Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.32

The one is a philosopher without a tunic, and the other without a book. Here is another half naked.

Bread I have not, he says, and I abide by reason. And I do not get the means of living out of my learning, and I abide by my reason.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

Some people may define philosophy as a trade, in which case I have known folks who have managed to pay the bills with it, and even a few who found a bit of fame and fortune along the way. One clever trick I have observed is the use of a degree in philosophy to gain an edge in more profitable careers, like law, business, or politics.

But for the Stoic, and for anyone who understands philosophy in the perennial sense of the love of wisdom, philosophy isn’t a means for acquiring money or reputation. It is the pursuit of understanding true from false, and right from wrong, for its own sake, for the purpose of living well.

“What use is it, then?” many will ask. The question is hardly unimportant, even if the intent behind it may be quite dismissive. It rather points straight to the most important question we can ask ourselves, and thereby itself reveals the necessity of philosophy: What is the highest good in life?

For the Stoic, virtue is itself that highest good, because it fulfills the very function of a rational being. I should look at everything else, and ask myself how these things will either aid me or hinder me in pursuing a life committed to my own moral character. Indifferent to externals for their own sake, the Stoic asks only how they might be ordered toward internal excellence.

By all means, let me make money if it can help me to be a better person, but I should be just as willing to embrace poverty if that condition can improve me. While some people will define their very lives by the presence or absence of certain circumstances, the Stoic will only view these circumstances as relative to a very different end, by what he thinks and by how he acts.

Whether I have on decent clothes, or I own the best books, or I even have food on the table will not be the measure of a Stoic life. Simply and purely, with all other things relative and subservient to it, abiding by reason, and thereby living in harmony with Nature, is the measure of the Stoic life. It isn’t about working for any wealth, gratification, or honor, but about working on myself.

This may seem like terribly bad advertising for the pursuit of philosophy, but that would only be the case if we think that advertising ought to be dishonest. It also reveals that, since many people will be horrified by the prospect of not loving fortune first, philosophy has her job cut out for her. She should encourage people to care for far better things.

How useful is philosophy? Useful for what? The life of a philosopher demands dedicated and honest reflection on what I should even be living for, and in doing so can reveal a whole new way of managing the things that are more or less important.

If I don’t think that looking sharp, or even staying warm, are all that high up on the priorities of life, I won’t really miss that tunic all too much. Keep me stylish and cozy, if you wish, but not at the expense of dedicating everything to being a good man.

Written in 11/2005

Image: Jules Bastein-Lepage, Diogenes (1873)

Ellen Goodman

This is precisely what happens when normal is sadly no longer natural. . .

The Police, "Synchronicity II"

As a reference for Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.31:

I loved this song the moment I first heard it, and I immediately saw how it reflected modern alienation.

It took me a little while, however, to think through the Carl Jung connection, and how the wild beast and the father are connected. That only made the song all the more frightening.

The Police, "Synchronicity II", from Synchronicity (1983)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5FPPoLqkCk

Another suburban family morning
Grandmother screaming at the wall
We have to shout above the din of our rice crispies
We can't hear anything at all
Mother chants her litany of boredom and frustration
But we know all her suicides are fake
Daddy only stares into the distance
There's only so much more that he can take

Many miles away something crawls from the slime
At the bottom of a dark Scottish lake

Another industrial ugly morning
The factory belches filth into the sky
He walks unhindered through the picket lines today
He doesn't think to wonder why
The secretaries pout and preen like cheap tarts in a red light street
But all he ever thinks to do is watch
And every single meeting with his so-called superior
Is a humiliating kick in the crotch

Many miles away something crawls to the surface
Of a dark Scottish loch

Another working day has ended
Only the rush hour hell to face
Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes
Contestants in a suicidal race
Daddy grips the wheel and stares alone into the distance
He knows that something somewhere has to break
He sees the family home now looming in his headlights
The pain upstairs that makes his eyeballs ache

Many miles away there's a shadow on the door
Of a cottage on the shore
Of a dark Scottish lake
Many miles away
Many miles away
Many miles away

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.31

If he is a stranger to the Universe who does not know what is in it, no less is he a stranger who does not know what is going on in it.

