Epictetus, Golden Sayings 62

No labor, according to Diogenes, is good but that which aims at producing courage and strength of soul, rather than of body. 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.68

Nature has not so mingled the intelligence with the composition of the body, as not to have allowed you the power of circumscribing yourself and of bringing under subjection to yourself all that is your own; for it is very possible to be a divine man and to be recognized as such by no one.

Always bear this in mind; and another thing too, that very little indeed is necessary for living a happy life. And because you have despaired of becoming a dialectician and skilled in the knowledge of Nature, do not for this reason renounce the hope of being both free, and modest, and social, and obedient to God.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

So many of our frustrations arise from what we perceive as our failures, our missed opportunities, and the things we couldn’t quite manage to make our own. There are the lost loves, the botched careers, or the estranged friends. There are the disappointments and recriminations that come from having played the game, and then having lost. The plans didn’t go as planned.

Stoicism, however, like any way of life that builds itself upon the merit of our own thoughts and deeds over the weight of our circumstances, might tell us that life is hardly a game we need to play, and nothing about it hangs on the uncertainty of winning or losing. There will be no prospect of losing anything at all, if we only recognize that everything we need to be completely happy is already our own. We will lose it only if we surrender it, since nothing outside of us can take it away.

I can always, if I so decide, rule myself. In my own particular sense of self-sufficiency, I share in the complete self-sufficiency that is Divine. Why should I, a creature made to act according to my own understanding, require anything beyond such action?

There are those moments where it feels like a passage was written just for me, and while it was obviously written for anyone and everyone, I will nevertheless be able to apply it so immediately to my own life. Perhaps all great wisdom is like that. I find great comfort in knowing that no amount of praise or recognition will make my living any better or worse, and that external conditions do not determine internal character.

I once foolishly thought I could make myself a scholar, but my heart was never really in it, largely because most everything I ever studied in philosophy told me that it should have nothing to do with making myself appear important. So I am especially relieved when Marcus Aurelius confirms for me that I don’t need to feel bad about not being an academic success, since it should be enough to try being a good man above all else.

I will sometimes see others drawn to Stoic thinking, fascinated by the idea that virtue is the measure of human life, yet they still feel the need to add further conditions. “It would be great to live that way, but first I’ll need to acquire a certain level of security, comfort, and possessions. Then I can worry about being virtuous.”

Sadly, that is a complete betrayal of Stoicism, because it makes the pursuit of character contingent upon, and secondary to, the pursuit of utility. It makes convenience a necessity, and virtue a luxury, when in fact it is virtue that is a necessity, and convenience a luxury.

A good life may demand much from me, but it demands barely anything at all from the world around me. Any set of circumstances will do. Even if my very survival is in question, this still does not hinder me from living well, for the time that I do live. There are no further terms and conditions attached to being wise, brave, temperate, and just.

Being somebody never asks for appearing as somebody to anyone else, and rather asks only for being fully oneself. 

Written in 1/2008

Tao Te Ching 4

The Tao is like the emptiness of a vessel; and in our employment of it we must be on our guard against all fullness. How deep and unfathomable it is, as if it were the Honored Ancestor of all things!

We should blunt our sharp points, and unravel the complications of things; we should attemper our brightness, and bring ourselves into agreement with the obscurity of others. How pure and still the Tao is, as if it would ever so continue!

I do not know whose son it is. It might appear to have been before God.

Boethius, The Consolation 3.1

When she finished her song, its soothing tones left me spellbound with my ears alert in my eagerness to listen. So a while afterwards I said, “Greatest comforter of weary minds, how have you cheered me with your deep thoughts, and sweet singing too! No more shall I doubt my power to meet the blows of Fortune. So far am I from terror at the remedies which you did lately tell me were sharper, that I am longing to hear them, and eagerly I beg you for them.”

Then she said, “I knew it when you laid hold upon my words in silent attention, and I was waiting for that frame of mind in you, or more truly, I brought it about in you. They that remain are indeed bitter to the tongue, but sweet to the inner man. But as you say you are eager to hear, how ardently you would be burning, if you knew where I am attempting to lead you!”

