Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.18

That which has died falls not out of the Universe.

If it stays here, it also changes here, and is dissolved into its proper parts, which are elements of the Universe and of yourself.

And these too change, and they murmur not.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

When I was little, I worried about whether I was going to Heaven or Hell. Fire scared me. I had the benefit of a fine man, an uncle who was a priest, who reminded me that the love of God was never about a balance sheet, and that if God is Love, no person, not any person, who truly wishes to be happy shall ever be denied that wish.

“God will give you exactly what you need. Ask, and ask with all sincerity, and you shall receive.”

Years later, people who thought they were better told me that my uncle was completely wrong. I was told I needed to follow this specific rule or that, and that any transgression meant instant damnation. I had to go to this Mass, and not another. I had to cross myself one way, and not another. I had to receive the Blessed Sacrament in one way, and not another. I should never, above all else, have anything to do with any of those terrible heretics. They were all damned.

“But isn’t God Love?” I asked.

“Of course you’d say that, because you’re a modernist.” I can still recall the smug look on the spiteful fellow who said that to me. He wanted me to fight him, intellectually at least, but I was smart enough that time to turn away. A broken jaw might have done him good, but a sense of temperance did me much better.

Fine. Send me to your Hell, because I refuse to believe in a Heaven where kindness and respect are trumped by stuffy and narrow arrogance.

I am still completely committed to living a good life, but I now worry less about where I am going to go, and more about who I am, right here and now.

I know there is a God, and I know there is a right and wrong in the order of all things, the design of Providence. Now what will become of me?

Let Providence decide that, and let me simply be the best man I can possibly be. I know, from reason alone, that I will continue in some way. What will that be? It is hardly for me to decide. Let God decide.

God, in whatever way we might wish to understand Him, has told me, simply by making me as I am, about how I should live. There is no mystery there.

What happens to me when I die? I can worry, I can fret, I can pray myself stupid, but it will happen exactly as it should. Nothing in Nature dies, as everything in Nature is constantly reborn. Nothing ceases to be, as everything that is simply takes on a new form.

Yes, there is a mystery there. I don’t know at all what that form will be. I leave that to God. I will become something else. Perhaps I may be a saint in Heaven, or perhaps just be fertilizer for a tree. I remind myself that if I think the difference matters, I’m not doing it right at all, because then the good that I do is all about some mercenary reward.

Nothing hurts religion, which should be about our trust in what is greater than us, than people who tell us that they are greater than us. No more of that for me.

Nothing ever really dies. Everything is reborn. How will that happen? Let Providence work that out. How arrogant of me to think I know how that might go.

My uncle prayed with simple folk, and taught at a high school, and climbed mountains, and told me about human decency. I have no place for men who flaunt their superiority, and strut about in their bow ties, and mix fancy cocktails, and tell me that I am going to Hell.

Written in 3/2008

Tao Te Ching 12

Color's five hues from the eyes their sight will take;
Music's five notes the ears as deaf can make;
The flavors five deprive the mouth of taste;
The chariot course, and the wild hunting waste
Make mad the mind; and objects rare and strange,
Sought for, men's conduct will to evil change.

Therefore the sage seeks to satisfy the craving of the belly, and not the insatiable longing of the eyes. He puts from him the latter, and prefers to seek the former.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.17

If a thing is in your own power, why do you do it? But if it is in the power of another, whom do you blame—the atoms of chance or the gods? Both are foolish. You must blame nobody.

For if you can, correct that which is the cause; but if you cannot do this, correct at least the thing itself; but if you cannot do even this, of what use is it to you to find fault? For nothing should be done without a purpose.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I feel like I want to cringe when I think of how often I have cast blame, of how deeply I convinced myself that I could avoid taking responsibility for myself by accusing another, and how deluded I became when I constantly passed the buck.

I chose to do this entirely on my own, but I made excuses by insisting that everyone was doing it. In politics, our party was right and theirs was wrong, and so if anything went poorly we knew exactly where to look. In religion, we were going to heaven and they were going to hell, because the only way we could feel like saints is if we made other people look like sinners. In the day-to-day, I could puff myself up by bringing others down.

Marcus Aurelius here reiterates the central Stoic principle that whenever it is within my power, I can choose to make it right, and whenever it is outside of my power, no amount of blame will ever make it right. I am what I am, and it is what it is, and resentment doesn’t change that.

