Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy 4.6

. . . Again she said, “If there are two persons before whom the same object is put by natural instinct, and one person carries his object through, working by his natural functions, but the other cannot put his natural instinct into practice, but using some function unsuitable to nature he can imitate the successful person, but not fulfill his original purpose, in this case, which of the two do you decide to be the more capable?”

“I think I guess what you mean, but I would hear more explicitly.”

“You will not, I think, deny that the motion of walking is a natural one to mankind?”

“No, I will not.”

“And is not that the natural function of the feet?”

“Yes.”

“If, then, one man walks, being able to advance upon his feet, while another, who lacks the natural function of feet, uses his hands and so tries to walk, which of these two may justly be held the more capable?”

“Weave me other riddles!” I exclaimed, “for can anyone doubt that a man who enjoys his natural functions, is more capable than one who is incapable in that respect?”

“But in the case of the highest good,” she said, “it is equally the purpose set before good and bad men; good men seek it by the natural functions of virtue, while bad men seek to attain the same through their cupidity, which is not a natural function for the attainment of good. Think you not so?”

“I do indeed,” I said. “This is plain, as also is the deduction which follows. For it must be, from what I have already allowed, that the good are powerful, the wicked weak.” . . .

—from Book 4, Prose 2

People sometimes like to say that philosophy is too difficult, or that it involves all of these confusing and impractical concepts. What value, they wonder, could any of this possibly have for everyday life? So philosophy gets thrown into a box in the corner, along with calculus, and particle physics, and art history, and all the things we are quite sure we don’t really need.

But all the branches of human knowledge are useful to us, because they can help us, each one in its own way, to understand our world and ourselves. Wisdom is never wasted, and all awareness can be in the service of virtue.

And philosophy, far from being an obscure outlier, is what binds everything together, because it considers the ultimate questions of meaning and value, the very universal and necessary measure of true and false, of right and wrong.

Philosophy ends up being the most critical and immediate sort of knowing, for without it nothing else can have purpose. Nothing can be more practical than having an end that directs the means. Academic professionals might want you to believe it is just about thinking for the sake of thinking, while those of us in the trenches know it is about thinking for the sake of living.

In this passage we see a wonderful example of philosophy in its most direct and straightforward form; no degrees or fancy words are required for it to make complete sense.

Which is better, getting the job done, or failing to get the job done?

Which is better, using the right tools for the job, or using the wrong tools for the job?

Which is better, doing the actual work, or just giving the false appearance of doing the actual work?

The answer is quite clear in any activity, whether it is building widgets, or fixing doohickeys, or training wombats. The answer is just as clear in the highest goal of life itself, in being happy.

Happiness is succeeding in life, and misery is failing in life.

Virtue is the right tool to acquire happiness, because it works with our very human nature. Vice is the wrong tool to acquire happiness, because it works against our very human nature.

Virtue is the real deal, and vice is the pretender. It is like the difference between a humble craftsman and a flamboyant poseur. I should know what I am doing, not look like I know what I am doing.

Feet are made for walking, and man is made to be wise, brave, temperate, and just. Hands are not made for walking, and a man is not made to be ignorant, cowardly, gluttonous, and grasping.

Complex equations or rocket science are not needed to see that it is the good man who is strong, and the wicked man who is weak. Philosophy deserves better than to be abandoned and forgotten in the attic.

Written in 10/2015

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 1.7

When I return from seeing it I am a sadder, though not a worse man, I cannot walk amid my own paltry possessions with so lofty a step as before, and silently there steals over me a feeling of vexation, and a doubt whether that way of life may not be better than mine. None of these things alter my principles, yet all of them disturb me.

The other day, I made another one of my foolish mistakes, the kind that always comes back to bite me in the rear. In a sour mood, I decided to read through the alumni class notes from my old school. Then I stewed over it all, wondering if it was too late to get a bottle of whiskey down the street.

“Well, now I know for sure that you are deeply bitter and unhinged! How could that be a foolish thing? Are you so self-absorbed as to not care what your old friends are doing?”

Perhaps you are right, but I do care, perhaps too much, and also in entirely the wrong way. What others are up to isn’t the problem; how I choose to face it within myself is the problem.

Remember, for example, never to look up your lost love on the Web. She may have done nothing wrong, but you are likely to take it all wrong. Just avoid the temptation to begin with.