“Where is that?” I asked.

“To the true happiness, of which your soul too dreams; but your sight is taken up in imaginary views of it, so that you cannot look upon itself.”

Then said I, “I pray you show me what that truly is, and quickly.”

“I will do so,” she said, “for your sake willingly. But first I will try to picture in words and give you the form of the cause, which is already better known to you, that so, when that picture is perfect and you turn your eyes to the other side, you may recognize the form of true happiness.”

—from Book 3, Prose 1

I find another transition of sorts here, a shift from considering how I should view myself in the face of Fortune to a deeper examination of the true origin of happiness. Boethius has learned that he should not rely on the circumstances around him, but should rather seek the wisdom and virtue within him. Now what actually constitutes such a strength of inner character? Where is one to look to find its source? Even as so much in our world seems fickle and unreliable, what can be constant and trusted?

Having seen how the ebb and flow of Fortune is not the measure of happiness, it is now time to find comfort in the order of Nature.

We will all agree that happiness is surely a good thing, yet I can’t help but think that we are often only running after little bits of it here and there, much like a mouse scampering about, picking up crumbs under the table, completely oblivious to the banquet above.

When we are asked what happiness is, most of us will answer with a list of desirable things, but what is it that these things really share in common, and what is it that makes them good? If we consider them worthy of our attention, from where do they receive that worth?

So I may wander about, with my head hung down, looking at this or that beneath me, when I might be better served by looking up.

The prisoners in Plato’s Cave were captivated by the images right in front of their eyes, but they did not consider where these images came from, or what sort of reality stood behind them. Someone who has looked beyond the immediacy of what is appealing to the senses and desires may describe a whole different world out there, of which the images are just pale shadows, but the prisoners would hardly know what he is talking about. Because they choose not to reflect upon what things means, they will have no frame of reference.

Even Boethius, as educated as he was in the study of philosophy, will apparently need to be introduced to the true form of happiness in stages. Lady Philosophy will begin with what is more familiar to him, and then gradually proceed to an awareness of the complete and perfect source.

When I have been in the dark for too long, my eyes will need time to adjust to the light. It isn’t that the light is too bright, but that my eyes have been deprived of it, and must again become accustomed to receiving its rays. This is why any effective teacher I have ever had always moved me along by steady degrees.

There is little point in going straight to the conclusion, since it will make no sense without the preceding argument. We can only get to what is further away by starting with what is closer, moving from the proximate to the ultimate.

Boethius, like every one of us, is still learning to fly.

Written in 9/2015

Dhammapada 10

But he who has cleansed himself from sin, is well grounded in all virtues, and regards also temperance and truth, he is indeed worthy of the yellow dress.

Dhammapada 9

He who wishes to put on the yellow dress without having cleansed himself from sin, who disregards temperance and truth, is unworthy of the yellow dress.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.67

How do we know if Telauges was not superior in character to Socrates? For it is not enough that Socrates died a more noble death, and disputed more skillfully with the Sophists, and passed the night in the cold with more endurance, and that when he was bid to arrest Leon of Salamis, he considered it more noble to refuse, and that he walked in a swaggering way in the streets—though as to this fact one may have great doubts if it was true.

But we ought to inquire, what kind of a soul it was that Socrates possessed, and if he was able to be content with being just towards men and pious towards the gods, neither idly vexed on account of men's villainy, nor yet making himself a slave to any man's ignorance, nor receiving as strange anything that fell to his share out of the Universal, nor enduring it as intolerable, nor allowing his understanding to sympathize with the affects of the miserable flesh.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

That we know so very little about Telauges, the Pythagorean philosopher, and that we know quite a bit more about the exploits of Socrates, might seem to tell us something about the verdicts of history. We see those whose works are bigger in scale, and more admired by others, and we think we have found the better men. After all, what mark did Telauges leave, what difference did he make? But everyone knows at least something about how Socrates changed the world!

