Dhammapada 419

Him I call indeed a Brahmana who knows the destruction and the return of beings everywhere, who is free from bondage, welfaring, and awakened. 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 45

There was once in the city a fair woman named Theodote. She was not only fair, but ready to consort with any suitor who might win her favor. 

Now it chanced that some one of the company mentioned her, saying that her beauty beggared description. "So fair is she," he added, "that painters flock to draw her portrait, to whom, within the limits of decorum, she displays the marvels of her beauty." 

"Then there is nothing for it but to go and see her," answered Socrates, "since to comprehend by hearsay what is beyond description is clearly impossible." 

Then he who had introduced the matter replied: "Be quick then to follow me"; and on this wise they set off to seek Theodote. They found her "posing" to a certain painter; and they took their stand as spectators. Presently the painter had ceased his work; whereupon Socrates: 

"Do you think, sirs, that we ought to thank Theodote for displaying her beauty to us, or she us for coming to gaze at her? . . . It would seem, would it not, that if the exhibition of her charms is the more profitable to her, the debt is on her side; but if the spectacle of her beauty confers the greater benefit on us, then we are her debtors."

Someone answered that "was an equitable statement of the case."

"Well then," he continued, "as far as she is concerned, the praise we bestow on her is an immediate gain; and presently, when we have spread her fame abroad, she will be further benefited; but for ourselves the immediate effect on us is a strong desire to touch what we have seen; by and by, too, we shall go away with a sting inside us, and when we are fairly gone we shall be consumed with longing. Consequently it seems that we should do her service and she accept our court."

Whereupon Theodote: "Oh dear! If that is how the matter stands, it is I who am your debtor for the spectacle." 

At this point, seeing that the lady herself was expensively attired, and that she had with her her mother also, whose dress and style of attendance were out of the common, not to speak of the waiting-women—many and fair to look upon, who presented anything but a forlorn appearance; while in every respect the whole house itself was sumptuously furnished—Socrates put a question: 

"Pray tell me, Theodote, have you an estate in the country?" 

Theodote: "Not I indeed." 

Socrates: "Then perhaps you possess a house and large revenues along with it?" 

Theodote: "No, nor yet a house." 

Socrates: "You are not an employer of labor on a large scale?" 

Theodote: "No, nor yet an employer of labor." 

Socrates: "From what source, then, do you get your means of subsistence?" 

Theodote: "My friends are my life and fortune, when they care to be kind to me." 

Socrates: "By heaven, Theodote, a very fine property indeed, and far better worth possessing than a multitude of sheep or goats or cattle. A flock of friends! . . . But do you leave it to fortune whether a friend lights like a fly on your hand at random, or do you use any artifice yourself to attract him?" 

Theodote: "And how might I hit upon any artifice to attract him?" 

Socrates: "Bless me! Far more naturally than any spider. You know how they capture the creatures on which they live; by weaving webs of gossamer, is it not? And woe betide the fly that tumbles into their toils! They eat him up." 

Theodote: "So then you would counsel me to weave myself some sort of net?" 

Socrates: "Why, surely you do not suppose you are going to ensnare that noblest of all game—a lover, to wit—in so artless a fashion? Do you not see, to speak of a much less noble sort of game, what a number of devices are needed to bag a hare? 

"The creatures range for their food at night; therefore the hunter must provide himself with night dogs. At peep of dawn they are off as fast as they can run. He must therefore have another pack of dogs to scent out and discover which way they betake them from their grazing ground to their forms; and as they are so fleet of foot that they run and are out of sight in no time, he must once again be provided with other fleet-footed dogs to follow their tracks and overtake them; and as some of them will give even these the slip, he must, last of all, set up nets on the paths at the points of escape, so that they may fall into the meshes and be caught." 

Theodote: "And by what like contrivance would you have me catch my lovers?" 

Socrates: "Well now! What if in place of a dog you can get a man who will hunt up your wealthy lover of beauty and discover his lair, and having found him, will plot and plan to throw him into your meshes?" 

Theodote: "Nay, what sort of meshes have I?" 

Socrates: "One you have, and a close-folding net it is, I trow; to wit, your own person; and inside it sits a soul that teaches you with what looks to please and with what words to cheer; how, too, with smiles you are to welcome true devotion, but to exclude all wantons from your presence. 

