The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Wednesday, April 15, 2026
Tuesday, April 14, 2026
Chuang Tzu 6.11
Tsze-sang Hû, Mang Tsze-fan, and Tsze-khin Kang, these three men, were friends together.
One of them said, "Who can associate together without any thought of such association, or act together without any evidence of such cooperation? Who can mount up into the sky and enjoy himself amidst the mists, disporting beyond the utmost limits of things, and forgetting all others as if this were living, and would have no end?"
The three men looked at one another and laughed, not perceiving the drift of the questions; and they continued to associate together as friends.
Suddenly, after a time, Tsze-sang Hû died. Before he was buried, Confucius heard of the event, and sent Tsze-kung to go and see if he could render any assistance.
One of the survivors had composed a ditty, and the other was playing on his lute. Then they sang together in unison,
"Ah! come, Sang Hû! ah! come, Sang Hû!
Your being true you've got again,
While we, as men, still here remain,
Alas!"
While we, as men, still here remain,
Alas!"
Tsze-kung hastened forward to them, and said, "I venture to ask whether it be according to the rules to be singing thus in the presence of the corpse?"
The two men looked at each other, and laughed, saying, "What does this man know about the idea that underlies our rules?"
Tsze-kung returned to Confucius, and reported to him, saying, "What sort of men are those? They had made none of the usual preparations, and treated the body as a thing foreign to them. They were singing in the presence of the corpse, and there was no change in their countenances. I cannot describe them—what sort of men are they?"
Confucius replied, "Those men occupy and enjoy themselves in what is outside the common ways of the world, while I occupy and enjoy myself in what lies within those ways. There is no common ground for those of such different ways; and when I sent you to condole with those men, I was acting stupidly.
"They, moreover, make man to be the fellow of the Creator, and seek their enjoyment in the formless condition of heaven and earth. They consider life to be an appendage attached, an excrescence annexed to them, and death to be a separation of the appendage and a dispersion of the contents of the excrescence.
"With these views, how should they know wherein death and life are to be found, or what is first and what is last? They borrow different substances, and pretend that the common form of the body is composed of them. They dismiss the thought of its inward constituents like, the liver and gall, and its outward constituents, the ears and eyes.
"Again and again they end and they begin, having no knowledge of first principles. They occupy themselves ignorantly and vaguely with what they say lies outside the dust and dirt of the world, and seek their enjoyment in the business of doing nothing. How should they confusedly address themselves to the ceremonies practiced by the common people, and exhibit themselves as doing so to the ears and eyes of the multitude?"
Tsze-kung said, "Yes, but why do you, Master, act according to the common ways of the world?"
The reply was, "I am in this under the condemning sentence of Heaven. Nevertheless, I will share with you what I have attained to."
Tsze-kung rejoined, "I venture to ask the method which you pursue."
Confucius said, "Fishes breed and grow in the water; man develops in the Tâo. Growing in the water, the fishes cleave the pools, and their nourishment is supplied to them. Developing in the Tâo, men do nothing, and the enjoyment of their life is secured. Hence it is said, 'Fishes forget one another in the rivers and lakes; men forget one another in the arts of the Tâo.'"
Tsze-kung said, "I venture to ask about the man who stands aloof from others."
The reply was, "He stands aloof from other men, but he is in accord with Heaven! Hence it is said, 'The small man of Heaven is the superior man among men; the superior man among men is the small man of Heaven!'"
Delphic Maxims 94
Υἱοῖς μὴ καταρῶ
Do not curse your sons
IMAGE: Henry Fuseli, Oedipus Cursing His Son Polynices (1786)
Monday, April 13, 2026
Vivekachudamani 108-135
THE THREE POTENCIES
The power of the supreme Master, that is called unmanifested, beginningless unwisdom whose very self is the three potencies, to be known through thought, by its workings—this is glamor, Mâyâ, whereby all this moving world is made to grow.
Neither being nor non-being nor of the self of both of these; neither divided nor undivided nor of the self of both of these; neither formed nor formless nor of the self of both of these—very wonderful and ineffable is its form.
To be destroyed by the awakening to the pure, secondless Eternal, as the serpent imagined in a rope, when the rope is seen; its potencies are called substance, force, and darkness; each of them known by their workings. The self of doing belongs to force, whose power is extension, whence the pre-existent activities issued; rage and all the changes of the mind that cause sorrow are ever its results.
Desire, wrath, greed, vanity, malice, self-assertion, jealousy, envy, are the terrible works of Force, its activities in man; therefore this is the cause of bondage.
Then enveloping is the power of Darkness, whereby a thing appears as something else; this is the cause of the circling birth and rebirth of the spirit, and the cause whereby extension is drawn forward.
Though a man be full of knowledge, learned, skillful, very subtle-sighted, if Darkness has wrapped him round, he sees not, though he be full of manifold instruction; he calls good that which is raised by error, and leans upon its properties, unlucky man that he is; great and hard to end is the enveloping power of Darkness.
Wrong thinking, contradictory thinking, fanciful thinking, confused thinking—these are its workings; this power of extension never leaves hold of one who has come into contact with it, but perpetually sends him this way and that.
Unwisdom, sluggishness, inertness, sloth, infatuation, folly, and things like these are of the potency of Darkness. Under the yoke of these he knows nothing at all, but remains as though asleep or like a post.
But the potency of substance is pure like water, and even though mixed with the other two, it builds for the true refuge; for it is a reflected spark of the Self, and lights up the inert like the sun.
Of the potency of Substance when mixed the properties are self-respect, self-restraint, control, faith and love and the longing to be free, a godlike power and a turning back from the unreal.
Of the potency of substance altogether pure the properties are grace, direct perception of the Self, and perfect peace; exulting gladness, a resting on the Self supreme, whereby he reaches the essence of real bliss.
The unmanifest is characterized by these three potencies; it is the causal vesture of the Self; dreamless life is the mode where it lives freely, all the activities of the powers, and even of the knowing soul having sunk back into it.