He is a runaway, who flies from social reason. He is blind, who shuts the eyes of the understanding. He is poor, who has need of another, and has not from himself all things that are useful for life.

He is an abscess on the Universe who withdraws and separates himself from the reason of our common Nature, through being displeased with the things that happen, for the same Nature produces this, and has produced you as well.

He is a piece rent asunder from the state, who tears his own soul from that of reasonable animals, which is one.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

We are right to pride ourselves on all the ways modern science has taught us more and more about how the Universe works, and though I have never been terribly gifted in the natural sciences, I try to go out of my way to keep up with all the most recent observations and theories. They always leave me with a sense of awe and wonder.

At the same time, I notice how often the depth of our knowledge, and the rapid growth in the technology that comes with it, are in stark contrast to what I can only call a personal alienation from Nature. Please forgive my poetic side, but I feel it in the air. Too many of us are no longer tied to a sense of all the beauty and harmony in the way things work together. We isolate ourselves from the changes of the seasons, from the wide diversity of life we are a part of, and we stare mindlessly at the steel and concrete we have cobbled together around us, far too rarely with appreciation at the firmament above us.

We also grow cold and distant from one another. We are tied together all the more by new means of communication, but we are increasingly separated in our hearts and minds. Images abound, but understanding is too often absent. Utility overpowers human concern. What should be community gives way to loneliness. We are crammed closer and closer together, but all of us in our own little isolated corners.

The Police, one of the old greats, said it well:

Another working day has ended,

Only the rush hour hell to face.

Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes,

Contestants in a suicidal race.

Though I may perceive it so prevalently in our days and age, such a separation is hardly anything new. Marcus Aurelius noted centuries ago how we alienate ourselves when we abandon reason, and we thereby cut ourselves off from the harmony of Nature and from our social bonds with other people.

I have been a stranger to life and an abscess on the Universe most when I do exactly what the Philosopher-Emperor describes. Instead of taking responsibility for myself, I will try to cast blame outwards. Instead of trying to live well through my own power, in harmony with all other things, I will try to make good living something that I expect to be given to me. All the recriminations, and all the resentment, lead only to discord. I have torn myself away from unity.

Surely, I wasn’t the only stubborn child who would try to hold his breath until he was given exactly what he wanted? Our adult version is more refined, but no less ridiculous.

If I am unhappy with the state of affairs, I can do one of two things. I can vainly try to make the world fit my demands, or I can wisely adapt my own action to becoming better. I can only be a good influence on others when I have mastered myself. I can work with Nature, and with my neighbors, or I can work against them. Either way, Providence will unfold as it should, though I will make myself happy or miserable by my cooperation or my arrogance.

Written in 10/2005

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.30

A black character, a womanish character, a stubborn character, bestial, childish, animal, stupid, counterfeit, scurrilous, fraudulent, tyrannical.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

A very intelligent student once surprised me by saying this passage was proof that all white males are racist and sexist. When I tried to explain the context, he immediately reported me to the Dean for what he called a “hate crime”.

Philosophy will inevitably be offensive to ignorance, and it should never bow to the fashions of the age. Show others a respect for their point of view, if you wish you own point of view to be respected. Censorship will solve nothing, if we still want to encourage people to do their own thinking.

If the fine fellow had bothered to read the whole assignment, instead of only the bits that fit his preconceptions, he would have seen that the true Stoic is probably the most fair, egalitarian, and cosmopolitan person you’re ever likely to meet. The Stoic never judges you by what you are, but by who you are.

Blackness here has nothing to do with race, and femininity is quite fitting for a woman, but hardly fitting for a man such as our author, Marcus Aurelius himself. Inequality isn’t the issue. The development of moral character, regardless of race, gender, creed, or class, is the issue.

I have never found a passage by any Classical Stoic author that tells me how the Greeks are any better than the Romans, or how men are any better than women. I have, however, found many Stoic passages that tell me how a good man, or a good woman, is better than a bad man, or a bad woman.

The Stoics believed in the universality of humanity, and they believed, as all decent people do, that what comes first is the content of character.

In school I was once taught to love people for their own sake, beyond any accidents. But the times they are a changing, once again, as they always do. I choose to ride it out. This too shall pass.

