Dio Chrysostom, On Slavery and Freedom 1.2

"But the man for whom one pays down money is of necessity a slave." 

Dio: But have not many men paid down money for many who are free, when they have paid a ransom, at one time to enemies in warfare and at another to pirates, and some few have paid their own value to their masters? And yet surely these last are not slaves to themselves? 

"No, but whenever another has the power to have a man scourged or imprisoned or put to death, or have anything else done to him that he wishes, then that man is the slave of the other." 

Dio: How is that? Do not pirates have the power to treat the men they have captured in this way? And yet none the less the captives are not slaves. Then again, have not judges the power to impose the penalty of imprisonment or death or anything else they wish upon many of those who are before them for trial? And yet surely these men are not slaves. But if they are slaves for the one day during which they each are on trial, this means nothing; for is a man really ever said to have been a slave for one day? 

"But surely we may put the matter briefly and declare that whoever has the power to do whatever he wishes is free, and that whoever has not that power is a slave." 

Dio: No, you cannot say this in the case of those on board ship nor of the sick either, nor of those serving in the field, nor of those learning to read and write or to play the harp or to wrestle or to acquire any other art; for these have not the right to follow their own preferences, but must act as the captain, physician, or teacher, as the case may be, instructs. If that is so, then men in general are not allowed to do what they wish, but if they violate the established laws, they will be punished.

"Then I say that the man who has the power to act or not, just as he pleases, in regard to those matters which are not forbidden by the laws or enjoined by them, is free, and that the man who on the contrary lacks that power is a slave." 

Dio: Well then, do you think that it is permitted to you to do all things, which, while they are not expressly forbidden by the laws, yet are regarded as base and unseemly by mankind? I mean, for example, collecting taxes, or keeping a brothel, or doing other such things. 

"O no, indeed. I should say that it is not permissible for the free to do such things either. And indeed for these acts the penalty fixed is to be hated or abominated by men." 

Dio: Well then, in the case of intemperate men, whatever acts they commit by reason of their intemperance, and in the case of the ignorant all that they do owing to their ignorance in neglecting either their property or their person or in treating their fellows unjustly and inconsiderately, do not all these things impose a penalty upon those that do them? For they are injured either in their person or in their property or, most serious of all, in their own soul. 

"What you now say is true." 

Dio: Therefore it is not permissible to do these things either? 

"No, certainly not." 

Dio: In a word, then, it is not permissible to do mean and unseemly and unprofitable things, but things that are just and profitable and good we must say that it is both proper and permissible to do? 

"It seems so to me at any rate." 

Dio: Therefore no one may do that which is mean and unprofitable without suffering the penalty, whether he be Greek or barbarian . . . or a man for whom one has paid a price in cash? 

"No, indeed." 

Dio: But the opposite things are allowed to all alike, and those who do what is allowed continue free from penalty, while those who do what is forbidden are punished. Now do you think that any others do what is permissible except those who know what that is, or that any others do the opposite except those who do not know?

"Oh, no!" 

Dio: Therefore, the wise are permitted to do anything whatsoever they wish, while the foolish attempt to do what they wish although it is not permissible; so that it follows of necessity that while the wise are free and are allowed to act as they wish, the ignorant are slaves and do that which is not allowable for them? 

"Perhaps." 

Dio: Therefore we are forced to define freedom as the knowledge of what is allowable and what is forbidden, and slavery as ignorance of what is allowed and what is not. 

According to this definition there is nothing to prevent the Great King, while wearing a very tall tiara upon his head, from being a slave and not being allowed to do anything that he does; for every act that he performs will bring a penalty and be unprofitable. 

But some other man who is regarded as a slave and is so called, who has not once but often, if it so chance, been sold, and if it should so happen, wears very heavy fetters, will be more free than the Great King.

"To me it appears exceeding strange that one who wears fetters or has been branded or who grinds in a mill will be more free than the Great King." 

Dio: Well, now have you ever been in Thrace?

"Yes."

Dio: Then you have seen the women there, the free women, covered with branded marks, and having the more such marks and the more elaborate in proportion to their social standing and that of the families to which they belong? 