Every form of outward perceiving has come to rest, the knowing soul becomes latent in the Self from which it springs; the name of this is dreamless life, wherein he says "I know nothing at all of the noise of the moving world."
The body, powers, life-breaths, mind, self-assertion, all changes, sensuous things, happiness, unhappiness, the ether and all the elements, the whole world up to the unmanifest—this is not Self.
Glamor and every work of glamor from the world-soul to the body, know this as unreal, as not the Self, built up of the mirage of the desert.
But I shall declare to you the own being of the Self supreme, knowing which a man, freed from his bonds, reaches the lonely purity.
There is a certain selfhood wherein the sense of "I" forever rests; who witnesses the three modes of being, who is other than the five veils; who is the only knower in waking, dreaming, dreamlessness; of all the activities of the knowing soul, whether good or bad—this is the "I";
Who of himself beholds all; whom none beholds; who kindles to consciousness the knowing soul and all the powers; whom none kindles to consciousness; by whom all this is filled; whom no other fills; who is the shining light within this all; after whose shining all else shines;
By whose nearness only body and powers and mind and soul do their work each in his own field, as though sent by the Self;
Because the own nature of this is eternal wakefulness, self-assertion, the body and all the powers, and happiness and unhappiness are beheld by it, just as an earthen pot is beheld. This inner Self, the ancient Spirit, is everlasting, partless, immediately experienced happiness; ever of one nature, pure waking knowledge, sent forth by whom Voice and the life-breaths move.
Here, verily, in the substantial Self, in the bidden place of the soul, this steady shining begins to shine like the dawn; then the shining shines forth as the noonday sun, making all this world to shine by its inherent light; knower of all the changing moods of mind and inward powers; of all the acts done by body, powers, life-breaths; present in them as fire in iron, strives not nor changes at all.
This is not born nor dies nor grows, nor does it fade or change forever; even when this form has melted away, it no more melts than the air in a jar.
Alike stranger to forming and deforming; of its own being, pure wakefulness; both being and non-being is this, besides it there is nothing else; this shines unchanging, this Supreme Self gleams in waking, dream and dreamlessness as "I", present as the witness of the knowing soul.
The power of the supreme Master, that is called unmanifested, beginningless unwisdom whose very self is the three potencies, to be known through thought, by its workings—this is glamor, Mâyâ, whereby all this moving world is made to grow.
Neither being nor non-being nor of the self of both of these; neither divided nor undivided nor of the self of both of these; neither formed nor formless nor of the self of both of these—very wonderful and ineffable is its form.
To be destroyed by the awakening to the pure, secondless Eternal, as the serpent imagined in a rope, when the rope is seen; its potencies are called substance, force, and darkness; each of them known by their workings. The self of doing belongs to force, whose power is extension, whence the pre-existent activities issued; rage and all the changes of the mind that cause sorrow are ever its results.
Desire, wrath, greed, vanity, malice, self-assertion, jealousy, envy, are the terrible works of Force, its activities in man; therefore this is the cause of bondage.
Then enveloping is the power of Darkness, whereby a thing appears as something else; this is the cause of the circling birth and rebirth of the spirit, and the cause whereby extension is drawn forward.
Though a man be full of knowledge, learned, skillful, very subtle-sighted, if Darkness has wrapped him round, he sees not, though he be full of manifold instruction; he calls good that which is raised by error, and leans upon its properties, unlucky man that he is; great and hard to end is the enveloping power of Darkness.
Wrong thinking, contradictory thinking, fanciful thinking, confused thinking—these are its workings; this power of extension never leaves hold of one who has come into contact with it, but perpetually sends him this way and that.
Unwisdom, sluggishness, inertness, sloth, infatuation, folly, and things like these are of the potency of Darkness. Under the yoke of these he knows nothing at all, but remains as though asleep or like a post.
But the potency of substance is pure like water, and even though mixed with the other two, it builds for the true refuge; for it is a reflected spark of the Self, and lights up the inert like the sun.
Of the potency of Substance when mixed the properties are self-respect, self-restraint, control, faith and love and the longing to be free, a godlike power and a turning back from the unreal.
Of the potency of substance altogether pure the properties are grace, direct perception of the Self, and perfect peace; exulting gladness, a resting on the Self supreme, whereby he reaches the essence of real bliss.
The unmanifest is characterized by these three potencies; it is the causal vesture of the Self; dreamless life is the mode where it lives freely, all the activities of the powers, and even of the knowing soul having sunk back into it.
Every form of outward perceiving has come to rest, the knowing soul becomes latent in the Self from which it springs; the name of this is dreamless life, wherein he says "I know nothing at all of the noise of the moving world."
The body, powers, life-breaths, mind, self-assertion, all changes, sensuous things, happiness, unhappiness, the ether and all the elements, the whole world up to the unmanifest—this is not Self.
Glamor and every work of glamor from the world-soul to the body, know this as unreal, as not the Self, built up of the mirage of the desert.
But I shall declare to you the own being of the Self supreme, knowing which a man, freed from his bonds, reaches the lonely purity.
There is a certain selfhood wherein the sense of "I" forever rests; who witnesses the three modes of being, who is other than the five veils; who is the only knower in waking, dreaming, dreamlessness; of all the activities of the knowing soul, whether good or bad—this is the "I";
Who of himself beholds all; whom none beholds; who kindles to consciousness the knowing soul and all the powers; whom none kindles to consciousness; by whom all this is filled; whom no other fills; who is the shining light within this all; after whose shining all else shines;
By whose nearness only body and powers and mind and soul do their work each in his own field, as though sent by the Self;
Because the own nature of this is eternal wakefulness, self-assertion, the body and all the powers, and happiness and unhappiness are beheld by it, just as an earthen pot is beheld. This inner Self, the ancient Spirit, is everlasting, partless, immediately experienced happiness; ever of one nature, pure waking knowledge, sent forth by whom Voice and the life-breaths move.
Here, verily, in the substantial Self, in the bidden place of the soul, this steady shining begins to shine like the dawn; then the shining shines forth as the noonday sun, making all this world to shine by its inherent light; knower of all the changing moods of mind and inward powers; of all the acts done by body, powers, life-breaths; present in them as fire in iron, strives not nor changes at all.
