The Art of Peace 32

Economy is the basis of society. When the economy is stable, society develops. The ideal economy combines the spiritual and the material, and the best commodities to trade in are sincerity and love. 

Boethius, The Consolation 3.38

. . .“We are not now discussing the voluntary movements of a reasoning mind, but the natural instinct. For instance, we unwittingly digest the food we have eaten, and unconsciously breathe in sleep. Not even in animals does this love of self-preservation come from mental wishes, but from elementary nature.

“For often the will, under stress of external causes, embraces the idea of death, from which nature revolts in horror. And, on the other hand, the will sometimes restrains what nature always desires, namely the operation of begetting, by which alone the continuance of mortal things becomes enduring. Thus far, then, this love of self-preservation arises not from the reasoning animal's intention, but from natural instinct.

“Providence has given to its creatures this the greatest cause of permanent existence, the instinctive desire to remain existent so far as possible. Wherefore you have no reason to doubt that all things, which exist, seek a permanent existence by nature, and similarly avoid extinction.”

“Yes,” I said, “I confess that I see now beyond all doubt what appeared to me just now uncertain.”

“But,” she continued, “that which seeks to continue its existence, aims at unity; for take this away, and none will have any chance of continued existence.”

“That is true.”

“Then all things desire unity,” she said, and I agreed. “But we have shown unity to be identical with the good?”

“Yes,” said I.

“Then all things desire the good; and that you may define as being the absolute good which is desired by all.”

“Nothing could be more truthfully reasoned. For either everything is brought back to nothing, and all will flow on at random with no guiding head; or if there is any universal aim, it will be the sum of all good.”

“Great is my rejoicing, my son,” said she, “for you have set firmly in your mind the mark of the central truth. And hereby is made plain to you that which you a short time ago said that you knew not.”

“What was that?”

“What was the final aim of all things,” she said, “for that is plainly what is desired by all. Since we have agreed that unity is the good, we must confess that the good is the end of all things.”

—from Book 3, Prose 11

There are two points that always struck me deeply about this passage, one little, and the other big, but both quite important.

The first insight turns a usual assumption of mine on its head. I can see how beings endowed with awareness seek to maintain their existence, and therefore their unity, but it is not so readily apparent that this actually applies to all created things, conscious or not.

In fact, those beings lacking in reason and choice do so without question, even as you and I may well question it.

How wonderful that an animal eats its food, and rears its young, and by doing so it preserves itself. It doesn’t need to “know” what it does to do what it does. How tragic that a man makes his conscious choices, and he still can somehow freely destroy himself.

In one sense, the man is a more perfect creature, because he determines his own actions; but when he chooses poorly, he becomes the worse creature, because he is actually able to deny his own nature. The rock, the tree, the frog, or the rabbit never do that. Yet I will somehow do that.

The second insight, quite honestly, makes me quake in my boots. Each thing may have its own particular purpose and end, even while there can only be one universal purpose and end.

This took me a while to embrace. Surely the rock, the tree, the frog, and the rabbit, and the man, for that matter, all have very different things they are meant to do? What could they possibly have in common?

They all do it in varied ways, and each acts according to its nature. Each preserves itself, as best as it can, and as long as it can. Each may pass, while each resists its passing. Each remains good as long as it is one.

In doing so, by defending what they are, they express their own specific unity. And there can be no imperfect or incomplete aspects of unity without a perfect or complete form of unity. The parts can only make any sense within the whole.

There aren’t many “ones”, only one “one”, if that makes any sense in my befuddled way of expressing it; it would hardly be one if it were many. Each piece cannot exist in isolation, and it must exist together with all the other pieces. In other words, all the lower goods exist within a higher good.

The rock, the tree, the frog, and the rabbit, and the man, for that matter, are present in a single world, and for all that they are individually, they are nothing on their own. All of them aim for their own unity and good, in their own manner, and thereby prove that there is a highest unity and good that encompasses them all.

