The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Friday, August 7, 2026
Netherlandish Proverbs 16
"He has more in him than an empty herring."
There is more to it than meets the eye.
Thursday, August 6, 2026
Delphic Maxims 100
Πρᾶττε ἀμετανοήτως
Act without regret
IMAGE: Hermann Stilke, Joan of Arc's Death at the Stake (1843)
Epictetus, Discourses 2.14.3
The philosophers say that the first thing one must learn is this: that God exists and provides for the Universe, and it is impossible for a man to act or even to conceive a thought or reflection without God knowing.
The next thing is to learn the true nature of the gods. For whatever their nature is discovered to be, he that is to please and obey them must needs try, so far as he can, to make himself like them.
If God is faithful, he must be faithful too; if free, he must be free too; if beneficent, he too must be beneficent: if high-minded, he must be high-minded: he must, in fact, as one who makes God his ideal, follow this out in every act and word.
The next thing is to learn the true nature of the gods. For whatever their nature is discovered to be, he that is to please and obey them must needs try, so far as he can, to make himself like them.
If God is faithful, he must be faithful too; if free, he must be free too; if beneficent, he too must be beneficent: if high-minded, he must be high-minded: he must, in fact, as one who makes God his ideal, follow this out in every act and word.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.14
As soon as there is any mention of God, the postmodernists go into a panic. The abject terror of anything Divine can quickly translate into an extreme belligerence, even if the consequent burning at the stake is merely symbolic.
For example, the majority of folks who now describe themselves as “Stoics” are atheists, or at the very least agnostic, on the grounds that the ancient teachings must be updated for contemporary sensibilities. This is disturbing, not because of which side currently happens to be winning in the culture wars, but because a philosophy ceases to be that philosophy once you excise one of its underlying principles.
I have no interest in waging tribal warfare, so I will only suggest that some might feel far more at home among the Epicureans. There is plenty of room for many different views, though we shouldn’t obscure them by attaching the wrong labels.
If it’s any consolation, I too have an immediate aversion to the sanctimonious zealots, for whom religion involves little more than admiring themselves in the mirror. I only get beyond the bitterness when my conception of God becomes so very big that my petty preferences now appear so very small. Let’s not forget who was made in whose image and likeness.
When Epictetus builds his philosophy on the presence of God, he is not concerned with sectarian loyalties or extravagant imaginings. At the most basic level, it is a question of where we find the absolute, that by which all other things are measured. If we remove this, we make any judgment impossible, for then there ceases to be a standard, and we are left with the contradiction of claiming that everything is relative to everything else.
Given my background, it helps me to express this in the language of the Scholastics. There can be nothing complex without something simple. There can be no degrees without a perfection. That which has limits exists within the infinite. Here and there are only possible through that which is everywhere. The changing must proceed from the unchanging. For there to be many, there must first be a one. . . .
Whatever name you wish to apply to it, this is the fullness of the Divine. It follows that, however meager our human awareness might be, all of our thoughts, words, and deeds will only become good by a participation with what is ultimate. From the one end, all beings are but an expression of Being, and from the other end, all creatures aspire to the ideal of their Creator.
There can be no philosophy, not of any sort, in the absence of an anchor, a benchmark, or a touchstone. Some will seek to twist themselves into a measure, at which point an effect is mistaken for a cause, and others will seek to dispose of any measure entirely, at which point reason has been abandoned, regardless of how much we call it science. It is perhaps best to attribute such errors to confusion instead of malice.
Before we can even speak of something as true, or good, or beautiful, we must first establish the norm.
As soon as there is any mention of God, the postmodernists go into a panic. The abject terror of anything Divine can quickly translate into an extreme belligerence, even if the consequent burning at the stake is merely symbolic.
For example, the majority of folks who now describe themselves as “Stoics” are atheists, or at the very least agnostic, on the grounds that the ancient teachings must be updated for contemporary sensibilities. This is disturbing, not because of which side currently happens to be winning in the culture wars, but because a philosophy ceases to be that philosophy once you excise one of its underlying principles.
I have no interest in waging tribal warfare, so I will only suggest that some might feel far more at home among the Epicureans. There is plenty of room for many different views, though we shouldn’t obscure them by attaching the wrong labels.
If it’s any consolation, I too have an immediate aversion to the sanctimonious zealots, for whom religion involves little more than admiring themselves in the mirror. I only get beyond the bitterness when my conception of God becomes so very big that my petty preferences now appear so very small. Let’s not forget who was made in whose image and likeness.
