The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Monday, July 6, 2026
Man's Search for Meaning 22
Earlier, I mentioned art. Is there such a thing in a concentration camp? It rather depends on what one chooses to call art.
A kind of cabaret was improvised from time to time. A hut was cleared temporarily, a few wooden benches were pushed or nailed together and a program was drawn up. In the evening those who had fairly good positions in camp—the Capos and the workers who did not have to leave camp on distant marches—assembled there. They came to have a few laughs or perhaps to cry a little; anyway, to forget.
There were songs, poems, jokes, some with underlying satire regarding the camp. All were meant to help us forget, and they did help. The gatherings were so effective that a few ordinary prisoners went to see the cabaret in spite of their fatigue even though they missed their daily portion of food by going.
During the half-hour lunch interval when soup (which the contractors paid for and for which they did not spend much) was ladled out at our work site, we were allowed to assemble in an unfinished engine room. On entering, everyone got a ladleful of the watery soup. While we sipped it greedily, a prisoner climbed onto a tub and sang Italian arias. We enjoyed the songs, and he was guaranteed a double helping of soup, straight "from the bottom"—that meant with peas!
Rewards were given in camp not only for entertainment, but also for applause. I, for example, could have found protection (how lucky I was never in need of it!) from the camp's most dreaded Capo, who for more than one good reason was known as "The Murderous Capo." This is how it happened.
One evening I had the great honor of being invited again to the room where the spiritualistic séance had taken place. There were gathered the same intimate friends of the chief doctor and, most illegally, the warrant officer from the sanitation squad was again present. The Murderous Capo entered the room by chance, and he was asked to recite one of his poems, which had become famous (or infamous) in camp. He did not need to be asked twice and quickly produced a kind of diary from which he began to read samples of his art.
I bit my lips till they hurt in order to keep from laughing at one of his love poems, and very likely that saved my life. Since I was also generous with my applause, my life might have been saved even had I been detailed to his working party to which I had previously been assigned for one day—a day that was quite enough for me. It was useful, anyway, to be known to The Murderous Capo from a favourable angle. So I applauded as hard as I could.
Generally speaking, of course, any pursuit of art in camp was somewhat grotesque. I would say that the real impression made by anything connected with art arose only from the ghostlike contrast between the performance and the background of desolate camp life.
I shall never forget how I awoke from the deep sleep of exhaustion on my second night in Auschwitz—roused by music. The senior warden of the hut had some kind of celebration in his room, which was near the entrance of the hut. Tipsy voices bawled some hackneyed tunes. Suddenly there was a silence and into the night a violin sang a desperately sad tango, an unusual tune not spoiled by frequent playing.
The violin wept and a part of me wept with it, for on that same day someone had a twenty-fourth birthday.That someone lay in another part of the Auschwitz camp, possibly only a few hundred or a thousand yards away, and yet completely out of reach. That someone was my wife.
—from Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning
Sunday, July 5, 2026
Bach 8, Ach Herr, mich armen Sünder
Epictetus, Discourses 2.12.2
Now how did Socrates proceed? He compelled the man who was conversing with him to be his witness, and needed no witness besides.
Therefore, he was able to say: “I am satisfied with my opponent as a witness, and let everyone else alone: and I do not take the votes of other people, but only of him who is arguing with me.”
For he drew out so clearly the consequences of a man's conceptions that everyone realized the contradiction and abandoned it.
“Does the man who envies rejoice in his envy?”
“Not at all; he is pained rather than pleased.”
Thus he rouses his neighbor by contradiction.
“Well, does envy seem to you to be a feeling of pain at evil things? Yet how can there be envy of things evil?”
So he makes his opponent say that envy is pain felt at good things.
“Again, can a man envy things which do not concern him?”
“Certainly not.”
In this way he made the conception full and articulate, and so went away. He did not say, “Define me envy”, and then, when the man defined it, “You define it ill, for the terms of the definition do not correspond to the subject defined."
Therefore, he was able to say: “I am satisfied with my opponent as a witness, and let everyone else alone: and I do not take the votes of other people, but only of him who is arguing with me.”
For he drew out so clearly the consequences of a man's conceptions that everyone realized the contradiction and abandoned it.
“Does the man who envies rejoice in his envy?”
“Not at all; he is pained rather than pleased.”
Thus he rouses his neighbor by contradiction.
“Well, does envy seem to you to be a feeling of pain at evil things? Yet how can there be envy of things evil?”
So he makes his opponent say that envy is pain felt at good things.
“Again, can a man envy things which do not concern him?”
“Certainly not.”
In this way he made the conception full and articulate, and so went away. He did not say, “Define me envy”, and then, when the man defined it, “You define it ill, for the terms of the definition do not correspond to the subject defined."
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.12
When I was first introduced to Socrates, somewhere around the age of fourteen, I disliked the old fellow intensely. It felt as if the blowhard was always calling me out, or making me feel ignorant, or damaging my self-esteem, until I gradually realized how this said far more about me than it ever did about him. I attached a smug tone and a condescending smirk to his words, which was nothing but a product of my unruly imagination.
It can be quite a slap in the face to have one’s assumptions challenged, even if the question is offered in good faith. If I can manage to be humble for a moment, I will be grateful for the chance to finally be responsible for myself, leaving behind a dependence on the lazy platitudes and the herd mentality.
On any given day, how often do I use a word, without quite knowing what it means? A bully, of course, will just try to humiliate me for my error, and yet a friend will offer me the opportunity to work it out for myself, through my own thinking, and in my own time. Where the intention is pure, there is never any need for conflict.
