The Four Temperaments

Adriaen Collaert, The Four Temperaments (1583) 

The Four Elements

Adriaen Collaert, The Four Elements (c. 1584) 

Netherlandish Proverbs 17

"What can smoke do to iron?" 

There is no point in trying to change the unchangeable. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 87.2

I can scarcely force myself to wish that others shall think this cart mine. My false embarrassment about the truth still holds out, you see; and whenever we meet a more sumptuous party 
 
I blush in spite of myself—proof that this conduct which I approve and applaud has not yet gained a firm and steadfast dwelling-place within me. He who blushes at riding in a rattletrap will boast when he rides in style.
 
So my progress is still insufficient. I have not yet the courage openly to acknowledge my thriftiness. Even yet I am bothered by what other travelers think of me. 
 
But instead of this, I should really have uttered an opinion counter to that in which mankind believe, saying, “You are mad, you are misled, your admiration devotes itself to superfluous things! You estimate no man at his real worth. When property is concerned, you reckon up in this way with most scrupulous calculation those to whom you shall lend either money or benefits; for by now you enter benefits also as payments in your ledger.
 
“You say: ‘His estates are wide, but his debts are large.’ ‘He has a fine house, but he has built it on borrowed capital.’ ‘No man will display a more brilliant retinue on short notice, but he cannot meet his debts.’ If he pays off his creditors, he will have nothing left.’” 
 
So you will feel bound to do in all other cases as well—to find out by elimination the amount of every man’s actual possessions. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 87 
 
Nevertheless, though I can begin to grasp these noble principles, there is still something holding me back: the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Like Seneca, I find myself ashamed of my frugality, worried that others will take me to be a failure in life, and I will catch myself peeking with envy at my neighbor’s new car. 
 
Clearly, my doubts reveal how my understanding is not yet complete, for if I actually knew what was good for me, I would hardly hesitate to pursue it. What is contributing to the uncertainty? 
 
When I examine my own struggle, I realize that I remain dazzled by certain impressions: from the inside, my old habits continue to weigh me down, and from the outside, I am still afraid to abandon a herd mentality. When I lower my guard, even for a moment, I am inclined to let my passions run away with me. 
 
If Seneca, a far better man than I can ever claim to be, was also second-guessing himself, I should not think too poorly of my misgivings. I fear the only cure for such a frailty is steady practice: routines are formed through repetition, and self-reliance is not crafted overnight. Upon falling down, the victory is always in standing right back up. 
 
In most cases, I have now reached a point where taking a short break will do me a world of good. Even a minute of calm reflection, which can feel like an eternity when the fire burns hot, allows me to restore my sanity. The next time you catch me being resentful, jealous, or quarrelsome, you can safely assume that I neglected to hit the pause button.
 
To convince myself of a truth is not to force a conclusion down my throat, but rather to carefully evaluate if the reasoning is sound. Is a desire gnawing away at me? Then I can remember that I am a creature of reason and will, and so my judgment is made to rule my appetites. Am I intimidated by the opinions of others? Then I can consider what they have to say, without allowing them to do my thinking for me. My nature calls for the virtues, not for chasing after pleasures or currying favor. 
 
As Seneca says, what does the grasping man really possess? He is forever scheming, calculating how other people might bring a profit or a loss, to the point where his quest to acquire and to consume only sees balance sheets instead of human faces. By denying the very dignity of what it even means to be a person, he has drained himself of any genuine merit. 
 
And in the process of plotting against his fellows, what does he discover about the rules of the game? It turns out that even the richest man is at the mercy of his creditors, because the mercenaries never give anything away for free. Sometimes the price to pay is much too high—by aiming to rule over their circumstances, it turns out that the circumstances now rule over them. 

—Reflection written in 2/2014 

The Elements

"The Elements" 

John Henry Newman (1801-1890) 

Man is permitted much 
To scan and learn 
In Nature’s frame; 
Till he well-nigh can tame 
Brute mischiefs, and can touch 
Invisible things, and turn 
All warring ills to purposes of good. 
Thus, as a god below, 
He can control, 
And harmonize, what seems amiss to flow 
As sever’d from the whole 
And dimly understood. 

But o’er the elements 
One Hand alone, 
One Hand has sway.
What influence day by day 
In straiter belt prevents 
The impious Ocean, thrown 
Alternate o’er the ever-sounding shore? 
Or who has eye to trace 
How the Plague came? 
Forerun the doublings of the Tempest’s race? 
Or the Air’s weight and flame 
On a set scale explore? 