My point is most certainly not political, because the politics of our age is primarily about ideological posturing and power, whether from the right or from the left. My point is moral. I try to define people by how they think, and by how they act, not by where they happened to be born, or what they happened to be born with. Man is a social animal, and he is always called to live with justice.

I believe this is precisely the point Marcus Aurelius has in mind. I should observe all the people around me, who have darkness in their souls, who make of themselves something they are not, who spout lies and hatred, who want only their own way, who seek gratification, power, and control, and who live in conflict with the harmony of Nature.

Now, I have only one task.

Don’t be like them.

I shouldn’t breed hatred where there should be love, and I shouldn’t breed division where there should be unity.

It’s easy for me to love people who agree with me. It’s hard for me to love people who disagree with me. I need to work on loving those people, the ones that all the important folks now tell me I’m supposed to hate.

Everyone is worthy of love, even the tyrants, but I don’t have to be one to show my care for one.

Written in 1/2016

Boethius, The Consolation 1.15

. . . “Would you learn the sum of the charges against me? It was said that ‘I had desired the safety of the Senate.’ You would learn in what way. I was charged with ‘having hindered an informer from producing papers by which the Senate could be accused of treason.’

“What think you, my mistress? Shall I deny it lest it shame you? No, I did desire the safety of the Senate, nor shall I ever cease to desire it. Shall I confess it? Then there would have been no need to hinder an informer. Shall I call it a crime to have wished for the safety of that order? By its own decrees concerning myself it has established that this is a crime. Though want of foresight often deceives itself, it cannot alter the merits of facts, and, in obedience to the Senate's command, I cannot think it right to hide the truth or to assent to falsehood.

“However, I leave it to your judgment, and that of philosophers, to decide how the justice of this may be; but I have committed to writing for history the true course of events, that posterity may not be ignorant of them.

“I think it unnecessary to speak of the forged letters through which I am accused of ‘hoping for the freedom of Rome.’ Their falsity would have been apparent if I had been free to question the evidence of the informers themselves, for their confessions have much force in all such business.” . . .

—from Book 1, Prose 4

Notice how the very wording of the charges reveals the difference between Boethius and his accusers. Boethius will gladly confess to such a claim, because he believes he is defending the safety of the Senate when he stands for integrity and justice. From his perspective, the institution can only thrive when the rule of law is respected, and when its mission of service is protected.

But wicked people think very differently than righteous people. Safety, for the accusers, is not about the common good, but about ensuring personal interest. The only benefit for them is the increase of their own wealth, power, and influence, and they surely assume that others desire the very same things that they do. What they mean is that the kind of safety Boethius seeks would be a threat to themselves.

Two opposing senses of safety follow from two opposing senses of benefit. A true patriot, for example, will gladly fight and die to protect his neighbors, while a false patriot will gladly allow his neighbors to fight and die to protect him.

Any institution, of any sort, shows its strength when people work together for a shared goal, and it shows its weakness when it becomes a means for conflict and selfish profit. I can imagine many of Boethius’ readers, from many times and places, understanding quite well what has happened, because while they have sometimes seen their own institutions succeed, they have for more often seen them fail.

I have never really been in any great position of power, but I have, on occasion, had the opportunity, and the horror, of observing how things tend to work on the inside. I do not necessarily assume any malice, but whenever an organization is faced with a problem, the immediate instinct is to circle the wagons. The goal will usually be to preserve appearances, and to secure the position of all those involved. If a weaker member of the pack must be sacrificed to save the stronger ones, that is seen as an unfortunate but necessary part of doing business.

And that is exactly how many of us will see the sort of mess that Boethius has gotten himself into. That’s how the world works, and if you want to make an omelet, you’ll have to break a few eggs. We see how the game is played, and we simply accept the rules, however unfair they might be.

We obviously don’t know exactly what was going on in the minds of the senators, but enough of them clearly thought their idea of safety was in direct conflict with Boethius’ idea of safety, and that the promotion of their interests required damage to the interests of others.

Boethius, however, is the sort of man who stands out from the crowd. For all the ways he may be confused, he still tries to act on principle, and he doesn’t think the ends justify the means, or that some must suffer so others can succeed. Remember that all of this started when he stood up for someone he thought an innocent victim, and now he in turn has to be the victim.

