A Stoic Breviary: Classical Wisdom in Daily Practice
Building upon many years of privately shared thoughts on the real benefits of Stoic Philosophy, Liam Milburn eventually published a selection of Stoic passages that had helped him to live well. They were accompanied by some of his own personal reflections. This blog hopes to continue his mission of encouraging the wisdom of Stoicism in the exercise of everyday life. All the reflections are taken from his notes, from late 1992 to early 2017.
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Saturday, March 16, 2024
Epictetus, Golden Sayings 176
Maxims of Goethe 38
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.24
Thus, too, they have examples for those who are deprived of their children: they who are under any great grief are comforted by instances of like affliction; and thus the endurance of every misfortune is rendered more easy by the fact of others having undergone the same, and the fate of others causes what has happened to appear less important than it has been previously thought, and reflection thus discovers to us how much opinion had imposed on us.
And this is what the Telamon declares, “I, when my son was born,” etc.; and thus Theseus, “I on my future misery did dwell;” and Anaxagoras, “I knew my son was mortal.”
All these men, by frequently reflecting on human affairs, had discovered that they were by no means to be estimated by the opinion of the multitude; and, indeed, it seems to me to be pretty much the same case with those who consider beforehand as with those who derive their remedies from time, excepting that a kind of reason cures the one, and the other remedy is provided by nature; by which we discover (and this contains the whole marrow of the matter) that what was imagined to be the greatest evil is by no means so great as to defeat the happiness of life.
And the effect of this is, that the blow is greater by reason of its not having been foreseen, and not, as they suppose, that when similar misfortunes befall two different people, that man only is affected with grief whom this calamity has befallen unexpectedly.
So that some persons, under the oppression of grief, are said to have borne it actually worse for hearing of this common condition of man, that we are born under such conditions as render it impossible for a man to be exempt from all evil.
Sometimes we can do all the thinking for ourselves, and at other times we can be inspired by the noble example of those who have gone before us. In either case, the goal is to appreciate the genuine good of the human condition, and to find relief in how none of us are alone in confronting our losses and doubts. The happiness that is truly our own need not be so easily lost to grief—Nature has already armed us against it.
Do I feel my life to be a waste because I lack riches? Socrates, or Diogenes, or Epictetus were also poor, and yet they managed to find their happiness. I don’t even need to look so far, since that fellow smiling outside of the subway station this morning didn’t have a penny to his name, and he seemed to possess a peace of mind I can only dream of. They apparently understand something I stubbornly refuse to embrace.
Do I complain about how I am unappreciated? If fame were a requirement for bliss, then why are there millions upon millions of humble folks who are perfectly content to live with decency and integrity, while never getting a smidgeon of praise? Though they are probably not rocket scientists, they are clearly wise enough to put their priorities in order.
Am I in mourning over the loss of my son? People far more battered than I have faced this painful fact, and in many cases they found ways to become kinder and more loving from their trials. I am so busy being tortured by what was taken away, and all the time I have forgotten what I am capable of giving. Once I put the vivid impressions in their proper place, I discover the power to transform the burden of pain into an opportunity for strengthening character and joy.
Whether my hurt is intensified by shock, or increased by the freshness of the blow, standing back, for a moment, from the furor permits me to grasp why most of my despair is a consequence of false imaginings. I must take the time to separate the reality from the self-inflicted illusion.
I never liked being told how “It isn’t nearly half as bad as you think,” but there is a profound truth in recognizing why I am making myself my own worst problem. The calm use of reason, which need never be heartless, is a soothing balm for the burn, especially when combined with a broader perspective granted by the passage of time.
Knowing ahead of time could just as easily be a curse as a blessing. The difference lies completely in how well I have informed my conscience about the origins of good and evil, and about the sources of happiness and misery. Of course I will lose heart if I ignorantly assume that fortune, however sweet or bitter, makes the man.
Friday, March 15, 2024
Thursday, March 14, 2024
Wednesday, March 13, 2024
Aesop's Fables 74
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.23
But how will anyone be enabled to bear his misfortunes the better by knowing that it is unavoidable that such things should happen to man? Saying this subtracts nothing from the sum of the grief: it only asserts that nothing has fallen out but what might have been anticipated; and yet this manner of speaking has some little consolation in it, though I apprehend not a great deal.
Therefore, those unlooked-for things have not so much force as to give rise to all our grief; the blow perhaps may fall the heavier, but whatever happens does not appear the greater on that account. No, it is the fact of its having happened lately, and not of its having befallen us unexpectedly, that makes it seem the greater.
There are two ways, then, of discerning the truth, not only of things that seem evil, but of those that have the appearance of good.
For we either inquire into the nature of the thing, of what description, and magnitude, and importance it is—as sometimes with regard to poverty, the burden of which we may lighten when by our disputations we show how few things nature requires, and of what a trifling kind they are—or, without any subtle arguing, we refer them to examples, as here we instance a Socrates, there a Diogenes, and then again that line in Caecilius,
“Wisdom is oft conceal’d in mean attire.”
For as poverty is of equal weight with all, what reason can be given why what was borne by Fabricius should be spoken of by anyone else as unsupportable when it falls upon themselves?