Back in high school, I didn’t know how to pronounce “segue” when I was reading aloud, and our class snob wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. I felt certain I had my revenge, however, when she later mangled “boatswain”, but that just proved how I hadn’t really learned my lesson. Decent people thrive by building up, not by tearing down.
More recently, I was using “jealousy” and “envy” in a sloppy manner, at which point someone casually asked me if they meant the same thing. I thought about it for a moment, corrected myself, and was then swept up in a fascinating diversion about the difference between “guilt” and “shame”. It was only much later that I realized how I had been schooled without even being aware of it, much like the time a doctor gave me a shot when I was wasn’t looking.
It is one thing to be scolded for spouting nonsense, and quite another to be motivated into discovering my mistake through my own personal reflection. I think of it like approaching the problem from the inside instead of from the outside, by addressing the causes over hacking away at the effects, or by doing it for myself rather than having it done for me.
Beyond merely feeling envy, there was a time when I would actually take a certain delight in it, a sort of perverse satisfaction in being grossly dissatisfied. Now if you had yelled at me for trying to live a contradiction, or laughed at me for being so pathetic, I would probably have taken it as another excuse for a pity party. But if you had taken the time to ask me if it was possible to be pained by something good, or to be laid low by something that wasn’t properly my business, I would probably have reconsidered my bad habits.
The Socratic Method was far more than a parlor trick. It was a way to help people to help themselves.
When I was first introduced to Socrates, somewhere around the age of fourteen, I disliked the old fellow intensely. It felt as if the blowhard was always calling me out, or making me feel ignorant, or damaging my self-esteem, until I gradually realized how this said far more about me than it ever did about him. I attached a smug tone and a condescending smirk to his words, which was nothing but a product of my unruly imagination.
It can be quite a slap in the face to have one’s assumptions challenged, even if the question is offered in good faith. If I can manage to be humble for a moment, I will be grateful for the chance to finally be responsible for myself, leaving behind a dependence on the lazy platitudes and the herd mentality.
On any given day, how often do I use a word, without quite knowing what it means? A bully, of course, will just try to humiliate me for my error, and yet a friend will offer me the opportunity to work it out for myself, through my own thinking, and in my own time. Where the intention is pure, there is never any need for conflict.
Back in high school, I didn’t know how to pronounce “segue” when I was reading aloud, and our class snob wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. I felt certain I had my revenge, however, when she later mangled “boatswain”, but that just proved how I hadn’t really learned my lesson. Decent people thrive by building up, not by tearing down.
More recently, I was using “jealousy” and “envy” in a sloppy manner, at which point someone casually asked me if they meant the same thing. I thought about it for a moment, corrected myself, and was then swept up in a fascinating diversion about the difference between “guilt” and “shame”. It was only much later that I realized how I had been schooled without even being aware of it, much like the time a doctor gave me a shot when I was wasn’t looking.
It is one thing to be scolded for spouting nonsense, and quite another to be motivated into discovering my mistake through my own personal reflection. I think of it like approaching the problem from the inside instead of from the outside, by addressing the causes over hacking away at the effects, or by doing it for myself rather than having it done for me.
Beyond merely feeling envy, there was a time when I would actually take a certain delight in it, a sort of perverse satisfaction in being grossly dissatisfied. Now if you had yelled at me for trying to live a contradiction, or laughed at me for being so pathetic, I would probably have taken it as another excuse for a pity party. But if you had taken the time to ask me if it was possible to be pained by something good, or to be laid low by something that wasn’t properly my business, I would probably have reconsidered my bad habits.
The Socratic Method was far more than a parlor trick. It was a way to help people to help themselves.
—Reflection written in 8/2001
IMAGE: Johann Friedrich Greuter, Socrates and His Students (c. 1650)
Saturday, July 4, 2026
Sayings of Ramakrishna 286
A snake dwelt in a certain place. No one dared to pass by that way. For whoever did so was instantaneously bitten to death.
Once a Mahâtman passed by that road, and the serpent ran after the sage in order to bite him. But when the snake approached the holy man he lost all his ferocity, and was overpowered by the gentleness of the Yogin.
Seeing the snake, the sage said, "Well, friend, do you think to bite me?"
The snake was abashed and made no reply. At this the sage said, "Hearken, friend, do not injure anybody in future." The snake bowed and nodded assent.
The sage went his own way and the snake entered his hole, and thenceforward began to live a life of innocence and purity without even attempting to harm anyone.
In a few days, all the neighborhood began to think that the snake had lost all his venom, and was no more dangerous, and so everyone began to tease him. Some pelted him, others dragged him mercilessly by the tail, and in this way there was no end to his troubles.
Fortunately, the sage again passed by that way, and seeing the bruised and battered condition of the good snake, was very much moved, and inquired the cause of his distress.
At this the snake replied, "Holy sir, this is because I do not injure anyone, after your advice. But alas! they are so merciless!"
The sage smilingly said, "My dear friend, I simply advised you not to bite anyone, but I did not tell you not to frighten others. Although you should not bite any creature, still you should keep every one at a considerable distance by hissing at him."
Similarly, if you live in the world, make yourself feared and respected. Do not injure anyone, but be not, at the same time, injured by others.
Friday, July 3, 2026
Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 22
For such things as joy, good spirits, and temperate conversation consist in motion, whereas such things as a well-ordered quietude, undisturbed rest, and a manly attention consist in a state.
Of things which consist in a state, some also consist in a condition, such as the virtues; others are only in a state, such as the above mentioned.
