Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.4

Remember how long you have been putting off these things, and how often you have received an opportunity from the gods, and yet you do not use it.

You must now at last perceive of what Universe you are a part, and of what Ruler of the Universe your existence is an efflux, and that a limit of time is fixed for you, which if you do not use it for clearing away the clouds from your mind, it will go, and you will go, and it will never return.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 2 (tr Long)

I often ask myself the “what if?” question, and I wonder how things would be different if I had followed through instead of holding back, or restrained myself instead of acting on impulse. I find it too easy to tie myself in knots about missed chances and wasted opportunities, speculating aimlessly about all the possible outcomes.

I feel regret for not helping a friend that needed me, and who’s passing made it impossible for me to make it right. I feel resentment for reaching out to someone I loved, only to be cast down further than I was before. I often wish I had done these things differently.

Yet making the best of opportunities is never about regretting things that can’t be changed, or altering circumstances that are far beyond our power. The real chances we are offered concern what we can do with what is given, right here and now, not our ability to manipulate what we might receive.

There is really only one opportunity that I am offered, and I am offered it for every single moment that I am alive. Whatever may happen to me, will I act with prudence when others act with ignorance? Will I act with fortitude when others act with cowardice? Will I act with temperance when others act with excess? Will I act with justice when others act with greed?

The only possible reason I might delay on such a commitment is because I am not yet ready to make the promise. The only reason I am not ready to make the promise is because I do not have my house in order, because I do not yet care enough about the right things, and I care too much about the wrong things.

I cared too much about the pain that would have come with loving a friend to whom I should have easily offered help, and I cared too much about the resentment that came with loving a friend I should have easily forgiven.

To commit to virtue sometime seems like stepping into the unknown. There’s the rub. It is never about what will or will not happen, about the outcomes, but only about the merit of my commitment. The edge of that cliff that seems so stable can very easily crumble, and I am no safer standing on what I falsely perceive as solid ground than I am moving myself forward.

1980’s advertising told us that life is short, so we should play hard. Stoicism tells us that life is short, so we should live well. There is a real difference here, since gratification and service are not the same thing.

Why delay? Fear is countered by courage, and despair is countered by hope. Courage and hope spring from depending upon what doesn’t fail. I should never fear what cannot hurt me, and I should never despair of what I cannot lose.

My circumstances will not hurt me, if I do not allow it, and my character is something I need not lose, if I do not allow it. I should never think there is more time for making things right, because the now is the only certain opportunity.

Written in 6/2004

Image: Caspar David Friedrich, The Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog (c. 1817)

Calvin and Providence

Oh, you thought I meant the other Calvin?

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.3

All that is from the gods is full of Providence. That which is from Fortune is not separated from Nature, or without an interweaving and involvement with the things that are ordered by Providence.

From there all things flow, and there is besides also necessity, and that which is for the advantage of the whole Universe, of which you are a part.

But that is good for every part of Nature that the Nature of the whole brings, and what serves to maintain this Nature. Now the universe is preserved, as by the changes of the elements, so by the changes of things compounded of the elements.

Let these principles be enough for you, and let them always be fixed opinions. But cast away the thirst after books, so that you may not die murmuring, but cheerfully, truly, and from your heart be thankful to the gods.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 2 (tr Long)

We can very easily surrender our view of the world to our changing feelings and clouded impressions. If events seem to be proceeding as I wish, then surely the Universe is full of peace and order. If events seem to be proceeding against my wishes, then surely the Universe is full of conflict and chaos.

My wishes and my feelings, however, do not make something real, and we make things far too difficult for ourselves when we follow only the whims of appearances, rather than the principles of reason. I will only make sense of how I feel when I understand who I am, and why I am here.

Beyond my own prejudices, there are simple truths that can guide the way. What has been moved requires a mover, and every effect requires a cause. Where there is causality, there is order. Where there is order, there is purpose. Things do not act in isolation, but in relationship to one another, and as parts of the whole. I must consider, therefore, the order and purpose of the parts within the order and purpose of the whole.