Sorry, I like frogs and rabbits. Use whatever examples may suit you best.

I quake in my boots because it means I can never think of my own good as independent of the good of other things, or of my unity as independent of the unity of all things.

In a lesser sense, it puts a terrible crimp in my sense of entitlement; in a greater sense, it liberates me by teaching me that I am not alone. The “good” and the “one” are ultimately the same, for each and every thing. 

Written in 9/2015

Sayings of Heraclitus 6

The sun is new every day.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.18.10

. . . Remember these nine rules, as if you had received them as a gift from the Muses, and begin at last to be a man while you live.

But you must equally avoid nattering men and being vexed at them, for both are unsocial and lead to harm. And let this truth be present to you in the excitement of anger, that to be moved by passion is not manly, but that mildness and gentleness, as they are more agreeable to human nature, so also are they more manly; and he who possesses these qualities possesses strength, nerves, and courage, and not the man who is subject to fits of passion and discontent.

For in the same degree in which a man's mind is nearer to freedom from all passion, in the same degree also is it nearer to strength; and as the sense of pain is a characteristic of weakness, so also is anger. For he who yields to pain and he who yields to anger, both are wounded and both submit.

But if you will, receive also a tenth present from the leader of the Muses, Apollo, and it is this—that to expect bad men not to do wrong is madness, for he who expects this desires an impossibility. But to allow men to behave so to others, and to expect them not to do you any wrong, is irrational and tyrannical.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.18 (tr Long)

These rules always suggest to me that being most fully human asks that I take responsibility for myself, that being strong in happiness requires being strong in my own character, and that I need to have mastery over no one but myself to find peace.

I will always, on each and every day that I go out into the world, come across people who are loud, petty, and brutish. Far more often than I might expect, I will also find them to be dishonest, selfish, and cruel. There is the challenge, there is my test. They live in this way because they have reason and choice, just as I do, and they have decided on a different path. Will I allow my own balance to be upset by their imbalance?

Stoicism is often associated with a certain sort of toughness, but it is not a toughness of being insensitive or uncaring toward others. It is the firmness of being willing to rule over my desires and my aggression, and not to permit them to rule over me. It is the courage to stand by what I know to be right.

And what I know to be right is to show concern for my neighbor, to live in solidarity with him, to define my relationship with him through justice and not through force. A strong man is a good man, and a good man is a “gentle man”, in the fullest and proper sense of the word.

Will another not be gentle with me? He may indeed choose to be a slave to his passions, but I do not need to do so for myself. His bluster and boasting are not signs of strength, but actually of weakness. To surrender is not to show reverence for what is good in others, but to submit to what is worst within ourselves.

If there is to be a tenth rule, then, one that is given not only by the Muses but also by Apollo himself, let it be a very practical summation of all of them. I cannot demand that other people treat me well, but I can always demand that I treat them well.

Further, I cannot be willing to accept injustice done to others, if I am not also willing to face it for myself. Let me stop telling other people to “man up” and “get over it”, because those are the words of just another bully, not of an actual man. I will show my conviction and fortitude by living up to my own principles.

Written in 5/2009

IMAGE: Robert Sanderson (1848–1908), Apollo and the Muses

Dhammapada 57

Of the people who possess these virtues, who live without thoughtlessness, and who are emancipated through true knowledge, Mara, the tempter, never finds the way. 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.18.9

. . . Ninth, consider that a good disposition is invincible if it be genuine, and not an affected smile and acting a part.

For what will the most violent man do to you, if you continue to be of a kind disposition towards him, and if, as opportunity offers, you gently admonish him and calmly correct his errors at the very time when he is trying to do you harm, saying:

“Not so, my child. We are constituted by Nature for something else; I shall certainly not be injured, but you are injuring yourself, my child.”

And show him with gentle tact and by general principles that this is so, and that even bees do not do as he does, nor any animals that are formed by Nature to be gregarious.