Not only the virtues consist in a condition, but also the crafts which are transformed in the virtuous man by his virtue and so become unchangeable; for they become quasi-virtues.
And they say that the so-called practices are also among the goods which consist in a condition, such as love of music, love of letters, love of geometry, and the like.
For there is a method which selects those elements in such crafts which have an affinity to virtue, by referring them to the goal of life.
IMAGE: Albrecht Dürer, St. Jerome in His Study (1514)
Epictetus, Discourses 2.12.1
Chapter 12: On the art of discussion.
Our philosophers have precisely defined what a man must learn in order to know how to argue: but we are still quite unpracticed in the proper use of what we have learned.
Give any one of us you like an unskilled person to argue with, and he does not discover how to deal with him: he just rouses the man for a moment, and then if he answers him in the wrong key, he cannot deal with him any longer.
He either reviles him or laughs at him ever after, and says, “He is an ignoramus, there is nothing to be got out of him.”
But the true guide, when he finds a man wandering, leads him to the right road, instead of leaving him with a gibe or an insult. So should you do. Only show him the truth and you will see that he follows. But so long as you do not show it him, do not laugh at him, but rather realize your own incapacity.
Our philosophers have precisely defined what a man must learn in order to know how to argue: but we are still quite unpracticed in the proper use of what we have learned.
Give any one of us you like an unskilled person to argue with, and he does not discover how to deal with him: he just rouses the man for a moment, and then if he answers him in the wrong key, he cannot deal with him any longer.
He either reviles him or laughs at him ever after, and says, “He is an ignoramus, there is nothing to be got out of him.”
But the true guide, when he finds a man wandering, leads him to the right road, instead of leaving him with a gibe or an insult. So should you do. Only show him the truth and you will see that he follows. But so long as you do not show it him, do not laugh at him, but rather realize your own incapacity.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.12
I have now been on the inside of academia for long enough to divulge one thing to those who are fortunate enough to remain on the outside: while we might be brilliant when it comes to the theory in our books, we are not so terribly good at the practice of dealing with people.
Now all trades can involve a certain degree of grandstanding, but at least the lawyer or the doctor can’t get away with alienating the client or the patient. It’s a shame when the fellow who should be engaging with an argument in the best sense, of patiently arriving at a conclusion from the premises, ends up sinking to an argument in the worst sense, of petty insults and endless bickering.
I usually assume that people don’t like philosophers because we busy ourselves with useless abstractions, and then I remember how every man needs to answer such questions of meaning and of value, whether he happens to be an executive or a janitor. No, the problem is that the scholar simply doesn’t know how to have a conversation with John Doe: he speaks at him instead of talking with him.
However subtle or cultured it may be, contempt always remains contempt, so we shouldn’t be surprised when folks take offense at being treated like fools. For all the clever put-downs I have heard in the classroom or at a conference, not a single one has ever been an aid to any greater understanding. One man walks away feeling self-satisfied, and the other man walks away full of resentment.
The best teachers I had, the ones who rarely won tenure or got their pictures printed on dustjackets, didn’t look down their noses at me, or grow frustrated when I failed to immediately grasp what they were attempting to explain. They stayed by my side, and they would try again and again, eager to find some new perspective to give me a clearer view. If I stared back at them blankly, they did not blame me for being stupid—they challenged themselves to become more careful and considerate.
Those who have truly earned the name of “philosopher” are those who work by proposing rather than imposing. They ask you to think for yourself, and never to toe the party line. They will offer you a friendly nudge instead of twisting your arm. The wish for you to understand the reasons why by your own power, not to comply with the pretentious fancies of their power.
“But these kids are just so damned ignorant!” Pray tell, whose fault is that? They don’t know any better, and yet you claim that you do know better. So why are you slapping them on the wrist instead of taking them by the hand?
I have now been on the inside of academia for long enough to divulge one thing to those who are fortunate enough to remain on the outside: while we might be brilliant when it comes to the theory in our books, we are not so terribly good at the practice of dealing with people.
Now all trades can involve a certain degree of grandstanding, but at least the lawyer or the doctor can’t get away with alienating the client or the patient. It’s a shame when the fellow who should be engaging with an argument in the best sense, of patiently arriving at a conclusion from the premises, ends up sinking to an argument in the worst sense, of petty insults and endless bickering.
I usually assume that people don’t like philosophers because we busy ourselves with useless abstractions, and then I remember how every man needs to answer such questions of meaning and of value, whether he happens to be an executive or a janitor. No, the problem is that the scholar simply doesn’t know how to have a conversation with John Doe: he speaks at him instead of talking with him.
However subtle or cultured it may be, contempt always remains contempt, so we shouldn’t be surprised when folks take offense at being treated like fools. For all the clever put-downs I have heard in the classroom or at a conference, not a single one has ever been an aid to any greater understanding. One man walks away feeling self-satisfied, and the other man walks away full of resentment.
The best teachers I had, the ones who rarely won tenure or got their pictures printed on dustjackets, didn’t look down their noses at me, or grow frustrated when I failed to immediately grasp what they were attempting to explain. They stayed by my side, and they would try again and again, eager to find some new perspective to give me a clearer view. If I stared back at them blankly, they did not blame me for being stupid—they challenged themselves to become more careful and considerate.
Those who have truly earned the name of “philosopher” are those who work by proposing rather than imposing. They ask you to think for yourself, and never to toe the party line. They will offer you a friendly nudge instead of twisting your arm. The wish for you to understand the reasons why by your own power, not to comply with the pretentious fancies of their power.
