Sayings of Ramakrishna 294

As in mid-ocean a bird, which found its perch upon the topmast of a ship, getting tired of its position, flies away to discover a new place of rest for itself, and alas! without finding any, returns at last to its old roost upon the masthead, weary and exhausted; so when an ordinary aspirant, being disgusted with the monotony of the task and the discipline imposed upon him by his well-wishing and thoroughly experienced guru, loses all hope, and, having no confidence in him, launches forth into the broad world ever in search of a new advisor, he is sure at last to return to his original master after a fruitless search, which has, however, increased the reverence of the repentant aspirant for the master. 

IMAGE: Edouard Manet, Sailing Ships and Seagulls (c. 1864) 

Songs of Innocence 16

Nurse's Song 

William Blake (1757-1827) 

When the voices of children are heard on the green, 

And laughing is heard on the hill, 

My heart is at rest within my breast, 

And everything else is still. 

"Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, 

And the dews of night arise; 

Come, come, leave off play, and let us away 

Till the morning appears in the skies."  

"No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, 

And we cannot go to sleep; 

Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, 

And the hills are all cover’d with sheep." 

"Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, 

And then go home to bed."  

The little ones leapèd and shoutèd and laugh’d, 

And all the hills echoèd. 

Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 46

Seeing a young man behaving effeminately, "Are you not ashamed," Diogenes said, "that your own intention about yourself should be worse than nature's? For nature made you a man, but you are forcing yourself to play the woman." 

Observing a fool tuning a psaltery, "Are you not ashamed," said he, "to give this wood concordant sounds, while you fail to harmonize your soul with life?" 

To one who protested that he was ill adapted for the study of philosophy, he said, "Why then do you live, if you do not care to live well?" 

To one who despised his father, "Are you not ashamed," he said, "to despise him to whom you owe it that you can so pride yourself?" 

Noticing a handsome youth chattering in unseemly fashion, "Are you not ashamed," he said, "to draw a dagger of lead from an ivory scabbard?" 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.65 

IMAGE: Giovan Battista Langetti, Diogenes (c. 1660) 

Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 86

The Stoics hold that there are two principles in the Universe, the active principle and the passive. 

The passive principle, then, is a substance without quality, that is matter, whereas the active is the reason inherent in this substance, that is God. 

For he is everlasting and is the artificer of each several thing throughout the whole extent of matter. 

This doctrine is laid down by Zeno of Citium in his treatise On Existence, Cleanthes in his work On Atoms, Chrysippus in the first book of his Physics towards the end, Archedemus in his treatise On Elements, and Posidonius in the second book of his Physical Exposition. 

There is a difference, according to them, between principles and elements; the former being without generation or destruction, whereas the elements are destroyed when all things are resolved into fire. 

Moreover, the principles are incorporeal and destitute of form, while the elements have been endowed with form. 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.134 

IMAGE: Emmanuel Kratky, God Creating the Elements (c. 1880) 

Page-turner

Michael Leunig 89

Seneca, Moral Letters 88.3

It may be, perhaps, that they make you believe that Homer was a philosopher, although they disprove this by the very arguments through which they seek to prove it. 
 
For sometimes they make of him a Stoic, who approves nothing but virtue, avoids pleasures, and refuses to relinquish honor even at the price of immortality; sometimes they make him an Epicurean, praising the condition of a state in repose, which passes its days in feasting and song; sometimes a Peripatetic, classifying goodness in three ways; sometimes an Academic, holding that all things are uncertain. 
 
It is clear, however, that no one of these doctrines is to be fathered upon Homer, just because they are all there; for they areirreconcilable with one another. We may admit to these men, indeed, that Homer was a philosopher; yet surely he became a wise man before he had any knowledge of poetry. So let us learn the particular things that made Homer wise. 
 
It is no more to the point, of course, for me to investigate whether Homer or Hesiod was the older poet, than to know why Hecuba, although younger than Helen, showed her years so lamentably. What, in your opinion, I say, would be the point in trying to determine the respective ages of Achilles and Patroclus?
 