As can so easily be the case, I allowed my thinking to get away from me, and my feelings quickly followed. Every single entry I read was about worldly successes. The jealousy and resentment began to creep in. They were clearly superior, and I was clearly inferior, or so my own doubts told me.

“Sandra and I are terribly busy. I’m always flying off to China to negotiate new deals for the firm, and she’s occupied with managing the art gallery. Still, even after running the Global Warming Awareness fundraiser, we find time to spend time with our two newly adopted children from Zaire, and we try to take a breather fixing up our vacation house on Martha’s Vineyard. Life is so good to us!”

Am I angry that they are happy? Not at all. I don’t even know if they are happy, just that they are telling us they are living the high life, and there is a part of the problem. Everything they describe is about the trappings. We are all so caught up in the appearances, in giving the right impression.

Am I jealous that I think they have more than I do? Yes, actually, that’s precisely the problem, as ashamed as I am to admit it. As usual, the problem comes right back to my own judgment. Why does any of that impress me? Do I really want to live that way? Am I that shallow?

Like Serenus, I try to hold to my principles, the ones about living with love and understanding above anything else, and yet I somehow let this frustrate me. I know exactly what it means to be a better man, and yet my worries are gnawing away at the edges.

Written in 4/2011

Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 3.1

Of the inward voice of Christ to the faithful soul
 

1. I will hearken what the Lord God shall say within me. Blessed is the soul which hears the Lord speaking within it, and receives the word of consolation from His mouth. Blessed are the ears which receive the echoes of the soft whisper of God, and turn not aside to the whisperings of this world. Blessed truly are the ears which listen not to the voice that sounds without, but to that which teaches truth inwardly. Blessed are the eyes which are closed to things without, but are fixed upon things within. Blessed are they who search inward things and study to prepare themselves more and more by daily exercises for the receiving of heavenly mysteries. Blessed are they who long to have leisure for God, and free themselves from every hindrance of the world. Think on these things, O my soul, and shut the doors of your carnal desires, so may you hear what the Lord God will say within you. 

2. These things says your Beloved, "I am your salvation, I am your peace and your life. Keep yourself unto Me, and you shall find peace." Put away all transitory things, seek those things that are eternal. For what are all temporal things but deceits, and what shall all created things help you if you be forsaken by the Creator? Therefore put all other things away, and give yourself to the Creator, to be well pleasing and faithful to Him, that you may be able to attain true blessedness.

Stupid?

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 1.6

While I am well satisfied with this, I am reminded of the clothes of a certain schoolboy, dressed with no ordinary care and splendor, of slaves bedecked with gold and a whole regiment of glittering attendants.

I think of houses too, where one treads on precious stones, and where valuables lie about in every corner, where the very roof is brilliantly painted, and a whole nation attends and accompanies an inheritance on the road to ruin. What shall I say of waters, transparent to the very bottom, which flow round the guests, and banquets worthy of the theatre in which they take place?

Coming as I do from a long course of dull thrift, I find myself surrounded by the most brilliant luxury, which echoes around me on every side. My sight becomes a little dazzled by it. I can lift up my heart against it more easily than my eyes.

A life of temperance, of moderation, and of simplicity makes complete sense in my head. It has also, whenever I have found the discipline to practice it, been the most peaceful and satisfying kind of life I have ever known.

It’s hardly as if my intellect is in open war with my passions; I both know and feel the true and the good in it, deep down inside of me. The mind and the heart both agree, giving me that firm and contented nod of approval.

So where is that itch coming from? Why do I find that itch so hard to scratch?

Something within me is still mightily impressed by grandeur, by luxury, and by showing off. I understand quite well that I should look away, but my eyes seem pulled back toward all of that, time and time again.

It’s much like those classic horror movies of my youth, where you know the foolish teenager will meet a terrible and bloody end in but a moment. You cover your eyes, but you still peek out through your fingers.

I know I should not want a life of decadence, and I remember how miserable I felt whenever I pursued any of that. Still, I read about the celebrities with their elaborate parties, their extravagant mansions, and their private jets. It still captivates me, and so it also gives me a sense of unease.

Perhaps it is the unconscious desire for mere gratification, in the face of all else that I value? Perhaps it is the pull of old habits, struggling against my more recent convictions? Perhaps it is really just the need to follow along with the popular crowd, to do things the way everyone else seems to do them?

It is certainly difficult to go one way, when the world around you goes another. Is that the tiny annoying flea causing the itch?

