On Exile 4

. . . "In fact, there have been cases where exile was an absolute blessing as it was to Diogenes, who by his exile was transformed from an ordinary citizen into a philosopher, and instead of sitting idly in Sinope, he busied himself in Greece, and in the pursuit of virtue came to surpass the philosophers.

"To others who were in poor health as the result of overindulgence and high living, exile has been a source of strength because they were forced to live a more manly life. We even know of some who were cured of chronic ailments in exile, as for instance, in our day Spartiacus, the Lacedaemonian, who suffered long from a weak chest and for this reason was often ill from high living, but when he stopped living a life of luxury, he ceased to be ill.

"They say that others addicted to high living have got rid of gout, although they were previously completely bed-ridden by the disease—people whom exile compelled to become accustomed to living more simply and by this very thing were brought back to health.

"Thus it appears that by treating them better than they treat themselves, exile helps rather than hinders health both of body and of spirit" . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

Let us not assume that any circumstance we consider unfamiliar or uncomfortable must be a burden. Change can be good, and change can be bad, and the only difference lies within our own judgment and action.

Though I wouldn't wish Musonius' claims to seem like they came from a travel brochure, I can attest to the power he describes. I owe much of my own health, mental and physical, to a change of location, simply because it offered me a change of opportunity. It wasn't a formal exile, imposed either from within or from without at that point, nor was it the agent of any change. It was not something that changed me, but was the occasion for me to help me change myself. Philosophically, it was a material cause for my own efficient cause.

If I wake in the morning, and I see nothing familiar about me, I can easily fall into despair. We all know that feeling, in a new place, of not knowing where we are. Even if jumped in my car and drove non-stop, I would have been two or three days from anything even remotely familiar. People spoke, thought, and acted very differently, and no one knew me. In one sense, I was a completely new person.

This can be horrifying, but it can also be redeeming. The estimation will make all the difference. At the very least, it wiped the slate clean, and removed past temptations. At the very best, it was an invitation to see myself as myself, and not as ruled by my layers of conditions.

We must be careful here, I think, because the romanticizing of 'starting over' can just as easily be an escape as it can be an opportunity. I perceive the difference as subtle but important. Running away from my problems isn't running really away from them at all, but actually running away from myself, from my responsibility to live well. But accepting what life will bring me, a new place, new people, and new circumstances can, when viewed rightly, be a true rediscovery of oneself. That can help me to be responsible for myself.

A new place will never be a cure, but it can be a means to a cure. I will, of course, uncover new problems, new struggles, and new conflicts, but a breath of fresh air can revive the soul.

Though I spent many of my younger days in New England, I had curiously become a fan of country music. I was rather alone in this love among my social circle, and I could clear a room if I wanted to be alone just by playing an album by Randy Travis, Alan Jackson, or Ricky Skaggs.

Then one day I walked into a diner in Texas, and all those same songs I loved were playing on the jukebox, and the customers sang along. I actually felt at home among strangers, and we discussed how we liked to eat our grits. I was far from home, and I didn't know a soul, but I oddly felt at home among total strangers. It was a new day.

No, the South didn't save my soul, but it helped me to rebuild. It didn't cure all that ailed me, but it helped me to manage the ailments. I will still feel as sick as a dog, but this dog found some new bones to chew. As some of my new friends might say, it ain't half bad.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):