His own power and position have been destroyed, and he finds this unfair, but he is perhaps even more troubled by the gravity of the offense against the truth itself. It can be hard to decide whether it is more painful to suffer an offense myself, or to see something I deeply love and respect suffer an offense.

Written in 6/2015

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.29

Either it is a well-arranged Universe or a chaos huddled together, but still a Universe.

But can a certain order subsist in you, and disorder in the All? And this too, when all things are so separated and diffused, and sympathetic.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

The question of order and disorder in life never seems to go away, nor should it. Some things appear to follow a plan, and other things appear to follow absolutely no plan at all. All theory aside, this problem influences our daily lives in so many ways. I may wake up one morning, and everything is just as I expected. I may wake up on another morning, and nothing makes any sense at all. How I face this will determine how I face the coming day.

I believe there are two different questions here, though they are of necessity very closely related. First, what is it to me? Second, what is it in itself?

If you think you don’t want to proceed from the former to the latter, by means of honest observation and sound reason, please stop reading now, because this reflection may not be for you. You have probably already decided it’s about you, not about you in harmony with Nature. I wish you the best.

Stoicism, Classically understood, is about finding solidarity on our human level, and about finding harmony with the Universe on an ultimate level. The horizontal fits into the vertical. Narrow theists try to tell you it’s all about God, and narrow humanists try to tell you it’s all about man. It’s about both, and you can’t separate them.

The part only makes sense within the context of the whole. The Stoic is a theist in all things, however broadly understood, because he sees the power of Divine Reason present immediately in all of his life. The true Stoic is also a humanist in all things, however he may express it, because he joyfully loves the dignity of each and every one of his neighbors.

I can explain Divine Reason, the Logos, in various ways. I can explain the dignity of my fellows, through what Marcus Aurelius calls my social nature, in various ways. But as soon as I neglect either, I am straying from Stoicism, Classically understood.

The way my world works doesn’t always seem to have purpose. This is where I need to follow the guidance of reason, not of my impressions. Truth is never about cherry picking. I need to take all of it, not just the bits I happen to prefer.

Even as many things appear so chaotic, they are still parts of everything together. Effects cannot proceed without causes, and causes must admit of order. I do not always understand the causes, and I do not always perceive the order, but I must admit that both are present, unless I wish to reject reason itself.

Yes, it may seem pointless, and yes, it may seem without any design. I can, however, choose to think, not just to feel, and I can see that nothing comes from nothing, and that nothing ever could. My apologies to Rodgers and Hammerstein.

Tell me that anything happens for no reason, and you have told me to reject logic itself. That may be clever marketing, but its also terrible thinking.

It may all seem quite diffused, quite contrary, and quite inconvenient. It isn’t. Even an apparently chaotic Universe is still a Universe. It isn’t my place to tell Nature how it should work, but to find my own place in how Nature works.

Written in 10/2005

Image: Flammarion Engraving (1888)

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.28

Have you seen those things? Look also at these. Do not disturb yourself. Make yourself all simplicity.

Does any one do wrong? It is to himself that he does the wrong.

Has anything happened to you? Well, out of the Universe from the beginning everything that happens has been apportioned and spun out to you.

In a word, your life is short. You must turn to profit the present by the aid of reason and justice. Be sober in your relaxation.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

The Stoic life is simple, because it asks me only for what is necessary, and it asks me not to worry myself about anything unnecessary. I have only the responsibility to care for my own character, and this is always within my reach. Anything good in how I live, or in what I achieve, or how I might improve the world, flows only from this. Other things will be as they may, and I should be content to ask myself only how I must change myself in relation to them.

I return quite regularly to the Platonic version of this rule, equally direct and straightforward. Justice is minding my own business. I will only get myself into trouble when I impose my preferences where they don’t really belong.

This distinction, between the things within my power and the things beyond my power, is indeed simple, and it would also seem to be easy to pursue, at least in and of itself. But not all simple things are necessarily easy things, and I suspect this is precisely because I can’t help but muddle up that very simplicity. Somehow my influences and habits want to add what is extraneous, thereby making it all the more complex, and so I also only make it harder for myself.