Yet the fact that Socrates was caught up in a mighty drama, and that he performed famous deeds, should not be the measure of the man, just as the fact that Telauges is barely remembered for anything at all should not be the measure of the man. We are accustomed to looking for greatness on the outside, when we should really be looking for it on the inside.

It was never posing and posturing, or basking in esteem and glory, that made Socrates noble. For all we know, Telauges might have been just as noble a fellow, and a sign of that could well have been that neither he nor Socrates cared one bit for the trappings of power and influence. They may both have been just as willing to take them or leave them, concerned only with the character within the soul.

So the great philosopher, or the great man, only needs to look to the exercise of his own virtue, whatever the external circumstances. Has he been just, satisfied with whatever Nature has given him, in calm rule over his own passions, and guided by what is true and good over what is convenient and gratifying? That is more than sufficient. He is at peace with himself, and at peace with Providence.

I am called, in however small and unrecognized a manner, to put that ideal into practice. I see people direct their efforts towards pleasure or profit, and I don’t need to be like that. I see people define their actions by fame and fortune, and I don’t need to be like that. I see people treat others, even their own spouses and children, as tools for pride and glory, and I don’t need to be like that.

I should admire Socrates for the right reasons. 

Written in 1/2008

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 61

Why then are we afraid when we send a young man from the Schools into active life, lest he should indulge his appetites intemperately, lest he should debase himself by ragged clothing, or be puffed up by fine raiment? Knows he not the God within him? Knows he not with whom he is starting on his way? 

Have we patience to hear him say to us, would that I had you with me! Have you not God where you are, and having Him do you still seek for any other? Would He tell you anything else than these things? 

Why, were you a statue by Phidias, an Athena or a Zeus, you would think both of yourself and your maker; and had you any sense, you would strive to do no dishonor to yourself or him that fashioned you, nor appear to beholders in an unbefitting guise. 

But now, because God is your Maker, is that why you care not of what sort you shall show yourself to be? Yet how different the artists and their workmanship! What human artist's work, for example, has in it the faculties that are displayed in fashioning it? Is it anything but marble, bronze, gold, or ivory? 

No, when the Athena of Phidias has put forth her hand and received therein a Victory, in that attitude she stands for evermore. But God's works move and breathe; they use and judge the things of sense. The workmanship of such an Artist, will you dishonor Him? 

Yes, when he not only fashioned you, but placed you, like a ward, in the care and guardianship of yourself alone, will you not only forget this, but also do dishonor to what is committed to your care? 

If God had entrusted you with an orphan, would you have thus neglected him? He has delivered you to your own care, saying, I had none more faithful than myself. Keep this man for me such as Nature hath made him—modest, faithful, high-minded, a stranger to fear, to passion, to perturbation. . . . 

Such will I show myself to you all. 

"What, exempt from sickness also, from age, from death?" 

No, but accepting sickness, accepting death as becomes a God! 
 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.66

Take care not to feel towards the inhuman, as they feel towards men.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

One of my greatest struggles is not becoming what I hate. And then I realize how my very wording reveals a part of my problem, because I am still caught up in assuming that there is even someone or something I need to hate. I blame others, or I blame the circumstances, and I too easily end up consumed by my own resentment.

It can become a vicious trap, so I am best served by dwelling less upon what others do, and all the reasons I am frustrated, and to dedicate myself to what I can do, and all the ways I can become better.

Or put another way, when I wish to bemoan the absence of humanity, let me be more fully human myself.

I must do this when I see deception and hypocrisy. Let me face it by choosing to be honest and sincere.

I must do this when I see the delusions of ideology. Let me remember that ideas are here to serve the benefit of man, not man to serve the benefit of ideas.

I must do this when I see the vanity of power and influence. Let me act with humility to another, as much as he may lord himself over me.

I must do this when I see the obsession with consumption and gratification. Let me order my passions by what is right, instead of making what is right fit my passions.

I must do this when I see one brought down so another can be raised up. Let me treat everyone as an end in himself, and never as a means. No one is disposable.

I must do this when I see people quick to condemn what is bad, and slow to praise what is good. Let me improve rather than destroy.

Human nature is a glorious thing. Let me not foul it with ignorance and spite. Let me meet hatred with love.