So I struggled with trying to blame other people less, and taking responsibility for myself more, but I noticed that even harboring the tiniest bit of disapproval and accusation was still making me sick inside. It seemed like I would have to go cold turkey, and that this would have be an all or nothing sort of a deal. That would make sense, of course, because I can’t have it both ways, simultaneously being accountable for myself while still pointing the finger at someone else, however timidly or politely.

Now I can still know full well that someone has done something wrong, and I don’t need to go to the opposite extreme of making excuses for it, but instead of getting indignant, I can try to understand. Instead of being hateful, I can choose to be compassionate. Instead of holding a grudge, I can dare to offer friendship.

How can I make things better, instead of making myself worse by obsessing about it all? If I can do something good, there is no need for complaint, and if I can’t do anything at all, there is no need for complaint.

So instead of condemning just a little bit, which can easily turn righteousness into self-righteousness, I don’t need to condemn at all. Old habits die hard, but when I feel like turning up my nose as I walk on by, I can just as easily smile. 

Written in 3/2008

Dhammapada 25

By rousing himself, by earnestness, by restraint, and control, the wise man may make for himself an island which no flood can overwhelm.

The Art of Peace 1

The Art of Peace begins with you. Work on yourself and your appointed task in the Art of Peace. Everyone has a spirit that can be refined, a body that can be trained in some manner, a suitable path to follow. You are here for no other purpose than to realize your inner divinity and manifest your innate enlightenment. Foster peace in your own life and then apply the Art to all that you encounter.

—All quotes in this series are from Morihei Ueshiba, the founder of Aikido.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.16

Remember that to change your opinion and to follow him who corrects your error is as consistent with freedom as it is to persist in your error.

For it is your own, the activity that is exerted according to your own movement and judgment, and indeed according to your own understanding too.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I’ve heard all sorts of explanations as to why I should be thinking this or doing that. I should be doing what everyone else is doing, just because they are doing it, or I should be doing the exact opposite of what everyone else is doing, just because they are doing it.

One answer is to follow what is popular, while the other is to be deliberately unpopular, and what is lost in the middle of it all is a novel idea, simply thinking or doing something because it is right, regardless of who may or may not be promoting it.

I suspect our options are limited by an unhealthy concern with how we are seen by others. Should we come across as team players, or as daring individualists? But as long as the choice is the right one, does it even matters how we are seen, or how we got there?

A decision is no more or less my own, whether I have arrived at it alone or with others. My thoughts are still my own thoughts, my judgments still my own judgments, and my choices still my own choices. My approval or disapproval, my consent or opposition, always proceeds from me, both when I do so wisely or foolishly.

I am no worse or weaker if I follow good advice, just as I am no better or stronger if I ignore good advice. Why must I be so stubborn and arrogant as to not allow another to help me make myself better? Am I resisting his correction because it is wrong, or because I don’t want to be perceived as being wrong? Once I have fixed what is broken within me, nothing will be wrong anymore, and so that should be my priority.

Some people choose not be informed by any conscience at all, and replace a sense of right and wrong with a measure of gratification and calculation. Others, however, may be quite aware of their mistakes, but find it difficult to confront them. I spent too many years feeling that to say I was sorry, and to change my ways, would somehow make me lose face. What I had to learn was that admitting responsibility, and finally embracing it, was actually the strongest and bravest thing I could do.

If someone tells me that I am mistaken, whatever his own intention may be, I do not need to get caught up in a conflict about power and position. The only power that matters is my own power to make my own judgment, and that should follow only from the truth of what is said, regardless of who may have said it. 

Written in 2/2008

Dhammapada 24

If an earnest person has roused himself, if he is not forgetful, if his deeds are pure, if he acts with consideration, if he restrains himself, and lives according to law—then his glory will increase.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.15

Remember that as it is a shame to be surprised if the fig tree produces figs, so it is to be surprised if the world produces such and such things of which it is productive.

And for the physician and the helmsman it is a shame to be surprised if a man has a fever, or if the wind is unfavorable.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I once listened to a woman, during one and the same conversation, explain to me both that it was fair for her to abandon her husband, while also unfair of her son to abandon her.

Why can’t he just get over it? I don’t love him anymore. He needs to move on!