The Stoic life does not become difficult from what it asks of me, but because I am still drawn to all the things it doesn’t ask of me. What I shouldn’t be doing gets in the way of what I should be doing.

I may, for example, commit myself to keeping my thinking in harmony with Nature, and seeking to act only in such a way that it improves the virtue within me. Still, I am so used to being a busybody, to feeling important, and I see most all the other folks also rushing about, trying to become masters of their circumstances.

So I somehow know I need to be a good man, but I start adding all other sorts of goals, and I begin including all other sorts of schemes. Suddenly, I’m no longer just asking how to live well, but how to also become successful, rich, powerful, and esteemed. I no longer look at my neighbor and ask how I can show him justice, but I consider how I can gain leverage over him, and how to make him a means for getting me what I want.

I’ve now made it harder for myself, once I try to rule over things I have no place to rule. I have also made myself anxious, distracted, and frustrated by all these false idols. I am assuming I need more to be happy, but I have only made myself more miserable.

Has another tried to hurt me? I should only remove the judgment of being hurt. He has acted for his own reasons, and he has really only hurt himself through his vice. I can act for my own reasons, and benefit myself through my virtue.

Has the world gone in a way that disturbs me? I should only remove the judgment of being disturbed. It is what it is for its own reasons in the order of all things together. I am what I am for my own reasons within that same order.

Without a sense of sober relaxation in my living, I should recognize I am doing something wrong.

Written in 10/2005

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.27

Try how the life of the good man suits you, the life of him who is satisfied with his portion out of the whole, and satisfied with his own just acts and benevolent disposition.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

Stoicism can be full of profound reflection, but it is ultimately a philosophy that is firmly grounded in practice. My happiness will not be measured by the cleverness of my abstract formulations, but by the excellence of my actions.

Many people in this life will tell you why you must embrace a certain creed, or subscribe to a very specific ideology. You may not understand all the mysterious concepts they are offering you, but you are expected to trust their authority, and be impressed with their qualifications for telling you how to live.

Genuine Stoicism will have none of that. I don’t need to take anyone’s word on what a good life is supposed to be, because I can simply try it out for myself. I won’t listen to a philosophy that doesn’t offer concrete results, just as I won’t trust a car salesman who won’t let me take a test drive.

As long as I am acting with complete sincerity, with no second-guessing or any concern for mere display, I can start living in a Stoic manner right now. Only I can know if I am being honest with myself, so I don’t have to worry about anyone telling me that I’m doing it all wrong.

Marcus Aurelius suggests following two simple guidelines. I should practice being content with whatever life sends my way, and I should practice being content with the quality of my own thoughts and deeds. As soon as I resent my circumstances, or as soon as I look to anything someone else does to define my worth, I have strayed from the path.

I often notice how angry I get at the way things have happened, and I complain about all the things other people have done wrong. Neither of these really have anything to do with me. This doesn’t mean I should not care, but it means that my concern for the world or for others doesn’t reduce to having them determine me.

How will I know I am on the right track? When I choose not to worry about what is beyond my power to control, I will have removed anxiety from my attitude. Old habits may die slowly, but the effects of self-reliance can begin showing themselves from the very start. I will begin to find peace and contentment by having redirected my attention from what is outside of me to what is inside of me. This will be quite discernible and measurable in my everyday life, and the results will speak for themselves.

I have often been told that what I don’t know can’t hurt me, but I’ve found that is only true when it comes to knowing about things that aren’t my business. Being ignorant of right and wrong, for example, which is most certainly my business, has hurt me many times.

For Stoic purposes, I rather tell myself that what I don’t worry about can’t hurt me. If I choose not to be concerned with controlling what happens, or what other people think or do, I am not permitting these things to cause me harm. I can respect that everything has its place within the whole, and I only need to concern myself with doing my part as well as I can.

I shouldn’t simply read the books, or listen to the music, or eat at the restaurants recommended by fancy critics. I should read the books, listen to the music, and eat the foods that give me the greatest joy. I suggest that a philosophy of life should be no different. Try it on for size, and don’t let a salesman convince you to buy something that doesn’t fit.

Written in 10/2005

Depeche Mode, "Blasphemous Rumours"

As a reference for Boethius 1.14:

I do not choose to think this way, but I am deeply sympathetic to those who do think this way.