“But these kids are just so damned ignorant!” Pray tell, whose fault is that? They don’t know any better, and yet you claim that you do know better. So why are you slapping them on the wrist instead of taking them by the hand?
—Reflection written in 8/2001
Thursday, July 2, 2026
Stoic Snippets 285
Where is the hardship then, if no tyrant nor yet an unjust judge sends you away from the state, but Nature, who brought you into it?
The same as if a praetor who has employed an actor dismisses him from the stage.
"But I have not finished the five acts, but only three of them!"
You say it well, but in life the three acts are the whole drama; for what shall be a complete drama is determined by him who was once the cause of its composition, and now of its dissolution: but you are the cause of neither.
Depart then satisfied, for he also who releases you is satisfied.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.36
IMAGE: Gustave Moreau, The Young Man and Death (1865)
Wednesday, July 1, 2026
Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 10.4
. . . Thus Epictetus has given a short but exact character of these three sorts of persons.
The perfect philosophers are guilty of no miscarriages; for their understanding is sufficiently accomplished to direct them, and the irrational part readily submits to those directions. So that there is nothing but harmony and compliance, and consequently, they have nobody to lay any misery to the charge of; for indeed, they cannot labor under anything that is truly and properly misery. They cause none to themselves, for this would be a contradiction to the perfection of their wisdom and virtue, and nothing else causes them any, for they do not suppose any external causes capable of doing it.
The ignorant and untaught err in both these respects. Neither their reason, nor their passions, are rightly disposed. They lay all their unhappiness to others, upon an erroneous imagination, that it proceeds from things without us. And indeed, it is easy and pleasant, and fit for ignorant wretches, to shuffle off their own faults from themselves, and throw them upon other people.
The young proficient, who has attained to the first principles of wisdom, though he be guilty of some miscarriages, and falls now and then into evil, yet he understands wherein it consists, and from whence it is derived, and what it was that first gave birth to it; and therefore he lays it at the right door.
And these marks are so distinguishing, that no man, who makes a wise use of them, can be in danger of confounding these three classes of men, the accomplished philosopher, the rude and untaught, and the young proficient.
This metaphor is so much the more warrantable and pertinent, for the resemblance which education bears to the management of ourselves: for this is properly the training up of a child, under the care and correction of a master.
Our sensual part is the child in us; and, like all other children, does not know its own good, and is violently bent upon pleasure and pastime. The master that has the care of it, is reason; this fashions our desires, prescribes them their bounds, reduces and restrains them, and directs them to that which is best for them.
So that the ignorant and untaught live the life of a child left to himself, run giddily on, are perpetually in fault, as being heady and heedless, and minding nothing, but the gratifying of their own inclinations; and so these men never think themselves to blame.
The young proficients have their master at hand, correcting and instruction them; and the child in them is pretty towardly, and begins to submit to rules.
So that if these men are at any time in the wrong, they are presently sensible who has been to blame, and accuse nobody but the offender himself.
But the perfect and accomplished philosophers are such, whose master keeps a constant eye upon them, and has conquered the child’s stubborn and perverse spirit.
So that now he is corrected and improved, and has attained to the perfection he was intended for; that is, the being observant to the master, and absolutely at his direction. For the proper virtue of a child is this readiness to receive and to obey instructions.
Proverbs 4:20-27
incline your ear to my sayings.
[21] Let them not escape from your sight;
keep them within your heart.
[22] For they are life to him who finds them,
and healing to all his flesh.
[23] Keep your heart with all vigilance;
for from it flow the springs of life.
[24] Put away from you crooked speech,
and put devious talk far from you.
[25] Let your eyes look directly forward,
and your gaze be straight before you.
[26] Take heed to the path of your feet,
then all your ways will be sure.
[27] Do not swerve to the right or to the left;
turn your foot away from evil.
IMAGE: Nicholas Roerich, The Straight Path (1912)
Tuesday, June 30, 2026
Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 10.3
. . . None but ignorant and undisciplined people tax others with their misfortunes. The young proficient blames himself; but he who is a philosopher indeed, blames neither others nor himself.
Comment:
The connection of this with what went before is so close, that if a conjunction were added, and we read thus, for none but ignorant and undisciplined people tax other with their misfortunes, it would give a very good reason why we should never lay our troubles, or fears, or disorders, or any other calamity we fancy ourselves in, to anything, or anybody’s charge, but our own: since this way of proceeding, he says, comes from want of being taught better. And then to this character of the ignorant and undisciplined, he adds those of one who is a beginner only in philosophy, and one who has attained to a mastery in it.
The perfect philosopher never thinks anything, that befalls him, evil; or charges anybody with being the occasion of his misfortunes; because he lives up to the dictates of nature and reason, and is never disappointed in his pursuits and desires, nor ever overtaken with his fears.
He that is but raw and unfinished, does indeed sometimes miss of his desires, and fall into the mischiefs he would flee from, because the brutish inclinations move too strongly in him at such times. And when this happens, the first elements he learned, which taught him to distinguish things in and out of our power, teach him too, that he himself, and none but he, is the true cause of all his disappointments, and all his disasters. And the occasion of them all was his mistaking the things without us, and placing a man’s proper good and evil in them.
But you will say, perhaps, since this young philosopher knows, that our own proper good and evil depends upon our own power and choice (and the accusing himself implies that he knows thus much), how comes it to pass, that he takes wrong measures, and renders himself liable to this blame?