When Epictetus builds his philosophy on the presence of God, he is not concerned with sectarian loyalties or extravagant imaginings. At the most basic level, it is a question of where we find the absolute, that by which all other things are measured. If we remove this, we make any judgment impossible, for then there ceases to be a standard, and we are left with the contradiction of claiming that everything is relative to everything else.
Given my background, it helps me to express this in the language of the Scholastics. There can be nothing complex without something simple. There can be no degrees without a perfection. That which has limits exists within the infinite. Here and there are only possible through that which is everywhere. The changing must proceed from the unchanging. For there to be many, there must first be a one. . . .
Whatever name you wish to apply to it, this is the fullness of the Divine. It follows that, however meager our human awareness might be, all of our thoughts, words, and deeds will only become good by a participation with what is ultimate. From the one end, all beings are but an expression of Being, and from the other end, all creatures aspire to the ideal of their Creator.
There can be no philosophy, not of any sort, in the absence of an anchor, a benchmark, or a touchstone. Some will seek to twist themselves into a measure, at which point an effect is mistaken for a cause, and others will seek to dispose of any measure entirely, at which point reason has been abandoned, regardless of how much we call it science. It is perhaps best to attribute such errors to confusion instead of malice.
Before we can even speak of something as true, or good, or beautiful, we must first establish the norm.
—Reflection written in 9/2001
IMAGE: William Blake, Angel of the Revelation (c. 1805)
Wednesday, August 5, 2026
Jottings on Marcus 4
—from Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.4
The fashionable pundits, the gurus of success, are right to tell me how the Universe will always give me exactly what I need, though they are sadly mistaken about what is necessary to my nature.
I complain when I don't get the job, or I fail to win back her affections, or I receive derision instead of praise. But those things were never needed.
In each case, I had the chance to practice humility, or to offer love without condition, or to be constant in my convictions. Those things were always needed.
Be less like Oprah. Be more like Marcus.
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Tuesday, August 4, 2026
Stockdale on Stoicism 58
On the tactical side, the main idea I bring away from Epictetus is to "stay off the hook."
If a prisoner demands conveniences, accepts favors, pleads for relief, aspires to status, attempts to prove something about himself to others, this means giving a manipulator an opening through showing need for "externals."
The smart inmate makes it his business to find his tormentor’s exact limits, to know his own, and to demonstrate a commitment his adversary finds it unprofitable to challenge.
A man’s master is he who is able to confer or remove whatever that man seeks or shuns. Whoever then would be free, let him wish nothing, let him decline nothing which depends on others; else he must necessarily be a slave.
Shun externals, yes. But a man must concern himself in the world of Epictetus and in the world of extortion and manipulation with "internals," or those matters that are "up to him," and only to him.
Our opinions are up to us, our impulses, desires, aversions—in short whatever is of our own doing.
Viktor Frankl, in Man’s Search for Meaning speaks of the "freedom" he found, even in the depths of terror in his Nazi prison, in realizing that there was one thing they could never take from him: his attitude and his opinion of what was going on.
As Jean-Paul Sartre said to a priest in another Nazi prison, "Remember, the important thing in here is not what they do to you, but what you do with what they do to you."
—from James B. Stockdale, Epictetus' Enchiridion: Conflict and Character
IMAGE: Margaret Bourke-White, The Living Dead of Buchenwald (1945)
Epictetus, Discourses 2.14.2
So with philosophy; we picture to ourselves the work of the philosopher to be something of this sort: he must bring his own will into harmony with events, in such manner that nothing which happens should happen against our will, and that we should not wish for anything to happen that does not happen.
The result of this is that those who have thus ordered their life do not fail to get what they will, and do not fall into what they will to avoid: each man spends his own life free from pain, from fear, and from distraction, and maintains the natural and acquired relations which unite him to his fellows—the part of son, father, brother, citizen, husband, wife, neighbor, fellow traveler, ruler, subject.
Such is the business of the philosopher as we picture it. The next thing is that we seek how we are to achieve it.
Now we see that the carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning certain things, the helmsman becomes a helmsman by learning certain things. May we, then, infer that in the sphere of conduct too it is not enough merely to wish to become good, but one must learn certain things? We have, then, to look and see what these things are.
The result of this is that those who have thus ordered their life do not fail to get what they will, and do not fall into what they will to avoid: each man spends his own life free from pain, from fear, and from distraction, and maintains the natural and acquired relations which unite him to his fellows—the part of son, father, brother, citizen, husband, wife, neighbor, fellow traveler, ruler, subject.
Such is the business of the philosopher as we picture it. The next thing is that we seek how we are to achieve it.