Do you raise the question, “Through what regions did Ulysses stray?” instead of trying to prevent ourselves from going astray at all times? We have no leisure to hear lectures on the question whether he was sea-tossed between Italy and Sicily, or outside our known world (indeed, so long a wandering could not possibly have taken place within its narrow bounds); we ourselves encounter storms of the spirit, which toss us daily, and our depravity drives us into all the ills which troubled Ulysses. 
 
For us there is never lacking the beauty to tempt our eyes, or the enemy to assail us; on this side are savage monsters that delight in human blood, on that side the treacherous allurements of the ear, and yonder is shipwreck and all the varied category of misfortunes. Show me rather, by the example of Ulysses, how I am to love my country, my wife, my father, and how, even after suffering shipwreck, I am to sail toward these ends, honorable as they are.
 
Why try to discover whether Penelope was a pattern of purity, or whether she had the laugh on her contemporaries? Or whether she suspected that the man in her presence was Ulysses, before she knew it was he? Teach me rather what purity is, and how great a good we have in it, and whether it is situated in the body or in the soul. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 88 
 
Picking away at the particulars will not provide the universal. Rearranging the deck chairs will not prevent the ship from going down. Why should I fret over how old Homer might have been, when the real question should be whether I am prepared to face my own mortality? 
 
We may have difficulty grasping how the ancients obsessed over Homer, with the closest parallel perhaps being how professors in tweed jackets must relate everything back to Shakespeare, or professors with goatees must relate everything back to Dostoevsky. I recall a period in my childhood when the only way to make an impressive point was to wrap it up in quotes from John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King. 
 
Now while there is certainly much that is true, good, and beautiful in Homer, Shakespeare, and Dostoevsky, no amount of merely dissecting their texts will make me a better man. It will be no different than collecting clever Bible verses for every possible occasion, while never bothering to express the slightest bit of charity. By all means, attend to the letter, but do not neglect the spirit. 
 
I also have little doubt that Homer’s poetry was the work of a wise man, and yet it was not his skill at poetry that made him a wise man. In our modern world, we somehow assume that our celebrities are qualified to teach us how to live well, as if the ability to sing a catchy song or to gaze seductively into the camera is somehow a mark of the most powerful insights. This is, as they say, ass backwards. 
 
Although we would expect them to know better, our scholars do much the same, when they lionize their intellectual heroes, based on how well their refined images can be adapted to support the most fashionable causes. 
 
Just in the last month, for example, I was told that Augustine would have enthusiastically supported the War on Terror, and that Lincoln was actually a closet socialist. Think what you will about the burning questions of the day, but please do not cherry-pick from questionable authorities in order to justify your personal preferences. 
 
And if it is indeed true, why should it matter who happened to say it, or what particular words were used in order to say it? Instead of seeking to discern the causes, we get tangled up in the details in the effects, to the point where the expert is defined by how very much he can manage to say about so very little. 
 
At our last faculty meeting, we spent a whole hour discussing if it was appropriate for our students to use the singular “they”. I broke my usual silence to make the radical suggestion that they should be allowed to write in the style they think is best, as long as they are consistent, and as long as they do so with a respect for other points of view. 
 
This was met with a deafening silence, and the decision was then made to form an ad hoc committee to produce a report on the matter. I appreciate more and more why the development of a skill is meaningless without any reference to first principles: it is all wind-up without the pitch. 
 
So it is, when literature is pursued without a moral compass, when the natural sciences are lacking in a conscience, and when the liberal arts are divorced from a vital philosophy. 
 
Where in the Mediterranean did Odysseus really travel? I find that to be a fascinating question, and I will eagerly pore over volumes of maps in order to arrive at an answer. Still, I think it far more important to decide about our direction in life. 
 
What was Penelope really thinking during her husband’s long absence? I find that to be a fascinating question, and I will carefully examine the subtleties of her every statement. Still, I think it far more important to ask what it means to be loyal, and what it means to be prudent. 