Many and sharp the num'rous ills

Inwoven with our frame!

More pointed still we make ourselves

Regret, remorse, and shame!

And man, whose heav'n-erected face

The smiles of love adorn –

Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

Written in 1/2008

Tao Te Ching 3

Not to value and employ men of superior ability is the way to keep the people from rivalry among themselves; not to prize articles which are difficult to procure is the way to keep them from becoming thieves; not to show them what is likely to excite their desires is the way to keep their minds from disorder.

Therefore the sage, in the exercise of his government, empties their minds, fills their bellies, weakens their wills, and strengthens their bones.

He constantly tries to keep them without knowledge and without desire, and where there are those who have knowledge, to keep them from presuming to act on it. When there is this abstinence from action, good order is universal.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.65

In every pain let this thought be present, that there is no dishonor in it, nor does it make the governing intelligence worse, for it does not damage the intelligence either so far as the intelligence is rational or so far as it is social.

Indeed in the case of most pains let this remark of Epicurus aid you, that pain is neither intolerable nor everlasting, if you bear in mind that it has its limits, and if you add nothing to it in imagination.

And remember this too, that we do not perceive that many things which are disagreeable to us are the same as pain, such as excessive drowsiness, and being scorched by heat, and the having no appetite.

When then you are discontented about any of these things, say to yourself, that you are yielding to pain.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

It was specifically the problem of pain that brought me closer to Stoicism, not as a theoretical interest, but as a very immediate practical necessity. My own obstacle lay in emotional suffering, a crippling melancholy, though with time I could no longer distinguish where the hurt in my mind ended and the hurt in my body began. It never seemed to help when people told me to tough it out, or offer it up, or shrug it off.

Stoicism began to remind me that I didn’t just have to take it, to somehow accept it passively; this was rather ironic, of course, because that’s what most people assume it means to be Stoic. No, there was something I could do with it, an active sense of how my own thinking could fundamentally transform how I faced my feelings, and thereby I could rebuild myself.

I can examine the pain, and look upon it without panic or despair. Those are responses, of course, that I have added to how I am feeling. What is the pain really taking from me, and what am I actually freely doing to myself?

If I think of honor in the imperfect sense of what people may think of me, then yes, people might look down on me for what can appear to be weakness; but if I understand honor in the proper sense of my own character, then pain can do me absolutely no harm. Quite the contrary, it can allow me to increase my moral worth with it and through it.

As strong as an attack from what is outside may be, my own judgment can remain firm, if only I so decide. I do not need to wonder what the pain will make of me, but I can decide what I will do with it to make myself. This will only be impossible when I assume it is impossible. While I am still living and aware, suffering is no stronger than me, and if I am no longer living and aware, then I need not concern myself with it. I am free of the burden, either way.

Pain has a limit to what it can do to me, and I need to honestly consider how much my own estimation is actually amplifying it and compounding it. Let us say, for example, that I am feeling an intense sadness. The emotion may be powerful, but what is more crippling is the sense of guilt, or blame, or resentment that I attach to it. A broken heart never killed me, but my own dark musings about a broken heart almost did.

If I can accept something as unpleasant or uncomfortable, however deeply so, I can still choose not to let it overwhelm me. It does not need to rule me, as long as I can rule myself. It is my decision itself to be satisfied or dissatisfied that makes any feeling or circumstance bearable or unbearable. I am defeated only when I surrender, and I can remain steadfast up until the moment I am destroyed. 

Written in 1/2008

Dhammapada 8

He who lives without looking for pleasures, his senses well controlled, moderate in his food, faithful and strong, him Mara will certainly not overthrow, any more than the wind throws down a rocky mountain.

Dhammapada 7

He who lives looking for pleasures only, his senses uncontrolled, immoderate in his food, idle, and weak, Mara, the tempter, will certainly overthrow him, as the wind throws down a weak tree.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.64

Every soul, the philosopher says, is involuntarily deprived of truth; consequently in the same way it is deprived of justice and temperance and benevolence and everything of the kind.