"It tells you, you are to visit your beloved in sickness with solicitude, and when he has wrought some noble deed you are greatly to rejoice with him; and to one who passionately cares for you, you are to make surrender of yourself with heart and soul. The secret of true love I am sure you know: not to love softly merely, but devotedly. And of this too I am sure: you can convince your lovers of your fondness for them not by lip phrases, but by acts of love." 

Theodote: "No, upon my word, I have none of these devices." 

Socrates: "And yet it makes all the difference whether you approach a human being in the natural and true way, since it is not by force certainly that you can either catch or keep a friend. Kindness and pleasure are the only means to capture this fearful wild-fowl man and keep him constant." 

Theodote: "You are right." 

Socrates: "In the first place you must make such demands only of your well-wisher as he can grant without repentance; and in the next place you must make requital, dispensing your favors with a like economy. Thus you will best make friends whose love shall last the longest and their generosity know no stint. 

"And for your favors you will best win your friends if you suit your largess to their penury; for, mark you, the sweetest viands presented to a man before he wants them are apt to prove insipid, or, to one already sated, even nauseous; but create hunger, and even coarser stuff seems honey-sweet." 

Theodote: "How then shall I create this hunger in the heart of my friends?" 

Socrates: "In the first place you must not offer or make suggestion of your dainties to jaded appetites until satiety has ceased and starvation cries for alms. Even then shall you make but a faint suggestion to their want, with modest converse—like one who would fain bestow a kindness . . . and lo! The vision fades and she is gone—until the very pinch of hunger; for the same gifts have then a value unknown before the moment of supreme desire." 

Then Theodote: "Oh why, Socrates, why are you not by my side, like the huntsman's assistant, to help me catch my friends and lovers?" 

Socrates: "That will I be in good sooth if only you can woo and win me." 

Theodote: "How shall I woo and win you?" 

Socrates: "Seek and you will find means, if you truly need me." 

Theodote: "Come then in hither and visit me often." 

And Socrates, poking sly fun at his own lack of business occupation, answered: "Nay, Theodote, leisure is not a commodity in which I largely deal. I have a hundred affairs of my own too, private or public, to occupy me; and then there are my lady loves, my dear friends, who will not suffer me day or night to leave them, for ever studying to learn love charms and incantations at my lips." 

Theodote: "Why, are you really versed in those things, Socrates?" 

Socrates: "Of course, or else how is it, do you suppose, that Apollodorus here and Antisthenes never leave me; or why have Cebes and Simmias come all the way from Thebes to stay with me? Be assured these things cannot happen without diverse love charms and incantations and magic wheels." 

Theodote: "I wish you would lend me your magic-wheel, then, and I will set it spinning first of all for you." 

Socrates: "Ah! But I do not wish to be drawn to you. I wish you to come to me." 

Theodote: "Then I will come. Only, will you be 'at home' to me?" 

Socrates: "Yes, I will welcome you, unless someone still dearer holds me engaged, and I must needs be 'not at home'." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.11 

IMAGE: John William Godward, The Tease (1901) 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 195

Fortune is like glass; the brighter the glitter, the more easily broken. 

 

Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5.5

Well! How hard a mistress is that passion which seems to be more characteristic of liberty, I mean that for public preferment, for empire, for provinces; how imperious! how irresistible! It forced the men who thought themselves the greatest men in Rome to be slaves to Cethegus, a person not the most respectable, to send him presents, to wait upon him at nights at his house, to turn suitors, nay, supplicants to him. If this is to be regarded as freedom, what is slavery? 
 
But what shall I say when the sway of the passions is over, and when fear, another tyrant, springs out of the consciousness of their misdeeds? What a hard, what a wretched servitude is that, when they must be slaves to chattering boys; when all who seem to know anything against them are feared as their masters. 
 
As to their judge, how powerful is his sway over them, with what terrors does he afflict the guilty. And is not all fear a slavery? 
 
What then is the meaning of that more eloquent than wise speech delivered by the accomplished orator Crassus? "Snatch us from slavery." What slavery could happen to so illustrious and noble a man? Every terror of a weak, a mean, and a dastardly soul is slavery. 
 
He goes on—"Suffer us not to be the slaves of any”—you perhaps imagine that he is now about to assert his liberty. Not at all, for what does he add?—"but of you all, to whom we are able and bound to be subservient.” 
 
He desires not to be free, but to change his master. Now we whose souls are lofty, exalted, and entrenched in virtue, neither can, nor ought to be slaves. Say that you can be a slave, since indeed you can; but say not that you are bound to be one, for no man is bound to any service, unless it is disgraceful not to render it. 
 