—Reflection written in 2/2014 

IMAGE: Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, The Apotheosis of Homer (1827) 

The Continence of Scipio 17

Joshua Reynolds, The Continence of Scipio (1789) 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 49

Such was Socrates; so helpful under all circumstances and in every way that no observer, gifted with ordinary sensibility, could fail to appreciate the fact, that to be with Socrates, and to spend long time in his society, no matter where or what the circumstances, was indeed a priceless gain. 

Even the recollection of him, when he was no longer present, was felt as no small benefit by those who had grown accustomed to be with him, and who accepted him. Nor indeed was he less helpful to his acquaintance in his lighter than in his graver moods.

Let us take as an example that saying of his, so often on his lips: "I am in love with so and so"; and all the while it was obvious the going-forth of his soul was not towards excellence of body in the bloom of beauty, but rather towards faculties of the soul unfolding in virtue. 

And these "good natures" he detected by certain tokens: a readiness to learn that to which the attention was directed; a power of retaining in the memory the lessons learned; and a passionate predilection for those studies in particular which serve to good administration of a house or of a state, and in general to the proper handling of man and human affairs. 

Such beings, he maintained, needed only to be educated to become not only happy themselves and happy administrators of their private households, but to be capable of rendering other human beings, as states or individuals, happy also. 

He had indeed a different way of dealing with different kinds of people. Those who thought they had good natural ability and despised learning he instructed that the most highly-gifted nature stands most in need of training and education; and he would point out how in the case of horses it is just the spirited and fiery thoroughbred which, if properly broken in as a colt, will develop into a serviceable and superb animal, but if left unbroken will turn out utterly intractable and good for nothing. 

Or take the case of dogs: a puppy exhibiting that zest for toil and eagerness to attack wild creatures which are the marks of high breeding, will, if well brought up, prove excellent for the chase or for any other useful purpose; but neglect his education and he will turn out a stupid, crazy brute, incapable of obeying the simplest command. 

It is just the same with human beings; here also the youth of best natural endowments—that is to say, possessing the most robust qualities of spirit and a fixed determination to carry out whatever he has laid his hand to—will, if trained and taught what it is right to do, prove a superlatively good and useful man. 

He achieves, in fact, what is best upon the grandest scale. But leave him in boorish ignorance untrained, and he will prove not only very bad but very mischievous, and for this reason, that lacking the knowledge to discern what is right to do, he will frequently lay his hand to villainous practices; whilst the very magnificence and vehemence of his character render it impossible either to rein him in or to turn him aside from his evil courses. Hence in his case also his achievements are on the grandest scale but of the worst. 

Or to take the type of person so eaten up with the pride of riches that he conceives himself dispensed from any further need of education—since it is "money makes the man," and his wealth will amply suffice him to carry out his desires and to win honors from admiring humanity. 

Socrates would bring such people to their senses by pointing out the folly of supposing that without instruction it was possible to draw the line of demarcation between what is gainful and what is hurtful in conduct; and the further folly of supposing that, apart from such discrimination, a man could help himself by means of wealth alone to whatever he liked or find the path of expediency plain before him. 

And was it not the veriest simplicity to suppose that, without the power of laboring profitably, a man can either be doing well or be in any sort of way sufficiently equipped for the battle of life? And again, the veriest simplicity to suppose that by mere wealth without true knowledge it was possible either to purchase a reputation for some excellence, or without such reputation to gain distinction and celebrity? 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 4.1 

IMAGE: Nicolas-Andre Monsiau, Aspasia Conversing with Socrates and Alcibiades (1801) 

Man's Search for Meaning 25

And again, what happened on our arrival in that camp, after a journey lasting two days and three nights? 

There had not been enough room for everybody to crouch on the floor of the carriage at the same time. The majority of us had to stand all the way, while a few took turns at squatting on the scanty straw which was soaked with human urine. 