And you must do this neither with any double meaning nor in the way of reproach, but affectionately and without any rancor in your soul; and not as if you were lecturing him, nor yet that any bystander may admire, but either when he is alone, and if others are present. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.18 (tr Long)

It all really comes together in the character of my own judgments, exercised simply for their own sake, and therefore the measure of a good life that no one else can hinder.

I can have an unfortunate tendency to become sullen when I feel disappointed. I may then crawl away or lash out, forgetting completely that my disappointment proceeded only from my own expectations. Or I may grimace, and assume that I must try harder to impress others, forgetting completely that who I am is not determined by what they may do or say.

If I rely upon my own virtue to be happy, I will never be disappointed, and I will be making good use of all the gifts Nature has given me. Of all the external things that people can take away from me, I need to remember that they are just things, and my own internal character can remain completely intact. In fact, I have the option of choosing to become better, when others choose to be worse.

When I work to act with wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice in all that I do, no harm will befall me. Is another acting poorly? Let me show him the respect he denies me. Is another showing me hatred? Let me show him what it means to love. My concern for him should be for the way he hurts himself, because if I only so decide, he is unable to hurt me.

Why do I assume that Nature most operate in constant conflict? Reason can convince, while force can only restrain. Kindness can inspire, while insults can only intimidate. Compassion brings people together, while resentment only drives them apart.

Now I should never confuse decency with pandering; the former seeks the good for the sake of others, while the latter seeks only gratification for oneself. It is hardly virtue at all if its intention is to manipulate, hardly charity at all if it is used to make a fine impression.

I will notice the difference, if I observe rightly: some people speak with you, while other people talk at you. A good man doesn’t ask for the approval of an audience to be good. He acts with love because he knows it is his nature to love, and he asks for nothing else.

Written in 5/2009

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 100

In general, any methods of discipline applied to the body, which tend to modify its desires or repulsions, are good—for ascetic ends. 

But if done for display, they betray at once a man who keeps an eye on outward show, who has an ulterior purpose, and is looking for spectators to shout, "Oh what a great man!" 

This is why Apollonius so well said: "If you are bent upon a little private discipline, wait till you are choking with heat some day—then take a mouthful of cold water, and spit it out again, and tell no man!" 

Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 2.4

 Of a pure mind and simple intention

1. By two wings is man lifted above earthly things, even by simplicity and purity. Simplicity ought to be in the intention, purity in the affection. Simplicity reaches towards God, purity apprehends Him and tastes Him. No good action will be distasteful to you if you are free within from inordinate affection. If you reach after and seek, nothing but the will of God and the benefit of your neighbor, you will entirely enjoy inward liberty. If your heart is right, then should every creature be a mirror of life and a book of holy doctrine. There is no creature so small and vile but that it shows us the goodness of God.
 

2. If you are good and pure within, then you will look upon all things without hurt and understand them rightly. A pure heart sees the very depths of heaven and hell. Such as each one is inwardly, so judges he outwardly. If there is any joy in the world, surely the man of pure heart possesses it, and if there is anywhere tribulation and anguish, the evil conscience knows it best. As iron cast into the fire loses rust and is made altogether glowing, so the man who turns himself altogether unto God is freed from slothfulness and changed into a new man.

3. When a man begins to grow lukewarm, then he fears a little labor, and willingly accepts outward consolation; but when he begins perfectly to conquer himself and to walk manfully in the way of God, then he counts as nothing those things that previously seemed to be so grievous to him.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.18.8

. . . Eighth, consider how much more pain is brought on us by the anger and vexation caused by such acts than by the acts themselves, at which we are angry and vexed. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.18 (tr Long)

A fine Jesuit priest once suggested to me that I try to distinguish between the ideas of pain and suffering. The first was something I felt, he offered, and the second was something I chose for myself.