And then later. . .

How can he treat me that way? Doesn’t he know that love isn’t something you just turn on and off?

It was a stark and powerful reminder of how we wish to be the masters of our circumstances, how we expect to receive what we want and be spared what we don’t want. We pursue this even to the extreme of holding completely contradictory views of love, depending upon our own fickle desires. Other people can be disposable or irreplaceable, and we are shocked when the situation doesn’t cooperate as expected.

But we should never be taken aback by any situation, and we should understand that all conditions can serve us rightly, if only we view them in the context of our own responsibility. I may or I may not prefer this or that development, but all that remains for me is to meet it with virtue. I may not have predicted its arrival, but I can be prepared for it nonetheless. I am ready if I can decide to give love, even if I may not always receive it.

A plant may produce fruit, a man may become sick, and the weather may suddenly change. Now I may treat one of these as good, or another as bad, but they are really all the same, because they are all a part of Nature unfolding as it should. Let me follow it, and let me discover what is good within it, and let me do what is right from it. Let me harvest if I am a farmer, or heal if I am a doctor, or adjust the sails if I am a captain.

Above all else, let me act with wisdom, with courage, with temperance, and with justice in all things, simply because I am human. Then I am prepared for all things, and then I will do right by all things. And when it is my time to go, let me go with dignity.

Has the whim of my affection for another shifted, or has the affection of another changed with time? These things will indeed happen, but whatever may happen, I am the one who will decide whether I will have the decency to love. That way nothing ever comes as a surprise, and every circumstance will yield good fruit. 

Written in 2/2008

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 69

I think I know now what I never knew before—the meaning of the common saying, "A fool you can neither bend nor break."

Pray heaven I may never have a wise fool for my friend! There is nothing more intractable.

"My resolve is fixed!"

Why, so madmen say too; but the more firmly they believe in their delusions, the more they stand in need of treatment.

Boethius, The Consolation 3.6

“I would to pliant strings set forth a song

of how almighty Nature turns her guiding reins,

telling with what laws her Providence keeps safe this boundless Universe,

binding and tying each and all with cords that never shall be loosed.

The lions of Carthage,

though they bear the gorgeous bonds and trappings of captivity,

and eat the food that is given them by hand,

and though they fear their harsh master with his lash they know so well;

yet if once blood has touched their bristling jaws,

their old, their latent wills return;

with deep roaring they remember their old selves;

they loose their bands and free their necks,

and their tamer is the first torn by their cruel teeth,

and his blood is poured out by their rage and wrath.

If the bird who sings so lustily upon the high tree-top,

be caught and caged, men may minister to him with dainty care,

may give him cups of liquid honey

and feed him with all gentleness on plenteous food;

yet if he fly to the roof of his cage and see the shady trees he loves,

he spurns with his foot the food they have put before him;

the woods are all his sorrow calls for,

for the woods he sings with his sweet tones.

The bough that has been downward thrust

by force of strength to bend its top to earth,

so soon as the pressing hand is gone,

looks up again straight to the sky above.

Phoebus sinks into the western waves,

but by his unknown track he turns his car once more to his rising in the east.

All things must find their own peculiar course again,

and each rejoices in his own return.

Not one can keep the order handed down to it,

unless in some way it unites its rising to its end,

and so makes firm, immutable, its own encircling course.”

—from Book 3, Poem 2

We often think of Nature as pleasant, as gentle, as pliable. She can indeed be those things, but She is not within the power of our whims or our wills. She runs her own show.

This is as true of all the massive forces around us, as it is of all the noble forces within us. There is no standing against the force of a hurricane or an earthquake, just as there is no standing against a man’s inherent need to live well. Nature will bend, but She will never break. I can build a dam against the water, but I cannot defeat the water. I can deny who I am, but I will always need to come back to who I am.

I may believe that a lion can be tamed, but he will always remains wild. I may believe that a bird can be caged, but he will always remain free. I may believe that a tree can be pruned, but it will always rise to where it needs to be. I may believe that the state of the heavens has changed, but it always returns right to where it started.

And I may believe that I can stop being a man, just by thinking differently of myself. I may believe I can redefine happiness by wanting it in some other way. Still, it always snaps back.