Probably, because the knowledge of good and evil is the first step to be made toward virtue, this being the proper act of reason: but the brutish appetites do not always presently submit to reason, nor suffer themselves to be easily reduced and tempered by it; and especially, where it happens, as it does very often, that reason is negligent and sluggish, and the irrational part active, and perpetually in motion, by which means the passions gather strength, and usurp and absolute dominion. This was the case of her in the play:
Remorse and sense of guilt pull back my soul,
But stronger passion does her powers control;
With rage transported, I push boldly on,
And see the precipice I cannot shun.
With rage transported, I push boldly on,
And see the precipice I cannot shun.
So that for some time it is pretty tolerable, if reason can work upon the passions, and either draw them by force, or charm and win them over some softer way: for, when this is done, then the knowledge of the intelligent part is more clear and instructive, and proceeds without any distraction at all.
No wonder therefore, if men but little trained in philosophy make some false steps while their passions are not yet totally subdued, and their reason does not operate in its full strength. And when they do so, they accuse themselves only, as having admitted that distinction of things in and out of our own power, though as yet they seem to have but an imperfect notion of it.
But they that are ignorant, and absolutely untaught, must needs commit a world of errors, both because of that violent agitation which their passions are continually in, and of the ignorance of their rational part, which has not yet learned to distinguish real good and evil, from what is so in appearance only: nor does it take them off from brutality, not so much as in thought only. By brutality I mean such low and mean notions, as persuade us, that our body is properly ourselves, and our nature; or, which is yet worse, when we think our riches so, as the covetous do.
Now while we continue thus ignorant, there are several accounts to be given for our doing amiss: we do it, because we think all our good and evil consist in things without us; and, not being at all sensible, what is properly the happiness or unhappiness of human nature, or whence it proceeds, we fall foul upon other people; and fancy, that they, who obstruct or deprive us of those external advantages we so eagerly pursue, or that bring upon us any of the calamities we would avoid, are the real causes of all our misery.
Though in truth, neither those external advantages which we call good, nor those calamities we call evil, are what we take them for; but, as circumstances are sometimes ordered, may prove the direct contrary. For our folly in this case is just like that of silly boys, who cannot endure their masters, but think them their worst enemies, and the cause of a world of misery, but value and love those as their friends, indeed, that invite them to play and pleasure. . . .
Epictetus, Discourses 2.11.5
What subject, I might ask, lies before us for our present discussion?
“Pleasure.”
Submit it to the rule, put it in the balance. Ought the good to be something which is worthy to inspire confidence and trust?
“It ought.”
Is it proper to have confidence in anything which is insecure?
“No.”
Has pleasure, then, any certainty in it?
“No.”
Away with it then! Cast it from the scales and drive it far away from the region of good things. But if your sight is not keen, and you are not satisfied with one set of scales, try another.
Is it proper to be elated at what is good?
“It is.”
Is it proper, then, to be elated at the pleasure of the moment? Be careful how you say that it is proper. If you do, I shall not count you worthy of the scales.
Thus, things are judged and weighed if we have standards ready to test them: and in fact the work of philosophy is to investigate and firmly establish such standards; and the duty of the good man is to proceed to apply the decisions arrived at.
“Pleasure.”
Submit it to the rule, put it in the balance. Ought the good to be something which is worthy to inspire confidence and trust?
“It ought.”
Is it proper to have confidence in anything which is insecure?
“No.”
Has pleasure, then, any certainty in it?
“No.”
Away with it then! Cast it from the scales and drive it far away from the region of good things. But if your sight is not keen, and you are not satisfied with one set of scales, try another.
Is it proper to be elated at what is good?
“It is.”
Is it proper, then, to be elated at the pleasure of the moment? Be careful how you say that it is proper. If you do, I shall not count you worthy of the scales.
Thus, things are judged and weighed if we have standards ready to test them: and in fact the work of philosophy is to investigate and firmly establish such standards; and the duty of the good man is to proceed to apply the decisions arrived at.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.11
So as to assure us that philosophy does not have to be such a perplexing task, Epictetus offers us an example of determining the measure, the sort of inquiry that any thoughtful and patient person can practice, without any training in scholarly subtleties.
And we should not be intimated by obscure terms, especially when the experts hurl them at us in Greek, because there are perfectly good words, from our own everyday language, that can do the job just as well.
Begin with the thing that most people seek in their daily lives: “pleasure”. Then add what is probably the most common adjective: “good”. What does each of these mean? How can they be weighed against one another? We will not get very far if we don’t understand the proper relationship between them.
I often suggest a dry run before addressing the really important stuff, so ask yourself what qualities you might attribute to a good car. You would certainly appreciate style, and luxury, and breathtaking performance, but what use would any of that be if the car is not reliable? I once knew a fellow who owned a Maserati Biturbo, and he was so deeply sad, because it was always at the mechanic and never out on the road.
The same will be true in the more essential aspects of our lives. When push comes to shove, can I rely upon this or that situation to serve me well? I recall the many opportunities I assumed would set me free, only to still find myself dissatisfied. I think of how often I had faith in a so-called friend, and I was then left high and dry when the going got tough. I recognize how many times I made the wrong bet, when the sure thing was right in front of me all along.
With that in mind, will pleasure be a constant source of benefit? Is it absolutely trustworthy, or must I attach various conditions? Even the avowed hedonist is forced to admit how his desires have regularly left him in the lurch, so if gratification is merely relative, it cannot be synonymous with the good we are seeking.
Whatever is contingent has to proceed from what is necessary, or to put it more simply, once I admit how “it depends on . . . ”, I have not yet isolated a meaningful standard. I may call it fun, but that doesn’t make it good.