This is not born nor dies nor grows, nor does it fade or change forever; even when this form has melted away, it no more melts than the air in a jar.
Alike stranger to forming and deforming; of its own being, pure wakefulness; both being and non-being is this, besides it there is nothing else; this shines unchanging, this Supreme Self gleams in waking, dream and dreamlessness as "I", present as the witness of the knowing soul.
Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 1.2
But these matters, when they are more loosely discussed, appear somewhat obscure; but those things which seemed to be discussed with more subtlety than is necessary in words, may be illustrated by the lives and actions of the greatest of men.
I ask then of you, whether the men who left to us this empire, founded upon so noble a system, seem ever to have thought of gratifying avarice by money; delight by delicacy; luxury by magnificence; or pleasure by feasting?
Set before your eyes any one of our monarchs. Shall I begin with Romulus? Or, after the state was free, with those who liberated it? By what steps then did Romulus ascend to heaven? By those which these people term good things? Or by his exploits and his virtues?
What! Are we to imagine, that the wooden or earthen dishes of Numa Pompilius were less acceptable to the immortal gods, than the embossed plate of others? I pass over our other kings, for all of them, excepting Tarquin the Proud, were equally excellent.
Should anyone ask, what did Brutus perform when he delivered his country? Or, as to those who were the participators of that design, what was their aim, and the object of their pursuit? Lives there the man who can regard as their object, riches, pleasure, or anything else than acting the part of a great and gallant man?
What motive impelled Gaius Mucius, without the least hope of preservation, to attempt the death of Porsenna? What impulse kept Cocles to the bridge, singly opposed to the whole force of the enemy? What power devoted the elder and the younger Decius, and impelled them against armed battalions of enemies?
What was the object of the continence of Gaius Fabricius, or of the frugality of life of Manius Curius? What were the motives of those two thunderbolts of the Punic war, Publius and Gnaeus Scipio, when they proposed with their own bodies to intercept the progress of the Carthaginians? What did the elder, what did the younger Africanus propose? What were the views of Cato, who lived between the times of both?
What shall I say of innumerable other instances; for we abound in examples drawn from our own history; can we think that they proposed any other object in life but what seemed glorious and noble?
I ask then of you, whether the men who left to us this empire, founded upon so noble a system, seem ever to have thought of gratifying avarice by money; delight by delicacy; luxury by magnificence; or pleasure by feasting?
Set before your eyes any one of our monarchs. Shall I begin with Romulus? Or, after the state was free, with those who liberated it? By what steps then did Romulus ascend to heaven? By those which these people term good things? Or by his exploits and his virtues?
What! Are we to imagine, that the wooden or earthen dishes of Numa Pompilius were less acceptable to the immortal gods, than the embossed plate of others? I pass over our other kings, for all of them, excepting Tarquin the Proud, were equally excellent.
Should anyone ask, what did Brutus perform when he delivered his country? Or, as to those who were the participators of that design, what was their aim, and the object of their pursuit? Lives there the man who can regard as their object, riches, pleasure, or anything else than acting the part of a great and gallant man?
What motive impelled Gaius Mucius, without the least hope of preservation, to attempt the death of Porsenna? What impulse kept Cocles to the bridge, singly opposed to the whole force of the enemy? What power devoted the elder and the younger Decius, and impelled them against armed battalions of enemies?
What was the object of the continence of Gaius Fabricius, or of the frugality of life of Manius Curius? What were the motives of those two thunderbolts of the Punic war, Publius and Gnaeus Scipio, when they proposed with their own bodies to intercept the progress of the Carthaginians? What did the elder, what did the younger Africanus propose? What were the views of Cato, who lived between the times of both?
What shall I say of innumerable other instances; for we abound in examples drawn from our own history; can we think that they proposed any other object in life but what seemed glorious and noble?
—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 1
While the theory will set the terms, only the practice will seal the deal. Like so many who have aspired to an intellectual life, I have spent too much of my time talking the talk, and therefore I have often failed when it comes to walking the walk.
The best inspiration is not an idea of a good man, but rather the works of a good man. I understand completely why we try to present heroes for our children to follow, though I sometimes wonder if we might be pointing to the right people for all of the wrong reasons.
In grade school for example, I was taught to revere Washington and Lincoln, and when I pushed for an explanation that went beyond a colorful poster with an uplifting quote, I was hastily told it was because they had both won wars.
Hadn’t Napoleon and Stalin also won wars? “Yes, but they weren’t the good guys.”
Which leads me straight back to my original question: so what makes the good guy a good guy? It is much the same when we venerate those who are incredibly rich or popular: does their greatness came from their fortune and fame, or perhaps from something far more important, to which the fortune and fame are merely accidental?
No one should be reduced to a caricature, and none of us are without our faults. Nevertheless, some will rise to the occasion, with no concern for any reward beyond that of a sound conscience. It took me many years to learn more about what motivated both Washington and Lincoln, which gave me a far better sense of what truly defines character.
Reading this section prompted me to brush up a little on my Roman history; I was reminded how such narratives can be full of folly and ambiguity, making me squint in order to discern the excellence.
That is, however, as it should be, since the right thing is always bound up with the wrong things. Cicero correctly observed how we must isolate what determines greatness, and it will turn out that the virtues behind the circumstances make all the difference.
I will not include my rambling notes on Romulus, Lucius Junius Brutus, Gaius Mucius, or Horatius Cocles. Each age will have its own stories, and their historical accuracy is less important than what they say about the deeper values they endorse. Look closely at the qualities in a hero, and you will learn much about the merits of a society.
For my purposes, I think about the meaning of being a “gentleman” or a “lady”, terms still in use when I was a child, though they have now been all but abandoned. Whatever your background, you can surely find your own equivalent.
Now is such a name given to someone on account of his property, or birth, or breeding? Those who speak in this way reveal their priorities. Or is such a name given to someone on account of his moral worth, regardless of his station? Those who speak in this way continue to stand with the timeless principles of a Cato and a Cicero.