Nature is indeed subtle, but She is also unconquerable. It has nothing to do with a power from without, but with the power from within, from the very identity of things, the very forms they possess. I can move a thing about from the outside, but I cannot change what it is intrinsically on the inside.

And so it is for me. I am a being of body and of instinct. I am also a being of intellect and of will. I will choose how I will live, even as some of those choices distance me from who I am, while others bring me closer to who I am.

I must choose to go with the flow of Nature, and not fight against Nature. This is not an acceptance of defeat, but the embrace of victory. I am at my best when I work in harmony with things, and never in opposition to things.

I always loved all things Godzilla as a child, and I still do as an adult, however high the cheese factor, and whether or not the King of Monsters is destroying men, or is assisting men. I learned fairly early on that he is always a benefit, because he reflects the order of Nature.

In the immortal words of Blue Oyster Cult:

History shows again and again

How nature points out the folly of man

Godzilla!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvQWBXJOgAI 

Even as a little fellow, watching the films on Saturday afternoons, I somehow understood that. Who would dare say that these films, complete with rubber suits, are not educational? They help us to understand our rightful place. 

Written in 9/2015

Tao Te Ching 11

The thirty spokes unite in the one nave; but it is on the empty space, for the axle, that the use of the wheel depends. 

Clay is fashioned into vessels; but it is on their empty hollowness, that their use depends. 

The door and windows are cut out from the walls to form an apartment; but it is on the empty space within, that its use depends. 

Therefore, what has a positive existence, serves for profitable adaptation, and what has not that, for actual usefulness.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.14

Whatever man you meet with, immediately say to yourself: What opinions has this man about good and bad?

For if with respect to pleasure and pain, and the causes of each, and with respect to fame and ignominy, death and life, he has such and such opinions, it will seem nothing wonderful or strange to me if he does such and such things; and I shall bear in mind that he is compelled to do so.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

Instead of only looking at what people do, I am best served by also understanding how they think. I may find myself surprised by their actions, but this is far less likely if I have a heads up on their motives.

I cannot know what is deep in their hearts and minds, of course, and people can have a way, both wonderful and frightening, of changing their ways, but more often than not, what they are going to do is already clear from what they have revealed about their values.

What have they shown about their sense of right and wrong? How do their passions affect them? Do they follow after what others may think, or does conscience lead them? Do they simply want to live, or do they care more for living well?

It can take quite some time to truly know someone, but I am amazed at how quickly a man’s most basic principles become apparent. I may have chosen not to look carefully, or I may have brushed aside what was actually quite clear to me, but I have usually had it within my power to know what made him tick.

I could have known, but I chose not to know, and then I acted all hurt and betrayed, insisting that someone had fooled me, when I had only fooled myself.

When I see someone who is full of himself, who manipulates, gossips, complains, demeans, or holds a grudge, I am already quite privy to what he cares about. That I cannot expect love from him, or loyalty, integrity, self-control, justice, or compassion should already be clear.

Two great benefits will follow from inquiring into the opinions of others. First, once again, I have a good hunch about what is coming my way, but also second, I myself will be more able to act from sympathy instead of anger. If I understand why they act, I will be aware of how they saw some good within it, however mistaken they may be. I am hopefully then more inclined to help than I am to hurt.

How much happier would I be if I had only decided not to commit my trust to someone untrustworthy, or refused to follow ideologues who said one thing but did another? If I had just looked carefully, I would have saved myself the grief. The past can’t be helped, however, even as I have learned for the present. 

Written in 2/2008

Dhammapada 23

These wise people, meditative, steady, always possessed of strong powers, attain to Nirvana, the highest happiness.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.13

Constantly, and, if it be possible, on the occasion of every impression on the soul, apply to it the principles of Physics, of Ethics, and of Dialectic.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

The Stoics often distinguish between three disciplines or branches of philosophy: Physics is about the natural order, ethics is about the morality of our actions, and dialectic is about the right use of our reason.

These do not exist in separation or isolation from one another, but are all concerned with understanding different aspects of the world, and of our place within it.

We will now often compartmentalize or pigeonhole different subjects, but the Stoic mindset is always built upon the unity and harmony of all things. It helps me to think of this as the necessary relationship between how the Universe works, how I should choose to live within it, and by what means I can employ my reason to understand this. No one of these can exist without the others, just as no part can have any meaning outside of the whole.