"Now, pray, what does this signify?" 

Dio: That, as it seems, there is nothing to prevent a queen from being tattooed; but do you think that there is anything to prevent a king? And further, have you never heard of that race, either, where the king is kept under guard in a very high tower and may not descend from that tower?⁠ 

But, if you had heard, you would have understood that it is possible for a man to be king even if kept closely confined. And you might perhaps have heard those people expressing surprise if you had tried to tell them about the Persian King, and refusing to believe that there is such a thing as a king who drives about in a chariot and goes wherever he wishes.

"But you cannot give an instance of a king who is in bonds." 

Dio: No king of men, perhaps, and yet the King of the Gods, the first and eldest one, is in bonds, they say, if we are to believe Hesiod and Homer and other wise men who tell this tale about Cronus, and indeed he does not receive this treatment unjustly from a personal enemy, but from one most just who loved him dearly,⁠ who evidently treats him thus because it is fit treatment for a king and profitable to him. 

But they do not know this and would never imagine that a beggar or a prisoner or man without repute was once king, although they hear that Odysseus, for all his being a beggar and begging of the suitors, was none the less a king and the owner of the house, while Antinous and Eurymachus, whom Homer named 'kings,' were miserable and unfortunate wretches. 

But this, as I said, they do not know, and as badges of royalty they clothe themselves with tiaras and scepters and crowns so that none may fail to know that they are kings; just as, I imagine, owners mark their cattle to make them easily distinguishable. 

This undoubtedly is the reason why the King of the Persians ordained that he alone should wear his tiara upright; and if anyone else did this, he straightway ordered his execution, in the belief that it was not good or advantageous that in the midst of so many myriads of people two men should wear tiaras upright; but that he should have his mind upright and that no one should have greater wisdom than himself, for this he had no concern. 

So I fear that just as in those days there were such symbols of royalty as we have described, so now also there ought to be similar badges to mark the free man, and that he ought to walk abroad wearing a felt skullcap,⁠ else we shall not be able to distinguish between the free man and the slave. 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 8.2

. . . Now the advice given, with respect to every one of these, is, that we would sit down, and seriously consider, what the nature and condition of each of them is; what hazards and uncertainties they are liable to; that they are subject to corruption and decay; that the enjoyment of them is short, and not to be depended upon; and that none of them are absolutely at our own pleasure and disposal. 

For such a reflection as this, which suggests to us continually, what their nature and circumstances are, is no other, than a meditating upon the loss of them. And such a meditation would render the thing easy and familiar to us; and when any accident of this kind befalls us, would prevent all that surprise and confusion, and extravagant concern, which the unthinking part of the world are oppressed with upon such occasions. 

And indeed the case here is the very same with several other instances, wherein we find, that the troubles and pains of body and mind both, though very grievous at first and in themselves, yet grow much more supportable by custom and use. 

To this purpose, the next words give us very good counsel: to begin at first with little matters, nay, not only with little, but with the least and most inconsiderable. For according to the old Greek Proverb, the potter must try a cup, before he can make a jar. 

He that undertakes the biggest first, is presently worsted, proves unsuccessful, spends his strength to no purpose, and gives out in utter despair. But he that sets out leisurely, and begins with small and easy trials, grows stronger and bolder with his good success, and by gaining ground upon what was a match for him before, advances more surely, and conquers still greater and greater difficulties. 

Thus a man used to four meals a day, if he attempts all on the sudden to fast a whole day together, will find the change too violent for his body to bear, and never get through the trouble and pain of it. And this force upon nature is the reason, why such warm undertakings are generally of dangerous consequence, only just for a spurt, and away. 

But if such a one abates of his former indulgence by degrees, first takes himself down to three meals, and, when this proportion is grown habitual and easy, then allows himself but two: thus it will be very feasible, and afterwards he may, without any great trouble, come to content himself with one; and such a change will be infinitely more safe, and more likely to continue. 

Apply this now to the instance before us: we should consider those things that are dear to us, upon the account of their usefulness and convenience; and from such among them as are of least consequence and value, acquaint ourselves with the condition of all the rest, as that their nature is corruptible, the enjoyment of them uncertain, and the loss of them what we have reason to expect every moment. 