I humbly suggest we have a problem when our politicians must be rich, and our artists must be sexy, and the whole lot of our celebrities must be decadent. Yet hasn’t that always been the problem? And hasn’t the solution always been to go against the grain by pursuing integrity instead of prosperity?
While the theory will set the terms, only the practice will seal the deal. Like so many who have aspired to an intellectual life, I have spent too much of my time talking the talk, and therefore I have often failed when it comes to walking the walk.
The best inspiration is not an idea of a good man, but rather the works of a good man. I understand completely why we try to present heroes for our children to follow, though I sometimes wonder if we might be pointing to the right people for all of the wrong reasons.
In grade school for example, I was taught to revere Washington and Lincoln, and when I pushed for an explanation that went beyond a colorful poster with an uplifting quote, I was hastily told it was because they had both won wars.
Hadn’t Napoleon and Stalin also won wars? “Yes, but they weren’t the good guys.”
Which leads me straight back to my original question: so what makes the good guy a good guy? It is much the same when we venerate those who are incredibly rich or popular: does their greatness came from their fortune and fame, or perhaps from something far more important, to which the fortune and fame are merely accidental?
No one should be reduced to a caricature, and none of us are without our faults. Nevertheless, some will rise to the occasion, with no concern for any reward beyond that of a sound conscience. It took me many years to learn more about what motivated both Washington and Lincoln, which gave me a far better sense of what truly defines character.
Reading this section prompted me to brush up a little on my Roman history; I was reminded how such narratives can be full of folly and ambiguity, making me squint in order to discern the excellence.
That is, however, as it should be, since the right thing is always bound up with the wrong things. Cicero correctly observed how we must isolate what determines greatness, and it will turn out that the virtues behind the circumstances make all the difference.
I will not include my rambling notes on Romulus, Lucius Junius Brutus, Gaius Mucius, or Horatius Cocles. Each age will have its own stories, and their historical accuracy is less important than what they say about the deeper values they endorse. Look closely at the qualities in a hero, and you will learn much about the merits of a society.
For my purposes, I think about the meaning of being a “gentleman” or a “lady”, terms still in use when I was a child, though they have now been all but abandoned. Whatever your background, you can surely find your own equivalent.
Now is such a name given to someone on account of his property, or birth, or breeding? Those who speak in this way reveal their priorities. Or is such a name given to someone on account of his moral worth, regardless of his station? Those who speak in this way continue to stand with the timeless principles of a Cato and a Cicero.
I humbly suggest we have a problem when our politicians must be rich, and our artists must be sexy, and the whole lot of our celebrities must be decadent. Yet hasn’t that always been the problem? And hasn’t the solution always been to go against the grain by pursuing integrity instead of prosperity?
—Reflection written in 5/1999
IMAGE: Jacques-Louis David, The Intervention of the Sabine Women (1799)
.jpg)
Sunday, April 12, 2026
On Time
"On Time"
John Milton (1608-1674)
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And meerly mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,
And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
About the supreme Throne
Of him, t'whose happy-making sight alone,
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,
Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,
Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And meerly mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,
And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
About the supreme Throne
Of him, t'whose happy-making sight alone,
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,
Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,
Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.
IMAGE: Giovanni Francesco Romanelli, Chronos (c. 1650)
Sayings of Ramakrishna 282
A heron was slowly walking to catch a fish.
Behind, there was a hunter aiming an arrow at it; but the bird was totally unmindful of this fact.
The Avadhûta, saluting the heron, said, "When I sit in meditation let me follow your example, and never turn back to see who is behind me."
Saturday, April 11, 2026
Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 41
Libertines he compared to fig trees growing upon a cliff: whose fruit is not enjoyed by any man, but is eaten by ravens and vultures.
When Phryne set up a golden statue of Aphrodite in Delphi, Diogenes is said to have written upon it: "From the licentiousness of Greece."
Alexander once came and stood opposite him and said, "I am Alexander the Great King."
"And I," said he, "am Diogenes the Hound."
Being asked what he had done to be called a hound, he said, "I fawn on those who give me anything, I yelp at those who refuse, and I set my teeth in rascals."
—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.60
IMAGE: Gustave Doré, Diogenes (c. 1860)
Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 81
It is the Stoic doctrine that there can be no question of right as between man and the lower animals, because of their unlikeness. Thus Chrysippus in the first book of his treatise On Justice, and Posidonius in the first book of his De Officio.
Further, they say that the wise man will feel affection for the youths who by their countenance show a natural endowment for virtue. So Zeno in his Republic, Chrysippus in book 1 of his work On Modes of Life, and Apollodorus in his Ethics.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.129
IMAGE: Bartolomeo Passarotti, Portrait of a Man with a Dog (c. 1585)
Friday, April 10, 2026
Songs of Innocence 11
A Cradle Song (1789)
William Blake (1757-1827)
Sweet dreams form a shade
O’er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams.
Sweet sleep with soft down,
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.
Sweet smiles in the night,
Hover over my delight.
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep sleep happy child.
All creation slept and smil’d.
Sleep sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe in thy face,
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe once like thee,
Thy maker lay and wept for me.
Wept for me for thee for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee.
Smiles on thee on me on all,
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are his own smiles,
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.
O’er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams.
Sweet sleep with soft down,
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.
Sweet smiles in the night,
Hover over my delight.
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep sleep happy child.
All creation slept and smil’d.
Sleep sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe in thy face,
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe once like thee,
Thy maker lay and wept for me.
Wept for me for thee for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee.
Smiles on thee on me on all,
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are his own smiles,
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.
_object_16_A_Cradle_Song.jpg)
_object_17_A_Cradle_Song_p2.jpg)
Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 1.1
Paradox 1: That Virtue is the Only Good
I am apprehensive that this position may seem to some among you to have been derived from the schools of the Stoics, and not from my own sentiments. Yet I will tell you my real opinion, and that too more briefly than so important a matter requires to be discussed.