Why must good people suffer so much? Why do bad people always seem to have their way?

It's all a question of measures. On a bad day, I see the girl from the song as a victim. On a good day, I see her as truly happy.

You decide.

Depeche Mode, "Blasphemous Rumours", from Some Great Reward (1984)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFD8AkiQhvg

Girl of sixteen, whole life ahead of her
Slashed her wrists, bored with life
Didn't succeed, thank the Lord
For small mercies

Fighting back the tears, mother reads the note again
Sixteen candles burn in her mind
She takes the blame, it's always the same
She goes down on her knees and prays

I don't want to start any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God's got a sick sense of humor
And when I die I expect to find Him laughing

Girl of eighteen, fell in love with everything
Found new life in Jesus Christ
Hit by a car, ended up
On a life support machine

Summer's day, as she passed away
Birds were singing in the summer sky
Then came the rain, and once again
A tear fell from her mother's eye

I don't want to start any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God's got a sick sense of humor
And when I die I expect to find Him laughing

Boethius, The Consolation 1.14

. . . “How often have I withstood Conigastus to his face, whenever he has attacked a weak man's fortune! How often have I turned by force Trigulla, the overseer of the Emperor's household, from an unjust act that he had begun or even carried out! How many times have I put my own authority in danger by protecting those wretched people who were harried with unending false charges by the greed of barbarian Goths which ever went unpunished!

“Never, I say, has any man depraved me from justice to injustice. My heart has ached as bitterly as those of the sufferers when I have seen the fortunes of our subjects ruined both by the rapacity of persons and the taxes of the state.

“Again, in a time of severe famine, a grievous, intolerable sale by compulsion was decreed in Campania, and devastation threatened that province. Then I undertook for the sake of the common welfare a struggle against the commander of the Imperial guard. Though the king was aware of it, I fought against the enforcement of the sale, and fought successfully.

“Paulinus was a man who had been consul. The jackals of the court had in their own hopes and desires already swallowed up his possessions, but I snatched him from their very gaping jaws. I exposed myself to the hatred of the treacherous informer Cyprian, so that I might prevent Albinus, also a former consul, being overwhelmed by the penalty of a trumped-up charge. Think you that I have raised up against myself bitter and great quarrels enough?

“But I ought to have been safer among those whom I helped; for, from my love of justice, I laid up for myself among the courtiers no resource to which I might turn for safety.

“Who, further, were the informers upon whose evidence I was banished? One was Basilius. He was formerly expelled from the royal service, and was driven by debt to inform against me. Again, Opilio and Gaudentius had been condemned to exile by the king for many unjust acts and crimes. This decree they would not obey, and they sought sanctuary in sacred buildings, but when the king was aware of it, he declared that if they departed not from Ravenna before a certain day, they should be driven forth branded upon their foreheads. What could be more stringent than this? Yet upon that very day information against me was laid by these same men, and accepted.

“Why so? Did my character deserve this treatment? Or did my prearranged condemnation give credit and justification to my accusers? Did Fortune feel no shame for this? If not for innocence defamed, at any rate for the baseness of the defamers?” . . .

—from Book 1, Prose 4

Boethius is suddenly quite talkative, and I can hardly blame him. He is a man with a powerful conscience, and it rips him apart to see the unjust have their way. He is also a man who has been deeply hurt, and this is an expression of his pain. He is most certainly following Lady Philosophy’s advice to lay bare his wound.

As difficult as it is for me, I try not to assume that Boethius is necessarily thinking in the same way that I think, but I feel like I have been in much the same place he describes. My own experiences have never been as grand in their scale, but they have certainly been as deep in their sorrow. I often find it very hard to distinguish between an anger that is righteous, and an anger that is nothing more than spite and resentment. My great-grandfather once told me that there was a great difference between being right and being full of piss and vinegar.

Boethius is rightly concerned about two rather terrifying things in this world: that bad people succeed in their efforts, and that good people suffer so greatly as a consequence.

If I look back through the years, I see much the same thing, not simply as an occasional aberration, but as a fairly consistent pattern. Far too many of the most decent, loving, and principled people I have known seemingly ended up with no reward for their values. Far too many of the most deceptive, selfish, and manipulative people I have known are now at the top of the heap, looking down at the rest of us with smug satisfaction.