I didn’t like it at first when he said that, because it made me realize that I was responsible for myself, and that I needed to stop making excuses for being miserable. It reminded me that I was not a passive puppet, but an active man.

“But I’ve been hurt!” Well yes, I will confront many impressions, brought about by many external forces acting upon my body, my instincts, and my passions. They are not what make me, however, and it does not diminish their force at all to say that I can still be a master over them. This is why I have reason, and this is why I have a will.

I have always found emotional pain to be far more imposing than physical pain, but I know that some find quite the reverse to be true. Whatever it is that may cut us the deepest, the sensation can seem overwhelming. What can I possibly do to face it?

It isn’t of me, and it didn’t come from me. Now let me manage myself.

Have my passions been offended? Then I should not deny what I feel, but make sense of what I feel, and put that to good use. I am not merely a thing moved, but a mover of my own actions. Let me take the rejection, the loneliness, the despair, and transform myself with it. Let me become better through it.

Has my body been hurt? Then I should not deny what I feel, but make sense of what I feel, and put that to good use. I am not merely a thing moved, but a mover of my own actions. Let me take the grinding of the bones, the weakness of the flesh, the agony that runs through me, and transform myself with it. Let me become better through it.

A medical doctor I knew got quite indignant when I once quoted Ovid:

Endure and persist; this pain will one day do good for you.

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever felt real pain,” he said, “like I see with my real patients.”

Now I instinctively wanted to slug him right there, because he thought I didn’t know what real pain was. Perhaps I could show him? Those were my passions speaking, of course, and I managed to tame them after a moment.

What was really most disturbing about his claim was that he reduced people to objects of feeling, and could not conceive of elevating them to creatures of choice. He saw a bag of flesh, not a mind and a heart.

Any pain is so much less than any suffering. The one is given to us, and the other we give to ourselves. The one is within our power, and the other is the surrender of our power. The former is horribly magnified by the latter.

Written in 5/2009

Scared of Dying

With All Things

Sayings of Ramakrishna 6

As the same sugar is made into various figures of birds and beasts, so one sweet Mother Divine is worshiped in various climes and ages under various names and forms. Different creeds are but different paths to reach the Almighty.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.18.7

. . . Seventh, that it is not men's acts that disturb us, for those acts have their foundation in men's ruling principles, but it is our own opinions that disturb us.

Take away these opinions then, and resolve to dismiss your judgment about an act as if it was something grievous, and your anger is gone.

How then shall you take away these opinions? By reflecting that no wrongful act of another brings shame on you; for unless that which is shameful is alone bad, you also must of necessity do many things wrong, and become a robber and everything else. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.18 (tr Long)

If I can begin to embrace the ethical core of Stoicism, that my own happiness proceeds from my own thoughts and deeds, then I can also begin to embrace its corollary, that the thoughts and deeds of others will only have as much power over me as I choose to give them.

If taken seriously, and applied to all aspects of my life with sincerity and conviction, I become a radically different person than I was before. Even as others will perhaps begin to look at me more and more strangely, I will also find myself able to pass through and over many circumstances I once considered completely insurmountable. I will find peace in ways I did not think at all possible, and I will be able to practice decency where before I could only grapple with fear, rage and disappointment.

That it may at first show itself only in small ways should hardly be a discouragement, since I begin to understand that all the obstacles are only as big or small as I make them out to be in my judgment. I learned quickly that half-measures won’t do here; it’s an all-or-nothing kind of deal. Still, if I work on my own estimation first and foremost, the results can truly fill me with awe and wonder.

I only need to consider how deeply rooted my obsession with outside circumstances has been. He made promises he didn’t keep, or she said she loved me and slept around, or I worked as hard as I could but still found myself poor and alone. The assumption in all of those complaints, and they are really just complaints, is that the world hasn’t treated me as I think I should be treated.