Whatever the case, I find it rather irritating. I’m not sure where it comes from, so I’m not sure where to find a cure.

Written in 4/2011

Moebius Strip II

M.C. Escher, Moebius Strip II (1964)

Sayings of Ramakrishna 15

The Master said: "Everything that exists is God." The pupil understood it literally, but not in the true spirit. 

While he was passing through a street, he met with an elephant. The driver shouted aloud from his high place, "Move away, move away!" 

The pupil argued in his mind, "Why should I move away? I am God, so is the elephant also God. What fear has God of Himself?"

Thinking thus he did not move. At last the elephant took him up by his trunk, and dashed him aside. He was severely hurt, and going back to his Master, he related the whole adventure. 

The Master said, "All right, you are God. The elephant is God also, but God in the shape of the elephant-driver was warning you also from above. Why did you not pay heed to his warnings?"

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 1.3

Since this, then, is the nature of proof, when we consider that some men are quicker of wit and others duller, that some are reared in better environment, others in worse, those of the latter class being inferior in character and native disposition will require more proofs and more diligent attention to be led to master the teachings in question and to be molded by them; just as defective physiques, when the goal is to restore perfect health, require very diligent and prolonged treatment. 

On the other hand such pupils as are of a finer nature and have enjoyed better training will more easily and more quickly, and with few proofs, assent to sound reasoning and put it into practice. How true this is we may readily recognize if we chance to know two lads or young men, of whom one has been reared in luxury, his body effeminate, his spirit weakened by soft living, and having besides a dull and torpid disposition; the other reared somewhat in the Spartan manner, unaccustomed to luxury, practiced in self-restraint, and ready to listen to sound reasoning.

If then we place these two young men in the position of pupils of a philosopher arguing that death, toil, poverty, and the like are not evils, or again that life, pleasure, wealth, and the like are not goods, do you imagine that both will give heed to the argument in the same fashion, and that one will be persuaded by it in the same degree as the other? Far from it.

I think the only compliment I have occasionally received, from people who don’t really know me well, is that I am somehow “smart”. The fact is, unfortunately, that I am not really “smart” at all, and I usually find myself far slower and dimmer than most people around me. I try my hardest to be deliberately thoughtful, but I am not naturally gifted with a profound intelligence, or a quick memory, or an aptitude for discerning patterns and solving problems.

I think I know something of what Musonius Rufus is talking about, since what little I have managed to grasp in life did not come from an innate disposition. This means it will take me more time, and more attempts, and more explanations to help me understand. I need to look at it many times, from many different angles, and with many false starts.

I may not have the nature, but I was at least blessed with some decent nurture, in that I was raised in an environment of character and learning. I often stubbornly rejected it, though enough managed to stick with me nonetheless. That made a big difference, for which I am always grateful.

We are all born with different strengths and weaknesses, inclined to some abilities over others, and that is something that was given to us, not something we chose. We are all put in a certain place in this world, influenced by a certain environment, and that too is something that was given to us, not something we chose. Providence made us as we are, and placed us where we are.

Yet that is not all that we are, or all that we can become. Stoicism teaches us that things happen to us, beyond our control, while who we ultimately are is determined by what we decide to make of all that, completely within our control.

Yes, some can take the quicker path, because of what they have to work with, and others can take the slower path, because of what they have to work with. The trick lies in still sticking closely to the path, straight or winding, in either case. The path doesn’t need to be broadened; it needs to be more carefully marked.

Both the genius and the dullard, whether from nature or from nurture, have within them the ability to intellectually, morally, and spiritually improve themselves. They can both rightly do this in their own way; one will simply require more effort, diligence, and discipline than the other in doing so.

Did I readily comprehend that death, toil, and poverty were not evils? No. Did I readily comprehend that life, pleasure, and wealth were not goods? No. This was because it was not easy for me to wrap my head around one simple truth: the only highest and complete human good is the practice of wisdom and of virtue, to know and to love, and that everything else is entirely relative to that principle.

For those of us who are not the sharpest tools in the shed, we might require some help with the sharpening. But it does need to be sharpening and not dulling. Help me to understand one truth well, instead of twenty half-truths poorly. Don’t just give me more reasons; lead me to one really good reason.

It may take me a while, but with some patience I will get there. Point me in a single direction, however, and not in many. Both the tortoise and the hare need to be focus on one goal.