As in an earthen pot, which can have nothing but its usefulness to incline us to value it, we are to remember, it is of a brittle substance, and dashed to pieces with the least accident. And what can be a poorer and more contemptible instance than this, to begin with? 

Yet mean and trifling as it is, a man that lays a good foundation here, and rises by degrees to matters of greater concern, shall be able at last to encounter his affection for a child; and not only in mere speculation, and empty formal words to say it, but to make his whole behavior speak, and all the dispositions of his mind to carry the impression of this wise and seasonable reflection, that what he thus dotes upon, is but a man; if a man, consequently a brittle and frail creature, and such as he is in a continual possibility of losing. 

And if his mind be once thoroughly possessed with this consideration, and confirmed with an habitual recollection of it, whenever that child is snatched away from him, he is prepared for the stroke, and cannot be surprised and confounded with passion, as if some strange or new thing had happened to him.

And here it is very well worth a remark, what abundance of wisdom and artifice there is in this management of things. For by it we get a mastery over those that are not by nature within our power, and deal with them as though they were. 

The saving my child from death, is a thing not in my power. 

But a due consideration of his being liable to it, the rendering this consideration familiar and easy to me, and living in expectation of it, as a thing no less natural and likely than his life, the not being disturbed if he does die, and the behaving myself with such evenness of temper, as if he were not dead: these are in my power, and which is a great deal more, they do in effect bring the very accident of his death, which is of itself not so, within it too. 

For a man thus composed may say, "My child is not dead to me." Or, to speak more truly and properly, "Though he be dead, yet I am still the same man, as if he were still alive."

I only observe farther, that the instances produced here by Epictetus, are fetched from the two latter sorts of things; such as are useful and beneficial to us, and such as nature, and affinity gives us a more than ordinary tenderness for. And these were prudently chosen, with an intent, I presume to intimate, that those things, which are for entertainment and diversion, and can only pretend to please without profiting us, are so very mean and despicable, as to deserve no consideration at all, for persons who have made any tolerable advances in the study of wisdom and virtue. 

Dio Chrysostom, On Slavery and Freedom 1.1

Men desire above all things to be free and say that freedom is the greatest of blessings, while slavery is the most shameful and wretched of states; and yet they have no knowledge of the essential nature of this freedom and this slavery of which they speak. 

And, what is more, they do practically nothing whatever to escape the shameful and grievous thing, which is slavery, and to gain what they consider to be valuable, that is, freedom; but on the contrary, they do the things which result in their continuing in slavery all their lives and never attaining to freedom. 

However, we should perhaps feel no surprise that these men are unable either to get or to avoid the thing of which they happen to be ignorant. 

For instance, if they happened to be ignorant as to what a sheep and a wolf are respectively, but nevertheless thought that the one was profitable and good to get while the other was harmful and unprofitable, it would not be at all surprising if they feared the sheep and fled from it at times as though it were a wolf, but let the wolf approach and awaited its coming, thinking to be a sheep. 

For ignorance has this effect upon men who lack knowledge, and forces them to flee from and to pursue the opposite of what they desire to flee from and to pursue, and of what would be to their advantage. 

Come then, let us consider whether the majority of men really have any clear knowledge about freedom and slavery. For it is quite possible that we are criticizing them without good reason, and that they know well what these are. 

Now if one were to ask statement what the nature of freedom is, they would say, perhaps, that it consists in being subject to no one and acting simply in accordance with one's own judgement. 

But if one were to go on and ask the man who made this answer whether he thought it a fine thing, and worthy of a free man, that when he is a member of a chorus he should not pay attention to the leader nor be subject to him, but should sing in tune or out of tune just as he took the notion, and whether he thought the opposite course, namely, to pay attention and obey the director of the chorus and to begin and to stop singing only at his command, was shameful and slavish, I do not think that he would agree. 