But what does any of that have to do with me? The whole wobbly house of cards collapses when I see the foolishness of defining something, anything at all, by everything other than what it is within itself. A man is a happy or a miserable man because he is a good or a bad man, not because another is a good or a bad man.

I at first assume it is impossible, but I only need to make the conscious decision to change what I value, and then I will no longer be so hurt by what I don’t value. Of course other people matter, and as a social animal I should care deeply about what they do and say, but what they do and say no longer needs to determine my own character. I’m the fellow to do that, and I’m the only one who stands in the way of that judgment.

If I know that it does not make me or break me, I will not choose to let it make me suffer, and if I do not let it make me suffer, I will not be resentful. If I allow it to shame me, my reactions will be no better than those of the people I complain about.

So I worry that another has wronged me, when all along I should be focusing my efforts on doing what is right from myself. Am I hurt and frustrated when I am deceived, or ridiculed, or abused? My only reasonable response is to work on my own deceiving, or ridiculing, or abusing.

Written in 5/2009

Tao Te Ching 42

The Tao produced One; One produced Two; Two produced Three; Three produced All things. 

All things leave behind them the Obscurity out of which they have come, and go forward to embrace the Brightness into which they have emerged, while they are harmonized by the Breath of Vacancy.

What men dislike is to be orphans, to have little virtue, to be as carriages without naves; and yet these are the designations which kings and princes use for themselves. So it is that some things are increased by being diminished, and others are diminished by being increased.

What other men thus teach, I also teach. The violent and strong do not die their natural death. I will make this the basis of my teaching.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.18.6

. . . Sixth, consider when you are much vexed or grieved, that man's life is only a moment, and after a short time we are all laid out dead. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.18 (tr Long)

Here is yet another of those passages that some people find morbid, as if the fact that life is short means that we should be glad it all ends anyway, and that we can simply tolerate suffering for a certain time, in the knowledge that it will soon pass.

Yet even in my darkest moments, when the Black Dog does his worst, I will no longer choose to think of it in such a manner. It isn’t that the shortness of life makes pain more bearable, but that the shortness of life makes virtue so much sweeter. It’s all in the attitude, and in putting circumstances in their proper perspective.

Now I can rightly say, if I have been rejected or cast aside in my life, that this too shall pass. But I can just as rightly say, if I have won the lottery, or made it big in the world of business and politics, that this too shall also pass. This is because neither kind of fortune, the convenient or the inconvenient, is really what defines me.

Does it bring hurt? Don’t worry, because it won’t last. Does it bring pleasure? Don’t worry, because it won’t last.

And the problem we are so obsessed with is making “bad” things go away, and “good” things stay with us. There are two problems here: that we determine things by their quantity instead of their quality, and that we assume the bad and the good are measured by the situation outside of us.

The very nature of human life is a passing thing, and a rather quickly passing thing at that. The measure for the Stoic is always the same: what have I managed to do with whatever I have, for whatever short a time, and in whatever conditions, to live with character?

I come back to this, time and time again. The Stoic essentially rejects the rule of the pack, because he measures his life by the excellence of what he does, not by what happens to him. That moral transformation is essential to a good life.

Pain and pleasure are not evils and goods. Poverty and riches are not evils and goods. Death and life are not evils and goods.

Strut about all you like, and smirk all you like, and draw attention to your importance all you like. You and I will both end up in exactly the same place. By then, it will have become too late to make that past life worth living.

Written in 5/2009

Sayings of Socrates 15

. . . Now answer me this. Do you think that the same holds of horses? Do people in general improve them, whereas one particular person corrupts them or makes them worse? 

Or is it wholly the opposite: one particular person—or the very few who are horse trainers—is able to improve them, whereas the majority of people, if they have to do with horses and make use of them, make them worse? 

Isn't that true, Meletus, both of horses and of all other animals? Of course it is, whether you and Anytus say so or not. Indeed, our young people are surely in a very happy situation if only one person corrupts them, whereas all the rest benefit them 

—Plato, Apology 25b

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.18.5

. . . Fifth, consider that you do not even understand whether men are doing wrong or not, for many things are done with a certain reference to circumstances.