We will also now often think of disciplines completely in abstraction, as the pursuit of theory removed from practice. How often have I heard students telling me that algebra and chemistry have nothing to do with their lives, as well as seen professional academics failing to serve others through their profound studies? Yet for the Stoic, theory and practice are two sides of the same coin; thinking and doing are inexorably joined.

In this light, it should not seem odd that Marcus Aurelius asks us to always consider the nature of being, the nature of what is good, and the nature of what is true. He isn’t asking us to get lost in obscure corners of specialized studies; he isn’t asking us to put our noses in books, or hide our heads in the clouds.

He is rather suggesting that we look at every experience, and at every action, in the context of the whole. He is simply saying that we cannot live well without thinking rightly.

There can be no meaning in life without grasping how things work, there can no purpose in action without the awareness of a goal, and there can be no knowledge at all without the discipline of an ordered mind. I must look at everything that happens to me, and everything that I do, within the complete pattern of everything else.

This is hardly too obscure, for anyone at all, because it is nothing else than the fullness of human life. Philosophy is not a luxury, but a necessity. A man can still be happy without a fancy trade, but he can never be happy without a sense of who he is and where he belongs.

Anything less is just stumbling about blindly. 

Written in 2/2008

Dhammapada 22

Those who are advanced in earnestness, having understood this clearly, delight in earnestness, and rejoice in the knowledge of the Ariyas, the elect. 

Happy Christmas!

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.12

When you rise from sleep with reluctance, remember that it is according to your constitution and according to human nature to perform social acts, but sleeping is common also to irrational animals. But that which is according to each individual's nature is also more peculiarly its own, and more suitable to its nature, and indeed also more agreeable.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I was raised with a certain no-nonsense Old World discipline, and so as a child it never really occurred to me that the evening wasn’t the time for going to sleep, and that the morning wasn’t the time for rising. If we didn’t like it, we were politely but firmly reminded to do as we were told. If we pushed the point, we were treated to stories about the hardships during the war, and how grateful we should be for what we had.

As I grew older, therefore, I was a bit surprised to see so many of my friends staying up for much of the night, and sleeping for much of the day. I also wondered why so many of them seemed so irritable and unsociable during the few daylight hours they were actually conscious, and then only became approachable with the aid of alcohol as the night went on.

And, for a time, having let myself be beaten by disappointment and resentment, I began doing much the same. I would get done whatever I had to do, but I would avoid being in the world, showing any sort of real caring, if I could manage to avoid it. Sleeping half the day seemed a way of numbing myself, of not even being conscious that I should be a human being, living and acting together with others. And the more I curled up and shut my eyes, the crankier I became.

It took reflection on who I was to start breaking out of that cycle. I knew that I was more than a plant, and more even than an animal, and that I was hardly living up to what I should be. Mere force of will, however, was never enough, and setting myself great goals was never enough either, because I was thinking only about the big picture, and neglecting all the details. So I would commit myself to humble and achievable tasks, all of them reminders of what it meant to be human. No one else might notice them, but I would.

I would be certain to make it to the local store in the morning to have a brief chat with a fellow who smoked a stinky cheap cigar. If I dawdled, I would miss him, and he’d berate me the next day. I would get to the library when it opened, and greet the nice lady who unlocked the door. When I taught my first class, I would be sure to be cheerful with my sleepy students, instead of glaring at them with annoyance.

None of it was earth-shattering, and none of it was terribly noble, but it got me up in the morning, because I knew that such small acts of being decent and sociable were the key to recovering a sense of involvement. It didn’t always work as I intended, but it set me on the right track.

Being awake, literally or figuratively, can sometimes feel uncomfortable, but at least there is always something I can do to be better, instead of doing nothing at all. 

Written in 2/2008

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 68

Our way of life resembles a fair. The flocks and herds are passing along to be sold, and the greater part of the crowd to buy and sell. But there are some few who come only to look at the fair, to inquire how and why it is being held, upon what authority and with what object. 

So too, in this great Fair of Life, some, like the cattle, trouble themselves about nothing but the fodder. Know all of you, who are busied about land, slaves and public posts, that these are nothing but fodder! 