But enough of this. Now let this man consider if he can be a general, when reason and truth must convince him that he is not so much as a freeman. 

—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5 
 
Why must I own more things? I already possess my nature. Why must I make a flashier impression? I can simply be myself. Why must my pleasures rule my choices? My choices can define my pleasures. 
 
If I allow my good or my evil to hang upon the presence or the absence of events beyond my own power, how can I still claim to be free? Or will I insist that I can force the world to grant me more playthings, or coerce my neighbors into offering me their affections? 
 
Once I permit a Cethegus or a Crassus to call the tune, I have unwittingly made myself his subject. And if I believe he somehow stumbled across a lucky break, history will remind me how it ended for him, as it must end for every tyrant. When you have already given yourself away, you can no longer complain about being a victim of fate. 
 
I will remain forever indebted to Aristotle, for knocking some sense into me about the nature of happiness, all the way back in high school. I was confused when our popular culture told me to chase after money, sex, and fame, yet I saw so many people around me making themselves ever more miserable by clinging to such volatile conditions. They called it a blessing, but it became a curse. 
 
If happiness is the highest goal we seek, the usual prospects must fall painfully short, being neither complete, to which nothing more can be added, nor self-sufficient, for the sake of which we do everything else. We confuse the means for the end, the parts for the whole. 
 
Though many will say that money is our good, wealth is by definition always a resource for some other gain, and so its value is completely relative. 
 
Though others will say that pleasure is our good, a feeling alone is never beneficial, and it makes us subservient to the object of our desires. 
 
Though some will say that honor is our good, the praise must proceed from the opinion of others, and it may have nothing to do with our own merits. 
 
And a few, those who have carefully reflected on their own nature, will recognize why our function as creatures of reason is to live according to virtue, the excellence of our own thoughts, words, and deeds, whatever the fortune that comes our way. Our dignity flows from within, not from without. 
 
I do not wish to conflate the Stoics and the Peripatetics, but, in this case, I would argue that the former are simply stressing some natural conclusions about the teachings of the latter. If happiness is from the virtues, then misery is from the vices. If freedom is within our character, then slavery is looking to the circumstances. Stoicism calls us out for pretending we can sit on the fence. 
 
When it is right for me to be of service to others, let this be on my own terms. No man is free when he allows the lesser to hold sway over the greater. 

—Reflection written in 5/1999 

The Continence of Scipio 14

Francois Lemoyne, The Continence of Scipio (1726) 

Man's Search for Meaning 21

This intensification of inner life helped the prisoner find a refuge from the emptiness, desolation and spiritual poverty of his existence, by letting him escape into the past. When given free rein, his imagination played with past events, often not important ones, but minor happenings and trifling things. His nostalgic memory glorified them and they assumed a strange character. 

Their world and their existence seemed very distant and the spirit reached out for them longingly: In my mind I took bus rides, unlocked the front door of my apartment, answered my telephone, switched on the electric lights. Our thoughts often cantered on such details, and these memories could move one to tears. 

As the inner life of the prisoner tended to become more intense, he also experienced the beauty of art and nature as never before. Under their influence he sometimes even forgot his own frightful circumstances. 

If someone had seen our faces on the journey from Auschwitz to a Bavarian camp as we beheld the mountains of Salzburg with their summits glowing in the sunset, through the little barred windows of the prison carriage, he would never have believed that those were the faces of men who had given up all hope of life and liberty. Despite that factor—or maybe because of it—we were carried away by nature's beauty, which we had missed for so long.

In camp, too, a man might draw the attention of a comrade working next to him to a nice view of the setting sun shining through the tall trees of the Bavarian woods (as in the famous water color by Dürer), the same woods in which we had built an enormous, hidden munitions plant. 

One evening, when we were already resting on the floor of our hut, dead tired, soup bowls in hand, a fellow prisoner rushed in and asked us to run out to the assembly grounds and see the wonderful sunset. Standing outside we saw sinister clouds glowing in the west and the whole sky alive with clouds of ever-changing shapes and colors, from steel blue to blood red. The desolate grey mud huts provided a sharp contrast, while the puddles on the muddy ground reflected the glowing sky. 

Then, after minutes of moving silence, one prisoner said to another, "How beautiful the world could be!"

Another time we were at work in a trench. The dawn was grey around us; grey was the sky above; grey the snow in the pale light of dawn; grey the rags in which my fellow prisoners were clad, and grey their faces. 