And in short, a man must learn a great deal to enable him to pass a correct judgment on another man's acts. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.18 (tr Long)

Let’s say I can clearly see that an action is harmful, and I can discern from what sort of general principles a man acts. Can I not now judge him confidently, and say with certainty that I am better, while he is worse?

Yet there is still so much I do not understand, and quite possibly will never be able to fully understand. I should not be so hasty. What particular dispositions, habits, conditions, and circumstances affected a decision? What aspects have I overlooked, what factors am I perhaps completely unaware of? While I may see what someone has done, can I see all that was going on that led to exactly why it was done?

Walking in someone else’s shoes is not as easy as it sounds!

If I look at the events that have troubled me the most, I have to remember first that how much I suffered from them was really up to me, and second that I should not immediately assume malice in people’s actions. In many cases, I dwelt upon the pain, and I then found fault with someone else for suffering that pain.

If I consider it more closely, however, there are huge gaps, vast empty spaces, in my awareness of why these things very really done. Many of the actions that have had the greatest impact on my life largely remain mysteries, where I can only guess what was actually going on in people’s lives, and what may have been running through their heads at the time. There was surely much I never saw, and perhaps that I did not need to see.

I will often grow frustrated when people paint a picture I am sure is far too simple, and I will then insist that there is far more going on than they realize. Well, let me insist on much the same for myself. My own motives are never cut and dry, clearly right or wrong, but are often nuanced and layered. I should remember that for anyone’s motives.

I did not know at the time, for example, that a student who I had great respect for, but who clearly disliked me with a great intensity, did so because I reminded her too much of someone who had been a source of great sadness in her life.

Here I assumed she was just being dismissive and rude, when in fact there was something completely different going on. I only learned of this fact many years later, and it now serves as a healthy reminder that I should not judge too quickly what I do not fully comprehend.

Shoes often look very different on the outside than they feel on the inside.

Written in 5/2009

Ecclesiastes 8:12-17

[12] Though a sinner does evil a hundred times and prolongs his life, yet I know that it will be well with those who fear God, because they fear before him;
[13] but it will not be well with the wicked, neither will he prolong his days like a shadow, because he does not fear before God.
[14] There is a vanity which takes place on earth, that there are righteous men to whom it happens according to the deeds of the wicked, and there are wicked men to whom it happens according to the deeds of the righteous. I said that this also is vanity.
[15] And I commend enjoyment, for man has no good thing under the sun but to eat and drink, and enjoy himself, for this will go with him in his toil through the days of life which God gives him under the sun.
[16] When I applied my mind to know wisdom, and to see the business that is done on earth, how neither day nor night one's eyes see sleep;
[17] then I saw all the work of God, that man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun. However much man may toil in seeking, he will not find it out; even though a wise man claims to know, he cannot find it out. 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.18.4

. . . Fourth, consider that you also do many things wrong, and that you are a man like others.

And even if you do abstain from certain faults, still you have the disposition to commit them, though either through cowardice, or concern about reputation, or some such mean motive, you do abstain from such faults. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.18 (tr Long)

In my worst moments, I simply want to run away; the idea of becoming a hermit suddenly seems quite appealing. I think of this, however, because I am saddened or offended by others. I would not make a good hermit on these grounds, not even one bit, if my reason for being alone is my resentment for other people.

What is it that fuels my anger or despair? It is nothing else than demanding decency from others, just a bit of respect, a glimmer of love and loyalty. When I don’t get it, I will be tempted to do one of two things: I want to erupt in rage, or I want to crawl into a hole.

I am really just making myself the victim, an antithesis of all that is Stoic, and it isn’t that I need to get tougher, but that I need to become more understanding and compassionate. I need to see myself in others, and others in myself.