Now we see that the carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning certain things, the helmsman becomes a helmsman by learning certain things. May we, then, infer that in the sphere of conduct too it is not enough merely to wish to become good, but one must learn certain things? We have, then, to look and see what these things are.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.14
We are happy to wear the fancy shoes, but we can’t be bothered to make them, or even to repair them, for ourselves. Our houses are filled with furniture, sometimes quite ornate and luxurious, and yet I have, in my many travels, met just one man who had built it all with his own two hands.
Isn’t it much the same with philosophy, when we enjoy the leisure of pondering deep thoughts, while simultaneously feeling disgusted by the drudgery of establishing our principles?
Those with intellectual aspirations will make sweeping claims about truth and justice, though you will rarely find anyone who is able to define such fundamental terms. Even those who have no use for abstractions, hostile to any life of the mind, can’t help but speak of the good and the bad, of the right and the wrong, in every choice they make. Both the nerds and the jocks are always appealing to ideas from philosophy, and never actually practicing the skills of philosophy.
I think of the countless times someone was fascinated upon first learning of my vocation, only to quickly lose interest once it became clear that philosophy is almost as demanding as calculus. Contrary to common opinion, you can indeed meet beautiful people by quoting Marcus Aurelius, as long as you don’t mind them wandering off after a few minutes.
I wonder if Epictetus is being a bit too generous in how he describes our perception of philosophy, because so very few will go through the trouble of ever questioning their desires: we are moved by a passion, and then, if challenged, we construct a convenient justification for it, as if the conclusion comes before the premises. In any case, there is still a pervasive image of the enlightened sage, who has somehow managed to bring himself into harmony with the Universe—though how he has done so remains suspiciously vague.
However much I might admire the lofty goal, I will not find any liberation without a painstaking knowledge of the thorny path; mystical yearning will not be enough. I have a noble image of the captain standing at the helm, all the while forgetting how it is only his skill as a navigator, acquired through many years of hard experience, that permits him to bring his ship safely into port.
I cannot do what is good without first understanding what is good, for the very concepts of benefit and harm are dependent on a clear grasp of my nature, and how this, in turn, relates to the whole of Nature.
We are happy to wear the fancy shoes, but we can’t be bothered to make them, or even to repair them, for ourselves. Our houses are filled with furniture, sometimes quite ornate and luxurious, and yet I have, in my many travels, met just one man who had built it all with his own two hands.
Isn’t it much the same with philosophy, when we enjoy the leisure of pondering deep thoughts, while simultaneously feeling disgusted by the drudgery of establishing our principles?
Those with intellectual aspirations will make sweeping claims about truth and justice, though you will rarely find anyone who is able to define such fundamental terms. Even those who have no use for abstractions, hostile to any life of the mind, can’t help but speak of the good and the bad, of the right and the wrong, in every choice they make. Both the nerds and the jocks are always appealing to ideas from philosophy, and never actually practicing the skills of philosophy.
I think of the countless times someone was fascinated upon first learning of my vocation, only to quickly lose interest once it became clear that philosophy is almost as demanding as calculus. Contrary to common opinion, you can indeed meet beautiful people by quoting Marcus Aurelius, as long as you don’t mind them wandering off after a few minutes.
I wonder if Epictetus is being a bit too generous in how he describes our perception of philosophy, because so very few will go through the trouble of ever questioning their desires: we are moved by a passion, and then, if challenged, we construct a convenient justification for it, as if the conclusion comes before the premises. In any case, there is still a pervasive image of the enlightened sage, who has somehow managed to bring himself into harmony with the Universe—though how he has done so remains suspiciously vague.
However much I might admire the lofty goal, I will not find any liberation without a painstaking knowledge of the thorny path; mystical yearning will not be enough. I have a noble image of the captain standing at the helm, all the while forgetting how it is only his skill as a navigator, acquired through many years of hard experience, that permits him to bring his ship safely into port.
I cannot do what is good without first understanding what is good, for the very concepts of benefit and harm are dependent on a clear grasp of my nature, and how this, in turn, relates to the whole of Nature.
—Reflection written in 9/2001
IMAGE: Albert Edelfelt, The Helmsman (1894)
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Monday, August 3, 2026
Henry David Thoreau 17
—from Henry David Thoreau, Journals (7 September, 1851)
Ralph Waldo Emerson 22
—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals (12 April, 1834)
Sunday, August 2, 2026
Epictetus, Discourses 2.14.1
Chapter 14: On Naso.
Once, when a Roman came in with his son and was listening to one of his lectures, Epictetus said: “This is the method of my teaching,” and broke off short.