Thus God has will’d
That man, when fully skill’d, 
Still gropes in twilight dim; 
Encompass’d all his hours 
By fearfullest powers 
Inflexible to him. 
That so he may discern 
His feebleness, 
And e’en for earth’s success 
To Him in wisdom turn, 
Who holds for us the keys of either home,
Earth and the world to come. 

IMAGE: Hendrik van Balen, The Four Elements (c. 1620) 

No Life Vain

"No Life Vain" 

Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849) 

Let me not deem that I was made in vain, 
Or that my being was an accident, 
Which fate, in working its sublime intent, 
Not wished to be, to hinder would not deign. 
Each drop uncounted in a storm of rain 
Hath its own mission, and is duly sent 
To its own leaf or blade, not idly spent 
'Mid myriad dimples on the shipless main. 
The very shadow of an insect's wing, 
For which the violet cared not while it stayed, 
Yet felt the lighter for its vanishing, 
Proved that the sun was shining by its shade: 
Then can a drop of the eternal spring, 
Shadow of living lights, in vain be made? 

IMAGE by Keith Dotson 

Pieter Brueghel the Younger, The Four Seasons

Pieter Brueghel the Younger, The Four Seasons (1621) 

Abel Grimmer, The Four Seasons

Abel Grimmer, The Four Seasons (c. 1607) 

Pieter van der Heyden, The Four Seasons

Pieter van der Heyden, after Pieter Bruegel the Elder and Hans Bol, The Four Seasons (1570) 

Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Months

Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Months of the Year (1565) 

The Hunters in the Snow (December/January) 

The Gloomy Day (February/March) 

April and May are lost

Haymaking (June/July)

The Harvesters (August/September) 

The Return of the Herd (October/November) 

Abandoned Places 71

IMAGE by Ilan Benattar 

Nature 73

IMAGE by Bircan Harper 

Seneca, Moral Letters 87.1

Letter 87: Some arguments in favor of the simple life  
 
“I was shipwrecked before I got aboard.” I shall not add how that happened, lest you may reckon this also as another of the Stoic paradoxes; and yet I shall, whenever you are willing to listen, nay, even though you be unwilling, prove to you that these words are by no means untrue, nor so surprising as one at first sight would think. 
 
Meantime, the journey showed me this: how much we possess that is superfluous; and how easily we can make up our minds to do away with things whose loss, whenever it is necessary to part with them, we do not feel. 
 
My friend Maximus and I have been spending a most happy period of two days, taking with us very few slaves—one carriage-load—and no paraphernalia except what we wore on our persons. 
 
The mattress lies on the ground, and I upon the mattress. There are two rugs—one to spread beneath us and one to cover us.Nothing could have been subtracted from our luncheon; it took not more than an hour to prepare, and we were nowhere without dried figs, never without writing tablets. If I have bread, I use figs as a relish; if not, I regard figs as a substitute for bread.
 
Hence, they bring me a New Year feast every day, and I make the New Year happy and prosperous by good thoughts and greatness of soul; for the soul is never greater than when it has laid aside all extraneous things, and has secured peace for itself by fearing nothing, and riches by craving no riches.
 
The vehicle in which I have taken my seat is a farmer’s cart. Only by walking do the mules show that they are alive. The driver is barefoot, and not because it is summer either. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 87 
 
Yes, the Stoics seemed to enjoy speaking in paradoxes, though they did not do this in order to sound mysterious and profound, like conceited college students when they parrot lines from Nietzsche or the Buddha. No, they were concerned with flipping our assumptions about the good and the bad, so that we might learn to cherish what we had previously neglected, and to become untroubled about the conditions we once believed to be crippling. Things are not always what they seem. 
 
I may think I am being frugal when I deny myself a few trivial luxuries, but if I am brutally honest with myself, the list will grow very much longer, to the point where almost everything I claim to need turns out to be quite superfluous. While I may well prefer it, it is hardly necessary in order to live well, as long as I am considering my nature in the proper light. 
 
As shocking as it is to the affluent consumer, it is possible to be a good man, and thereby also a happy man, under the most severe privations—even when facing death itself, because living better is not dependent on living longer. In the end, we must all choose our priorities wisely, and I don’t mean deciding on the most stylish brand of breakfast cereal.
 