And again, if one were to ask whether he thought it was characteristic of a free man, when a passenger on board a ship, to pay no attention to the captain and refuse to carry out whatever orders he should give; for instance, to stand erect in the ship when ordered to sit down, simply if he took a notion to do so; and if he were on occasion ordered to bale or help hoist the sails, neither to bale nor lay hold of the ropes; this man, too, he would not call free or enviable, because he does what seems best to himself. 

And surely one would not call soldiers slaves because they are subject to their general's orders and spring to their feet the moment he gives a command, and partake of food and lay hold of their weapons and fall in and advance and retire only at their general's order. Neither will they call persons who are sick slaves because they must obey their physicians. 

And yet the orders which they obey are neither insignificant nor easy to carry out, but at times they order them to do without both food and drink; and if the physician decides at any time to bind the patient, he is straightway bound; and if he decides to use the knife or cautery, the patient will be burned and cut to the extent that the physician decides is best. 

And if the sick man refuses to obey, all the household will help the physician to cope with him, and not the free alone, but often the sick man's domestics themselves bind their master and fetch the fire that he may suffer cautery, and give any other assistance. 

You do not say, do you, that this man is not free because he endures many unpleasant things at another's command? Surely you would not have denied, for instance, that Darius, the King of the Persians, was a free man when, after suffering a fall from his horse in a hunt and dislocating his ankle, he obeyed the surgeons while they pulled and twisted his foot in order to set the joint, and that too although they were Egyptians.⁠ 

Nor, to take another instance, would you have denied that Xerxes was a free man, when on his retreat from Greece a storm arose and he while aboard the ship obeyed the captain in everything and would not permit himself against the captain's judgement even to nod or to change his position. 

Therefore they will not persist in maintaining that rendering obedience to no man or doing whatever one likes constitutes freedom. 

But perhaps they will counter by saying that these men obey for their own advantage, just as people on shipboard obey the captain and soldiers their general, and that the sick for this reason give heed to their physician, that they prescribe nothing but what is for the advantage of their patients. 

But masters, they will assert, do not order their slaves to do what will benefit them, but what they think will be of profit to themselves. 

Well then, is it to the master's advantage that his servant should die or be ill or be a knave? No one would say so, but would affirm that the contrary is to his advantage, namely that he should keep alive and well and should be an honest man. 

And these same things will be found to be for the advantage of the servant as well; so that the master, if indeed he is wise, will order his servant to do that which is equally to the servant's advantage; for that will prove to be of advantage to himself as well. 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 8.1

Remember, upon all occasions, to reflect with yourself, of what nature and condition those things are which minister delight, or are useful and beneficial to you, or which you have a natural tenderness for: and that these reflections may answer their end, make them familiar, by beginning at the slightest and most inconsiderable things, and so rising to the higher and more valuable. 

For instance; if you are fond of an earthen cup, consider it is but earthenware, and you cannot be much troubled or surprised, whenever it happens to be broke. 

And if you are fond of a child or a wife, consider, that they are human, that is of a frail and mortal nature; and thus your surprise and concern will be the less, when death takes either of them away from you. 

Comment: 

After the distinction between things within and things out of our own power, and an advertisement how we ought to esteem each of them: that the former sort only must be looked upon as our own, the latter as foreign and in the disposal of others; he had told us, how we ought to be affected with regard to those that fall within our power: to make such of them as are contrary to reason and nature, the object of our aversion, and to suspend all manner of desire, for some convenient time; which advice, in all probability, is grounded upon the arguments already mentioned. 

But since it is impossible to live without having something of interest in and much dealing with those things that are not at the disposal of our own will, he now informs us how to converse with them, and tells us, that, though they be not at our own pleasure, yet they may not be able to create to us any manner of disquiet and confusion. 

And here he takes notice of three sorts of these external things: first, such as can only pretend to please, without profiting us at all; these are such, as minister to our entertainment and delight. 

The second, such as are beneficial and convenient for use. 

And the third, such as we have a particular affection for, by reason of some natural relation they bear to us, and which we are tender of, without any regard to our own benefit and convenience. 

And this is a very just and true distinction. For pleasure, and profit, and natural affection, are the three things that engage our hearts; and it is always upon one or other of these accounts, that we are fond of this mortal state, and reconciled to all the hardships and miseries attending it. 