And when the Roman begged him to continue, he replied:
Every art, when it is being taught, is tiresome to one who is unskilled and untried in it. The products of the arts indeed show at once the use they are made for, and most of them have an attraction and charm of their own; for though it is no pleasure to be present and follow the process by which a shoemaker learns his art, the shoe itself is useful and a pleasant thing to look at as well.
So too the process by which a carpenter learns is very tiresome to the unskilled person who happens to be by, but his work shows the use of his art.
This you will see still more in the case of music, for if you are by when a man is being taught you will think the process of all things the most unpleasant, yet the effects of music are pleasant and delightful for unmusical persons to hear.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.14
A decade ago, I probably found this chapter to be tedious, and it is likely I skimmed over it, believing this to be just another fussy discussion about method, since I was far more interested in getting to the good stuff, an explanation of how I actually needed to live.
A decade ago, I probably found this chapter to be tedious, and it is likely I skimmed over it, believing this to be just another fussy discussion about method, since I was far more interested in getting to the good stuff, an explanation of how I actually needed to live.
The fact that I do not remember when I first read it, but I now return to it over and over again, helps me to appreciate a change in my own priorities. I can’t go around saying that the product is terribly exciting, while at the same time complaining that the work is painfully dull.
I think it took a stinging line from Chesterton to really wake me up: “There is no such thing on earth as an uninteresting subject; the only thing that can exist is an uninterested person.”
And so now, when my students grumble about the next boring topic, I playfully remind them how being bored is yet another form of being lazy and smug. For the curious chemist, watching the paint dry is genuinely exciting, and for the inquisitive botanist, watching the grass grow can become a profound revelation. I know all too well how my sense of entitlement is an obstacle to my sense of wonder.
As a fellow who didn’t own a car until much later in life, I walked most everywhere I needed to go, from one end of town to the other, often in the worst kind of weather. While I was always grateful for a solid pair of shoes, I never gave the skills of the cobbler a second thought, until my best boots got mangled, and an old man in a tiny shop made them look like new within two hours. Now I can’t look at a shoe without thinking of the craftsmanship that went into making it.
Though I came from a long line of fine carpenters, I quickly grew frustrated with the patience and precision the trade required, and so I sadly never mastered the art of woodworking. I regret this now, with only my backyard whittling as a paltry compensation. This unpleasant experience has become a way to remember why the dignity of the end is only possible through the discipline of the means.
Last but not least, I was raised in a house full of music, from which I learned to value the harmony of sound as a reflection of the beauty in all creation, as powerful as any interplay of light. Yet this did not come to me without continual effort, to the point where I would sometimes toss aside my instrument in disgust. What little competence I do possess is thanks to constant practice, and what remains beyond my ability is mainly due to indolence.
Never underestimate the importance of playing your scales, over and over again, until you can no longer feel your fingers. It is the same in all aspects of life: the habit is built through the exercise, and the exercise, however tiresome it may initially appear, opens the way to finally doing the good, instead of merely wishing for it.
I think it took a stinging line from Chesterton to really wake me up: “There is no such thing on earth as an uninteresting subject; the only thing that can exist is an uninterested person.”
And so now, when my students grumble about the next boring topic, I playfully remind them how being bored is yet another form of being lazy and smug. For the curious chemist, watching the paint dry is genuinely exciting, and for the inquisitive botanist, watching the grass grow can become a profound revelation. I know all too well how my sense of entitlement is an obstacle to my sense of wonder.
As a fellow who didn’t own a car until much later in life, I walked most everywhere I needed to go, from one end of town to the other, often in the worst kind of weather. While I was always grateful for a solid pair of shoes, I never gave the skills of the cobbler a second thought, until my best boots got mangled, and an old man in a tiny shop made them look like new within two hours. Now I can’t look at a shoe without thinking of the craftsmanship that went into making it.
Though I came from a long line of fine carpenters, I quickly grew frustrated with the patience and precision the trade required, and so I sadly never mastered the art of woodworking. I regret this now, with only my backyard whittling as a paltry compensation. This unpleasant experience has become a way to remember why the dignity of the end is only possible through the discipline of the means.
Last but not least, I was raised in a house full of music, from which I learned to value the harmony of sound as a reflection of the beauty in all creation, as powerful as any interplay of light. Yet this did not come to me without continual effort, to the point where I would sometimes toss aside my instrument in disgust. What little competence I do possess is thanks to constant practice, and what remains beyond my ability is mainly due to indolence.
Never underestimate the importance of playing your scales, over and over again, until you can no longer feel your fingers. It is the same in all aspects of life: the habit is built through the exercise, and the exercise, however tiresome it may initially appear, opens the way to finally doing the good, instead of merely wishing for it.