When we arrived the first important news that we heard from older prisoners was that this comparatively small camp (its population was 2,500) had no "oven," no crematorium, no gas! That meant that a person who had become a "Moslem" could not be taken straight to the gas chamber, but would have to wait until a so-called "sick convoy" had been arranged to return to Auschwitz. 

This joyful surprise put us all in a good mood. The wish of the senior warden of our hut in Auschwitz had come true: we had come, as quickly as possible, to a camp which did not have a "chimney"—unlike Auschwitz. We laughed and cracked jokes in spite of, and during, all we had to go through in the next few hours. 

When we new arrivals were counted, one of us was missing. So we had to wait outside in the rain and cold wind until the missing man was found. He was at last discovered in a hut, where he had fallen asleep from exhaustion. 

Then the roll call was turned into a punishment parade. All through the night and late into the next morning, we had to stand outside, frozen and soaked to the skin after the strain of our long journey. 

And yet we were all very pleased! There was no chimney in this camp and Auschwitz was a long way off. 

—from Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

Seneca, Moral Letters 88.2

Certain persons have made up their minds that the point at issue with regard to the liberal studies is whether they make men good; but they do not even profess or aim at a knowledge of this particular subject. 
 
The scholar busies himself with investigations into language, and if it be his desire to go farther afield, he works on history, or, if he would extend his range to the farthest limits, on poetry.
 
But which of these paves the way to virtue? Pronouncing syllables, investigating words, memorizing plays, or making rules for the scansion of poetry—what is there in all this that rids one of fear, roots out desire, or bridles the passions?
 
The question is: do such men teach virtue, or not? If they do not teach it, then neither do they transmit it. If they do teach it, they are philosophers. 
 
Would you like to know how it happens that they have not taken the chair for the purpose of teaching virtue? See how unlike their subjects are; and yet their subjects would resemble each other if they taught the same thing. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 88 

In the quest for a quick fix and an easy profit, people will try to sell you most anything—and that includes an education. Usually, they will promise you a brilliant career, though you will also find the sophists who claim that their teachings will endow you with the greatest virtues, so you may then belong to the select elders of their tribe, whatever the color of its flag. 

 
The secular humanists assure you that science will rescue the planet, or the pious zealots guarantee you that doctrines will lead to a special place in heaven. The are sadly mistaken, for higher learning will never make us good, even as it might lay the grounds for ultimately choosing to be good. Since no one else can provide it for you, you will have to do it for yourself. 
 
In my remote neck of the woods, I am a fan of studying the “Great Books”, because I find that grappling with a diversity of perspectives is a fine preparation for finally forming one’s own convictions. You cannot come to know yourself without first knowing where you came from. 
 
I am under no illusion, however, that any sort of curriculum has ever saved a man’s soul, or that scholarly exercises will magically impart an excellence of character. 
 
Though it may take on a variety of forms, the liberal arts I admire are not aimed at memorizing a particular content, but at developing certain habits of reason, which strengthen our ability to be free in our judgments; this, and not any political posturing, is what makes them properly “liberal”. 
 
Nevertheless, when I teach the trivium and quadrivium, in the tradition of the Greeks and Romans, I do not pretend that breaking down an argument is a mark of righteousness. 
 
Literature or mathematics can help us in discovering the solution, but they do not provide the solution. If I limit myself to merely picking away at words, or fiddling with an equation, I am not yet engaging in the highest work of being human. I am not yet living in prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice. 

To borrow from the terms of other schools, liberal studies are a material cause, an occasion out of which the virtues may arise, but they are not the efficient cause, the conscious commitment to the true, the good, and the beautiful. To do this is to embrace philosophy, understood in both it broadest and its deepest sense; beyond the technical means are the moral ends. 
 
Let the academics continue with their disputations on disparate topics. Once we can rise up to the first principles of our nature, such divisions will quietly pass away. 