Why am I so full of hatred and fear? Because someone else has done something wrong? Let me remember how often I, too, have done wrong because of my own ignorance. Once I came to truly understand my error, I could only think of how to become better, and if I am to be consistent, I should also think of how to help another wrongdoer become better.

There is a twisted hypocrisy in my thinking and living when I treat another as I would never treat myself. I will condemn him, and seek to do him harm, while I will have sympathy with myself, and give myself another chance.

Can I be so confident as to claim that I no longer have such faults? I know I can’t, though let me imagine that I could. Even then, am I not just as prone to fall back into error, or perhaps I am doing the right things for the wrong reasons? I should be aware of my own weakness, and I should be critical about my own motives before I put down someone else’s.

“Look! I have been honest, or helpful, or kind, and my neighbor hasn’t been!” But look how easily I could have done otherwise, how fine that line really was, and maybe I was just honest because I was afraid, or helpful to get ahead, or kind to win affection.

I suspect the real hermit will have no disdain for others at all, and will seek solitude not to stew in his hatred, but to do some work on his ability to love.

Written in 9/2005

IMAGE: Jusepe de Ribera, Saint Paul, The First Hermit (1640)

The Art of Peace 31

Loyalty and devotion lead to bravery. Bravery leads to the spirit of self-sacrifice. The spirit of self-sacrifice creates trust in the power of love.

IMAGE: Hachiko sat every day, for ten years, at Shibuya Station. He was awaiting the return of his deceased master, Professor Eizaburo Ueno.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.18.3

. . . Third, that if men do rightly what they do, we ought not to be displeased, but if they do not right, it is plain that they do so involuntarily and in ignorance.

For as every soul is unwillingly deprived of the truth, so also is it unwillingly deprived of the power of behaving to each man according to his deserts. Accordingly men are pained when they are called unjust, ungrateful, and greedy, and in a word wrongdoers to their neighbor . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.18 (tr Long)

As rational animals, we will most certainly decide how we will act, and therefore we will be responsible for how we will live; still, our judgments will proceed from the premise that we always choose what seems to be beneficial. We may desire something harmful, and we may do something harmful, but it is only because we somehow think it is good that we would ever pursue it.

When I do what is evil, I certainly could know better, and I certainly should know better. At the time, however, and in whatever twisted sort of a way, I have convinced myself that left is right, that up is down, that right is wrong. The vice comes across as a virtue. Yes, the harm is seen as necessary, or the lie is seen as convenient, or the lust is seen as fulfilling.

When I come to see this ignorance in myself, I ask to be forgiven, to be taught, or to be helped. I want to become better. When I see it in others, should I not ask for much the same? Ignorance is hardly an excuse, though overcoming such ignorance is the remedy.

At the very least, this will assist me in putting up with others, and at the very best, it will assist me in sharing the burdens of others. It reminds me to improve myself by helping others to improve themselves, to look at wisdom and ignorance as the root causes of virtue and vice, and not merely to boil away with resentment at offensive words and deeds.

Profound and abstract philosophical reflection are not even required to understand this, since we can also see it immediately in the patterns of our daily behavior. Observe how we may do something thoughtless, selfish, or manipulative, but if we are corrected or challenged, we quite easily become defensive and indignant.

We don’t like being seen as wrong, because we so desperately want to be right. We might be terribly unjust, but we become charged with a stubborn sense that we embody everything that is just.

The only way out of the cycle of resentment is to admit ignorance, and thereby being open to learning something new. In this way, good living will always follow from good thinking. I can hardly be a decent man if I don’t really know what it means to be decent, nor can I reasonably expect that from anyone else.

Written in 5/2009

Sayings of Heraclitus 5

They vainly purify themselves by defiling themselves with blood, just as if one who had stepped into the mud were to wash his feet in mud. 

Any man who marked him doing thus, would deem him mad.
 