Written in 2/1999

Sayings of Socrates 24

If I had engaged in politics, I should have perished long ago and done no good to either you or to myself. . . . 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 right, if he would live even for a little while, must have a private station and not a public one.

—Plato, Apology 31e

Peter Gabriel, "Don't Give Up"

We had a son, and my wife lost her job, and my own paltry contributions weren't enough. 

I took a chance, and I tried something new to make ends meet. I failed at it, quite miserably. 

How worthless I felt. How meaningless I had become. How hopeless it seemed.

I had nothing else left. I'm not a good swimmer, and I looked down at the waters of Boston Harbor with keen interest on a drizzly January morning. 

Would it hurt? How long would it take?

She didn't deserve this, and she ought to have better. 

He shouldn't have been born into this, and he ought to have better. 

What a weight I have become. Weight sinks, right?

They will say you are a coward. Let them say it. They would think differently if they knew how it felt.

Something is still nagging. 

Is there a place? 

Despite all of this, can I still give something, anything at all?

Yes.

So I'm not done. The flowing waters are for later. 

Peter Gabriel w/ Kate Bush, "Don't Give Up", from So (1986)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LMB6K4rTGU

In this proud land we grew up strong
We were wanted all along
I was taught to fight, taught to win
I never thought I could fail

No fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
I've changed my face, I've changed my name
But no one wants you when you lose

Don't give up
'Cause you have friends
Don't give up
You're not beaten yet
Don't give up
I know you can make it good 

Though I saw it all around
Never thought that I could be affected
Thought that we'd be the last to go
It is so strange the way things turn

Drove the night toward my home
The place that I was born, on the lakeside
As daylight broke, I saw the earth
The trees had burned down to the ground

Don't give up
You still have us
Don't give up
We don't need much of anything
Don't give up
'Cause somewhere there's a place
Where we belong

Rest your head
You worry too much
It's going to be alright
When times get rough
You can fall back on us
Don't give up
Please don't give up

Got to walk out of here
I can't take anymore
Going to stand on that bridge
Keep my eyes down below
Whatever may come
And whatever may go
That river's flowing
That river's flowing

Moved on to another town
Tried hard to settle down
For every job, so many men
So many men no one needs    

Don't give up
'Cause you have friends
Don't give up
You're not the only one
Don't give up
No reason to be ashamed
Don't give up
You still have us
Don't give up now
We're proud of who you are
Don't give up
You know it's never been easy
Don't give up
'Cause I believe there's a place
There's a place where we belong

Written in 1/2004

Beautiful and Ugly

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 1.5

I have to confess the greatest possible love of thrift. I do not care for a bed with gorgeous hangings, or for clothes brought out of a chest, or pressed under weights and made glossy by frequent manglings, but for common and cheap ones, that require no care either to keep them or to put them on.

For food I do not want what needs whole troops of servants to prepare it and admire it, nor what is ordered many days before and served up by many hands, but something handy and easily come at, with nothing far-fetched or costly about it, to be had in every part of the world, burdensome neither to one's fortune nor one's body, not likely to go out of the body by the same path by which it came in.

I like a rough and unpolished homebred servant, I like my servant born in my house. I like my country-bred father's heavy silver plate stamped with no maker's name. I do not want a table that is beauteous with dappled spots, or known to all the town by the number of fashionable people to whom it has successively belonged, but one which stands merely for use, and which causes no guest's eye to dwell upon it with pleasure or to kindle at it with envy.

I try to embrace the Stoic principle that no circumstances are in and of themselves good or bad. Wealth or poverty, luxury or subsistence, health or sickness will not make me better or worse, because I can always find a way to practice a good life with any of them.

At the same time, I have slowly but surely come to appreciate how both wanting and having less can well be the easier path for me, and therefore a way of life I might prefer.

This may seem odd to some, on the assumption that having more means being able to do more. Perhaps that is true for them, and I wish them well, but I have increasingly found it is not true for me. My own particular dispositions, and my own personal weaknesses, tell me to avoid prosperity if I am at all free to do so.

Yes, an opulent life, like that followed by many of the folks I went to school with, would certainly be more gratifying, and more convenient, and would save me from all sorts of petty worries. Most lawyers, doctors, or bankers are probably not familiar with the struggle to put food on the table, or the frustration of having to choose paying one bill at the expense of another. Yet at the very few times I have had even the slightest bit more than I need, I discovered that it distracts me into even worse difficulties.