Now the entertainments and diversions that men are delighted with, differ, according to their several tempers and inclinations: some find their pleasures in plays: others in sports and exercises, in races, or tilting or the like. 

Others in dancing, or tricks of legerdemain, in jugglers, or zany’s, or buffoons. Some again in curious sights, either the beauties of nature, as the colors of peacocks and other find birds, pleasant flowers, and gardens, and meadows, and groves. Or in the perfection of art, as pictures, and statues, and buildings, or the exquisite workmanship of other professions. 

Some value those of the eye less, and find greater satisfaction in the entertainment of the ear, as the harmony of vocal and instrumental music; and, which is a pleasure more generous and improving, in eloquence or history, and sometimes in fables and romances. For that these contribute much to our delight, is plain, from that fondness, which all of us naturally have to stories, from our very childhood.

The second sort, which tend to our use and benefit, are likewise various. Some contribute to the improvement of the mind, as a skillful master, virtuous conversation, instructive books, and the like. some are serviceable to the body, as meats and clothes, and exercise. Some regard only our fortune, as places of authority, lands and tenements, money and goods, and the like. 

But the third sort we have a natural tenderness for, without any prospect of advantage from them; and these are recommended to our affection, by some common tie of nature and affinity between us. In this relation stand our wives and children, our kindred, our friends, and our countrymen. . . . 

Snail's Pace

 

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 189

What would you be found doing when overtaken by Death? 

If I might choose, I would be found doing some deed of true humanity, of wide import, beneficent and noble. 

But if I may not be found engaged in anything so lofty, let me hope at least for this—what none may hinder, what is surely in my power—that I may be found raising up in myself that which had fallen; learning to deal more wisely with the things of sense; working out my own tranquillity, and thus rendering that which is its due to every relation of life. . . . 

If death surprises me thus employed, it is enough if I can stretch forth my hands to God and say, "The faculties which I received at Your hands for apprehending this Your Administration, I have not neglected. 

"As far as in me lay, I have done You no dishonor. Behold how I have used the senses, the primary conceptions which You gave me. 

"Have I ever laid anything to Your charge? Have I ever murmured at anything that came to pass, or wished it otherwise? Have I in anything transgressed the relations of life? 

"For that You did beget me, I thank You for that You have given: for the time during which I have used the things that were Yours, it suffices me. 

"Take them back and place them wherever You will! They were all Yours, and You gave them to me." 

If a man depart thus minded, is it not enough? What life is fairer and more noble, what end happier than his? 

IMAGE: Frans van Kuyck, Death and the Girl (c. 1900) 

Seneca Moral Letters 85.14

“What then,” you say, “is not a pilot harmed by any circumstance which does not permit him to make port, frustrates all his efforts, and either carries him out to sea, or holds the ship in irons, or strips her masts?” 
 
No, it does not harm him as a pilot, but only as a voyager; otherwise, he is no pilot. It is indeed so far from hindering the pilot’s art that it even exhibits the art; for anyone, in the words of the proverb, is a pilot on a calm sea. These mishaps obstruct the voyage but not the steersman qua steersman.
 
A pilot has a double role: one he shares with all his fellow-passengers, for he also is a passenger; the other is peculiar to him, for he is the pilot. The storm harms him as a passenger, but not as a pilot. Again, the pilot’s art is another’s good—it concerns his passengers just as a physician’s art concerns his patients. But the wise man’s good is a common good—it belongs both to those in whose company he lives, and to himself also. 
 
Hence our pilot may perhaps be harmed, since his services, which have been promised to others, are hindered by the storm; but the wise man is not harmed by poverty, or by pain, or by any other of life’s storms. 
 
For all his functions are not checked, but only those which pertain to others; he himself is always in action, and is greatest in performance at the very time when fortune has blocked his way. For then he is actually engaged in the business of wisdom; and this wisdom I have declared already to be, both the good of others, and also his own. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
This discussion about pilots and wise men makes me reflect on my own personal moments of success and failure, and how often I have managed to confuse the two. If I judge by the standards of the worldly achiever, I must be quite the disappointment, but if I turn to the mindset of the Stoic, I have been making some progress, even though there are no fancy trophies to show for it. 
 