—Reflection written in 9/2001
IMAGE: Adriaen van Ostade, The Shoemaker (c. 1650)
Saturday, August 1, 2026
Friday, July 31, 2026
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Thursday, July 30, 2026
The Basel Dance of Death 19
Matthäus Merian, The Basel Dance of Death: The Noblewoman (1616)
"My lady, cease your grooming,
You must now dance with me here.
I care not for your golden hair.
What do you see in your shining mirror?"
"Oh trouble and grief, what has become of me?
Ì have seen Death in the glass.
His dreadful form has terrified me,
Ì have seen Death in the glass.
His dreadful form has terrified me,
so that the heart in my body is cold."
Wednesday, July 29, 2026
Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 64
If you a strict enquiry make, you'll find,
That to each thing, two handles are assign'd.
One not to be endur'd, that will admit
No touch, there's none, alas! can manage it.
The other tractable, which every hand
With mod'rate skill and prudence may command.
If then your brother injures you through pride,
Or fraud, lay hold upon the safer side;
And do not straight examine his offence,
Touch'd with too deep, and too grievous a sense
Of the wrong offer'd, lest you discompose
Your mind, and wrath to injury oppose;
Lest in a tempest you yourself engage,
Which only serves to blow, to inflame his rage.
But rather think how near you are ally'd,
That such offences ought not to divide,
And break the knot, which nature's hand hath ty'd;
Remember all the happy years you spent
Under one roof, and the same management;
Rememb'ring this, you'll soon forget the ill
Your brother did you, he's your brother still.
That to each thing, two handles are assign'd.
One not to be endur'd, that will admit
No touch, there's none, alas! can manage it.
The other tractable, which every hand
With mod'rate skill and prudence may command.
If then your brother injures you through pride,
Or fraud, lay hold upon the safer side;
And do not straight examine his offence,
Touch'd with too deep, and too grievous a sense
Of the wrong offer'd, lest you discompose
Your mind, and wrath to injury oppose;
Lest in a tempest you yourself engage,
Which only serves to blow, to inflame his rage.
But rather think how near you are ally'd,
That such offences ought not to divide,
And break the knot, which nature's hand hath ty'd;
Remember all the happy years you spent
Under one roof, and the same management;
Rememb'ring this, you'll soon forget the ill
Your brother did you, he's your brother still.
William Hogarth, Industry and Idleness 2
Almost as intense as my youthful aversion to hard work, built upon the false premise that labor existed only for the sake of amassing fortune and fame, was a similar distaste for the task of attending church, built upon the false premise that public worship existed only so that the blowhards could fulfill their quota of prancing about for the week.
Once again, taking a moment with Hogarth helped me to reconsider my assumptions. Both working and praying become a joy when they are driven by understanding and by love—the problems arise when we work for greed and pray out of vanity.
For all of my protests, I always knew that piety was a virtue, because I always knew how what is lesser can only be defined through what is greater. My selfishness, however, would keep me from putting this into practice, and there was no easier excuse for being spiritually lazy than pointing my finger at other people. Look at those hypocrites, pretending to be holy while they satisfy their own appetites!
This does not, of course, disprove the presence of the Divine, and it only shows why we need those graces all the more. If another man is making a mockery of his duties, am I suddenly allowed to abandon my own? Let him have his worldly amusements, and I can still keep my peace of mind—don't throw the baby out with the bathwater.
Every Sunday, I was furious with the decadent priests at the altar and the sanctimonious scoundrels in the pews, which did everything to damage me and nothing to improve them. God asks for charity from me, and yet that turns out to be the one thing I refuse to give.
As much as I appreciate a heady theological argument, this simple image does more for me than any string of syllogisms. It is one thing to merely talk about the qualities of a good man, and quite another to show me the example of a good man.
Francis, accompanied by his master's daughter, is not interested in putting on some holy show, or catching up on the latest gossip. He is just happy to sing from his hymnal, neither putting on airs nor rolling his eyes in boredom. That he is doing so in the company of a nice young lady is not lost on me, a fellow who wasted too many years chasing after girls who could talk the talk, but would never walk the walk.
In the top right we have the vain woman and the sleeping man, so commonly found in any place of worship. Francis is wise enough not pay them any heed, since the modest task for the day is right before him.
We can hardly overlook the figure of the pew opener, the old lady who would guide worshippers to their seats. While it is likely that very few have noticed her, it is clear that Hogarth has noticed her, and I would dare to propose that God has also noticed her humble service.
Prayer is surely not so taxing when it is actually about devotion, and not reduced to a tedious social performance.
Psalms 119:97
O! How I love thy Law it is my
meditation all the day.
meditation all the day.
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