It is most necessary to bear this constantly in mind, for thus you will be more gentle towards all.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

I would hardly want to be ignorant, knowing that what I think is in error, just as I would hardly want what is bad for me, knowing that what I desire is harmful. As foolish as I may be, I am treating a falsehood as if it were a truth, and what is wrong as if it were right.

Do I deceive myself? Do I hurt myself? Yes, of course, but the tragedy is that I do so only from my own confusion. I have never found myself thinking, “I’m going to go out and do some evil today,” but even if I did use such terms, I would be assuming that whatever I’m calling evil is actually a good. I remember how in the 1980’s we liked throwing around trendy terms like “bad,” “wicked,” “ugly,” or “brutal,” but we always used them to describe desirable and admirable things.

It will at first seem odd to recognize this, but the tyrants would be just if they could, the gluttons would be temperate if they could, the haters would embrace love if they could. For whatever particular reason, wherever the responsibility lies, they don’t know any better. They pursue misery under the appearance of happiness, “they make a desert and call it peace.”

Once I grasp that vice grows out of misunderstanding, I can find it so much easier to be understanding of others. If I simply paint a man as a nasty villain, I will fill myself with contempt for him, but if I see him as a fellow suffering from a deficiency, he will more easily receive my sympathy.

After all, do I not ask for compassion whenever I have stumbled and fallen from blindly groping around in the dark? When I have made mistakes, do I not hope that others will help me to correct those mistakes, instead of casting me out?

Why should I turn another into a faceless force of evil? Why do I insist on making him my enemy? If he blunders about without a clue, much as I often do, should I not rather recognize myself in him, and call him a friend?

If I blame him for responding with hatred to the pain he feels, why do I think I am somehow justified in responding with hatred to the pain I feel? If I refuse to forgive him for his error, why do I think I should be forgiven for my errors?

I am best served by offering an embrace before I raise my fists. 

Written in 1/2008

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 60

Seek then the real nature of the Good in that without whose presence you will not admit the Good to exist in anything else.

What then? Are not these other things also works of God?

They are, but not preferred to honor, nor are they portions of God. But you are a thing preferred to honor; you are yourself a fragment torn from God. You have a portion of Him within yourself. 

How is it then that you do not know your high descent—do not know from where you come? When you eat, will you not remember who you are that eats and whom you feed? In intercourse, in exercise, in discussion know you not that it is a God whom you feed, a God whom you exercise, a God whom you bear about with you?

O miserable! and you perceive it not. Do you think that I speak of a God of silver or gold, that is without you? No, you bear Him within you! All unconscious of polluting Him with thoughts impure and unclean deeds. 

Were an image of God present, you would not dare to act as you do, yet, when God Himself is present within you, beholding and hearing all, you do not blush to think such thoughts and do such deeds, O you that are insensible of your own nature and lie under the wrath of God! 
 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.63

Constantly observe who those are whose approbation you wish to have, and what ruling principles they possess.

For then you will neither blame those who offend involuntarily, nor will you want their approbation, if you look to the sources of their opinions and appetites.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

At those times when there is silence around me, when I have a moment to myself, when I am about to fall asleep, or just as I am waking up, I will sometimes want to beat myself over the head.

Some of my friends will speak regularly about how much they would like to knock around other people who have hurt them. I understand, but I do not agree. I once slapped a person dear to me, and I will always regret it. I never had the chance to take it back, or to make it good.

On the very few occasions that I’ve shared anything about that shameful action, others tell me that I didn’t go far enough. They are sorely mistaken.

No, I started slapping myself instead. No harm done, I thought. But why am I hurting myself? It is because of the deepest sense of shame, because I had made such poor choices, because I knew vaguely what was right, but I did exactly what was wrong. I suspect anyone with a conscience knows that feeling, what I a call “the cringe.”

Do you know that feeling where you can’t even think about what you just did? You grit your teeth, curl up, and pretend that it isn’t real? There’s the feeling.

My own cringeworthy mistakes arose from spending time with all the wrong folks, and caring for all the wrong folks. So much about them appealed to me, but all I had to do was look at what motivated these people. They were driven by their greed, their sense of gratification, and their desire to consume. I was enamored of the glory, but then I complained about the fallout.