I really can’t comment about the slaves, since I have never had any sort of underlings, or even the carriage, since I elect to walk whenever I am able. I do, however, appreciate the virtues of traveling light, of sleeping on the ground, and of savoring the simplest meals. It is liberating to discover why less can be more. 
 
In some cases, a convenience had to be forced from me before I finally realized that it was expendable. In other cases, I freely denied myself a comfort, sensing how its presence was bringing me far more trouble than its absence. In all cases, I can become indifferent to both prosperity and poverty, in the full knowledge that my excellence is not determined by any collection of circumstances. 
 
The only obstacle is the force of our own habits, which always remain within our power, as long as we act with patience and persistence. If the theory doesn’t sound convincing, it can be put to the test in practice: after an initial shock, our expectations can change, slowly but surely, as we recognize how we are creatures made to rule ourselves, not to be ruled by the whims of fortune. 
 
Bread and figs can be just as good, and therefore just as satisfying, as a cheeseburger and fries. It all rests upon the quality of our judgments. 

—Reflection written in 2/2014 

Snippets from the Handbook 5

Remember that the will to get promises attainment of what you will, and the will to avoid promises escape from what you avoid; and he who fails to get what he wills is unfortunate, and he who does not escape what he wills to avoid is miserable. 

If then you try to avoid only what is unnatural in the region within your control, you will escape from all that you avoid; but if you try to avoid disease or death or poverty you will be miserable. 

—Epictetus, The Handbook 2 

Jottings on Marcus 7

Do the things external which fall upon you distract you? Give yourself time to learn something new and good, and cease to be whirled around. . . . 

—from Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.7 

People are in a frenzy. If their pursuit of money, fame, and gratification makes them so happy, why are they still so anxious? 

The diversions do not offer peace. A soul charged with integrity offers peace. 

Through all of the turmoil on the outside, there can be always be constancy on the inside. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 86.7

But to return to our olive-yard again. I saw it planted in two ways. If the trees were large, Aegialus took their trunks and cut off the branches to the length of one foot each; he then transplanted along with the ball, after cutting off the roots, leaving only the thick part from which the roots hang. He smeared this with manure, and inserted it in the hole, not only heaping up the earth about it, but stamping and pressing it down.
 
There is nothing, he says, more effective than this packing process; in other words, it keeps out the cold and the wind. Besides, the trunk is not shaken so much, and for this reason the packing makes it possible for the young roots to come out and get a hold in the soil. These are of necessity still soft; they have but a slight hold, and a very little shaking uproots them. 
 
This ball, moreover, Aegialus lops clean before he covers it up. For he maintains that new roots spring from all the parts which have been shorn. Moreover, the trunk itself should not stand more than three or four feet out of the ground. For there will thus be at once a thick growth from the bottom, nor will there be a large stump, all dry and withered, as is the case with old olive-yards.
 
The second way of setting them out was the following: he set out in similar fashion branches that were strong and of soft bark, as those of young saplings are wont to be. These grow a little more slowly, but, since they spring from what is practically a cutting, there is no roughness or ugliness in them. 
 
This too I have seen recently—an aged vine transplanted from its own plantation. In this case, the fibers also should be gathered together, if possible, and then you should cover up the vine-stem more generously, so that roots may spring up even from the stock. I have seen such plantings made not only in February, but at the very end of March; the plants take hold of and embrace alien elms. But all trees, he declares, which are, so to speak, “thick-stemmed,” should be assisted with tank water; if we have this help, we are our own rainmakers. 
 
I do not intend to tell you any more of these precepts, lest, as Aegialus did with me, I may be training you up to be my competitor. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 86 
 
Perhaps one of the reasons I am not a very good gardener is that I am afraid to use a strong hand. Plants can seem quite delicate to me, and so, out a misguided tenderness, I neglect to do what is necessary. Like all of us, they often need a firm nudge to best fulfill their nature. 
 
The soil must be properly tilled. Be meticulous with watering and heedful of the light and the temperature. The weeds need to go. Don’t hesitate when it comes to pruning. Most importantly, know the plan from the get-go, and stick with it—by the time I have second-guessed, it is probably too late. 
 
When I first read this description of transplanting olive trees, it sounded downright brutal. Cut back all of the branches? Leave only the ball of the roots? Pack it so firmly and deeply into the ground that there is absolutely no room to move? So be it, if this is required for growth to take place. The care of infants, for example, taught me something similar about taking the bull by the horns. 
 
I recently had a neighbor who was remarkably skilled at growing new trees from old cuttings, while the best I could manage was accidentally growing some vines from a forgotten Halloween pumpkin. For all of the excuses I could make, the only difference between us was that I lacked his vigilance and discipline. 
 