I was again conversing silently with my wife, or perhaps I was struggling to find the reason for my sufferings, my slow dying. In a last violent protest against the hopelessness of imminent death, I sensed my spirit piercing through the enveloping gloom. I felt it transcend that hopeless, meaningless world, and from somewhere I heard a victorious "Yes" in answer to my question of the existence of an ultimate purpose. At that moment a light was lit in a distant farmhouse, which stood on the horizon as if painted there, in the midst of the miserable grey of a dawning morning in Bavaria. 

"Et lux in tenebris lucet"—and the light shineth in the darkness. 

For hours I stood hacking at the icy ground. The guard passed by, insulting me, and once again I communed with my beloved. More and more I felt that she was present, that she was with me; I had the feeling that I was able to touch her, able to stretch out my hand and grasp hers. The feeling was very strong: she was there. 

Then, at that very moment, a bird flew down silently and perched just in front of me, on the heap of soil which I had dug up from the ditch, and looked steadily at me. 

—from Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning 

Bach 7, Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme

Johann Sebastian Bach, Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme, BWV 140, Netherlands Bach Society 

Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5.4

But you say, “I have had the direction of important wars, I have presided over great empires and provinces.” 
 
Then carry about you a soul worthy of praise. A painting of Echion, or some statue of Polycletus, holds you bereft of your senses: I shall not mention from whom you took it, or by what means you possess it: but when I see you staring, gaping, and uttering cries, I look upon you to be the slave of all these follies. 
 
You ask me, "Are not these, then, elegant amusements?" 
 
They are: for I too have a cultivated eye; but I beseech you, let these elegances be so regarded as the playthings of boys, and not as the shackles of men. 
 
What think you then? If Lucius Mummius, after he had expressed his contempt for all Corinth, had seen one of these men examining most eagerly a Corinthian vase, whether would he have looked upon him as an excellent citizen, or a busy appraiser? 
 
If Manius Curius, or some of those Romans who in their villas and their houses had nothing that was costly, nothing besides themselves that was ornamental, should come to life again, and see one who had received the highest honors from the people, taking out of his tank his mullets or his carp, then handling them, and boasting of the abundance of his lampreys, would not the old Roman think that such a man was so very a slave, that he was not even fit for a very high employment in a household? 
 
Is the slavery of those men doubtful, who from their greediness for wealth spurn no condition of the hardest servitude? To what meanness of slavery will not the hope of succeeding to an estate make a man stoop? What gesture of the childless rich old fellow does he not observe? He frames his words to his inclination; he does whatever is commanded him; he courts him, he sits by him, he makes him presents. What of these is the part of a free man? What, indeed, is not the mark of an abject slave. 

—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5 
 
I do not know if it was right for Lucius Mummius to sack Corinth, or for Scipio Aemilianus to raze Carthage, just as I question whether it was right for the Allies to carpet-bomb German civilians, but I do know that a man who fights for his country’s honor does not let himself get sidetracked by adding to his collection of swanky art. 
 
I do not know if the Romans from the early years, like Manius Curius, were more frugal and disciplined than the Romans from the later years, just as I am suspicious when an old codger berates a young pipsqueak for being lazy, but I do know that a man who cares for his character does not fret over what wine will pair best with his dinner. 
 
Over the years, I have crossed paths with many who thought very highly of themselves, and who never missed the opportunity to proclaim the grandest of ideals. When the going got tough, however, they were nowhere to be found, unwilling to surrender their creature comforts for the sake of any genuine convictions. The affectations of culture and refinement are no substitute for an informed conscience, just as the vain ambition to be respected will inevitably clash with the solemn duty to offer respect. 
 
In the business realm, there are the slick wheeler-dealers, who flaunt their achievements at every turn, charm you when you are convenient, and ignore you completely once you are no longer of any use to them. Yet when you look behind the opulence and the titles, they will suddenly seem so very small. 
 
In the scholarly realm, there are the intellectual dandies, who quote from brooding novels, scent their beards, and smoke a churchwarden pipe to appear like Bilbo Baggins. Though they may not steal your money, they will feed off your attention, the haughtiness slipping away as soon as their pretensions are exposed. 
 
Nothing good will ever come from despising them, but I must always remember to never become like them. If I wish to elevate myself, there can be no reliance on props, and no treading on others in order to gain the advantage. It is liberating to realize how the folks who display the most confidence are the ones who depend so thoroughly on everything except their own virtues. This is why the Stoic recognizes them to be slaves. 
 