—Reflection written in 2/2014 

Snippets from the Handbook 7

When anything, from the meanest thing upwards, is attractive or serviceable or an object of affection, remember always to say to yourself, "What is its nature?" 

If you are fond of a jug, say you are fond of a jug; then you will not be disturbed if it be broken. 

If you kiss your child or your wife, say to yourself that you are kissing a human being, for then if death strikes it you will not be disturbed. 

—Epictetus, The Handbook 3 

IMAGE: Elizabeth Nourse, The Kiss (1906) 

Jottings on Marcus 9

This you must always bear in mind, what is the Nature of the whole, and what is my nature, and how this is related to that, and what kind of a part it is of what kind of a whole, and that there is no one who hinders you from always doing and saying the things which are according to the Nature of which you are a part. 

—from Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.9 

How often have I been told to "look at the big picture"? It's good advice, so I won't get too caught up in the details, but at the same time, I shouldn't think that the whole is somehow at the expense of the parts. 

My own nature is not worthless in the face of all Nature, and my own actions are not meaningless in the context of Providence. The purpose of the big and the small are made to fit together. 

Whatever else is meant to happen, my choices have their necessary place. I am called to choose well. 

IMAGE: Albrecht Dürer, Celestial Hemispheres (1515) 

Udana 1.4

Thus have I heard. On a certain occasion the Exalted One, soon after the attainment of Buddhahood, dwelt at Uruvela on the banks of the Neranjara stream, at the foot of the Goatherd's Banyan tree. At that time, the Exalted One, after remaining in a sitting posture for seven days, experienced the bliss of Emancipation. And the Exalted One at the end of the seventh day arose from the state of trance.

Now a certain Brahmana of haughty disposition went to where the Blessed One was and drawing near he saluted the Blessed One and after exchanging with him the compliments of friendship and civility, he stationed himself respectfully on one side and while thus standmg he said to the Blessed One; "What, Lord Gotama, is the standard of excellence for a Brahmana, and what is the nature of the works he should perform?" 

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

"He who has put away evil, who is humble, free from impurity, self-restrained, versed in knowledge, leading a holy life,
That man may be truly called a Brahmana.
For him there are no desires anywhere in the world." 

Seneca, Moral Letters 88.1

Letter 88: On liberal and vocational studies   
 
You have been wishing to know my views with regard to liberal studies. My answer is this: I respect no study, and deem no study good, which results in money-making. 
 
Such studies are profit-bringing occupations, useful only in so far as they give the mind a preparation and do not engage it permanently. One should linger upon them only so long as the mind can occupy itself with nothing greater; they are our apprenticeship, not our real work.
 
Hence you see why “liberal studies” are so called; it is because they are studies worthy of a free-born gentleman. 
 
But there is only one really liberal study—that which gives a man his liberty. It is the study of wisdom, and that is lofty, brave, and great-souled. All other studies are puny and puerile. 
 
You surely do not believe that there is good in any of the subjects whose teachers are, as you see, men of the most ignoble and base stamp? We ought not to be learning such things; we should have done with learning them. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 88 
 
On the rare occasions when folks read one of my informal reflections, they are often disappointed that I haven’t thoroughly “explained” the text to them. 
 
This would not surprise them, however, if they observed the way I teach; I have no intention of just giving you an answer, because I’m not even sure I have one for myself, and I would much rather we spend some time working through it together. How can anyone arrive at a conclusion if he hasn’t done the reasoning for himself, step by trying step? 
 
Of all Seneca’s letters, this is surely the one I have written about the most. I have a scholarly interest in the topic, of course, but my greater concern has always been how the practice of the liberal arts is an expression of a radically different model of the human person, so firmly opposed to our usual way of treating people as mere producers and consumers. 
 
Once we recognize something more about our true nature, we must then reconsider our assumptions about what it means to learn. 
 
If you believe that man is only made to increase the goods of his body, then you might be right to pursue an education that will help you become richer and more gratified. If, on the other hand, you believe that man is first made to increase the goods of his soul, then you will seek out an education to help you become wiser and more loving. 
 