Of a piece with this is that other way of comforting, which consists in pointing out that nothing has happened but what is common to human nature; for this argument does not only inform us what human nature is, but implies that all things are tolerable which others have borne and are bearing.
I had a colleague a few years back, of whom I was very fond, though I sometime struggled to be patient with a few of his eccentricities. He proclaimed himself a survivalist, and he would regularly warn me about all the terrible events that were sure to occur in the near future. As he was so certain he knew what was coming, he felt confident enough to lord it over the rest of us.
Now I could see how a generator and a well-stocked pantry would help when the power grid failed and the economy collapsed, but I did once ask him how his prophecies of doom were going to keep him from being vaporized when the ICBM’s fell on downtown Boston.
Even if he somehow had advance warning of their arrival, running to the forest in Maine wasn’t going to spare his life. In fact, his death would just be more prolonged and painful.
“Well, at least I’ll waste away with my eyes wide open!”
I’m not sure how he found much comfort in that. If it is inevitable, as suffering in this life, whatever the specific form, must surely be, no amount of foresight will remove it. I may steel my resolve, but I will not excise the pain.
In contrast, a friend from high school took an opposite approach, and would tell us how we were blessed if we remained oblivious to the horrors that awaited us. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you!”
I beg to disagree, for there will still be a boatload of hurt; it will just be a bit more startling when it hits. And once again, I find myself acutely aware of how neither the presence nor the absence of a prophecy is going to change what comes my way, though a general formation of my character will grant me the power to cope with both the pleasant and the unpleasant.
If the Cyrenaics meant that a soul already filled with courage can face most any obstacle, however predictable, I am quite sympathetic, and yet no amount of singular prescience can take the place of a mind and a will that are prepared for anything that happens. An awareness of the particular challenge is of far less importance than a disposition of universal acceptance. Is this not a lesson from so many of the Greek tragedies?
And this is why Cicero now explains how human reason has the ability to both understand the identity of something in itself and directly, and to appeal to some example for the sake of revealing a certain likeness. The one is more critical, the other more instinctive.
I can theoretically reflect upon our common human nature, which all of us share in together, and conclude why, if virtue is the highest good, I should never despair in the face of circumstances.
I can also appeal to a vivid illustration, which will then encourage me to feel how, if Socrates or Diogenes could face the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, this is also something that remains within my power.
Either method will do, and it doesn’t have to be fancy to be effective. Behind any of it is the greater recognition that a man is never made by what happens to him, and that the human capacity to find purpose and joy in distress should never be underestimated. Death may be inevitable, but crippling grief doesn’t have to be.
Tuesday, March 12, 2024
Monday, March 11, 2024
Stoic Snippets 232
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.22
But the whole question does not turn on this; though the sudden approach of an enemy sometimes occasions more confusion than it would if you had expected him, and a sudden storm at sea throws the sailors into a greater fright than one which they have foreseen; and it is the same in many other cases.
But when you carefully consider the nature of what was expected, you will find nothing more than that all things which come on a sudden appear greater; and this upon two accounts: first of all, because you have not time to consider how great the accident is; and, secondly, because you are probably persuaded that you could have guarded against it had you foreseen if, and therefore the misfortune, having been seemingly encountered by your own fault, makes your grief the greater.
That it is so, time evinces; which, as it advances, brings with it so much mitigation that though the same misfortunes continue, the grief not only becomes the less, but in some cases is entirely removed.
Many Carthaginians were slaves at Rome, and many Macedonians, when Perseus their king was taken prisoner. I saw, too, when I was a young man, some Corinthians in the Peloponnesus. They might all have lamented with Andromache,
“All these I saw . . .”
but they had perhaps given over lamenting themselves, for by their countenances, and speech, and other gestures you might have taken them for Argives or Sicyonians. And I myself was more concerned at the ruined walls of Corinth than the Corinthians themselves were, whose minds by frequent reflection and time had become callous to such sights.
I have read a book of Clitomachus, which he sent to his fellow-citizens who were prisoners, to comfort them after the destruction of Carthage. There is in it a treatise written by Carneades, which, as Clitomachus says, he had inserted into his book; the subject was, “That it appeared probable that a wise man would grieve at the state of subjection of his country,” and all the arguments which Carneades used against this proposition are set down in the book.
There the philosopher applies such a strong medicine to a fresh grief as would be quite unnecessary in one of any continuance; nor, if this very book had been sent to the captives some years after, would it have found any wounds to cure, but only scars; for grief, by a gentle progress and slow degrees, wears away imperceptibly.
Not that the circumstances which gave rise to it are altered, or can be, but that custom teaches what reason should—that those things which before seemed to be of some consequence are of no such great importance, after all.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.22
While the Epicureans believed they could avoid grief by diverting the focus from one passion to another, the Cyrenaics were convinced that the stress was on being well-prepared for any possible unexpected grief, since they claimed this was the worst sort of mental suffering. It seems to feel worst of all when you don’t see it coming, and there is much to be said for remaining watchful and digging in your heels.