Coming from a different angle, I don’t believe I have recently heard anyone speak of being “elated”, though I constantly observe people being “excited”, “super-excited”, and “stoked”. We are quick to praise unbridled enthusiasm, though we unfortunately forget why the difference lies in the object of our eagerness. A passion for treachery is far removed from a passion for fidelity. Let us choose our pleasures wisely, so as not to let them destroy us.
Where is the balance? What is the greater, and what is the lesser? To establish the measure, to discover the rule that applies to the particulars, is a requirement for life, not merely an option. This is why we are all called to be authentic philosophers.
So as to assure us that philosophy does not have to be such a perplexing task, Epictetus offers us an example of determining the measure, the sort of inquiry that any thoughtful and patient person can practice, without any training in scholarly subtleties.
And we should not be intimated by obscure terms, especially when the experts hurl them at us in Greek, because there are perfectly good words, from our own everyday language, that can do the job just as well.
Begin with the thing that most people seek in their daily lives: “pleasure”. Then add what is probably the most common adjective: “good”. What does each of these mean? How can they be weighed against one another? We will not get very far if we don’t understand the proper relationship between them.
I often suggest a dry run before addressing the really important stuff, so ask yourself what qualities you might attribute to a good car. You would certainly appreciate style, and luxury, and breathtaking performance, but what use would any of that be if the car is not reliable? I once knew a fellow who owned a Maserati Biturbo, and he was so deeply sad, because it was always at the mechanic and never out on the road.
The same will be true in the more essential aspects of our lives. When push comes to shove, can I rely upon this or that situation to serve me well? I recall the many opportunities I assumed would set me free, only to still find myself dissatisfied. I think of how often I had faith in a so-called friend, and I was then left high and dry when the going got tough. I recognize how many times I made the wrong bet, when the sure thing was right in front of me all along.
With that in mind, will pleasure be a constant source of benefit? Is it absolutely trustworthy, or must I attach various conditions? Even the avowed hedonist is forced to admit how his desires have regularly left him in the lurch, so if gratification is merely relative, it cannot be synonymous with the good we are seeking.
Whatever is contingent has to proceed from what is necessary, or to put it more simply, once I admit how “it depends on . . . ”, I have not yet isolated a meaningful standard. I may call it fun, but that doesn’t make it good.
Coming from a different angle, I don’t believe I have recently heard anyone speak of being “elated”, though I constantly observe people being “excited”, “super-excited”, and “stoked”. We are quick to praise unbridled enthusiasm, though we unfortunately forget why the difference lies in the object of our eagerness. A passion for treachery is far removed from a passion for fidelity. Let us choose our pleasures wisely, so as not to let them destroy us.
Where is the balance? What is the greater, and what is the lesser? To establish the measure, to discover the rule that applies to the particulars, is a requirement for life, not merely an option. This is why we are all called to be authentic philosophers.
—Reflection written in 8/2001
Monday, June 29, 2026
Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 10.2
. . . Now Epictetus, it is true, has drawn his argument from that which is generally esteemed the most formidable evil that we are capable of suffering: but however, since most of us, when we lie under the present smart of any calamity, straightaway imagine it worse than death (for what can be more usual, than for people in pain, and very often in no great extremity of it neither, to wish for death to deliver them from it, and when reduced to poverty, to tell us, they had much rather be dead than live in want?) upon this account, we may apply Epictetus’ argument to these instances also.
As to pain, what degree of it is there so violent, which men, nay even those of low and vulgar spirits, are not content to go through, to cure a dangerous disease? They do not only endure, but choose and pay for it: they thank their physicians for putting them to torture, and look upon cutting and burning, as acts of the greatest tenderness and friendship.
Now, though this makes it pretty plain, that men, who are well pleased to purchase life so dear, must needs be of the opinion, that no pain is so terrible to human nature as death; yet the principal use I would make of this observation is, to show, that men can really suffer with great patience and resolution, can harden themselves against what they count very dreadful, and meet it with a composed countenance, when once they are persuaded, that enduring it will be for their advantage.
What prodigious instances of patience were the Lacedaemonian youths, who endured scourgings so barbarous, as almost to expire under the rod, and all this, merely for a little ostentation and vainglory? Now this, it is evident, they did not out of any compulsion, but freely and cheerfully; for they offered themselves to the trial, of their own accord.
And the reason why they held out so obstinately was, not that their sense of pain was less quick and tender than that of other people (though more hardened too than people who indulge themselves in effeminacy and ease), but because they thought it their glory and their virtue, to suffer manfully and resolutely.
For the same reason, Epictetus would tell you, that poverty is no such formidable thing neither: because he can produce the example of Crates the Theban to the contrary; who, when he disposed of all he was worth to the public, and said,
Let others keep, or mourn lost, store,
Crates’ own hands make Crates poor.
That moment put an end to his slavery; and his freedom commenced, from the time he had disburdened himself of his wealth.
Now the manifest consequence of all this is, that nothing of this kind is terrible and insupportable in its own nature, as we fondly imagine. So far from it, that there may be some cases, when such things are much more eligible, and better for us: I mean, when they are converted to higher and more excellent purposes for our own selves; by tending to the advantage and improvement of the reasonable soul.
The only expedient, to retain an even temper in the midst of these accidents, is to possess our minds with just notions of them. And the regulating of these notions is in our own power: consequently, the preventing of those disorders, that proceed from the want of such a regulation, is in our own power too.
And one great advantage to persons thus disposed will be, the learning how to manage those things that are not at our disposal, as though they were. For if it be not in my power to prevent defamation or disgrace, the loss of my goods or my estate, affronts and violent insults upon my person, yet thus much is in my power, to possess myself with right apprehensions of these things; to consider them, not only as not evil, but sometimes the instruments and occasion of great good.