Caught up in a world of appearances, I pretended I could rub shoulders with sophisticated intellectuals, but I had neither the talent nor the temperament to do so. No, if I was going to learn, it would have to be at my own pace, and if I was going to teach, it would have to be well out of view. While I occasionally find offers of work, I get myself in trouble whenever I ask to be paid a living wage. 
 
I have most certainly not reached the port I had once sailed for, and it is most likely that I will die an obscure eccentric, unsung and penniless. And yet, in a manner both unnerving and fitting, the journey has not been wasted, because each and every obstacle has provided a chance to grow in understanding and in love. Whenever I lose something alluring out there, I always have the option of gaining something far greater in here. 
 
It is much the same when it comes to the daunting task of raising children. Our vain attempts at producing the ideal offspring, basking in glory, must give way to the realization that no person can ever create the blessings of another. However much I might instruct, encourage, and inspire, that young mind will have to choose for itself, and whatever has been offered must then be transformed into something new. Even as I can be my own master, I cannot secure the results for anyone else.
 
As a passenger, I did not arrive where I once hoped to be going; as a pilot, I did pick up a better sense of direction. By the time I had some more skill in reading the compass, I was far less interested in arriving at a certain destination as I was in traveling in a certain way, wherever I then happened to find myself. There were limits put on my circumstances at the same time as there were opportunities for my character. 
 
How should I best serve my students? How should I best nurture my children? For all the difficulties fortune will put in my way, let me seek out my own wisdom and practice my own virtues. It turns out that attending to the thoughts, words, and deeds within my power is the best gift I can present to my fellow travelers. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

Jacob's Ladder 9

Gustave Doré, Jacob's Dream (1866) 

Jacob Wrestling with the Angel 20

Moses van Uyttenbroeck, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel (1623) 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 192

When fortune flatters, she does it to betray. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.13

To this the Peripatetics retort: “Therefore, poverty will make even the wise man worse, and so will pain, and so will anything else of that sort. For although those things will not rob him of his virtue, yet they will hinder the work of virtue.”
 
This would be a correct statement, were it not for the fact that the pilot and the wise man are two different kinds of person. The wise man’s purpose in conducting his life is not to accomplish at all hazards what he tries, but to do all things rightly; the pilot’s purpose, however, is to bring his ship into port at all hazards. 
 
The arts are handmaids; they must accomplish what they promise to do. But wisdom is mistress and ruler. The arts render a slave’s service to life; wisdom issues the commands. 
 
For myself, I maintain that a different answer should be given: that the pilot’s art is never made worse by the storm, nor the application of his art either. The pilot has promised you, not a prosperous voyage, but a serviceable performance of his task—that is, an expert knowledge of steering a ship. And the more he is hampered by the stress of fortune, so much the more does his knowledge become apparent. 
 
He who has been able to say, “Neptune, you shall never sink this ship except on an even keel,” has fulfilled the requirements of his art; the storm does not interfere with the pilot’s work, but only with his success. 

—from Seneca Moral Letters 85 
 
The calculating cynic will laugh at such Stoic claims, because he thinks it more important to get something good than to be someone good. Whenever I suggest that an unaffected decency is its own reward, I am now accustomed to hearing the following sort of harangue: 
 
“You can talk about virtue all you like, but it won’t be of any use to you without the means to put it into effect. If you don’t have any money, you can’t practice charity. If you don’t build your influence, you can’t promote an agenda. If you aren’t working from a position of strength, you won’t be able to beat your competitors.”
 
This might be true, if our happiness hinged upon the comforts of the body, and not upon an excellence of the soul. Perhaps love isn’t about a balance sheet, and the best way to improve the world is to first improve ourselves, and the profit of one never requires a loss for another. What we believe to be the most practical way of life follows from what we discern to be the most real about this life. 
 
Like every analogy, the example of the pilot will fall short, once we recognize how a trade must still be bound to an external product, while the virtues remain complete in themselves, and are able to thrive under any conditions. Prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice are possible both in plenty and in want. 
 