It becomes too easy for me to feel entitlement, to be tempted by greed, to become cold and distant from others, to start thinking that I am somehow special because of what fortune has given me. What I have, another may have not, and this easily leads to envy and resentment. That, to me, is a far greater burden. I would rather lose my property than lose my conscience, and I’m not sure I’d be very good at juggling them at the same time.

Serenus, of course, was from the Roman upper classes, and what he describes as thrifty may appear as downright extravagant to me. I will never have any servants at all, of any sort, and I will never eat with silver, whether fancy or plain. The ideal remains the same, however, in kind if not in degree. We are all coming from different places, and called to different things.

I will not choose to starve, or to be kicked out on the street, or to be dragged into court for failing to pay my debts, but I will choose to live on as little as I can, and to find pleasure in the most humble of pastimes.

An old but comfortable chair, by a cozy hearth, along with a simple but satisfying meal will do just fine. I do also enjoy a dusty old book, a good hat, a sturdy set of boots, a pipe with a bit of strong tobacco, and perhaps a quirky cat to keep me company.

Let me stop there, since I already sense I may get carried away. There can be a very thin line between having just enough and having too much, a line that can only be drawn by the ability of my character to bear the lure of vanity.

Written in 4/2011

Tao Te Ching 49

The sage has no invariable mind of his own; he makes the mind of the people his mind. 

To those who are good to me, I am good; and to those who are not good to me, I am also good; and thus all get to be good. 

To those who are sincere with me, I am sincere; and to those who are not sincere with me, I am also sincere; and thus all get to be sincere. 

The sage has in the world an appearance of indecision, and keeps his mind in a state of indifference to all. The people all keep their eyes and ears directed to him, and he deals with them all as his children. 

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 1.2

The gods, we may assume, need no proof of anything inasmuch as nothing to them lacks clearness or is obscure, and it is only in reference to obscurity that there is any need of proof. Man, however, must seek to find out that which is neither plain nor self-evident through the medium of the plain and obvious. That is the function of proof.

Take for example the proposition that pleasure is not a good. At first sight we do not recognize it as true, since in fact pleasure appeals to us as a good. But starting from the generally accepted premise that every good is desirable and adding to it a second equally accepted premise that some pleasures are not desirable, we succeed in proving that pleasure is not a good: that is we prove the unknown or unrecognized by means of the known or recognized.

Or again, that toil is not an evil is not on the face of it a persuasive proposition, while its opposite, that toil is an evil, seems much more persuasive. But starting from the known and accepted premise that every evil is a thing to be avoided, and adding to it another obvious one, namely that many forms of toil are not in the category of things to be avoided, we conclude that toil is not an evil. 

If we knew everything immediately and directly, as it surely must be for a divine mind, then we would hardly need proof for anything. But the human mind comes to understand gradually and progressively, by means of experience and reasoning. We need to proceed from what is known to what is unknown, from what is clear to what is unclear, from what is given to what we ourselves can conclude from what is given.

Now I have often been told that I am overly reflective, or that I think too much for my own good, so take this with a truckload of salt, but I notice that most of us hardly choose to do much reasoning at all. We treat thinking as a largely passive state, where we “have” an idea, or assert an opinion, or agree with what we are told. We begin with a conclusion, instead of arriving at it from rightly arranging the premises. We insist that a proposition is obvious, when it is not obvious at all.

If you find that to be critical, yes it is, at least in the narrow sense of the word, but I do not intend it to be mean-spirited. I will find myself as guilty of mental sloth as the next fellow, and I do not excuse myself from the criticism. I recognize that most every failure in my life has come from not thinking clearly.

Consider how often we speak about the need for rigorously exercising our bodies, and then ask yourself when that very same rigor was applied to our minds. Now if the mind should rule the body, wouldn’t it require even more rigor?

Most of us, for example, will simply assume the conclusion that pleasure is always a good thing, and hence that happiness is about “having fun”. It sounds ridiculous to suggest otherwise, because people just seem to take it for granted.

Yet we would say that all good things are desirable, by their very nature of being good. We would also say that not all pleasures are desirable, because some will do us harm. If we only bother to put together the pieces we already know, we have proven, therefore, that not all pleasures are good, the correct conclusion we at first didn’t know.

The same is true of the claim that difficulty and struggle are bad things, that hardship is something to be avoided. Why suffer through more, if you could get by putting up with less?