Providence need not be some obscure and mysterious concept, but can rather be understood as the way in which all changing things, past, present, and future, share in a unified good. Nature reveals this whenever we observe her shapes and patterns, and our own lives reveal this when we observe how our actions interlock with our world.

Providence does not exclude Fortune, what we might call luck or chance events, because randomness exists only in our perceptions. I may not know the specific cause, though I can surely know that there was a cause, and that it was connected to all others.

Providence also does not exclude freedom, the power of our own choices within the whole, because freedom can already exist within a universal order, and need not be outside of it. Order may permit by cooperation just as easily as it may temper by restriction.

Of what use can such grand theory be in my daily living? It can be of great worth, because it reminds me that everything has its place, and everything has its reason. Whatever happens to me, however pleasant or painful, and whatever I choose, however right or wrong, will play a necessary part in the harmony of everything, and however small my role may be, it will never be insignificant.

Sometime the world seems so big, impersonal, and chaotic, but it only seems that way because my own judgment is so petty, selfish, and disordered. I can find my own liberty and peace as soon as I see that the act of choosing to improve myself is reflected in the improvement of all that is around me. I should hardly blame fate, or curse chance, because how fully I cooperate with Providence is the very measure of my own purpose, and the very foundation of my own happiness. 

Written in 1/2000

Image: Quatremere de Quincy, Olympian Zeus (1815)

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.2

Whatever this is that I am, it is a little flesh and breath, and the ruling part.

Throw away your books. No longer distract yourself, for it is not allowed, but as if you were now dying, despise the flesh. It is blood and bones and a network, a contexture of nerves, veins, and arteries. See the breath also, what kind of a thing it is, air, and not always the same, but every moment sent out and again sucked in.

The third, then, is the ruling part. Consider this: you are an old man, no longer let this be a slave, no longer be pulled by the strings like a puppet to unsocial movements, no longer either be dissatisfied with your present lot, or shrink from the future.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 2 (tr Long)

Stoicism has a wonderful way of helping us to see things from a new perspective, sometimes revealing the direct opposite of what we thought was true, or pointing to a complete reversal of what we thought was valuable in life. I have often called this the “Stoic Turn”, and it can at the same time be both an unnerving and a liberating experience.

Consider how we define ourselves. For all of our insistence on respecting what people are on the “inside”, we are usually quite obsessed with what is on the outside. We worship the things of the body: its appearance, its pleasure, its strength, its health, its longevity, and its possessions.

What fabric have I draped over my body today, and what chemicals line my face? What kind of box does my body live in, and what kind of smaller box do I move around in? When my body goes to yet another box that gives me the pieces of paper to acquire the first two boxes, do the other bodies there make me feel good about myself? When I get back to my own box at night, how will I gratify my body? Will any of this make any difference when I end up dead in one final box?

The body is just an arrangement of matter, and all the things that adorn it are just different arrangements of matter. What gives that matter life, what we call the breath, is just the motion of matter. These things are brought into existence by combination, they exist very briefly in a fragile and precarious state, and then they suddenly cease to exist by separation.

To “despise” the flesh is not to want to destroy it, but to recognize that there is absolutely nothing about it that is worth loving for its own sake. I should be completely indifferent to my body, not by failing to care for it, but by knowing that it only becomes good or bad depending on how it is ordered and directed by reason, by the ruling part.

What is meaningful and valuable in this life is not the mere presence of the body, or the fact that it is living instead of dead, or how that body is tied together to other bodies. What gives dignity and purpose to life is the ability to understand what is true and good, to freely choose it, and to act upon it. It is not merely in the living, but in how well we live. It is through awareness, both of itself and its world, that the ruling part guides the way, and can inform us how it is only the excellence of our own judgments and actions themselves that can give us worth.

The higher should rule the lower, but in our lives we find these roles are too often reversed. The mind should be telling the body how to assist as we grow in wisdom and in virtue, but instead the body tells the mind how to merely be a tool for greater power and pleasure. The strings are being pulled from the wrong direction.