Now such an opinion as this, makes it almost the same thing to a man, as if they did not happen at all; or, which is all one, makes him think himself never the worse, but sometimes the better for them, when they do. And I take it for granted, that every wise man will allow it more for our (that is, for the soul’s) honor and advantage, to have behaved ourselves gallantly under afflictions, than never to have been afflicted at all: and the greater still in proportion, is the honor and advantage gained by them.
For, as to bodies that are able to bear it, the most violent motions exercise them best, and make greatest improvements of health, and strength, and activity; so the mind too must be put upon sharp trials sometimes, to qualify it for suffering gallantly, when any accident gives us an occasion.
And this may be accomplished these two way: by getting a right notion of them, and by being well prepared against them. And this is to be done, partly, by accustoming the body to hardship, which indeed is of general use, and has enabled even ignorant and ill men to slight blows, and other pains, which we commonly think intolerable; and partly by fixing the mind in a provident forecast, and distant expectation of them. And all these things we may certainly do, if we please.
Now, if neither death nor any of those things we dread most, have anything formidable in their own nature, it is plain, neither they, nor the persons that inflict them are the cause of our trouble, but we ourselves, and our own opinions, bring this upon ourselves. When therefore the mind feels itself perplexed with grief, or fear, or any passion the blame is our own, and nothing but our opinions are accountable for such disorders. . . .
Sayings of Heraclitus 94
The dry soul is the wisest and best.
IMAGE: Jan Steen, The Drunken Couple (c. 1660)
Sunday, June 28, 2026
Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 10.1
That which gives men disquiet, and makes their lives miserable, is not the nature of things as they really are, but the notions and opinions, which they form to themselves concerning them.
Thus, even death, which we look upon as the most perplexing and dreadful, has, in truth, nothing of terror in it: for if it had, Socrates must needs have feared it, as much as we. But our opinion that it is evil, is the only thing that makes it so.
Therefore, whenever we meet with obstructions and perplexities, or fall into troubles and disorders, let us be just, and not lay the blame where it is not due; but impute it all to our own selves, and our prejudicate opinions. . . .
Comment:
We were told before, what means would be proper and effectual, for preserving an even and composed temper of mind, in the midst of all those hardships which frequently attend our best actions: that this might be accomplished by the power of premeditation; by representing these inconveniences, are sure to happen; and when we had made the worst of it, convincing ourselves, that such actions were worth our undertaking, even with all those encumbrances.
Now that rule proceeded upon the work of our own minds; but here is another, fetched from the nature of the things themselves, and the consideration of those difficulties and dangers which use to give us disturbance.
And here he changes his method, and confirms what he says, not by some slight and trivial instances, as he did before, but by death the greatest and most confounding one to human nature, that can be. For if the argument holds good in this case, it must needs be a great deal stronger with regard to all the rest, since those, by our own confession, are less dismal and affrighting.
To this purpose then he tells us, that those things which we apprehend to be evil, and which for that reason discompose our spirits, because we think ourselves miserable under them, are really neither evil themselves, nor the true causes of any evil to us: quite contrary; that all our troubles and perplexities are entirely owing to the opinions, which we ourselves have entertained and cherished concerning them.
For proof of this determination, he produces that, which, of all the things that we apprehend as evil, is confessedly the greatest and most terrible, and shows, that even death, nay a violent and untimely death, is yet no evil. The argument he uses is short indeed, but very full and conclusive; the method and consequence whereof lies thus.
Whatever is evil in its own nature, must needs appear so to all mankind; more especially to those, whose apprehensions are most improved, and most suitable to the real nature of things. Thus all things naturally hot or cold, or beautiful, or the like, appear such to all people in their right senses. But death does not appear evil to all people, nor are they universally agreed in this notion of it.
For Socrates did not think it so; he chose to undergo it, when it was in his power to have declined it; he endured it with all the calmness and composure imaginable; he spent that whole day in which he died, with his friends, demonstrating to them the existence and immortality of the soul, and the efficacy of a philosophical life, in order to virtue and reformation.
From all which premises, this conclusion evidently follows: that death is not in its own nature evil, and consequently, that our fears and troubles concerning it do not come from the thing itself, but from a disquieting persuasion of it being evil, with which we possess and disorder our own minds.
And such a persuasion there may very well be, though there be no ground for it in the nature of the thing. For honey is not bitter, and yet men in the jaundice, who have their palates vitiated, from a constant bitterness occasioned by the overflowing of the gall, are prejudiced against it, as if it were so.
Now, as the only way to bring these persons to discern tastes as they really are, is to carry off that redundance of choler, which corrupts their palate: so in this case, we must remove the distemper of the mind, correct our notions of things, and make a right judgment of what is really good and evil to us, by just distinctions between things that are, and thing that are not, in our own power; what is properly ours, and what belongs not to us.
For, according to this rule, if death be none of the things in our power, it cannot be evil; and though it should be granted such, with regard to the body; yet if it does not extend to the soul, nor do any harm to that, it cannot be evil to us.
Plato indeed, or Socrates as he is introduced by Plato, goes a great deal farther, and boldly affirms, that it is good, and much to be preferred before this life that we lead in the body; and this, not only to some persons, and in some circumstances, as men may be better or worse, but in general, and without exception to all.
For thus Socrates expresses himself in his Phaedo: it may possibly surprise you, and seem a strange paradox, that this should be the only accident, which is good at all times, and without any reserve; but yet so it is.