Yet we would say that bad things should be avoided, by their very nature of being bad. We would also say that there are times when toil should not be avoided, because it can be of advantage. If we only bother to put together the pieces we already know, we have proven, therefore, that not all toil is a bad thing, the correct conclusion we at first didn’t know.

All P are M

Some S are not M

–––––––––––––––

Some S are not P

“Ow! That makes my head hurt!” At first maybe, yes, but it doesn’t hurt any more than going for a brisk run after sitting on the couch, eating chips, and watching television for a few months. The mind will take to clarity of reasoning through good habits, just as the body will take to health and strength through good habits.

To work toward a conclusion, and not to start with one, to prove something, and not merely to assert it, isn’t just for fancy academics with their abstract concepts. It is for all of us, in our most basic and everyday needs. The worth of our every action depends upon it, because we can hardly choose something good without first knowing the reasons why it is good.

Written in 2/1999

Ecclesiastes 11:7-10

[7] Light is sweet, and it is pleasant for the eyes to behold the sun.
[8] For if a man lives many years, let him rejoice in them all; but let him remember that the days of darkness will be many. All that comes is vanity.
[9] Rejoice, O young man, in your youth, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth; walk in the ways of your heart and the sight of your eyes. But know that for all these things God will bring you into judgment.
[10] Remove vexation from your mind, and put away pain from your body; for youth and the dawn of life are vanity. 

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 1.4

But I fear that custom, which confirms most things, implants this vice more and more deeply in me. Long acquaintance with both good and bad people leads one to esteem them all alike. What this state of weakness really is, when the mind halts between two opinions without any strong inclination towards either good or evil, I shall be better able to show you piecemeal than all at once. I will tell you what befalls me, you must find out the name of the disease.

The numbness, that sense of moral exhaustion, goes together with becoming too accepting of my own mediocrity. I see so much going on around me, some satisfying, some unsatisfying, but most of it is just mixed together, with one aspect no longer distinct from another. The familiarity leads me to no longer clearly distinguish between right and wrong, and I grow indifferent to caring one way or another.

It is like staring at something for too long, only to find that I am now unable focus my eyes. My attention is blurred, and I can’t make out the details.

It is like studying for hours on end, trying to cram more and more information into my memory, and then to discover that none of the words make sense anymore.

It is like consuming too much food and drink, feeling tired and bloated, and realizing that everything has come to taste the same, to taste like nothing at all.

At a low point in my life, I was sitting at a dive bar with a fellow who found life just as discouraging as I did. We had long lost track of how many beers we’d gone through.

After a time where we both stared into nothing, he suddenly turned to me, and asked, “Wait, am I drunk or sober? I can’t tell anymore.”

I hope you have never been to that place, but if you have, you know something about that sense of becoming accustomed to dullness. As an old friend once put it, “I feel like I have calluses on my conscience.”

I may be so worried about building up some new good habits, but I forget about the need to first break down those old bad habits; I am so used to them, grown gradually over time by constant association and repetition, that I hardly know they are there.

I have faced things poorly, pushing myself in the wrong direction, and now I am still moving with the momentum of my past actions. It isn’t that the world is uncaring, unfeeling, and worthless, but that I have unwittingly made my own attitude uncaring, unfeeling, and worthless.

I did it to myself so slowly that I barely noticed. After being overwhelmed by feeling so much, I have shut myself off from even feeling. This may seem like it makes me stronger, though it actually makes me weaker. My habits have separated me from my own humanity.

Written in 4/2011

The Art of Peace 40

Those who are enlightened never stop forging themselves. The realizations of such masters cannot be expressed well in words or by theories. The most perfect actions echo the patterns found in nature. 

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 1.1

Lecture 1: That there is no need of giving many proofs for one problem.

Once when discussion turned upon proofs or demonstrations, such as beginners must learn from their teachers of philosophy in gaining a mastery of whatever they are studying, Musonius said that there was no sense in seeking many proofs for each point, but rather cogent and lucid ones.

Thus just as the physician who prescribes many drugs for his patients deserves less praise than the one who succeeds in helping them with a few, so the philosopher who teaches his pupils with the use of many proofs is less effective than the one who leads them to the desired goal with few.

And the pupil too, the quicker his intelligence, the fewer proofs he will require, and the sooner he will assent to the conclusion of the argument in question, provided it be sound. But those who require proofs at every point, even where the matter is perfectly clear, or demand to have demonstrated at length things that could be explained briefly are completely inept and dull-witted.