My life is short, and I must learn to make the right choice, to no longer desire the lesser things, about how rich or gratified I am in the flesh, but to dedicate everything to the greater things, about how virtuous and dignified I am in my thoughts and deeds. If I can turn around my thinking, I can also turn around my priorities.

Written in 1/2000

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.1

Begin the morning by saying to yourself: I shall meet with the busybody, the ungrateful, arrogant, deceitful, envious, unsocial. All these things happen to them by reason of their ignorance of what is good and evil.

But I who have seen the nature of the good that is beautiful, and of the bad that it is ugly, and the nature of him who does wrong, that it is akin to me, not only of the same blood or seed, but that it participates in the same intelligence and the same portion of the divinity, I can neither be injured by any of them, for no one can fix on me what is ugly, nor can I be angry with my kinsman, nor hate him.

For we are made for cooperation, like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of the upper and lower teeth. To act against one another then is contrary to Nature, and it is acting against one another to be vexed and to turn away.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 2 (tr Long)

I have often felt, as I am sure many of us have, that the selfishness, malice, and pettiness of others has been the greatest obstacle to my own sanity and sanctity. It would be so much easier to live well if others did not live so poorly.

That concern is, however, not an expression of my problems, but the very root of my problems. Others are hardly the obstacles, because as soon as I think in that way, I am passing on the blame. My own thinking is the only obstacle.

Another tries to hurt me, because he thinks it is right to do so. I will only allow myself to be hurt if I also think it is right to do so. If this is the case, I have already lost, for I have defined myself by conflict, and I have justified myself through division. Hatred has just bred more hatred. The only difference was that one instance was beyond my power, and the other instance was entirely within my power.

Selfishness, malice, and pettiness are all built on the premise that we are at our best in opposition. I cannot change the assumption of another, but I can easily change my own assumption. Nature makes us to be together, and not apart, to work in harmony, and not in strife. I should worry less if another understands this, than if I understand it and live it myself.

The complementary of human beings is no pipe dream, but is grounded in our very identity. Creatures that can know what is good in itself, completely above what is gratifying only to their passions, are given one of the most wonderful gifts. I don’t need to be better than someone else, but I can be better with someone else. It doesn’t matter if someone else tips the balance the wrong way, because I can decide to tip it right back.

Life does often seem like a battle, but we are not fighting other people. We are only fighting ourselves. You may try to hurt me, but only I can choose to be hurt. You are my neighbor, not my enemy, made for the same purpose that I am, and I refuse to engage in combat with you. You may want to make me miserable, but I will still try to help you to be happy.

Anyone who wants to harm you, to discredit you, or to dismiss you is not an obstacle at all. He is only an obstacle to himself, and an opportunity for you to be good in the face of evil. I should attempt to think of ignorance as a chance to pursue wisdom, and vice as a means to seek virtue.

Written in 1/2000

Image: Hans Holbein, The Arrogance of Rehoboam (c. 1530)

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 1.1

From my grandfather, Verus, I learned good morals and the government of my temper.

From the reputation and remembrance of my father, modesty and a manly character.

From my mother, piety and beneficence, and abstinence, not only from evil deeds, but even from evil thoughts; and further, simplicity in my way of living, far removed from the habits of the rich.

From my great-grandfather, not to have frequented public schools, and to have had good teachers at home, and to know that on such things a man should spend liberally.

From my governor, to be neither of the green nor of the blue party at the games in the Circus, nor a partisan either of the Parmularius or the Scutarius at the gladiators' fights; from him too I learned endurance of labor, and to want little, and to work with my own hands, and not to meddle with other people's affairs, and not to be ready to listen to slander.

From Diognetus, not to busy myself about trifling things, and not to give credit to what was said by miracle-workers and jugglers about incantations and the driving away of daemons and such things; and not to breed quails for fighting, nor to give myself up passionately to such things; and to endure freedom of speech; and to have become intimate with philosophy; and to have been a hearer, first of Bacchius, then of Tandasis and Marcianus; and to have written dialogues in my youth; and to have desired a plank bed and skin, and whatever else of the kind belongs to the Greek discipline.