There is no need for beating myself, and there is no need for beating anyone else. They do wrong, but they also don’t understand. They know not what they do. I do wrong, and I also don’t understand. I know not what I do.

Let me struggle to build my own wisdom, and my character will slowly follow. Do not let me blame others. Let me not even blame myself, or punish myself, but let me improve myself.

Once I see the foolishness and vanity in those I once admired, I can decide not to admire them, and I can make a very deliberate choice not to be like them. I choose to look not at the glorious appearances, but at the thoughts and desires that motivate them. And there I see the deepest rot.

Now why would I want to be liked for living that way? Why would I want to live that way for myself? Where is the good in being a scoundrel, or being loved by scoundrels?

You say yes, and you expect me to follow? I say no, and I expect better from myself. You have offered your solution, and I choose to push it aside. You are mistaken, but I will not hate you for it. I only know that I can be better, in my own way.

Take what you will from me, but don’t try to take my conscience. Hands off. 

Written in 1/2008

Tao Te Ching 2

All in the world know the beauty of the beautiful, and in doing this they have the idea of what ugliness is; they all know the skill of the skillful, and in doing this they have the idea of what the want of skill is.

So it is that existence and non-existence give birth the one to the idea of the other; that difficulty and ease produce the one the idea of the other; that length and shortness fashion out the one the figure of the other; that the ideas of height and lowness arise from the contrast of the one with the other; that the musical notes and tones become harmonious through the relation of one with another; and that being before and behind give the idea of one following another.

Therefore the sage manages affairs without doing anything, and conveys his instructions without the use of speech.

All things spring up, and there is not one that declines to show itself; they grow, and there is no claim made for their ownership; they go through their processes, and there is no expectation of a reward for the results. The work is accomplished, and there is no resting in it as an achievement.

The work is done, but how no one can see;
'Tis this that makes the power not cease to be.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.62

The art of life is more like the wrestler's art than the dancer's, in respect of this, that it should stand ready and firm to meet onsets that are sudden and unexpected.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

I have spent too much of my life thinking that all of the obstacles, from the smallest inconveniences to the most crippling of burdens, have an annoying way of showing up when I would least want them. At first, I find this unfair, and I wonder why Providence seems to make it harder when it should all be easier.

“Look at her!” I say to myself, “Never as much as a hangnail to get in the way!”

“Look at him!” I say to myself, “Always finding the profitable way out, and the rest of us sit in the dirt!”

I am, however, my own problem here, because I am confusing the proper sense of benefit and harm. A good life is never a life of ease and comfort. A good life is one of conviction and character. The reward is in the doing, not in the receiving.

Perhaps I can learn to appreciate jarring and unwanted bumps in the road. Perhaps Providence has actually done me a favor by presenting a challenge. What will become of me if I rely on convenient circumstances? I will end up lazy, entitled, and bloated with all that I have consumed.

I share in intelligence, but I am not the sum of all Intelligence. If it has happened, I can trust that it is right, even as I cannot see all ends. It was given to me for a reason, and it is my job to discover the worth within it, and to unearth the beauty and joy underneath it all.

Don’t always give me what I might want, in whatever moment of passion, but always give me what I need, so that I might become better.

He who dances, for all of his glory, follows his own routine, and with grace and skill is the master of his own motions. He who wrestles does much the same, while also being prepared for the attack he could not have predicted. He is ready, prepared for whatever may come, however much of a surprise it may seem. He stands firm, knowing that he must be on his guard for something unknown.

So while I complain about the frustrations of circumstance, or the scheming of my enemies, I should rather be grateful. It isn’t a frustration at all, and he isn’t an enemy at all. All of it is an opportunity, not to conquer the world, but to conquer myself.

Written in 1/2008

Dhammapada 6

The world does not know that we must all come to an end here; but those who know it, their quarrels cease at once.

Boethius, The Consolation 2.31

“Through Love

the Universe with constancy makes changes all without discord.