This will offend them tremendously, of course, which is a clue that you have shattered the illusion. If they truly believe they can thrive without leaning on fortune, challenge them to spend a month, or even a week, without any of their amenities, which will quickly reveal themselves to be the heaviest of chains. It will be more painful than a drunk going off the sauce cold turkey. 

—Reflection written in 5/1999 

IMAGE: Nils Dardel, The Dying Dandy (1918) 

Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 21

And every good is worth choosing; for it is pleasing and approved of and praiseworthy. 

And every bad thing is worth avoiding. 

For the good, insofar as it stimulates reasonable choice, is worth choosing; and insofar as it is subject to choice without suspicion, it is pleasing. 

And, moreover, insofar as one would reasonably suppose that it is one of the products of virtue, it is praiseworthy. 

IMAGE: Edmund Leighton, The Dedication (1908) 

Proverbs 4:10-19

[10] Hear, my son, and accept my words,
that the years of your life may be many.
[11] I have taught you the way of wisdom;
I have led you in the paths of uprightness.
[12] When you walk, your step will not be hampered;
and if you run, you will not stumble.
[13] Keep hold of instruction, do not let go;
guard her, for she is your life.
[14] Do not enter the path of the wicked,
and do not walk in the way of evil men.
[15] Avoid it; do not go on it;
turn away from it and pass on.
[16] For they cannot sleep unless they have done wrong;
they are robbed of sleep unless they have made someone stumble.
[17] For they eat the bread of wickedness
and drink the wine of violence.
[18] But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn,
which shines brighter and brighter until full day.
[19] The way of the wicked is like deep darkness;
they do not know over what they stumble. 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, The Goddess of Discord Choosing the Apple of Contention in the Garden of the Hesperides (c. 1806) 

Maxims of Goethe 87

If you lay duties upon people and give them no rights, you must pay them well. 

Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5.3

Can I call the men free whom a woman governs, to whom she gives laws, lays down directions, orders and forbids what to her seems fit; while he can deny and dare refuse nothing that she commands? 
 
Does she ask? He must give. Does she call? He must come. Does she order him off? He must vanish. Does she threaten? He must tremble. For my part, I call such a fellow, though he may have been born in the noblest family, not only a slave, but a most abject slave. 
 
And as in a large household, some slaves look upon themselves as more genteel than others, such as porters or gardeners, yet still they are slaves; in like manner, they who are inordinately fond of statues, of pictures, of embossed plate, of works in Corinthian brass, or magnificent palaces, are equally fools with the others.
 
"Nay, but,” say they, “we are the most eminent men of the state." 
 
Nay! you are not superior to your fellow slaves. But as in a household, they who handle the furniture, brush it, anoint their masters, who sweep, and water, do not occupy the highest rank of servitude; in like manner they who have abandoned themselves to their passions for these things, occupy nearly the lowest grade of slavery itself. 

—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5 
 
Many a modern reader will assume this must be about the war between the sexes, when it is really about the essence of our humanity, whatever the accidents. It is one thing for any man or woman to freely accept good counsel, but quite another for any man or woman to become a mindless lackey. Once the passions are calling the shots, especially those fueled by groupthink, we are little more than slaves to our circumstances. 
 
Why should I spend twenty years jumping through hoops at school, to be followed by forty years of jumping through hoops at the office? Why is it necessary to pay a hefty mortgage, or marry a trophy wife, or train my children to define their success by baubles and balance sheets? 
 
“Well, that’s how it’s done.” 
 
And you will blindly take the master’s word on this? 
 
“Don’t be so silly! We don’t have masters and slaves anymore!” 
 
Be careful. Bondage takes on many forms. 
 
“Are you comparing me to some unskilled laborer? I’m a professional who gets what he wants.” 
 
And despite your impressive credentials, you are still working on someone else’s clock. Are you getting what you want, or are your wants getting you? 
 
Some folks will frown at me when I speak of striving for nobility, because they think I am talking about the trappings of rank instead of the content of character. I most certainly consider someone my better when he has proven how he is not at the beck and call of money, fame, and gratification. 
 
Among my eccentricities is a love of all things medieval, and my colleagues, who label the era as prudish, are often shocked by the bawdy and irreverent humor. This section brings to mind the old tale of Phyllis and Aristotle, in much the same vein as the many jokes about Xanthippe and Socrates. 
 