From Rusticus I received the impression that my character required improvement and discipline; and from him I learned not to be led astray to sophistic emulation, nor to writing on speculative matters, nor to delivering little hortatory orations, nor to showing myself off as a man who practices much discipline, or does benevolent acts in order to make a display. . . .

From Apollonius I learned freedom of will and undeviating steadiness of purpose; and to look to nothing else, not even for a moment, except to reason; and to be always the same, in sharp pains, on the occasion of the loss of a child, and in long illness. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 1 (tr Long)

We still thank those who have helped us when we receive honors, and we still tend to write dedications for books or records, but we usually don’t do so with half as much commitment and reflection as Marcus Aurelius. They will cut you off after a few too many seconds at the Academy Awards, but Aurelius fills the entire first book of the Meditations with his thanks. We think it enough to thank a spouse for just being “patient” in the preface, but Aurelius tells us so much more, about how and why these many people helped him to build his character.

It is interesting to look up who these people were, but perhaps even more interesting to consider why he is grateful to them. I may thank my manager for getting me the best contract, or my business professor for teaching me the art of the deal, or my law partner for helping me win all of those lucrative cases. Aurelius is not interested in the acquisition of wealth, power, or fame, but admires others for the wisdom and virtue they modeled. This isn’t about recognizing those who were there while he became a big man, but those who helped him to become a good man.

Only the first few entries are listed above, but they already give a powerful sense of the man who ruled an empire and slept on a board.

He hardly sounds like a wealthy heir when he speaks of what his family offered him: good morals, temperance, modesty, manly character, piety, beneficence, abstinence from evil deeds and evil thoughts, and simplicity of living far from the habits of the rich. I smile when I see him grateful for an education at home, something he does think is well worth the expense.

Some of the teachers who had a great influence on him, Diognetus, Apollonius, and Rusticus, encouraged the pursuit of a philosophical life: to follow reason over superstition, to dedicate oneself to self-discipline over the love of appearances, and to choose steadfastness of purpose in all circumstances.

Now I have been around the block a few times, and I have seen people mouth all the right words, while still doing all the wrong things; those are, in fact, usually the most successful kind of criminals and tyrants. If I have any doubts, however, about whether Marcus Aurelius will put his money where his mouth is, I need only read on in the Meditations.

He was a man with faults like anyone else, but what sets him apart is his commitment to a life of constant personal improvement, and a perspective on the value of all human effort within the harmony of the entire Universe. I believe there is a good reason he was the last of Rome’s “Five Good Emperors”, men who tried to exercise power with virtue.

Written in 12/1999

Image: Portrait of Marcus Aurelius as a Boy (c. 140 AD) 

The Stoic film they never made. . .

From Seneca to Marcus Aurelius

The account of Seneca's On the Happy Life is complete. If Fortune so permits it, the blog will continue with the text, and an informal commentary, for the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius.

As always, we are grateful to those who have taken the time to read and reflect with us, and hopeful that Stoic thinking can continue to assist people in daily living.

Seneca, On the Happy Life 64: A Lofty Standpoint

This you do not understand, and you bear a countenance that does not befit your condition, like many men who sit in the circus or the theater without having learned that their home is already in mourning.

But I, looking forward from a lofty standpoint, can see what storms are either threatening you, and will burst in torrents upon you somewhat later, or are close upon you and on the point of sweeping away all that you possess.

Why, though you are hardly aware of it, is there not a whirling hurricane at this moment spinning round and confusing your minds, making them seek and avoid the very same things, now raising them aloft and now dashing them below?