I spent most of my time in academia studying the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, hardly a popular figure these days, unless you are a medievalist or traditional Catholic. So my ears perked up when I overheard a student in the hallway loudly proclaiming, “Aquinas is the best philosopher ever, and I’ll tell you why!” This was going to be interesting.

“See, other philosophers may have one, or maybe two, proofs for the existence of God, but Aquinas has five!”

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. I will always insist that Aquinas is one the greatest minds there ever was, but that is hardly the reason. More isn’t better, better is better. Quantity never trumps quality. Give me clarity and simplicity first and foremost, and let me not be tempted to think that verbosity and complexity are somehow praiseworthy in themselves.

I immediately think of Ockham’s Razor. Principles should not be multiplied beyond necessity, or, in more common terms, keep it simple, and don’t make it more confusing than it has to be. You will recognize a sharp mind when it gets straight to the point, a dull mind when it gets caught up in complications and footnotes.

Apparently doctors haven’t changed that much, because I will still find myself leaving the specialist’s office with twenty prescriptions, all with long names and big price tags, and not a one seems to make me feel any better. Then I meet the old GP who tells me to go for a long walk every day, and suddenly the spring is back in my step.

I did not need to give my wife twenty different reasons for why she should marry me, complete with a PowerPoint presentation and a projection of my future earning power. “I love you” was more than sufficient.

Hire just as many men as are actually needed to do the job, not as many men as can possibly be paid to supervise, do more paperwork, and criticize everyone else’s productivity. Efficiency and bureaucracy stand in sharp contrast to one another.

The truth of the matter is really what comes first, and everything else comes a distant second. More or less are only relevant when measured in the service of true or false, of right or wrong. Ask only enough for what is required.

As a student I would grit my teeth in frustration when my peers would talk on and on, just to hear themselves talking. As a teacher, I became a bit more patient, and I would try to gently steer the conversation back on track, but I still sigh when I think of all the wasted hours, throwing around abstract complexities, just because they made us feel more important.

They weren’t revealing how profound we were; they were hiding how confused we were.

Written in 2/1999

Sayings of Heraclitus 14

 Night-walkers, Magians, Bakchoi, Lenai, and the initiated . . .  

The mysteries practiced among men are unholy mysteries. 

Musonius Rufus, Introduction

We often speak of the “Big Three” in Roman Stoic philosophy: Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. Their writings are what most people interested in Stoicism will first come across, and there is certainly enough wisdom in their words to last someone for many lifetimes.

There came a point where I realized I had somehow managed to read all of their writings, at least once, and in many cases far more than once, and I still felt I had barely scratched the surface.

Still, it is always refreshing to find a new and different perspective. We sadly only have fragments of the earlier Greek Stoics, and there were many other writings from the later Roman period that are now lost to us. Time has a way of doing that.

Yet we sometimes overlook another surviving Roman source, Gaius Musonius Rufus, the “Roman Socrates”, a gadfly to Nero, and a teacher of Epictetus.

A few of his lectures survive, written down by his students, as well as a handful of fragments preserved by later authors, but what we lack in quantity here is more than made up for in quality. I am always happy to share his writings with people who have never heard of him, precisely because I still vividly remember the sense of comfort I felt when I first discovered what he had to say.

I’m not exactly sure why, but Musonius Rufus has found a very special place in my heart over the years. It is perhaps just because his thinking and style speak to my particular temperament. His reasoning is profound, but always eminently practical. There is rigor and discipline in him, and a razor wit, combined with a warm decency and kindness. With apologies to Captain Kirk in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, I can only say that “of all the Stoic writings I have encountered in my travels, his were the most human.”

He touches on a range of topics here, from good habits of thinking to good habits of eating, from bearing suffering to forming an education, from marriage and family to growing old. There is even an essay here about how to cut one’s hair. Whatever he writes about is informed by a commitment to philosophy as a concrete way of living well, not just as a fancy display of abstractions.

The translation of the Lectures and Fragments used here is from Cora E. Lutz, now in the public domain. As has become my habit over many years, I added my own informal and personal reflections to these passages, not to improve them or reveal any deeper insight on them, but simply to help me understand their meaning for myself. I offer no scholarly wisdom here, only how Musonius Rufus affected my own thoughts and feelings.

My purpose in finally sharing them is never to tell you what to think; I hope rather to encourage you to think the original writings through for yourself, in your own way. In this manner, each of us can make philosophy distinctly his own.