Earth's elements, though contrary, abide in treaty bound.

Phoebus in his golden car leads up the glowing day;

his sister rules the night that Hesperus brought.

The greedy sea confines its waves in bounds,

lest the earth's borders be changed by its beating on them.

All these are firmly bound by Love,

which rules both earth and sea,

and has its empire in the heavens too.

If Love should slacken this its hold,

 all mutual love would change to war,

and these would strive to undo the scheme

that now their glorious movements

carry out with trust and with accord.

By Love are peoples too kept bound together,

by a treaty that they may not break.

Love binds with pure affection the sacred tie of wedlock,

 and speaks its bidding to all trusty friends.

 O happy race of mortals,

 if your hearts are ruled as is the universe, by Love!”

—from Book 2, Poem 8

They say that love is the law, that love makes the world go around, and that all you need is love. What a powerful word, and also a word so often misunderstood, manipulated, and abused.

Lady Philosophy, I would suggest, is here not merely speaking about affection, or the passion of longing, or the satisfaction that comes from any sort of possession. Love here is not just a feeling, but a force that runs far deeper.

It ties and binds all things together, because love is the movement of all things toward what is good, and the peace within all things when they rest in their completion and fulfillment. It is the total expression of all aspects of Nature, ordered to their proper purpose and end. It is the balance and harmony of action.

I thought I knew what love was when I desired to make something my own, to have control over it, to tame it for my gratification. It may have been a thing, or a state of affairs, or a person, but it was always about how something else pointed back to me.

But love, like wisdom, points beyond itself. It gives of itself, and asks nothing beyond the gift of giving. It adds no terms or conditions. It seeks after what is good for its own sake, and for the sake of nothing else.

When a plant grows, or an animal rears its young, or the heavens turn, they don’t demand any payment for simply following their nature. How odd that a man, made to know and love by his own conscious choice, will so often require more than that. What will I get from it? Where is my profit margin? What have you done for me lately? He forgets that it rests in the doing, not in what is done.

The cynical side of me might complain that I have heard the words “I love you” so very often, and they have so often meant nothing at all. The love will seem to pass away as the utility seems to pass away.

My complaint, however, isn’t about love at all; it is about the twisting and distorting of love. Don’t blame the message for the failure of the messenger, and don’t blame the truth when others turn it into lies. When others fail in love, I should be all the more committed to loving.

Do I feel lost? Everything in Nature tells me how to love. The world is completely charged with it. Scientists will speak of the way things move one another, each according to its own place within the order of the whole, and that, dare I say, is the work of love under a different name.

All things come to be themselves, only when they strive for what they are meant to be. How I was born came from love. How I live is measured by my love. That I must die will only make sense from the fullness of love.

All action, of any sort, is what Aristotle called the “natural appetite” of all being to perfect its being, and thereby to be part of the perfection of all things. Yes, love makes the world go around. 

Written in 9/2015

Tao Te Ching 1

The Tao (the Way) that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging Tao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and unchanging name.  

Conceived of as having no name, it is the Originator of heaven and earth; conceived of as having a name, it is the Mother of all things.

Always without desire we must be found,
If its deep mystery we would sound;
But if desire always within us be,
Its outer fringe is all that we shall see.

Under these two aspects, it is really the same; but as development takes place, it receives the different names. Together we call them the Mystery. Where the Mystery is the deepest is the gate of all that is subtle and wonderful. 

(all quotes from the Tao Te Ching in these entries are from the James Legge translation, 1891)

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 59

God is beneficent. But the Good also is beneficent. It should seem then that where the real nature of God is, there too is to be found the real nature of the Good. 

What then is the real nature of God? Intelligence, Knowledge, Right Reason. Here then without more ado seek the real nature of the Good. For surely you do not seek it in a plant or in an animal that reasons not?

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.61

The body ought to be compact, and to show no irregularity either in motion or attitude.

For what the mind shows in the face by maintaining in it the expression of intelligence and propriety, that ought to be required also in the whole body.

But all of these things should be observed without affectation.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

“If I’m good on the inside, what does it matter how I look, or how I come across on the outside?”