—Seneca the Younger, On the happy life, Chapter 28 (tr Stewart)

The text of Seneca the Younger’s On the happy life abruptly ends here. I don’t know if the later sections were lost over the centuries, or if Seneca never finished them. I would certainly have liked to read more, but what has been given is already far more than enough. The philosopher has reminded me in so many ways to look at everything from a lofty standpoint, not with any sense of superiority, but with a broader perspective on how I should understand my own human condition in right relation to all other things.

If I view myself only narrowly, from the immediate confines of my fortune and amusements, I will never understand who I really am, why I am here, and what I have to live for. I will never grasp how much I have wasted, how I have harmed myself and done wrong to others, and how close I now am to having abandoned all of my blessings. I will be confused about what to love, and so I will pursue all the wrong things, and neglect all the right things. I will want what is bad for me, and therefore I will both crave it and curse it. I will just be throwing myself around blindly if I cannot distinguish between what is reliable and what is unreliable.

Yet if I seek the higher ground, and look at everything from above, what appeared jumbled and confounding will now reveal meaning and purpose. I will learn that I am not determined by my circumstances, but by the character of my own choices and actions. I will recognize that nothing external to me is good or bad unless I choose to make it so, and that every situation is an opportunity for becoming better. I will not replace a love for what is greater with a preference for what is lesser. I will embrace Nature as the measure of all that is good, and respect the place of all these things in the harmony of Providence.

I may have wanted to read more of Seneca’s book, but I don’t need to. So too in my own life, I may have wanted more time and more chances, but I don’t need them. What has been given is already far more than enough. I am very much mistaken if I think that living any longer, with more possessions, power, or recognition, will give me a better life. By all means, pass such things my way, but only my good use of them will make any difference at all. Even the briefest, simplest, most humble, and most unassuming life is sufficient to live with excellence. The good can die young, poor, and forgotten, because the good never need to become old, rich, and renowned.

I have been a teacher, a counselor, a bartender, a writer, and a quite reliable gofer, and sometimes I was even paid for it.

I have played music with an orchestra in a fancy concert hall, and with an Irish folk band behind chicken wire in the best dive bar in town.

I have paid for a new car in cash, and swept the house for loose change to buy lunch.

I bungled my way to a doctorate, and even became a questionably ordained minister. I display the diploma for the latter, but not for the former.

I wandered remote mountains in perfect contentment without seeing another soul for days, and I wandered the streets of big cities feeling completely alone surrounded by millions.

I have stood up to bullies and demagogues, and I have almost always lost the battles on their terms, but I have almost always won them on mine.

I have drunk the finest single malt from crystal, and rotgut from a paper bag. I learned that neither made me a better man, and often made me a worse one.

I briefly met Mother Teresa, and she spoke only a very few words to me that changed my life. I later met a murderer when I was working in prison ministry, who added a few more words that changed my life even more.

I have dug myself into the darkest holes, and grappled my way back up into warm sunlight. I have fallen down far too many times to count, but to this day I have always gotten back on my feet, however much the worse for wear.

Through it all, I became used to the Black Dog always nipping at my heels.

The most selfish person I ever knew broke my heart, and the most compassionate person I ever knew tried to help me mend it. 

I lost a child, and I tried to raise two more. I have no idea what will become of them, but I hope that they will always think for themselves, and that they will never lose their sense of what is good and beautiful.

Those were all quite wonderful, and sometimes even extraordinary, things to have. I am grateful for them, but I never needed them. I will welcome it if circumstance offers something else, but it would only be an encore. I don’t need more, I only need to make right of what I already am.

All I ever need to be happy is to make a decision, at any given moment, to depend upon the virtue of what I do, not upon what is done to me. Any kind of moment will suffice to do well. 

Written in 3/2017

Seneca, On the Happy Life 63: Pimples and Ulcers

. . . But have you leisure to peer into other men's evil deeds and to sit in judgment upon anybody? To ask how it is that this philosopher has so roomy a house, or that one has so good a dinner? Do you look at other people's pimples while yon yourselves are covered with countless ulcers? This is as though one who was eaten up by the mange were to point with scorn at the moles and warts on the bodies of the handsomest men.