It is said that Aristotle was advising his young pupil, Alexander, to avoid the company of the alluring Phyllis. She overheard his criticism, however, and schemed to seduce the old philosopher, knowing that he was secretly enamored of her. When Aristotle finally begged for her favors, Phyllis only agreed on the condition that she be permitted to ride him like a horse, a humiliating scene which she had cleverly arranged for Alexander to witness. 
 
What use is the sharpest mind if it surrenders to the ficklest desires? What sort of man allows himself to be led by the nose once he spies a beautiful woman, or a heap of gold, or the prospect of prestige? Perhaps this never actually happened to Aristotle, but I see it happening every day, so it is a timely warning to us all. 

—Reflection written in 5/1999 

IMAGE: Lucas Cranach the Elder, Phyllis and Aristotle (1530) 

The Light of Stars

"The Light of Stars" 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) 

The night is come, but not too soon; 

And sinking silently, 

All silently, the little moon 

Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth or heaven 

But the cold light of stars; 

And the first watch of night is given 

To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love? 

The star of love and dreams? 

O no! from that blue tent above, 

A hero's armor gleams. 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

When I behold afar, 

Suspended in the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 

O star of strength! I see thee stand 

And smile upon my pain; 

Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand, 

And I am strong again.  

Within my breast there is no light 

But the cold light of stars; 

I give the first watch of the night 

To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 

Serene, and resolute, and still, 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
That readest this brief psalm, 
As one by one thy hopes depart, 
Be resolute and calm. 

O fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know erelong, 
Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong. 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 9.3

. . . Nor is it true, that a just computation of all the difficulties and dangers wont to attend our actions, must needs condemn men to slavish fears, and an inactive life. For if our reason convinces us, that what we attempt, is good for the advantage of the soul, or which is all one of the man, for that soul is the man, the desire of that good must needs inspire us with courage and vigor, not withstanding all the discouraging dangers that attend it. 

And the consideration of this danger will be very much softened, by this most rational and virtuous persuasion, that we ought to persevere in such an undertaking, though at the expense of some hazard and inconvenience. For all danger and detriment, of either body or fortunes, is not properly an evil to us; nor shall we think it ours, if we be wise. But the benefit of choosing a virtuous action, and persisting in it, in despite of all dangers and discouragements, is our own good; for it is the good of our souls, which are truly and properly ourselves. 

And this advantage is considerable enough to be set against many troubles, and losses, and banishments, and disgraces: nay, it is sufficient, not only to be set against, but to overbalance them all; because the good of this does so very much exceed the evil that seems to be in them. For if a man thinks himself obliged to choose a greater good, when attended only with a lessor evil; how is it possible, that he should be discouraged and uneasy, under the expectation of some cross accidents, which sometimes follow upon virtuous actions, when the good of these actions is truly and properly his own, but the evil of those accidents, is only something remote, and not his? 

Especially too, when this is by no means a superficial and notional distinction, but such a real difference, as his whole practice and behavior shows him sensible of. This is the very reason, why men of virtue and wisdom have made it their glory, to choose good with the greatest dangers; why they have done it cheerfully, and sacrificed their very lives for it; and accounted their sufferings upon such an account, matter of the greatest joy to them. So did Menoecius particularly, and all those other heroes, famed in story, who have voluntarily devoted themselves, and died for the service and sake of their country. 

Now Epictetus couches his advice here, under one of the meanest and most insignificant instances that can be; partly to illustrate what he says, by an example taken from common conversation, and so to gain the assent of his hearers, to the truth of what he would infer from it; and partly too, as himself had told us before, to put his scholars upon exercising their virtue in lesser trials; that so from trivial matters, they may rise by degrees to others of greater difficulty and consequence. And the success of this method has been already shown to depend upon reasons, which need not be repeated. 

But his design is also, that we should be careful to apply these things to affairs of the moment, in proportion as the hazards of them are more discouraging; and in those occasions, always to take our measures from the nature of the thing, whether it be agreeable to decency and our duty, and what those hardships are that usually accompany it. Then, after such prospect taken, to settle our minds in this resolution, that if the worst happens, we will bear it with temper and moderation. 

For this is the way to maintain the character of virtuous and rational men; this must let us into all the advantages of doing well, and defend us from all that perplexity into which unexpected events commonly betray men. For he that is troubled and discomposed, and fancies himself unhappy in what he suffers , it is plain, either had not sufficiently considered what he went about, before he engaged in it; or if he did foresee all this, then his disorder is the effect of effeminacy and cowardice, which makes him give out, and repent his undertaking. But both these failings are highly criminal, and contrary to the rules of nature, and right reason. 