Even so, as Seneca observes, the task of the pilot may be hindered from the outside, though he can maintain his skill from the inside. Only a fool expects a batter to hit the ball every time he takes a swing, and we may be all the more impressed by his merits when the odds are firmly stacked against him. 
 
I get worried for example, when I hear people making promises they might not be able to keep. It is one thing to pledge that we will absolutely do our best, but it is quite another to guarantee a certain outcome, however preferable it may be. A man has already done more than enough if he has given everything of himself, for that is far more valuable than any other state of affairs. 
 
A husband cannot assure his wife that he will live a long life, yet he can assure her that he will be faithful as long as he shall live. It is in a like manner that our human worth is always to be found in the content of our character before the arrangement of our circumstances. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

IMAGE: Carl Wilhelm Barth, Pilot Boat in Heavy Sea (1882) 

The Pursuit of Fortune

Rudolf Henneberg, The Pursuit of Fortune (1866) 

Time

Netherlandish Proverbs 13

"To fry the whole herring for the sake of the roe." 

To do too much to achieve a little. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.12

“What then?” is the query; “if the sword is brandished over your brave man’s neck, if he is pierced in this place and in that continually, if he sees his entrails in his lap, if he is tortured again after being kept waiting in order that he may thus feel the torture more keenly, and if the blood flows afresh out of bowels where it has but lately ceased to flow, has he no fear? Shall you say that he has felt no pain either?”
 
Yes, he has felt pain; for no human virtue can rid itself of feelings. But he has no fear; unconquered he looks down from a lofty height upon his sufferings. Do you ask me what spirit animates him in these circumstances? It is the spirit of one who is comforting a sick friend. 
 
“That which is evil does harm; that which does harm makes a man worse. But pain and poverty do not make a man worse; therefore they are not evils.” 
 
“Your proposition,” says the objector, “is wrong; for what harms one does not necessarily make one worse. The storm and the squall work harm to the pilot, but they do not make a worse pilot of him for all that.”
 
Certain of the Stoic school reply to this argument as follows: “The pilot becomes a worse pilot because of storms or squalls, inasmuch as he cannot carry out his purpose and hold to his course; as far as his art is concerned, he becomes no worse a pilot, but in his work he does become worse." 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
The critic is free to stress the intensity of pain as much as he wishes, or to dwell upon the many ways we may fall short of achieving our preferences. That is neither here nor there when it comes to the virtues, which achieve their ends simply through being exercised. We can transcend the fear of pain by always placing what is lesser within the context of what is greater. 
 
I regularly find myself returning to Seneca’s beautiful image: we are called to treat our hardships in the same way as we would offer consolation and reassurance during a loved one’s illness. 
 
Over the last few years, I have been enjoying a television series about air disasters. Now this would hardly seem relaxing to most of us, but I am inspired by the way ordinary people react when they are in extraordinary situations, and I am fascinated by the process of uncovering the hidden causes of the accidents. 
 
The one part that irritates me, however, is the inevitable bureaucrat who immediately wants to pin all the blame on the pilot, as if the fact that the plane crashed must surely reflect poorly on his abilities. Indeed, sometimes he may have failed to do his job, yet at other times he may have gone above and beyond the call of duty, and still the aircraft fell from the sky. While our decisions are always within our power, the events around us are not always within our power. 
 
I take special note of BEA Flight 609 in 1958, well-known to soccer fans for the loss of so many players from Manchester United. Authorities in Munich insisted that pilot James Thain, an RAF veteran, had neglected to de-ice the wings, though later investigations showed that this would not have been necessary, and pointed to uncleared slush on the runway as the reason for the plane’s failure to reach takeoff speed. 
 
Thain, of course, was cast aside, and he would never fly again, spending the rest of his days trying to clear his name. From what I can gather, he was not only a skilled pilot, but also a man of great integrity, who simply became a convenient scapegoat. Though he could not save his plane, this did no harm to his professional excellence. 
 
Be careful to distinguish when defining a success and a failure. 
 