Reproach Plato with having sought for money, reproach Aristotle with having obtained it, Democritus with having disregarded it, Epicurus with having spent it. Cast Phaedrus and Alcibiades in my own teeth, you who reach the height of enjoyment whenever you get an opportunity of imitating our vices!

Why do you not rather cast your eyes around yourselves at the ills that tear you to pieces on every side, some attacking you from without, some burning in your own chests? However little you know your own place, mankind has not yet come to such a place that you can have leisure to wag your tongues to the reproach of your betters.

—Seneca the Younger, On the happy life, Chapter 27 (tr Stewart)

It often seems so easy to diminish others and to elevate ourselves, perhaps because we think the diminishing is the very means for the elevating. I know this not simply from observing others, but from being brutally honest about myself.

We rarely recognize our own hypocrisy, because we ignorantly but genuinely work from the premise that there are indeed different rules for ourselves and for others. We might feel ashamed to say this to others, but we hardly feel guilty about thinking it to ourselves.

If I have already begun by thinking that my own satisfaction is the measure of all things, I will never recognize myself in others, or be called to serve them, but I will rather see them only as a means to my own end. You must make yourself better,  but I was already good to begin with. The pimple on your face is obviously an outrage, even as the ulcer on my own is actually quite handsome, thank you.

I can only overcome such a contradiction of character if I grasp the role of human nature within all of Nature. My own humanity, as a being made to know the truth and to love what is good, is never inherently in conflict with the humanity of others, which, for all of our different circumstances, is essentially the same as mine.

I will only cure myself when I look at another, and I see myself. I can only love when I am willing to humbly give of myself for others. I can only be just if I am able to offer respect no differently than I ask it to be given.

We often hear that we should not judge, but I suggest that we must rightly distinguish. To make a judgment is to determine the true from the false, and to more specifically make a judgment about morals is to determine the right from the wrong. Remove these, and you remove the very guides that inform all human actions. Relativism is an unintelligible excuse for neglecting objective accountability.

Instead, we abuse judgment when we pursue it with a double standard, and when we pursue it with malice. By all means, judge the good from the bad, but do not judge others any differently than you judge yourself. By all means, separate right from wrong, but do not correct others to make them look worse, but so that you might help them to become better. There is a world of difference between the man who judges with condemnation and the man who judges with compassion.

Above all else, I must never consider my responsibility for another before I have mastered my responsibility for myself. Specks in the eye or the temptations of adultery can certainly be harmful things, but they are hardly as harmful as when I expect others to do what I won’t do for myself.

Written in 4/2010

Image: Pieter Bruegel the Elder, Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery (1565)

Seneca, On the Happy Life 62: A Trial of Strength

Behold! From that prison of his, which by entering he cleansed from shame and rendered more honorable than any senate house, Socrates addresses you, saying:

“What is this madness of yours? What is this disposition, at war alike with gods and men, which leads you to defame virtue and to outrage holiness with malicious accusations? Praise good men, if you are able. If not, pass them by in silence. If indeed you take pleasure in this offensive abusiveness, fall foul of one another, for when you rave against Heaven, I do not say that you commit sacrilege, but you waste your time.

“I once afforded Aristophanes with the subject of a jest, and since then all the crew of comic poets have made me a mark for their venomous wit. My virtue has been made to shine more brightly by the very blows which have been aimed at it, for it is to its advantage to be brought before the public and exposed to temptation, nor do any people understand its greatness more than those who by their assaults have made trial of its strength.

“The hardness of flint is known to none so well as to those who strike it. I offer myself to all attacks, like some lonely rock in a shallow sea, which the waves never cease to beat upon from whatever quarter they may come, but which they cannot thereby move from its place, nor yet wear away, for however many years they may unceasingly dash against it.

“Leap upon me, rush upon me, I will overcome you by enduring your onset. Whatever strikes against that which is firm and unconquerable merely injures itself by its own violence. Therefore, seek some soft and yielding object to pierce with your darts.” . . .

