Musonius Rufus, Lectures 9.1

Lecture 9: That exile is not an evil.

Hearing an exile lament because he was living in banishment, Musonius consoled him in somewhat the following way.

Why, he asked, should anyone who was not devoid of understanding be oppressed by exile? It does not in any way deprive us of water, earth, air, or the sun and the other planets, or indeed, even of the society of men, for everywhere and in every way, there is opportunity for association with them.

What if we are kept from a certain part of the earth and from association with certain men, what is so dreadful about that?

Why, when we were at home, we did not enjoy the whole earth, nor did we have contact with all men; but even now in exile we may associate with our friends, that is to say the true ones and those deserving of the name, for they would never betray or abandon us; but if some prove to be sham and not true friends, we are better off separated from them than being with them.

Over the years, I managed to scribble down a number of different reflections on this lecture, their content differing based upon my changing thoughts and feelings at different times.

The earlier ones tended more toward theoretical musings, while the later ones were loaded with rather practical concerns. There was a noble calm at first, and more of an austere urgency further down the line. What made the difference was my own experience of leaving behind a home, of feeling like something of an exile myself.

I am now getting long in the tooth, so I suppose this will be the last run at making some sense of losing a place, and how that doesn’t mean I need to lose myself.

How it all occurred hardly matters anymore, except that my initial desire to blame others slowly evolved into an acceptance of the way the world was going to work itself out, and that I was being called to become accountable for my own happiness.

I would hardly prefer to go through all the torture again, but I have to admit that it played a necessary role in taking a Stoic Turn. By being challenged to rise above a dependence on the things that happen, it helped me to make just a bit more of myself.

My initial confusion came from a naïve assumption that a Stoic mastery of thinking would automatically translate into a mastery of feelings, and that I would somehow be able to turn emotions on and off as I saw fit. Now that might be true for the Stoic sage, but it has never been true for me. As much as I might direct them and give them order, some passions don’t just go away.

So many circumstances in life will remain as they are, even as I can change my estimation of them. Certain feelings can well be the same, so that it not within my power to remove them, while it is within my power to manage them well, or to transform them into something of benefit.

I have found this especially true of suffering. Perhaps it is my own condition, the one I call the Black Dog, that has made pain stick to me like glue, but I imagine many people know what it means to face emotions that won’t leave you be. They seem to take on a sort of life of their own, precariously subject to some patient and careful taming, as long as I am always taking care to keep a watchful eye on them.

I think of a physical wound that may have healed over on the outside, while it is still causing agony on the inside. I didn’t ask for it, but there it is, and what remains for me is to find a way to turn it to good use. What can it teach me? How can it make me stronger? How can I employ it to increase my sense of compassion for others?

The loss of trust I felt, and the eventual loss of a home that came with it, have played that role for me. Trying to come back home is like trying to force my hand into a fire. Could I do it if I had to? Perhaps. But what good could come from just torturing myself? It is better to embrace the exile.

How can I accept this, without doing so begrudgingly, without resentment, without a constant sense of loss? Here is where the Stoics offer advice that is both profound and effective: if I modify my judgements, I will also modify what things mean to me, and the ways in which I allow them to affect me.

If I rightly understand that only my virtues will be to my benefit, and that only my vices will do me harm, I can then begin to reconsider all the external things I once looked at as somehow being good or bad in themselves.

Am I really losing anything when they are gone? Might their absence even offer the opportunity to gain something new?

Wherever I may live, am I being denied the necessities of life? I should leave aside any preference for receiving privileges and luxuries, and remember that all I need in life is whatever can help me to think and act with character.

Is it that I am being kept from good company? I will find people most anywhere I go, and whether or not they are good company will depend on how I respect and value their worth, not on where I may find them.

But won’t I lose my friends? If they were my true friends to begin with, then the circumstances of place will not alter our commitment and affection, and if circumstances of place do alter our commitment and affection, then they were not my true friends to begin with.

Happiness does not require having everything, or possessing only a certain selection of things; it can be found in any of the circumstances life may give us, as long as we keep our priorities in order.

It is never the place; it is what one does with the place. If my outlook is about what can be done for me, I will be unhappy either at home or in exile. If my outlook is about what I can do, it will hardly matter where I find myself.

Written in 11/2016