Orator in Prison

Hubert Robert, The Orator in Prison (c. 1765) 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 9.2

. . . Now against this counsel I expect it will be urged, first, that if everyone should take such pains, to represent all the crosses and disappointments, which may probably happen to them in every undertaking, the effect of this would be cowardice and idleness: for men would find themselves utterly discouraged from attempting anything at all. 

Besides, nothing can be more grievous to any man, than to have the image of his troubles and misfortunes constantly before his eyes; and especially, if the affair he be engaged in continues any time, to converse all that while with this ghastly apparition. Therefore, Demosthenes’ advice seems much more prudent and eligible; to be sure, that what you attempt, be good and virtuous; then to hope well, and, whatever the event be, to bear it generously and decently. 

But by the objector’s good leave, if by hoping well, Demosthenes means a good confidence, grounded upon our undertaking things virtuous and commendable, and resting satisfied in this consideration, whatever the event be; he says the very same thing with Epictetus. Only indeed he gives us no direction, which way we shall attain to this generous temper of mind, which may enable us to entertain the dispensations of providence decently, though they should happen to be harsh and severe. 

But Epictetus declares himself of the opinion, that the method to qualify ourselves for so doing, is, to take a true prospect of the whole affair, and represent to ourselves, that it is fit for us to undertake, and that there may be several circumstances attending it, which though they may not be agreeable to us, are yet very tolerable, and such as we may reconcile ourselves to, upon these two accounts. First, because the action itself, which brings them upon us, is virtuous, and becoming; and then, because whenever they happen, they are no more than what were expected, and provided against before. 

But, if by hoping well, Demosthenes intends a firm persuasion of safety and success; then I think it is very difficult, nay, I may venture to say, it is impossible to conceive, how a man thus persuaded, can ever bear disappointments and crosses with moderation and temper. 

For when a man falls from what he was in imagination, the shock is the same, as if he were so in reality. And neither the body, nor the mind, are of a constitution to bear sudden and violent alterations, without great disturbance. You see, the very weather, and seasons of the year, though they change gently and by degrees, yet put our humors into a great ferment, and generally occasion many distempers among us; and the more violent this change at anytime is, the greater in proportion the disorders that follow upon it, must needs be. . . . 

Sayings of Heraclitus 93

It pertains to all men to know themselves and to learn self-control. 

IMAGE: Giovanni Bellini, Fortitude (1470) 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 9.1

In every action you undertake, consider first with yourself, and weigh well the nature and circumstances of the thing: nay, though it be so slight a one, as going to bathe; represent to yourself beforehand, what accidents you may probably meet with. 

That in the bath there is often rude behavior, dashing of water, jostling for passage, scurrilous language, and stealing. And when you have done thus, you may with more security go about the thing. 

To which purpose you will do well to say thus to yourself; my design is to bathe, but so it is too, to preserve my mind and reason undisturbed, while I do so. 

For after such wise preparation as this, if anything intervenes to obstruct your washing, this reflection will presently rise upon it: well, but this was not the only thing I proposed; that which I chiefly intended, was to keep my mind and reason undisturbed; and this I am sure can never be done, if I suffer every accident to discompose me. 

Comment: 

After giving instructions concerning our behavior with regard to the things of the world, which use to engage our affections, either upon the account of the delight they give us, the convenience they are of, or the relation they bear to us; the next step in order, is to consider our actions. For these too have a great many circumstances, out of our power, and must therefore be undertaken with great prudence, and much preparation. 

The rule then that he lays down is this; that you take a just account of the nature of each action, and fairly compute the several accidents, which, though they do not necessarily, yet may possibly attend it; and to expect, that these are very likely to happen in your own case particularly. Now the fruit of this will be, either not to be surprised, if such difficulties do encounter you; or, if the thing be not of absolute necessity, to decline the hazard, by letting it alone. 

For the great Cato reckons this for one of the errors of his life, that he chose to take a voyage once by sea, to a place, whither he might have traveled by land. In such a case, though no misfortune should actually happen, yet if there be a likelihood of any such accident, and if it does frequently happen to others, it is an act of imprudence, to make choice of such a course, without being driven to it by necessity: and this answer, that many people do the same, and come off safe, will not bear us out, in choosing a more dangerous passage, when it is left to our own liberty to take a safer. 