By Hercules, I never was one who reckoned among good and desirable things, treasures, magnificent mansions, interest, power, or those pleasures to which mankind are most chiefly addicted. For I have observed, that those to whom these things abounded, still desired them most: for the thirst of cupidity is never filled or satiated. They are tormented not only with the lust of increasing, but with the fear of losing what they have.
I own that I often look in vain for the good sense of our ancestors, those most continent men, who affixed the appellation of good to those weak, fleeting, circumstances of wealth, when in truth and fact their sentiments were the very reverse. Can any bad man enjoy a good thing? Or, is it possible for a man not to be good, when he lives in the very abundance of good things? And yet we see all those things so distributed that wicked men possess them, and that they are inauspicious to the good.
Now let any man indulge his raillery, if he please; but right reason will ever have more weight with me than the opinion of the multitude. Nor shall I ever account a man, when he has lost his stock of cattle, or furniture, to have lost his good things. Nor shall I seldom speak in praise of Bias, who, if I mistake not, is reckoned among the seven wise men.
For when the enemy took possession of Priene, his native country, and when the rest so managed their flight as to carry off with them their effects, on his being recommended by a certain person to do the same, “Why,” answered he, “I do so, for I carry with me all my possessions.” He did not so much as esteem those playthings of fortune, which we even term our blessings, to be his own.
But someone will ask, what then is a real good? Whatever is done uprightly, honestly, and virtuously, is truly said to be done well; and whatever is upright, honest, and agreeable to virtue, that alone, as I think, is a good thing.
I am apprehensive that this position may seem to some among you to have been derived from the schools of the Stoics, and not from my own sentiments. Yet I will tell you my real opinion, and that too more briefly than so important a matter requires to be discussed.
By Hercules, I never was one who reckoned among good and desirable things, treasures, magnificent mansions, interest, power, or those pleasures to which mankind are most chiefly addicted. For I have observed, that those to whom these things abounded, still desired them most: for the thirst of cupidity is never filled or satiated. They are tormented not only with the lust of increasing, but with the fear of losing what they have.
I own that I often look in vain for the good sense of our ancestors, those most continent men, who affixed the appellation of good to those weak, fleeting, circumstances of wealth, when in truth and fact their sentiments were the very reverse. Can any bad man enjoy a good thing? Or, is it possible for a man not to be good, when he lives in the very abundance of good things? And yet we see all those things so distributed that wicked men possess them, and that they are inauspicious to the good.
Now let any man indulge his raillery, if he please; but right reason will ever have more weight with me than the opinion of the multitude. Nor shall I ever account a man, when he has lost his stock of cattle, or furniture, to have lost his good things. Nor shall I seldom speak in praise of Bias, who, if I mistake not, is reckoned among the seven wise men.
For when the enemy took possession of Priene, his native country, and when the rest so managed their flight as to carry off with them their effects, on his being recommended by a certain person to do the same, “Why,” answered he, “I do so, for I carry with me all my possessions.” He did not so much as esteem those playthings of fortune, which we even term our blessings, to be his own.
But someone will ask, what then is a real good? Whatever is done uprightly, honestly, and virtuously, is truly said to be done well; and whatever is upright, honest, and agreeable to virtue, that alone, as I think, is a good thing.
—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 1
I’m afraid I still feel a bit annoyed whenever I venture to affirm a certain value, and I am then immediately told which school of thought I must have stolen it from. While I suspect there is really nothing new under the sun, we should give people credit for arriving at their own beliefs, for their own reasons, and not assume that everything is about a blind conformity to this or that “-ism”.
Cicero was hardly a loyal disciple, and he came to some conclusions about virtue, regardless of whether anyone else happened to be preaching them. I found my life was falling apart, and I also came to some conclusions about virtue, not because I read about them in the Stoics, but because I realized I wound never be happy without them.
Now deep down inside, I have always known why honor trumps gratification, though that didn’t stop me from chasing after some glittering prizes when I was listening to my gut in preference to my head. Even then, however, I wasn’t proud of my turpitude, and I tried to convince myself that I could somehow still disguise my lust under the appearance of love.
Though I could try to ignore the sublime syllogisms, there remained one absolute and irrefutable proof of why avarice can never pay: despite their protests to the contrary, the grasping folks remain as miserable folks. Look behind the posturing, and an anxiety betrays their inner state. For all that they acquire and consume, they are in constant need of more and more, and as much as they build themselves up, they are forever in terror of being dragged back down.
The most striking evidence in favor of the virtues is to closely observe the daily life of a scoundrel. Many will proclaim their greatness, but only a very few will live up to the name; you will notice how if anything good has come from wealth or rank, it is solely due to the guidance of character. If a worldly prosperity alone makes us blessed, then why do the wicked remain so cursed? And if a worldly poverty is itself a cause for grief, then how do the righteous continue to be happy?
If I bother to reflect with any clarity, as opposed to just following the herd, I will recognize why I am at my best when I inform my conscience, and I am at my worst when I enslave myself to circumstances. Of all the things I know I could lose, do I honestly think that I should prefer to surrender my principles before I am parted from my property?
I will always be a nerd, so I cannot begin to measure how much I have learned from losing myself in great books. Nevertheless, the most powerful lessons have always come from the example of noble deeds, far more powerful than the charm of any polished words. Plato makes me ponder, for example, while Socrates challenges me to act. We may have no brilliant treatises by Bias of Priene, but I feel ashamed of my petty attachments when I hear of his total satisfaction with simply owning himself.
Has it been done with prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice? Then you have your true good. The rest is an afterthought.
I’m afraid I still feel a bit annoyed whenever I venture to affirm a certain value, and I am then immediately told which school of thought I must have stolen it from. While I suspect there is really nothing new under the sun, we should give people credit for arriving at their own beliefs, for their own reasons, and not assume that everything is about a blind conformity to this or that “-ism”.
Cicero was hardly a loyal disciple, and he came to some conclusions about virtue, regardless of whether anyone else happened to be preaching them. I found my life was falling apart, and I also came to some conclusions about virtue, not because I read about them in the Stoics, but because I realized I wound never be happy without them.