This is all the more frustrating when I know full well what someone is up to, but he is clever enough to also know that he has covered his tracks with impeccable care, and that there is no way I could ever expose his misdeeds, or call him to justice. It isn’t just that evil triumphs over good, but also that manipulation triumphs over truth.

I am sure that every person who has ever loved what is right and good has had his own versions of Conigastus, Trigulla, Cyprian, Basilius, Opilio, or Gaudentius. Many of the same kind of people are still running our businesses, our schools, our courts, or our government. The names change, but the abuses just seem to stay the same.

I taught for a number of years at a small Catholic, Liberal Arts college, where the opportunity to help students think for themselves would keep me going, but the abuses of a grossly corrupt administration would drive me to tears.

It became all the more unbearable when I slowly learned that one of our priests was sexually abusing our female students. I pursued every option I could, more carefully at first, and more firmly as the matter progressed, but I was met only with other priests making excuses for the crimes, a faculty concerned only with their own careers, and a Board of Directors that looked the other way. A scandal would hardly help their prestige and profit.

One day, I saw, with my own eyes, that very priest with his hands on the parts of a girl where they should most certainly not have been. I lay awake all night, knowing that I could do the right thing, and lose my job. Or I could keep my job, and live with my guilt as an accessory.

If I am given the time and patience to reflect, I know I ended up doing the right thing. At the same time, I ended up losing everything I loved doing in this life. I will most likely never teach again, because nobody likes a snitch, especially not in academia, where personal pride trumps moral principles most every time.

I felt disgusted by the wrong that had been done, but I then also felt the deepest despair with the consequences I had to face. How could this be right? The priest continues in his usual ways, the cock of the walk, no pun intended at all, and the faculty and administrators who enabled him continue to go from strength to strength.

I was called a troublemaker, a liar, and a traitor. Students I loved and respected told me I would go to Hell for criticizing the Church. Colleagues I thought were friends were suddenly nowhere to be found.

Once again, my experience is hardly very grand, but it is still very deep in its sorrow.

There are moments, when like Boethius, I feel that there is no justice in this world. There only seems to be power and its many abuses. I even begin to speculate that if there is indeed a God, He perhaps finds some perverse satisfaction in watching decency get stepped on. In the immortal words of Depeche Mode:

I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumors

But I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor

And when I die

I expect to find Him laughing

I once had a rather abrasive friend who told me it could be worse: “Why assume He cares at all? Instead of laughing, he may just ignore you completely, just like everyone else does.”

I know very well that this is not the answer, but the temptation to surrender to despair is mightily strong.

So when Boethius has his litany of offenders, and his list of wrongs, I get it completely.

I’ve been there.

Written in 8/2016

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.26

Occupy yourself with few things, says the philosopher, if you would be tranquil.

But consider if it would not be better to say, do what is necessary, and whatever the reason of the animal that is naturally social requires, and as it requires.

For this brings not only the tranquility that comes from doing well, but also that which comes from doing few things. For the greatest part of what we say and do being unnecessary, if a man takes this away, he will have more leisure and less uneasiness.

Accordingly on every occasion a man should ask himself, is this one of the unnecessary things? Now a man should take away not only unnecessary acts, but also, unnecessary thoughts, for thus superfluous acts will not follow after.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

We are often told that simpler is better. Some people do take this seriously, because they understand that simplicity has much to do with purity. Others may use it only as a slogan, and continue as usual with their complex lives. The concept of a simple life can become only an image, often useful for promoting a product. An old friend used to describe this as “selling you less, so they can have more.”

Marcus Aurelius understands that quantity is less important than quality, that how much we have is secondary to how well we live with what we have. He also offers a modification to the rule, so that we will not be deceived into thinking that we should simply want less for its own sake. We should rather ask ourselves what it is that we truly need, and the rest will take care of itself. Pursue an essential life first, and you will then also find this to be a simple life.

I have long had the weakness of hoarding far too many books, and every so often I will purge the collection to keep it manageable. At times, I have taken this exercise too far, and a few months later I regret having passed on a volume I shouldn’t have. The mistake I have made is assuming that a smaller library is always a better library, instead of asking myself which books were actually the ones to keep, the necessary ones. In both cases I end up with fewer books, but in the second case I end up with fewer books that happen to be the right ones.