In all other cases, nothing happens to a man, which, as his circumstances may alter, he might not at another time better be without: but no time, no circumstance whatsoever, can render it more for a man’s advantage to live that to die.
And Plato, in his book concerning laws, speaking in his own person, delivers himself to this purpose: if I may be allowed to speak my opinion freely, it is really my judgment, that the continuation of soul and body together, ought not upon any consideration, to be rather chosen, than the separation and dissolution of them. . . .
Dio Chrysostom, On Pain and Distress of Spirit
And yet what more abject creature is there than a man who is held in thrall to Pain? What sight is there so shameful? For it seems to me that his condition actually affects his body also, and makes it shrunken and scowling and distorted in appearance.
But this yielding to the mind's disturbance, and not only that but also the devising of certain external signs of it, such as black raiment, wringing the hands, sitting in a dejected posture, so that by all these the mind is in a certain sense compelled never to get away from its pain and distress, but to be always conscious of being in pain, although one knows perfectly well that there will be some relief from this and that there will not be found always and ever some cause for the suffering—is this not utterly silly?
For instance, either the death of a relative, or the illness of one of them, or of oneself, may occur, and besides these, loss of reputation, a financial reverse, complete or partial failure in some undertaking, pressure of affairs, danger, and all the countless other misfortunes which occur in life (and one of these is practically sure always to be present); and finally, if after all a time does come when no trouble confronts one, yet all the same, the constant expectation of such things and the knowledge that they may occur will lay hold upon the mind of those who are of that temperament.
Therefore, one should not seek a special consolation for each of these troubles—for the task would be endless, and life is full of painful things—but one should tear that morbid state out of his soul completely, get a firm hold on the truth that the intelligent man ought not to feel pain about anything whatever, and be a free man henceforth.
Then there will be release from dread of all that causes distress. For in fact there is nothing that in itself should cause fear; it is only false opinion and weakness on our part that make it so.
The great majority, for instance, whenever any one of the things happen which are commonly regarded as untoward, keep continually recalling that thing, distressing though the recollection is, their state of mind being something like that of children, who are bent on touching the fire, for example, although they suffer great pain in doing so: yet if you give them permission they will do it again.
So, just as when men go forth to war it is no use for them to march out without their armor and then merely hope to dodge each flying missile, for it is impossible to guard against them all; but the soldier needs a stout breastplate and his full panoply too, so that, even if a missile does strike him, it may not penetrate—in the same way those also who have marched out into life cannot possibly dodge or so guard themselves as not to be struck by any of Fortune's shafts, thousands of which are flying against each man; but what they need is a stout heart, preferably invulnerable and yielding before no blow; or if that may not be, at least one that is not easily wounded or by any ordinary blow; for otherwise it must often be stabbed and receive a thousand wounds.
Why, those who have feet which are tender and not calloused at all by use, and then attempt to walk with them bare, will never find a road so smooth that their feet will not be gashed or in pain, but any little thing hurts them; whereas for feet hardened by practice not even the roughest road causes trouble.
Therefore, since there are so many distressing things, beginning with those due of the body, what should anyone expect, or how is it possible, for anyone who pays attention to each of them and easily gives way, to avoid being the most unhappy man alive, ever praying the gods that this or that may not happen?
Therefore, since there are so many distressing things, beginning with those due of the body, what should anyone expect, or how is it possible, for anyone who pays attention to each of them and easily gives way, to avoid being the most unhappy man alive, ever praying the gods that this or that may not happen?
It is just as if a man should go out in a rain without any covering, and should trust merely to prayers for avoiding each single drop (and yet much thicker than the raindrops are the afflictions which Fortune sends); or exactly as if a man sailing a boat, instead of giving his attention to the steering-oars and meeting skillfully each oncoming wave, should pray that none might strike the ship.
Just think, you misguided man—even if everything else turns out as your heart wishes, yet what assurance have you of living even till the morrow, and not being suddenly, in the midst of everything, torn away from your fancied blessings?
Consequently, this is the first thing about which you should be in painful anxiety and fear—the uncertainty of everything. Yet if you have the wisdom to reflect that absolutely no man is master of his life, but that all those who have been thought blessed and exceedingly fortunate are dead, and that this goal awaits you at any moment, even if you live to the ripest old age, you will consider it great nonsense and utter simplicity to imagine that anything at all which happens is terrible or great or marvelous, except this one achievement of living at least one day free from painful fretting, fear, and similar emotions.
The story goes that the famous Jason anointed himself with a certain potent salve which he got from Medea, and it was after that, I fancy, that no harm came to him from either the dragon or the bulls which belched out fire. This, therefore, is the potent thing of which we should acquire possession, getting it from Medea, that is, from Meditation or Intelligence, and then with our intelligence look with scorn thenceforth upon all things. Otherwise everything will be fire for us and everything sleepless dragons.
The story goes that the famous Jason anointed himself with a certain potent salve which he got from Medea, and it was after that, I fancy, that no harm came to him from either the dragon or the bulls which belched out fire. This, therefore, is the potent thing of which we should acquire possession, getting it from Medea, that is, from Meditation or Intelligence, and then with our intelligence look with scorn thenceforth upon all things. Otherwise everything will be fire for us and everything sleepless dragons.
And yet every man who suffers pain and distress of spirit says that what has happened to himself is a most terrible thing and most worth grieving over, just as every person who carries a load imagines that what he is carrying is very heavy. But this really indicates a weak and sickly body, for another and stronger man will take and carry the same load easily.
IMAGE: Francisco Ribalta, The Soul in Pain (c. 1610)
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