And they pray to these images, as if one were to talk with a man's house, knowing not what gods or heroes are.

Boethius, The Consolation 3.37

. . . “But about trees and plants, I have great doubts as to what I should agree to in their case, and in all inanimate objects.”

“But in this case too,” she said, “you have no reason to be in doubt, when you see how trees and plants grow in places which suit them, and where, so far as nature is able to prevent it, they cannot quickly wither and perish. For some grow in plains, others on mountains; some are nourished by marshes, others cling to rocks; some are fertilized by otherwise barren sands, and would wither away if one tried to transplant them to better soil.

“Nature grants to each what suits it, and works against their perishing while they can possibly remain alive. I need hardly remind you that all plants seem to have their mouths buried in the earth, and so they suck up nourishment by their roots and diffuse their strength through their pith and bark: the pith being the softest part is always hidden away at the heart and covered, protected, as it were, by the strength of the wood; while outside, the bark, as being the defender who endures the best, is opposed to the unkindness of the weather.

“Again, how great is Nature's care, that they should all propagate themselves by the reproduction of their seed; they all, as is so well known, are like regular machines not merely for lasting a time, but for reproducing themselves for ever, and that by their own kinds.

"Things too which are supposed to be inanimate, surely do all seek after their own by a like process. For why is flame carried upward by its lightness, while solid things are carried down by their weight, unless it is that these positions and movements are suitable to each?

"Further, each thing preserves what is suitable to itself, and what is harmful it destroys. Hard things, such as stones, cohere with the utmost tenacity of their parts, and resist easy dissolution; while liquids, water, and air, yield easily to division, but quickly slip back to mingle their parts that have been cut asunder. And fire cannot be cut at all.” . . .

—from Book 3, Prose 11

I recall a lovably eccentric fellow from Russia who was trying to defend a doctoral dissertation, where he argued that everything, men and women, animals and plants, rocks and rivers, all spoke with a certain language. I at first found this ridiculous, because while some living things have the power of voice, only living things with reason have the power of speech. And how, pray tell, can a pebble or a puddle, lacking both life and reason, say anything at all?

I should have been a bit more open-minded, not by agreeing that a boulder can form words, or that a monkey can write a poem, but by accepting that, in the broadest sense, everything expresses its nature by what it does. In this manner, figuratively if not literally, it “speaks” to us, by telling us about its identity. Actions and reactions, even when they lack awareness, are signs of something.

Likewise, all things, whether aware or unaware, living or dead, reveal a purpose, simply by being what they are. In doing so, by behaving according to their natures, they stand for themselves, they preserve themselves, and they continue as themselves until they are met by a force that overwhelms them. They may not know what they do, but they still do what they do, and they remain firm in what they do.

I was taught a healthy respect for Nature from the earliest age, and so I can see quite clearly how a tree, for example, is made most wonderfully. It will fit itself into a certain environment, and it will reach outs is roots, and it will spread out its branches.

Starve it of water and light, or inflict upon it some disease, or hack away at its limbs, and it will fight back to survive. It will do so in the most remarkable of ways, and whatever may come to it, it will still be certain to make some more versions of itself.

It will not go quietly, because it is seeking its own unity. Does it “know” what it does? I have spoken to trees on a number of odd occasions, though I can’t say they spoke back to me, so I have no direct account from them. But perhaps I wasn’t listening in the right way.

The tree is living, but yet the same is true of earth, or water, or air, or fire. Each “element” moves in its own way, responds to its contrary in its own way, and strives to maintain its unity in its own way.

Throw a rock in the air, and it falls back. Put a dam on a river, and it pushes back. Build a tent to block the wind, and the wind blows away the tent. Try to extinguish a burning building, and the flames will sneak right by you to the next building.

Each and every thing in this wide world defines itself, and thereby seeks to be what it is made to be. It seeks to be one and complete, not many and divided. The whole Universe craves unity.

Written in 9/2015