Now deep down inside, I have always known why honor trumps gratification, though that didn’t stop me from chasing after some glittering prizes when I was listening to my gut in preference to my head. Even then, however, I wasn’t proud of my turpitude, and I tried to convince myself that I could somehow still disguise my lust under the appearance of love.
Though I could try to ignore the sublime syllogisms, there remained one absolute and irrefutable proof of why avarice can never pay: despite their protests to the contrary, the grasping folks remain as miserable folks. Look behind the posturing, and an anxiety betrays their inner state. For all that they acquire and consume, they are in constant need of more and more, and as much as they build themselves up, they are forever in terror of being dragged back down.
The most striking evidence in favor of the virtues is to closely observe the daily life of a scoundrel. Many will proclaim their greatness, but only a very few will live up to the name; you will notice how if anything good has come from wealth or rank, it is solely due to the guidance of character. If a worldly prosperity alone makes us blessed, then why do the wicked remain so cursed? And if a worldly poverty is itself a cause for grief, then how do the righteous continue to be happy?
If I bother to reflect with any clarity, as opposed to just following the herd, I will recognize why I am at my best when I inform my conscience, and I am at my worst when I enslave myself to circumstances. Of all the things I know I could lose, do I honestly think that I should prefer to surrender my principles before I am parted from my property?
I will always be a nerd, so I cannot begin to measure how much I have learned from losing myself in great books. Nevertheless, the most powerful lessons have always come from the example of noble deeds, far more powerful than the charm of any polished words. Plato makes me ponder, for example, while Socrates challenges me to act. We may have no brilliant treatises by Bias of Priene, but I feel ashamed of my petty attachments when I hear of his total satisfaction with simply owning himself.
Has it been done with prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice? Then you have your true good. The rest is an afterthought.
—Reflection written in 5/1999
IMAGE: Paulus Bor, Allegory of Avarice (c. 1650)
Thursday, April 9, 2026
Stoic Snippets 281
To those who ask, where have you seen the gods, or how do you comprehend that they exist and so worship them, I answer, in the first place, they may be seen even with the eyes.
In the second place, neither have I seen even my own soul, and yet I honor it.
Thus then with respect to the gods, from what I constantly experience of their power, from this I comprehend that they exist, and I venerate them.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.28
Wednesday, April 8, 2026
Tuesday, April 7, 2026
Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 44
For instance, stepping one time into the studio of Parrhasius the painter, and getting into conversation with him:
"I suppose," Parrhasius," said Socrates, "painting may be defined as 'a representation of visible objects,' may it not? That is to say, by means of colors and palette you painters represent and reproduce as closely as possible the ups and downs, lights and shadows, hard and soft, rough and smooth surfaces, the freshness of youth and the wrinkles of age, do you not?"
"You are right," Parrhasius answered, "that is so."
Socrates: "Further, in portraying ideal types of beauty, seeing it is not easy to light upon any one human being who is absolutely devoid of blemish, you cull from many models the most beautiful traits of each, and so make your figures appear completely beautiful?"
Parrhasius: "Yes, that is how we do."
"Well, but stop," Socrates continued; "do you also pretend to represent in similar perfection the characteristic moods of the soul, its captivating charm and sweetness, with its deep wells of love, its intensity of yearning, its burning point of passion? or is all this quite incapable of being depicted?"
"No," he answered, "how should a mood be other than inimitable, Socrates, when it possesses neither linear proportion nor color, nor any of those qualities which you named just now; when, in a word, it is not even visible?"
"No," he answered, "how should a mood be other than inimitable, Socrates, when it possesses neither linear proportion nor color, nor any of those qualities which you named just now; when, in a word, it is not even visible?"
Socrates: "Well, but the kindly look of love, the angry glance of hate at any one, do find expression in the human subject, do they not?"
Parrhasius: "No doubt they do."
Socrates: "Then this look, this glance, at any rate may be imitated in the eyes, may it not?"
"Undoubtedly," he answered.
Socrates: "And do anxiety and relief of mind occasioned by the good or evil fortune of those we love both wear the same expression?"
"Undoubtedly," he answered.
Socrates: "And do anxiety and relief of mind occasioned by the good or evil fortune of those we love both wear the same expression?"
"By no means," he answered; "at the thought of good we are radiant, at that of evil a cloud hangs on the brow."
Socrates: "Then here again are the looks with it possible to represent?"
Parrhasius: "Decidedly."
Socrates: "Furthermore, as through some chink or crevice, there pierces through the countenance of a man, through the very posture of his body as he stands or moves, a glimpse of his nobility and freedom, or again of something in him low and groveling—the calm of self-restraint, and wisdom, or the swagger of insolence and vulgarity?"
Socrates: "Then here again are the looks with it possible to represent?"
Parrhasius: "Decidedly."
Socrates: "Furthermore, as through some chink or crevice, there pierces through the countenance of a man, through the very posture of his body as he stands or moves, a glimpse of his nobility and freedom, or again of something in him low and groveling—the calm of self-restraint, and wisdom, or the swagger of insolence and vulgarity?"
"You are right," he answered.
Socrates: "Then these too may be imitated?"
"No doubt," he said.
Socrates: "And which is the pleasanter type of face to look at, do you think—one on which is imprinted the characteristics of a beautiful, good, and lovable disposition, or one which bears the impress of what is ugly, and bad, and hateful?"
Parrhasius: "Doubtless, Socrates, there is a vast distinction between the two."
Socrates: "Then these too may be imitated?"
"No doubt," he said.
Socrates: "And which is the pleasanter type of face to look at, do you think—one on which is imprinted the characteristics of a beautiful, good, and lovable disposition, or one which bears the impress of what is ugly, and bad, and hateful?"
Parrhasius: "Doubtless, Socrates, there is a vast distinction between the two."
At another time Socrates entered the workshop of the sculptor Cleiton, and in course of conversation with him said:
"You have a gallery of handsome people here, Cleiton, runners, and wrestlers, and boxers, and pancratiasts—that I see and know; but how do you give the magic touch of life to your creations, which most of all allures the soul of the beholder through his sense of vision?"