If I honestly consider what is necessary for living well, I will find that I require very little to be happy. The simplicity that follows from this, not tossing out the meat but cutting away the fat, is hardly a sacrifice. It is liberating, because it removes a concern for diversions, and a worry about what is extraneous.

The theory sounds wonderful, but the practice can at first be deeply painful. My apprehension and struggle are good for me, as they allow me to truly distinguish between what is necessary and what is excessive. My vanity tells me I need to fill up my coffers, and constantly keep myself busy with tasks and chores, while my honesty reminds me that I can walk along with empty pockets, and simply enjoy a fine day.

Do I really need to acquire big house, a fancy car, a prestigious job, or a sparkling reputation? I need none of these things. I squirm when I think of all the wasted time and effort dedicated to these illusions, but I am also relieved to remember that I need only to be good in my thoughts and deeds, whatever the circumstances. Let the chips fall where they may, I depend only on my own character.

Less isn’t more just because it is less, but less is more because it focuses only on what is required, and disposes of the clutter. This is a peaceful life.

Frank Lloyd Wright said it best:

Less is only more where more is no good.

Written in 10/2005

Boethius, The Consolation 1.13

. . . “Since, then, I had learned from you in quiet and inaction of this view, and I followed it further, for I desired to practice it in public government.

“You, and God Himself, who has grafted you in the minds of philosophers, are my witnesses that never have I applied myself to any office of state except that I might work for the common welfare of all good men.

“From there followed bitter quarrels with evil men which could not be appeased, and, for the sake of preserving justice, contempt of the enmity of those in power, for this is the result of a free and fearless conscience.” . . . 

—from Book 1, Prose 4

I suppose Boethius is angry that Lady Philosophy had told him about all sorts of wonderful things, but that she had never done any work to actively make them happen.

Yet perhaps she had done quite a few things to make them happen, not least among them encouraging Boethius to act for himself. He did indeed decide he wished to go into politics, so that he could work to make the wrong things right.

When I was a child, my father would often use the term “Crusader Rabbit” for anyone who was fired up to change the world. It was only years later that I realized this was a reference to one of the first television cartoons from his own childhood, with our titular hero and his sidekick, Ragland T. Tiger, righting wrongs in the face of the evil Dudley Nightshade. Those of us from a later generation may know something similar, with Rocky and Bullwinkle.

In the comics, cartoons, and most of our popular films, the ‘good guy’ always ends up winning. The Crusader Rabbit is always triumphant. But define winning, and define triumph. I was told in college, for example, that winning was success, and success was becoming rich, and becoming important.

How many of us have dedicated our lives to that false ideal, and how many of us are just as dazed and confused as we were to begin with? What you have, or what you are given, will make you no better. Who you are will make you better.

Consider Boethius himself. How could the political life make him better and happier? He wanted to change the world. He wanted his countrymen, no longer the citizens of Ancient Rome but the subjects of a Gothic king, to live with justice, and he apparently did everything he could to make that happen.

Now look where that got him.

I think of Socrates from Plato’s Apology, where he explains what politics would be to an honest man:

For I am certain, O men of Athens, that if I had engaged in politics, I should have perished long ago, and done no good either to you or to myself. And don't be offended at my telling you the truth.

For the truth is that no man who goes to war with you or any other multitude, honestly struggling against the commission of unrighteousness and wrong in the state, will save his life.

He who will really fight for the right, if he would live even for a little while, must have a private station, and not a public one.

Did Boethius really think that playing the game of power, while still inspired by a sense of justice, would somehow make him rich, popular, or mighty? It certainly would have done so if he had played it a certain way, but integrity and honesty were not that way. He brought all the wrongs cards to the table.

I should fight evil men, and I should fight for my conscience, but I should never expect to defeat evil men on their own terms. I should hope to help myself, and to help others, on quite different terms.

I fear I was always made to be a Crusader Rabbit. I itch and I burn when I see the entitled take advantage of the dispossessed. I should fight the good fight, and I should engage in a quarrel when called for, but I should use love as my weapon, not my hatred. 

Written in 6/2015