But now, where there is absolute occasion for our running some risk; as if we have necessary affairs to dispatch, which require a voyage to or from some island; or if we are obliged to stand by a father or a friend, in some hazardous or unlucky business; or if we are called upon to take up arms in defense of our country: then there is no thought of declining the matter wholly, and our method must be to undertake it upon due deliberation; and to lay together the several accidental obstructions wont to arise in such a case: that so by this timely recollection, we may render them easy and familiar, and not be disturbed, when any of them come upon us. 

A man thus prepared, has this double advantage: if they do not happen, his joy is the greater, because having so fully possessed himself with an expectation that they would, this is almost a deliverance to him. And if they do, then he has the advantage of being provided against them, and so can encounter them, without much danger or disorder. . . . 

Delphic Maxims 96

Σεαυτὸν εὖ ποίει 

Benefit yourself 

IMAGE: Jan Steen, The Merry Family (1668) 

Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5.2

Who, then, is he who lives as he pleases, but the man surely who follows righteousness, who rejoices in fulfilling his duty, and whose path of life has been well considered and preconcerted; the man who obeys the laws of his country, not out of dread, but pays them respect and reverence, because he thinks that course the most salutary; who neither does nor thinks anything otherwise than cheerfully and freely; the man, all whose designs and all the actions he performs arise from and are terminated in his proper self; the man who is swayed by nothing so much as by his own inclination and judgment; the man who is master of fortune herself, whoso influence is said to be sovereign, agreeably to what the sage poet says, "the fortune of every man is molded by his character." 
 
To the wise man alone it happens, that he does nothing against his will, nothing with pain, nothing by coercion. It would, it is true, require a large discourse to prove that this is so, but it is a briefly stated and admitted principle, that no man but he who is thus constituted can be free. 
 
All wicked men therefore are slaves, and this is not so surprising and incredible in fact as it is in words. For they are not slaves in the sense those bondmen are who are the properties of their masters by purchase, or by any law of the state; but if obedience to a disordered, abject mind, destitute of self-control be slavery (and such it is), who can deny that all the dishonest, all the covetous, in short, all the wicked, are slaves? 

—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5 
 
We think ourselves at liberty when we can do whatever we want, and yet we get trapped by the pursuit of objects instead of mastering our own choices. 
 
Perhaps I will be free once I have acquired enough comforts to bring me peace? No, I will then be tied to those amenities, permitting them to determine my pleasure and pain. 
 
Perhaps I will be free once I am no longer at the mercy of wanting? Yes, it turns out that the trick is in knowing what I actually need. 
 
Only wisdom can grant freedom, because only the understanding of human nature reveals why an exercise of the virtues allows us to finally be ourselves, with no strings attached. While it might take a whole treatise to explain this thoroughly, the man of common sense, who has stripped away the frippery of attachments, will grasp this in an instant. 
 
I may complain that I do not wish to be righteous or reverent, since it doesn’t feel like it would be much fun, and it reminds me of those stuffy sets of rules I had to memorize in the Boy Scouts. 
 
It may then take me some time to recognize how a duty becomes a privilege when it proceeds from the inside out. I recall that day when I finally realized why decent folks, of the sort who were composed and confident in any weather, would say “my pleasure” after someone had thanked them for a favor. 
 
Someone of genuine character, which must run so deep that there ceases to be any desire to flaunt it, develops the power to rise above fortune, to take every event as an opportunity for improvement. I have had the honor of knowing such people, however few, who attained freedom by always discovering the good in whatever came their way, even if it only meant that they could practice small acts of kindness in a vast field of cruelty. There is the happiness that can’t be beat. 
 
In contrast, observe how we pretend to be delighted by our vices, though our distress is seeping from every pore. For myself, it was drowning my sorrows in the company of dejected romantics. For others, it is a desperate need for adding another notch to the bedpost, or the siren song of the gaming table. Will I not have the courage to admit how the liberation has turned out to be a bondage? 
 
If I need a harsh reminder, I can swing by my local dive bar, nightclub, or casino. A walk through most any office building will reveal much the same, despite the pitiful attempts at a professional veneer. In the meantime, it may well be that the freest man in town is that misfit who reads old books and shares his sandwich with the squirrels in the park. 

—Reflection written in 5/1999 

IMAGE: Thomas Rowlandson, The Hazard Room (1792)