Those are the words of a confident young man, convinced that he is completely right, as all young men are convinced. He has finally started to figure out that who he is, and all that really matters about him, flows from his convictions and from his character. He suddenly sees that dwelling on appearance is not only deceptive, but also so deeply destructive. So he now only cares about his inner workings, and he cares nothing at all for his outward presentation.

Surely I am not the only young fellow who went through this stage? The part about the inner workings is quite good; the part about not caring for the rest, not so much. I have rejected one extreme, only to slide into another.

No, I should never define myself by how I look to others, but who I am should surely express itself in how I look to others. I will hardly become a better man by seeming better, but I will certainly seem better if I am a better man. As is so often the case, I get my wires crossed, and I confuse the cause and the consequence.

A truly decent appearance is never about shallow qualities, but rather gives off outward signs of the virtue within. I can hardly decide how tall or short I am, or whether the proportions of my body fit whatever is trendy at the moment, but I can certainly decide to care rightly for whatever Nature has provided. I may not have the biggest or the best garden, but I will cultivate it well just the same.

I should keep my body clean, as best as I am able, as an extension of a clean soul. They taught me that in Boy Scouts, and after much complaining, I understood completely.

I should keep my body healthy, as best as I am able, because my body is the means by which my soul may act.

I should keep my body strong, as best as I am able, since a master craftsman needs a good tool.

I should keep my body confident and upright, as best as I am able, even as other may slouch and stumble. The stance of a good man or a good woman is always one that speaks of commitment.

From the old Scouting days, I remember that it will make little difference if I am mentally awake and morally straight, if I do not also strive to be physically strong.

Again, as best as I can. Nature expects no more of me than what I can do with what is given to me. How I appear matters nothing at all in and of itself, but Providence does indeed smile when how I appear tells others about who I am. This should never be about posing and posturing, but about making the body a suitable vessel for the soul. 

Written in 1/2008

Dhammapada 5

For hatred does not cease by hatred at any time: hatred ceases by love, this is an old rule.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.60

Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and it will ever bubble up, if you would ever dig.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

We will often search far and wide, looking for something that was with us all along. We will often have what we need right here, and we would see it if we only looked a little harder, and dug a little deeper. We are easily misled and confused by appearances. 

This applies to something as silly as finding that our keys were always in our pockets, and something as critical as finding that our happiness was always within us.

Now we will often be told to “just look inside ourselves,” even as such a phrase is quite meaningless without further explanation. It’s much like saying that something is “over there” without pointing toward anything at all. A problem with profound expressions is that they may still sound profound when we don’t really know what they mean.

What is it that is truly within me? I look, but I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I too easily look beyond it, since I will first feel drawn to what is all around me, to the comfort of images, to the pull of desires, to the security in the company of others. Sometimes that yearning for what is outside is especially strong when what I want is slightly out of reach, just around the corner, or promised for the future. I was trained for years and years by the world to think, speak, and act in just the right way, so that I could eventually get the success that would make me happy.

Yet I then feel empty, because it isn’t all that was promised. I try to look back inside myself again, and at first it doesn’t seem like there is anything there at all. Well, it may take time for my ears to adjust from all the grating noise, and for my eyes to adjust from all the flashing lights.

And there it is, what I was all along, a creature of many aspects and of many layers, but at the heart of it all, a being that can have mastery over itself through its own thought.

It isn’t simply that I have judgments, but that I make those judgments, and that those judgments order my choices, and those choices determine my actions. All sorts of things, both wonderful and frightening, may happen out there, but I am completely in control of the awareness within me. I am a creature of conscious activity, and fully capable of knowing myself, finding my place in Nature, and living with moral excellence.

In the simplest sense, if I always follow what I know is true, and if I choose to do what I know is right, I require nothing more. That is what is within me.

Once I recognize that this is completely sufficient for me to be myself, to be happy, and to be at peace, I won’t need to scramble to go out and buy something that I already own.

I don’t need to build a fancy aqueduct when I could have dug a well right in my own back yard. 

Written in 1/2008