The base pragmatist, concerned merely with the most convenient results, will not look beyond the arrangement of his circumstances, and so he is unable to rightly judge winning or losing by our inner comportment. To use a martial analogy, he believes victory requires crushing the enemy, and he thereby overlooks the virtues of the soldier who fight with honor, regardless of the outcome on the battlefield. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

Abandoned Places 67

Nature 69

Owls 16

Maxims of Goethe 84

The masses cannot dispense with men of ability, and such men are always a burden to them. 

IMAGE: Philipp Foltz, The Funeral Oration of Pericles (1852) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.11

“It is the doctrine of you Stoics, then,” they reply, “that a brave man will expose himself to dangers.” 
 
By no means; he will merely not fear them, though he will avoid them. It is proper for him to be careful, but not to be fearful. 
 
“What then? Is he not to fear death, imprisonment, burning, and all the other missiles of Fortune?” 
 
Not at all; for he knows that they are not evils, but only seem to be. He reckons all these things as the bugbears of man’s existence.Paint him a picture of slavery, lashes, chains, want, mutilation by disease or by torture—or anything else you may care to mention; he will count all such things as terrors caused by the derangement of the mind. These things are only to be feared by those who are fearful. Or do you regard as an evil that to which some day we may be compelled to resort of our own free will? 
 
What then, you ask, is an evil? It is the yielding to those things which are called evils; it is the surrendering of one’s liberty into their control, when really we ought to suffer all things in order to preserve this liberty. 
 
Liberty is lost unless we despise those things which put the yoke upon our necks. If men knew what bravery was, they would have no doubts as to what a brave man’s conduct should be. 
 
For bravery is not thoughtless rashness, or love of danger, or the courting of fear-inspiring objects; it is the knowledge which enables us to distinguish between that which is evil and that which is not. Bravery takes the greatest care of itself, and likewise endures with the greatest patience all things which have a false appearance of being evils. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
While we could argue about the best words until the cows come home, it is good for me to embrace the feeling of caution, and it is bad for me to succumb to the feeling of fear. If something can do me genuine harm, it is wise to avoid it, and yet if something is merely alarming, I should not be intimidated by the impression.
 
All too often, we let the passions push us about, while the stable emotions are always grounded in a sound understanding. 
 
Before I am gripped by terror, wouldn’t it be best to consider the true measure of what will either help or hurt my nature? My most crippling mistakes started when I let my desires rush ahead of my awareness, and they could so easily have been avoided by first knowing what I should want to get and what I should want to avoid. 
 
Over the years, I have been frantically warned about countless dangers, and yet it turns out that so very few of them were really perilous at all. 
 
Yes, the Stoic will make some shocking claims, including the one about no circumstance ever being an evil. We are appalled by this, however, because we haven’t started at the beginning, because we are constantly assuming the conclusions without establishing the premises. This also why we bicker about taxes, and guns, and abortion, while never reasoning from first principles about our human good. 
 
If we swept away the clutter of the passions, we would see that man is a creature of reason and of will, made to know and to love, and the rest is window dressing. Virtue is his only good, and vice is his only evil. He should not fear poverty, or torture, or death, since they need not hinder the act of living well. Indeed, he should not fear anything at all, since it always remains within his power to do what is right, whatever fortune might happen to throw his way. 
 
Will there be pain? Most certainly, and sometimes we will deceive ourselves into believing that the pains are the pleasures. The trick is in employing the hardship as an opportunity to express an excellence of the soul, at which point there is no need for running away from the pain or for chasing after the pleasure—there will be the simplicity of joy. 
 
When I can master myself in this way, with no demands for ruling anyone or anything else, I will have attained a total freedom for myself. It sounds poetic to proclaim that fear is a form of slavery, but it is philosophical to explain why fear is a surrender to the things beyond our control, and therefore we ironically make indifferent things evil by giving them an authority over us. 
 
A brave man no longer fears death, because he cares first and foremost for the integrity of his character, and what once felt so big now feels rather small. It is the same with the prudent man, who knows he can conquer his own ignorance, and the temperate man, who knows he can moderate his own appetites, and the just man, who knows he can gladly give what he owes without expecting any further reward. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

IMAGE: Briton Riviere, Daniel in the Lion's Den (1872)