As Cleiton stood perplexed, and did not answer at once, Socrates added: "Is it by closely imitating the forms of living beings that you succeed in giving that touch of life to your statues?"
"No doubt," he answered.
Socrates: "It is, is it not, by faithfully copying the various muscular contractions of the body in obedience to the play of gesture and poise, the wrinklings of flesh and the sprawl of limbs, the tensions and the relaxations, that you succeed in making your statues like real beings—make them 'breathe' as people say?"
Cleiton: "Without a doubt."
Socrates: "And does not the faithful imitation of the various affections of the body when engaged in any action impart a particular pleasure to the beholder?"
Cleiton: "I should say so."
Socrates: "Then the threatenings in the eyes of warriors engaged in battle should be carefully copied, or again you should imitate the aspect of a conqueror radiant with success?"
Cleiton: "Above all things."
Socrates: "It would seem then that the sculptor is called upon to incorporate in his ideal form the workings and energies also of the soul?"
Paying a visit to Pistias, the corselet maker, when that artist showed him some exquisite samples of his work, Socrates exclaimed:
"No doubt," he answered.
Socrates: "It is, is it not, by faithfully copying the various muscular contractions of the body in obedience to the play of gesture and poise, the wrinklings of flesh and the sprawl of limbs, the tensions and the relaxations, that you succeed in making your statues like real beings—make them 'breathe' as people say?"
Cleiton: "Without a doubt."
Socrates: "And does not the faithful imitation of the various affections of the body when engaged in any action impart a particular pleasure to the beholder?"
Cleiton: "I should say so."
Socrates: "Then the threatenings in the eyes of warriors engaged in battle should be carefully copied, or again you should imitate the aspect of a conqueror radiant with success?"
Cleiton: "Above all things."
Socrates: "It would seem then that the sculptor is called upon to incorporate in his ideal form the workings and energies also of the soul?"
Paying a visit to Pistias, the corselet maker, when that artist showed him some exquisite samples of his work, Socrates exclaimed:
"By Hera! A pretty invention this, Pistias, by which you contrive that the corselet should cover the parts of the person which need protection, and at the same time leave free play to the arms and hands . . . but tell me, Pistias," he added, "why do you ask a higher price for these corselets of yours if they are not stouter or made of costlier material than the others?"
"Because, Socrates, Pistias answered, "mine are of much finer proportion."
Socrates: "Proportion! Then how do you make this quality apparent to the customer so as to justify the higher price—by measure or weight? For I presume you cannot make them all exactly equal and of one pattern—if you make them fit, as of course you do?"
"Fit indeed! that I most distinctly do," he answered, "take my word for it: no use in a corselet without that."
"But then are not the wearer's bodies themselves," asked Socrates, "some well proportioned and others ill?"
"Decidedly so," he answered.
Socrates: "Then how do you manage to make the corselet well proportioned if it is to fit an ill-proportioned body?"
"Because, Socrates, Pistias answered, "mine are of much finer proportion."
Socrates: "Proportion! Then how do you make this quality apparent to the customer so as to justify the higher price—by measure or weight? For I presume you cannot make them all exactly equal and of one pattern—if you make them fit, as of course you do?"
"Fit indeed! that I most distinctly do," he answered, "take my word for it: no use in a corselet without that."
"But then are not the wearer's bodies themselves," asked Socrates, "some well proportioned and others ill?"
"Decidedly so," he answered.
Socrates: "Then how do you manage to make the corselet well proportioned if it is to fit an ill-proportioned body?"
Pistias: "To the same degree exactly as I make it fit. What fits is well proportioned."
Socrates: "It seems you use the term 'well-proportioned' not in an absolute sense, but in reference to the wearer, just as you might describe a shield as well proportioned to the individual it suits; and so of a military cloak, and so of the rest of things, in your terminology? But maybe there is another considerable advantage in this 'fitting'?"
Pistias: "Pray instruct me, Socrates, if you have got an idea."
Socrates: "A corselet which fits is less galling by its weight than one which does not fit, for the latter must either drag from the shoulders with a dead weight or press upon some other part of the body, and so it becomes troublesome and uncomfortable; but that which fits, having its weight distributed partly along the collarbone and shoulder blade, partly over the shoulders and chest, and partly the back and belly, feels like another natural integument rather than an extra load to carry."
Socrates: "It seems you use the term 'well-proportioned' not in an absolute sense, but in reference to the wearer, just as you might describe a shield as well proportioned to the individual it suits; and so of a military cloak, and so of the rest of things, in your terminology? But maybe there is another considerable advantage in this 'fitting'?"
Pistias: "Pray instruct me, Socrates, if you have got an idea."
Socrates: "A corselet which fits is less galling by its weight than one which does not fit, for the latter must either drag from the shoulders with a dead weight or press upon some other part of the body, and so it becomes troublesome and uncomfortable; but that which fits, having its weight distributed partly along the collarbone and shoulder blade, partly over the shoulders and chest, and partly the back and belly, feels like another natural integument rather than an extra load to carry."
Pistias: "You have named the very quality which gives my work its exceptional value, as I consider; still there are customers, I am bound to say, who look for something else in a corselet—they must have them ornamental or inlaid with gold."
"For all that," replied Socrates, "if they end by purchasing an ill-fitting article, they only become the proprietors of a curiously-wrought and gilded nuisance, as it seems to me.
"For all that," replied Socrates, "if they end by purchasing an ill-fitting article, they only become the proprietors of a curiously-wrought and gilded nuisance, as it seems to me.
"But," he added, "as the body is never in one fixed position, but is at one time curved, at another raised erect how can an exactly-modeled corselet fit?"
Pistias: "It cannot fit at all."
"You mean," Socrates continued, "that it is not the exactly-modeled corselet which fits, but that which does not gall the wearer in the using?"
Pistias: "There, Socrates, you have hit the very point. I see you understand the matter most precisely."