My attachment to Stoicism is largely due to its insistence on virtue as our highest good, and my attachment to the liberal arts is largely due to their suitability as aids for becoming more virtuous. 
 
I am regularly told how I am not being “realistic”, since our students need good jobs in order to be successful. Now while I would never deny the utility of putting food on the table and a roof over our heads, I’m afraid I have very different standard of what constitutes success: I consider a life to be “real” when we fulfill the end for which we are created, not when we settle for sitting in a cubicle while filling out spreadsheets, just so that one man out of many thousands can then buy himself a vacation home. 
 
As creatures of mind and will, we are perfected by wisdom and virtue. No amount of money will do us a bit of good without an excellence of character, and the most immediate proof for this is the way most of my generation crawls along in a state of abject misery. We’ve already tried economic efficiency—now maybe it’s time to search for a moral compass. 
 
So, no, I will not try to qualify what Seneca has said. If we really wish to be free, we should begin by improving our powers of judgment. A true liberty is not about manipulating the circumstances, but about ruling ourselves, such that we are prepared to accept any variation of fortune as an opportunity to act from sound principles. 
 
When the university administrator praises such noble values, be sure to check if his words are then matched by his deeds. All too often, you will find that he is actually just running a business, and he has little interest in offering a service. In discovering how he lacks integrity, you are a step closer to choosing a very different path. 

—Reflection written in 2/2014 

IMAGE: Niccolo Giolfino, The Liberal Arts (c. 1520) 

Bach 11, Brandenburg Concerto 2

Johann Sebastian Bach, Brandenburg Concerto no. 2 in F major, BWV 1047, Netherlands Bach Society 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 203

An over-taxed patience gives way to fierce anger. 

Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 24

Again, of good things, some are things which exist in themselves, and some are relative dispositions. 

Knowledge, just action, and similar things are things which exist in themselves. Honor, goodwill, friendship, and agreement are relative. 

And knowledge is a grasp which is secure and unchangeable by argument; another definition: knowledge is a complex system of grasps of this sort, such as knowledge of the particulars, which is, in the virtuous man, rational; another definition: a complex system of craftsmanlike knowledge, which provides its own stability, which is what the virtues are like; another definition: a condition receptive of presentations which is unchangeable by argument, which they say consists in a tension and power of the soul. 

Friendship is a community of life. Agreement is a sharing of opinions about things relevant to life. 

Within friendship, familiarity is friendship with people who are well known to you; habituation is friendship with people you have become accustomed to; companionship is friendship by choice, such as that with one’s contemporaries; guest-friendship is friendship with foreigners; there is also a kind of family friendship between relatives; and an erotic friendship based on sexual love. 

And painlessness and organization are the same as temperance, just as insight and wits are the same as prudence and sharing and generosity are the same as good-heartedness; for they have been given names by reference to their relative dispositions. And one must note this too in each of the other virtues. 

IMAGE: Robert Lewis Reid, Knowledge (1896) 

Proverbs 5:15-23

[15] Drink water from your own cistern,
flowing water from your own well.
[16] Should your springs be scattered abroad,
streams of water in the streets?
[17] Let them be for yourself alone,
and not for strangers with you.
[18] Let your fountain be blessed,
and rejoice in the wife of your youth,
[19] a lovely hind, a graceful doe.
Let her affection fill you at all times with delight,
be infatuated always with her love.
[20] Why should you be infatuated, my son, with a loose woman
and embrace the bosom of an adventuress?
[21] For a man's ways are before the eyes of the Lord,
and he watches all his paths.
[22] The iniquities of the wicked ensnare him,
and he is caught in the toils of his sin.
[23] He dies for lack of discipline,
and because of his great folly he is lost. 

IMAGE: Fleury Francois Richard, Young Woman at a Fountain (1824) 

Stonehenge

J.M.W. Turner, Stonehenge (1828)