as much as I once did, and so I feared that my glorious road trips would soon be over: where’s the fun in just sampling one or two dishes? I had somehow convinced myself that the adventure was only worthwhile when I consumed those heroic portions.
What a pleasant surprise it was to learn that I didn’t need to compete with the fellow at the next table over how many chicken wings we could devour, and that there was no point in calculating the value of the meal by ounces per dollar. The other day, I was perfectly happy with a bowl of hot and sour soup and a small plate of dumplings, which ended up being far more rewarding than any marathon gorging.
One of my many weaknesses is a love of the pint and the dram, and I had far too many nights where I didn’t have the sense to say, “no more”. The beer and the whiskey were not themselves the problem—my own intemperance, an unwillingness to establish a limit, was always the problem. I now deeply admire the man who finds his joy while sipping from one drink for the entire evening.
When it comes to happiness, there is no more or less, no “kind of” or “sort of”. If anyone asks me if I am happy, I won’t pretend to be the sage. I can see it around the bend, but for right now, I am very much a work in progress.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
IMAGE: Adriaen van Utrecht, Banquet Still Life (1644)
Sunday, March 15, 2026
Dhammapada 415
Him I call indeed a Brahmana who in this world, leaving all desires, travels about without a home, and in whom all concupiscence is extinct.
James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 27
A branch cut off from the adjoining branch can not but be lopped from the entire plant. In like manner also a man severed from any one man has fallen off from the whole commonalty of men. Now a branch suffers the ill without doing it, because an alien hand severs it, while it is a man’s own doing if he parts himself from his neighbor by hating him and turning away from him; but he little understands that at the same time he has sundered himself from the whole body and citizenship of mankind.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.8
27.
The trunk, behold, twice spreads, that one end grips
The earth, the other playeth wild and free
On lyric winds with countless finger-tips.
Rend bough from bough, you part the rended end
From the tree’s self, and leave it disbodied, void;
So is a man, if he one man unfriend,
Cut from mankind, unlodged, unkinned, destroyed.
O if, I say, one breaks the natural band
Of all to all, and doth his fellow hate,
He little dreams nor can not understand
How he from life is disincorporate.
All ’s One, One ’s all—this is “the strength of laws”
From which a tree or man his welfare draws.
IMAGE by Peggy Marco
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