Monday, April 6, 2026
Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes, Introduction 2
As I have been accustomed to think thus, I have made a bolder attempt than he himself did of whom I am speaking. For Cato is accustomed to treat stoically of magnanimity, of modesty, of death, and of all the glory of virtue, of the immortal gods, and of patriotism, with the addition of the ornaments of eloquence.
But I have, for amusement, digested into common places those topics which the Stoics scarcely prove in their retirement and in their schools. Such topics are termed, even by themselves, paradoxes, because they are remarkable, and contrary to the opinion of all men. I have been desirous of trying whether they might not come into publicity, that is before the forum, and be so expressed as to be approved; or whether learned expressions were one thing, and a popular mode of address another.
I undertook this with the more pleasure, because these very paradoxes, as they are termed, appear to me to be the most Socratic, and by far the most true. Accept therefore this little work, composed during these shorter nights, since that work of my longer writings appeared in your name. You will have here a specimen of the manner I have been accustomed to adopt when I accommodate those things which in the schools are termed theses to our oratorical manner of speaking.
I do not, however, expect that you will look upon yourself as indebted to me for this performance, which is not such as to be placed, like the Minerva of Phidias, in a citadel, but still such as may appear to have issued from the same studio.
But I have, for amusement, digested into common places those topics which the Stoics scarcely prove in their retirement and in their schools. Such topics are termed, even by themselves, paradoxes, because they are remarkable, and contrary to the opinion of all men. I have been desirous of trying whether they might not come into publicity, that is before the forum, and be so expressed as to be approved; or whether learned expressions were one thing, and a popular mode of address another.
I undertook this with the more pleasure, because these very paradoxes, as they are termed, appear to me to be the most Socratic, and by far the most true. Accept therefore this little work, composed during these shorter nights, since that work of my longer writings appeared in your name. You will have here a specimen of the manner I have been accustomed to adopt when I accommodate those things which in the schools are termed theses to our oratorical manner of speaking.
I do not, however, expect that you will look upon yourself as indebted to me for this performance, which is not such as to be placed, like the Minerva of Phidias, in a citadel, but still such as may appear to have issued from the same studio.
—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes, Introduction
Sometimes a truth is best expressed with sophistication, and sometimes it is best expressed with simplicity. There are moments when I seek out a refined explanation, and there are moments when I desperately need a blunt pep talk. In the many aspects of our lives, these will rightly complement one another, not clash with one another.
Any philosopher runs the risk of divorcing his profound thinking from his daily living, but this can be especially true for the Stoic, because his values appear so alien to the assumptions of a herd mentality. When push comes to shove, what sort of words will most inspire us to change our attitudes? Do not necessarily frown upon a “popular” style; to get anywhere, we need to start from where we’re at.
In my own experience, the scholars have usually said the most, even as the rank and file have usually said it best. A dozen pages of Seneca would do me little good without some humble friend at my elbow, who pushes me ahead with one pithy saying.
No, Cicero is not mocking Stoicism, or selling it short, but rather submitting an account of the philosophy that can make it more available to the man on the street. Once he can understand more of it, on his own terms, let him then use it as he sees fit.
That Stoicism seems to depend upon paradoxes is surely an obstacle to taking it seriously, and we must learn why there is no contradiction within such principles, only a fitting irony: they will finally make sense once our priorities are no longer upside down. There is a great difference between saying that something is impossible and merely recognizing it as extraordinary.
I have long seen the Stoics as natural successors to Socrates, who so vigorously defended virtue as our defining good, so I am pleased that Cicero is approaching their dilemmas as a continuation of that noble tradition. In most every Socratic dialogue, I find myself realizing how what I had dismissed as ridiculous was actually quite sublime, and what I had believed to be the problem turned out to be the solution.
The Stoic Paradoxes are not an intricate piece of work, nor do they contain any elaborate syllogisms to totally eradicate all of our doubts. Instead, they employ everyday observations and appeal to suitable analogies, in order that we might reconsider our usual opinions about what counts as good in this life. This should be enough to make them worthy of our attention.
Sometimes a truth is best expressed with sophistication, and sometimes it is best expressed with simplicity. There are moments when I seek out a refined explanation, and there are moments when I desperately need a blunt pep talk. In the many aspects of our lives, these will rightly complement one another, not clash with one another.
Any philosopher runs the risk of divorcing his profound thinking from his daily living, but this can be especially true for the Stoic, because his values appear so alien to the assumptions of a herd mentality. When push comes to shove, what sort of words will most inspire us to change our attitudes? Do not necessarily frown upon a “popular” style; to get anywhere, we need to start from where we’re at.
In my own experience, the scholars have usually said the most, even as the rank and file have usually said it best. A dozen pages of Seneca would do me little good without some humble friend at my elbow, who pushes me ahead with one pithy saying.
No, Cicero is not mocking Stoicism, or selling it short, but rather submitting an account of the philosophy that can make it more available to the man on the street. Once he can understand more of it, on his own terms, let him then use it as he sees fit.
That Stoicism seems to depend upon paradoxes is surely an obstacle to taking it seriously, and we must learn why there is no contradiction within such principles, only a fitting irony: they will finally make sense once our priorities are no longer upside down. There is a great difference between saying that something is impossible and merely recognizing it as extraordinary.
I have long seen the Stoics as natural successors to Socrates, who so vigorously defended virtue as our defining good, so I am pleased that Cicero is approaching their dilemmas as a continuation of that noble tradition. In most every Socratic dialogue, I find myself realizing how what I had dismissed as ridiculous was actually quite sublime, and what I had believed to be the problem turned out to be the solution.
The Stoic Paradoxes are not an intricate piece of work, nor do they contain any elaborate syllogisms to totally eradicate all of our doubts. Instead, they employ everyday observations and appeal to suitable analogies, in order that we might reconsider our usual opinions about what counts as good in this life. This should be enough to make them worthy of our attention.
—Reflection written in 5/1999
Sunday, April 5, 2026
Dhammapada 416
Him I call indeed a Brahmana who, leaving all longings, travels about without a home, and in whom all covetousness is extinct.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)