Some few there are attending the Fair, who love to contemplate what the world is, what He is  that administers it. Can there be no Administrator? Is it possible, that while neither city nor household could endure even a moment without one to administer and see to its welfare, this fabric, so fair, so vast, should be administered in order so harmonious, without a purpose and by blind chance? 

There is therefore an Administrator. What is His nature and how does He administer? And who are we that are His children and what work were we born to perform? Have we any close connection or relation with Him or not?
 
Such are the impressions of the few of whom I speak. And further, they apply themselves solely to considering and examining the great assembly before they depart. 

Well, they are derided by the multitude. So are the lookers-on by the traders. Yes, and if the beasts had any sense, they would deride those who thought much of anything but fodder! 

The Ballad of Accounting

Life is all about buying and selling, they tell me, and so I naturally ask what currency we are trading. Is it convenience and privilege, or should it be merit and character?

Young men may be drawn to songs full of passion, about changing the world, committed to high values and noble ideals. We are apparently supposed to grow out of this, to become what they call realists, to stop with all the principles and get down to business.

The problem with me, I suspect, is that this never happened. Ewan MacColl's "Ballad of Accounting" doesn't just mean as much to me as when i was eighteen, it now means even more. 

The 1964 version with Peggy Seeger is the best known, though I have a weakness for the 2007 cover by my old favorites, Battlefield Band.

Written in 6/2011

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5eY0bJzKxA8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGfG2PE-LFc

In the morning we built the city
In the afternoon walked through its streets
Evening saw us leaving

We wandered through our days as if they would never end
All of us imagined we had endless time to spend
We hardly saw the crossroads and small attention gave
To landmarks on the journey from the cradle to the grave,
Cradle to the grave, cradle to the grave

Did you learn to dream in the morning?
Abandon dreams in the afternoon?
Wait without hope in the evening?

Did you stand there in the traces and let 'em feed you lies?
Did you trail along behind them wearing blinkers on your eyes?
Did you kiss the foot that kicked you, did you thank them for
Their scorn?
Did you ask for their forgiveness for the act of being born,
Act of being born, act of being born?

Did you alter the face of the city?
Make any change in the world you found?
Or did you observe all the warnings?

Did you read the trespass notices, did you keep off the grass?
Did you shuffle up the pavements just to let your betters pass?
Did you learn to keep your mouth shut, were you seen but never heard?
Did you learn to be obedient and jump to at a word,
Jump to at a word, jump to at a word?

Did you demand any answers?
The who and the what and the reason why?
Did you ever question the setup?

Did you stand aside and let 'em choose while you took second best?
Did you let 'em skim the cream off and give to you the rest?
Did you settle for the shoddy and did you think it right
To let 'em rob you right and left and never make a fight,
Never make a fight, never make a fight?

What did you learn in the morning?
How much did you know in the afternoon?
Were you content in the evening?

Did they teach you how to question when you were at the school?
Did the factory help you, were you the maker or the tool?
Did the place where you were living enrich your life and then
Did you reach some understanding of all your fellow men,
All your fellow men, all your fellow men?

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.11

This thing, what is it in itself, in its own constitution?

What is its substance and material?

 And what its causal nature or form?

And what is it doing in the world?

And how long does it subsist?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

Consider how often our own estimation adds qualities to things that are not actually present within them. That an image is attractive, or a sound is frightening, or a taste is unpleasant says something about our judgments, but not immediately about the thing that is perceived. I have already added my own interpretation to an experience, and so I have already intermixed what something is with how it seems to me.

Contrary to what the hopeless skeptic might say, however, what the mind has added in its judgments, the mind can also take away. Let me consciously peel away what I can recognize as being my own imposition, and let me consider what remains only within a thing itself.

Suddenly it will not appear so enticing, or terrifying, or painful.

What defines it for itself, and not just for me? What is it made of? Where did it come from? What is its purpose, as distinct from any purpose I may imagine for it?

Very often, it is only my ignorance of what I see that causes me confusion or anxiety. Understood for its own sake, I can gladly accept that it has its rightful place, just as I have mine, and that I can be in control of what I make of it for myself.

Something is no longer a mystery if I can take it apart, look at it from different angles, and observe how it behaves. I do not need to be afraid of it, or angry at it, or overwhelmed by it.

Last but not least, if I perceive that it is hardly permanent, and that it too shall pass, as all things must pass, I will never need to find it insurmountable.