I am well familiar with the terror of a sudden blow, and the bitter sense of self-reproach that I somehow let it slip my guard. As a child, I recall the moment of shock after some unanticipated injury, and then the tears that finally followed were all the more profuse. As an adult, I beat myself over the head when a betrayal came out of left field, and then the shame of having let myself be played was like salt in the wound.
Even as a write this, I recognize how the degree of the hurt has far less to do with the circumstance itself, and far more to do with my own attitude. I did not foresee it, so I blame myself. Remove the surprise, and remove the second-guessing, and it no longer looks so overwhelming.
Just the other day, a fellow suddenly accused me of being henpecked because I was going home to see my wife. As I was trying to fall asleep, I brooded over the comment. Why was I so troubled? The man is, bluntly put, an ass, and my concern was simply about how the insult came out of the blue, and about my own sensitivity to the opinions of loudmouths. The grief was from my disordered thinking, and from my lack of fortitude, not from his abrupt malice.
On a far more serious note, would the agony be greater if one of my children were to die without warning? How would this be different from awaiting it after a lengthy illness? Whichever you may find the more disturbing, note how the event remains completely the same, while the thinking about the context of the event is the deciding factor.
Though I understand why the Cyrenaics were anxious about preparing themselves for surprises, I can imagine how the total awareness of some impending doom could be just as frightful. I can think of many instances when I was knocked off my feet by a bolt from the blue, and yet there were probably just as many instances where I saw it coming for miles, and instead of a sting it was more of an ache. Once again, the mindset is the source of the grief, whatever the quality or the degree.
In any case, the passage of time, and the incredible power of habituation, can make most anything bearable, and I suspect this is partly a function of having the opportunity to calmly reflect upon the intensity of our passions. If the process of becoming familiar with a state of affairs is a form of relief, then this is just another sign of how my judgments are behind the distress.
I usually don’t control what is going to happen to me, but even if I could have done so, there is no point, as they say, in crying over spilt milk. Once the genie is out the bottle, I will need to come to terms with whatever he brings me, and no amount of hand-wringing is going to alter that responsibility. It will become as big, or as small, as I choose to make it. That isn’t being cold or heartless—it’s called being patient and mindful.
Sunday, March 10, 2024
Stockdale on Stoicism 42
"We are in a spot like we've never been in before. But we deserve to maintain our self-respect, to have the feeling we are fighting back. We can't refuse to do every degrading thing they demand of us, but it's up to you, boss, to pick out things we must all refuse to do, unless and until they put us through the ropes again. We deserve to sleep at night. We at least deserve to have the satisfaction that we are hewing to our leader's orders. Give us the list: what are we to take torture for?"
This was a first step in claiming what was rightfully ours. Epictetus said: "The judge will do some things to you which are thought to be terrifying; but how can he stop you from taking the punishment he threatened?"
I put a lot of thought into what my first orders should be. They would be orders that could be obeyed, not a "cover your ass" move of reiterating some U.S. government policy like "name, rank, serial number, and date of birth," which had no chance of standing up in the torture room.
—from James B. Stockdale, Master of My Fate: A Stoic Philosopher in a Hanoi Prison
Saturday, March 9, 2024
Henry David Thoreau 2
Dhammapada 365, 366
Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.8
Is another then to have a fever, another to go a voyage, another die, another be condemned? I say it is impossible in a body like ours, in this enveloping space, in this common life, that events of this sort should not happen, one to this man and another to that.
It is your business then to take what fate brings and deal with what happens, as is fitting.
Suppose then the judge says, “I will judge you to be a wrongdoer”; you reply, “May it go well with you! I did my part, and it is for you to see if you have done yours: for the judge's part too, do not forget, has its own danger!"
Many people will implicitly assume that the happy life is meant to be the life without difficulties, and yet I have found that hardship has been a necessary component to anything that has ever been good in me. I say this not because I somehow prefer the suffering, but because the trial itself becomes the very opportunity to earn some peace of mind.
In practice, far removed from any elegant abstractions, there is no such thing as an uncontested serenity, and the man who wishes to seek out an ivory tower is driven more by his fears than he is by his hopes. I have renounced my duty to myself the moment I have made demands for the world to do it my way.
As with any relationship, the connection is mutual, with each part complementing the other. Still, I find myself tempted to pursue a ridiculously contradictory model, where I take the credit when Fortune is gratifying, and I cast the blame when Fortune is disagreeable—my standard of right and wrong changes with the weather. It becomes even more absurd when I nevertheless condemn others around me for doing the exact same thing.
Let me step back from doing their jobs, and then let me finally be consistent about doing mine. A judge, whether he be severe or merciful, will act upon his own conscience, however much I try to influence him, and he will have to face the consequences of his convictions. I, in turn, will have to do exactly the same. Ultimately, he decides nothing about me, and I decide nothing about him; we pay our money, and we make our choices.
“But I have been wronged!”
No, I have faced another who has done a wrong, and I will now determine whether I can bring myself to respond with a right. There is a good reason why the Stoic repeats his mantra over and over: “This is within your power, and this is beyond it, and that is as it should be.” I am only miserable because I am being careless about my business.
Nobility is not a peace from the circumstances, but a peace despite the circumstances: work through them, not against them.