Indeed, every spring I observe the eager suburbanites spending ridiculous amounts of money on new plants from the big box store, only to then repeat the entire process the following year. Whatever happened in between? They spent a few hours throwing them into the dirt, and then they ignored them completely. 
 
We like things when they appear novel, though we quickly lose interest once they demand any serious commitment, like children who grow tired of their puppies. We unfortunately limit ourselves to being lazy consumers, instead of striving to become vital creators. To care for a garden is a fine preparation for the care of a life. 
 
It is good to cherish and to nurture what is old, not merely because it is old, but because it more fully expresses the continuity of what is timeless. I must not dispose of my plants when they offer me a spot of trouble, just as I should not dispose of my friends when they cease to be convenient. As long as life remains in it, it is always worth nourishing the good in it. 
 
While many things are best enjoyed when still fresh, I have found that the deepest truths will benefit greatly from aging. A colleague tells me this about his wine, and I know it to be the case for my pipe tobacco, and it is most certainly true about love. 
 
All this talk about bathing, and then about gardening, is a priceless aid in appreciating the enduring values. In the end, it doesn’t really matter how we choose to wash ourselves, and it doesn’t really matter if we are brave enough to raise a bonsai or are willing to settle for mowing the lawn. What does matter, however, is that we approach every aspect of this life with a total reverence, humbled by the fact that there is nothing new under the sun. 
 
Whatever immortal lessons you may have learned along the way, be sure to pass them on to the next fellow in line. His is your cooperator in the work of Providence, not your competitor. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

IMAGE: Camille Pissarro, Orchard in Bloom (1872) 

Big Fish Eat Little Fish

Pieter Bruegel the Elder, Big Fish Eat Little Fish (1556) 

The Battle About Money

Pieter van der Heyden, after Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Battle About Money (c. 1570) 

Udana 1.2

Thus have I heard. On a certain occasion the Exalted One, soon after the attainment of Buddhahood, dwelt at Uruvela on the banks of the stream Neranjara, at the foot of the tree of Enlightenment. At that time the Exalted One, after remaining in a sitting posture for seven days, experienced the joy of Emancipation. 

When the seven days had come to a close, the Exalted one arose from the state of trance, and in the middle watch of the night thoroughly thought out the chain of cause and effect, in indirect order, thus: "If there is not this state, another state does not arise, by the non-arising of this state, a state is not produced, that is to say: 

"By the destruction of Ignorance, Conformations are destroyed, by the destruction of Conformations, Consciousness is destroyed, by the destruction of Consciousness, Mind and Material Form are destroyed, by the destruction of Mind and Material Form, the six Organs of Sense are destroyed, by the destruction of the six Organs of Sense, Contact is destroyed, by the destruction of Contact, Sensations are destroyed, by the destruction of Sensations, Desire is destroyed, by the destruction of Desire, Attachment is destroyed, by the destruction of Attachment, Being is destroyed, by the destruction of Being, Birth is destroyed, and by the destruction of Birth, Decay, Death, Sorrow, Lamentation, Pain, Grief and Despair are destroyed. Thus the whole mass of suffering is brought to an end." 

And the Exalted One, in this connection, on that occasion breathed forth this solemn utterance:

"When the conditions of Existence dawn upon the strenuous, meditative Brahmana,
When he understands the destruction of the causes,
Then all doubts depart." 

Stockdale on Stoicism 59

Internals are man’s only true ticket to freedom, but confronting them can be agonizing. 

In prison, there is one internal decision that is difficult beyond all others: when to first say "no" and knowingly force the commissar’s hand to carry out his threats and impose physical torture. 

This turning point almost always takes place in a frenzied moment when the new prisoner is awash in a sea of guilt and fear. 

The guilt arises from his having "gone along" with the commissar’s demand for a little of this and a little of that, while in the fashion of most of us well-brought-up American boys he had chosen "the middle way," to his now devastating regret, as he took preliminary measure of his predicament. 

And the fear! Arthur Koestler, while in a Fascist prison in Spain, described his initial fear of torture as "not a healthy fear, but the obsessional and morbid variety . . . the neurotic type of anxiety . . . the irrational anticipation of an unknown punishment." 

—from James B. Stockdale, Epictetus' Enchiridion: Conflict and Character 

IMAGE: Francisco Goya, Confessions in Prison (c. 1812)