—Seneca the Younger, On the happy life, Chapter 27 (tr Stewart)

I have often felt very weak, because I have never been terribly good at defeating others, either in mind or in body. I am quite wrong to think this, however, since having power over others is hardly strength at all. Strength is actually in having power over oneself.

I once read a newspaper article about someone I had known in my younger days, who was quoted as saying: “I pursue every opportunity, and I take what I want.” This saddened me, because I expected better. Success is not in taking what I want, but in wanting to give so I can be better. Conquest is hardly the pursuit of a noble opportunity.

My feelings have always bruised far too easily, so I also thought I would not even be any good at ruling myself. My mistake was that I assumed being strong required hardening my emotions, or disposing of them entirely. I have seen many people I cared for do precisely that, and they became convinced they were strong because they were now cold and heartless.

No, it isn’t about not feeling, or not caring. It isn’t about stifling my emotions, but rather about allowing my reason to make the best use of those emotions. Socrates was attacked and abused over and over, and I have no doubt that he must have felt pain. What he managed to do was to take the offense, and to transform the attempt to harm him into a means for building his virtue.

I will only succumb to the feelings of being rejected or dismissed if I allow them to rule me. Throw an obstacle in the way of my judgment and choice, and yes, it will cause be pain, but it need not cause me harm. Like a muscle that is strengthened through repeated exercise, you only give me the chance to become stronger in my convictions. By doing wrong, you give me more opportunity to do right. If you must tempt me to be angry, or to strike back in return, I can decide all the more to love instead of hate. You have made yourself weaker, and helped me to be stronger, by foolishly trying to destroy me.

Can a bully steal my lunch money, can a friend abandon me, can a lawyer leave me penniless, and can a tyrant take my life? Of course, but those aren’t the things that matter. Socrates was not weak in prison because he lost his case, but rather he was strong in prison because his spirit was unconquerable. 

Written in 4/2010

Image: a site in Athens traditionally known as "The Prison of Socrates"

Seneca, On the Happy Life 61: Silence over Show

. . . But although this conduct of yours does not hurt me, yet, for your own sake, I advise you, respect virtue. Believe those who having long followed her call, that what they follow is a thing of might, and daily appears mightier.

Reverence her as you would the gods, and reverence her followers as you would the priests of the gods, and whenever any mention of sacred writings is made, favor us with your tongues. Favor is not derived, as most people imagine, from applause, but commands silence, so that divine service may be performed without being interrupted by any words of evil omen. It is much more necessary that you should be ordered to do this so that whenever utterance is made by that oracle, you may listen to it with attention and in silence.

Whenever anyone beats a sistrum, pretending to do so by divine command, anyone proficient in grazing his own skin covers his arms and shoulders with blood from light cuts, anyone crawls on his knees howling along the street, or any old man clad in linen comes forth in daylight with a lamp and laurel branch and cries out that one of the gods is angry, you crowd round him and listen to his words, and each increases the other's dumb amazement by declaring him to be divinely inspired!

—Seneca the Younger, On the happy life, Chapter 26 (tr Stewart)

There are times for making a joyful sound, but I have always thought that respect is best practiced in silence. This is not just a question of good manners, but rather an expression of humility in the face of what we hold dear. If I am full of sound and fury, I hear only my own words, and I draw attention only to my own spectacle. I am hardly pointing to what is greater than myself, and I am only trying to make myself greater. I am unable to listen over my own noise.

Virtue is worthy of reverence, because it is the path to our happiness. Virtue is also divine, not only in a poetic sense, but by participating in the unity of all that is good. Man improves himself through his own judgment and action, by so doing he plays his special part in the perfection of the whole of Nature, and thereby he shows his reverence to Providence.

We will recognize those who seek virtue by the way they empty themselves of all diversion, just as we will recognize those who shun virtue by the way they fill themselves with vanity. Part of my daily struggle is to listen more than I speak, to give more than I receive, and to show respect instead of demanding it.