When I say that something hurts, for example, I can examine both the object and myself, and I can understand the source of that feeling. Then I will decide what I will make of it, knowing full well that both the object and myself are here as they are for a reason, and that they are here for only a time.

This is not a pipe. It is an image that represents a pipe. This is neither a duck, nor a rabbit, but a series of lines that can be seen from different perspectives. This is not a beautiful young woman, or a hideous old lady. So too, this event or that experience is not the best thing that has happened to me, or the worst thing that has happened to me, but will only be as important to me as I judge it to be. This way I can always make everything good for myself by how I employ it, and bad for myself only if I abuse it.

You didn’t break my heart; I chose to consider myself injured. It didn’t make me lose faith; I chose to no longer believe. Death is not an evil; I chose to be afraid.

Written in 2/2008

Tao Te Ching 10

When the intelligent and animal souls are held together in one embrace, they can be kept from separating. 

When one gives undivided attention to the vital breath, and brings it to the utmost degree of pliancy, he can become as a tender babe. 

When he has cleansed away the most mysterious sights of his imagination, he can become without a flaw.

In loving the people and ruling the state, cannot he proceed without any purpose of action? 

In the opening and shutting of his gates of heaven, cannot he do so as a female bird? 

While his intelligence reaches in every direction, cannot he appear to be without knowledge?

The Tao produces all things and nourishes them; it produces them and does not claim them as its own. It does all, and yet does not boast of it; it presides over all, and yet does not control them.

This is what is called the mysterious Quality of the Tao.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.10

Repentance is a kind of self-reproof for having neglected something useful; but that which is good must be something useful, and the perfect good man should look after it.

But no such man would ever repent of having refused any sensual pleasure. Pleasure then is neither good, nor useful.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I can think of all the things I have felt sorry for, all of the thoughts and deeds I have regretted. Even as I write, the very memory makes me grit my teeth. I repent of deception and lies. I repent of manipulating and stealing. I repent of anger and hate. I repent of taking more than my share, and leaving another less than his share. I repent especially of lust instead of love, desire instead of compassion.

Yet at no point have I ever felt the need to repent of a virtuous act. I may question it, I may doubt it, and I may worry about all the consequences of following my conscience, but I have never done myself wrong by doing what is right.

And that should tell me something very important: if it’s really good, there’s never any reason to take it back.

“But life is about having fun!” That sounds great, until fun stops being just enjoying something pleasant, and becomes the pursuit of the destructive. What seems so fun can so quickly become something quite bad. Any glutton, any grasping man, any addict will admit this, however begrudgingly. If it made you so happy, why did it hurt you so much?

College was not a good time for me. One could find decent folks hiding out in the corners, but by and large it was an orgy of pleasure.  It was considered a badge of honor to pass out, to wake up in a strange bed, to have had one’s way with as many people as possible. That was the norm for most of the kids at a fancy school. Now were we any better, or happier?

Who lives under the illusion that people raised for four years to be barbarians will suddenly become civilized when they graduate? We certainly didn’t. We kept up the same old games, but under the appearance of prim and proper decency. Put fancy suits on animals, give them important jobs, and demand good manners of them, but you still have animals. They gave us all the credentials, but cared nothing for our character.

I fought it for years, with tooth and nail, but I finally saw that I could not be a creature of gratification. Some pleasures are truly divine, and others are truly demonic. What makes them different? The enjoyment of virtue is sublime, and the enjoyment of vice is brutal.

Pleasure can indeed be a good. Yet I choose to see it not as the cause of my happiness, but as a consequence of my happiness. How well I feel is measured by how well I live, and only the best actions will result in the best pleasures. Let me compare the pleasures that came from my own selfishness with the pleasure that came from sincere love. The difference is like that of night and day.

When Marcus Aurelius says that pleasure is neither good nor useful, this rubs us the wrong way. We live in a society that glorifies pleasure. But it really isn’t good in itself, because some pleasures are good for us, as others are bad for us. It isn’t really useful either, because it is a consequence, and not a cause.

I enjoy fun as much, if not more, than any other guy. I am also trying to learn that the value of the fun is relative to the value of what is true, good, and beautiful. 

Written in 2/2008

IMAGE: It looks one way on the outside, but is quite different on the inside. . .