Making a show of things can so easily become an act of arrogance. When I was in college, I remember that far too many of the students in the Honors Program were less interested in learning, and more interested in constantly speaking about how much they already knew. When I went to work, I saw the domination of those gifted at glorifying themselves. When I have tried to worship, I see far more performance than I do piety.

I have already wasted too much of my life deluded by appearances, and neglecting the improvement of my own heart and mind. I thought for too long that beautiful things, things worthy of admiration, had to be exciting to the senses and enticing to the passions. I was ignoring that a person is beautiful because of character, not because of display.

Practicing the art of silent reverence can be quite demanding in a world so full of flashy images, constantly telling us to pose and consume, but I find more and more that I can’t love virtue if I am distracted by mere impressions. 

Written in 1/2002

Image: Eugene Delacroix, Lycurgus Consulting the Pythia (c. 1840) 

Seneca, On the Happy Life 60: Principles and Prejudices

. . . The great Socrates, or anyone else who had the same superiority to and power to withstand the things of this life, would say, “I have no more fixed principle than that of not altering the course of my life to suit your prejudices. You may pour your accustomed talk upon me from all sides. I shall not think that you are abusing me, but that you are merely wailing like poor little infants.”

This is what the man will say who possesses wisdom, whose mind, being free from vices, bids him to reproach others, not because he hates them, but in order to improve them.

And to this he will add, "Your opinion of me affects me with pain, not for my own sake but for yours, because to hate perfection and to assail virtue is in itself a resignation of all hope of doing well. You do me no harm; neither do men harm the gods when they overthrow their altars. But it is clear that your intention is an evil one and that you will wish to do harm even where you are not able.

“I bear with your prating in the same spirit in which Jupiter, best and greatest, bears with the idle tales of the poets, one of whom represents him with wings, another with horns, another as an adulterer staying out all night, another as dealing harshly with the gods, another as unjust to men, another as the seducer of noble youths whom he carries off by force, and those, too, his own relatives, another as a parricide and the conqueror of another's kingdom, and that of his father's.”

The only result of such tales is that men feel less shame at committing sin if they believe the gods to be guilty of such actions. . . .

—Seneca the Younger, On the happy life, Chapter 26 (tr Stewart)

A life dedicated to pleasure and position, which is of necessity a life that is also subservient to what is outside of us, will be a life of conformity. Once I begin, in even the most cursory manner, to think in terms of Nature instead of Fortune, it becomes apparent how often principle gives way to prejudice. Instead of asking how to do something in a way that is right, we assume something is right because of the way it is already done. The surrender to fashion means the surrender of reason, and it will immediately dismiss what is uncommon and unpopular.

To borrow a modern phrase, don’t take it personally. Some people will try to ridicule anything that is different from their established orthodoxy, and degrading others is the only way they know to make themselves feel better. Their ignorance and malice does not have to become my ignorance and malice.

For some, a correction or a rebuke can only be an insult. I, however, can choose to help, not to harm, and to allow myself to be helped in turn, not to feel resentment. I can let an argument be weighed by what is sound, not by what is preferred.

I know I am starting down the right path when the pain I feel no longer comes from my own loss, but from the loss of others. Socrates once said that a better man can not be harmed by a worse man, because even as the worse man increases his own vice, he can never take away the virtue of a better man. I should worry less about how others are vainly trying to hurt me, and far more about helping them not to hurt themselves.

Some will try to blame what is Divine, however it may be understood, for their own weaknesses. If they only reflected upon this clearly for a moment, they would understand that the Divine is, by its very definition, that which is perfect and lacking in nothing, the source by which all other things become good. God cannot be hurt by insult or abuse, and whenever we reject God to excuse ourselves from accountability we only insult or abuse ourselves.

In like manner, the man who seeks to be god-like, for all of his flaws, does not need to fear the malice of others. He should continually improve himself, and wish to see others transform their own hatred into love.

Written in 1/2002

Image: Josef Abel, Socrates Teaching His Disciples (c. 1801)