Tao Te Ching 67

All the world says that, while my Tao is great, it yet appears to be inferior to other systems of teaching. Now it is just its greatness that makes it seem to be inferior. If it were like any other system, for long would its smallness have been known!

But I have three precious things which I prize and hold fast. The first is gentleness; the second is economy; and the third is shrinking from taking the precedence of others.

With that gentleness I can be bold; with that economy I can be liberal; shrinking from taking the precedence of others, I can become a vessel of the highest honor. 

Nowadays they give up gentleness and are all for being bold; economy, and are all for being liberal; the hindmost place, and seek only to be foremost—of all which the end is death.

Gentleness is sure to be victorious even in battle, and firmly to maintain its ground. Heaven will save its possessor, by his very gentleness protecting him.

IMAGE: Muxi Fachang, Lao Tzu (13th century)

 

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 15.6

In one's own misfortunes, also, one ought so to conduct oneself as to bestow upon them just as much sorrow as reason, not as much as custom, requires: for many shed tears in order to show them, and whenever no one is looking at them their eyes are dry, but they think it disgraceful not to weep when everyone does so.

So deeply has this evil of being guided by the opinion of others taken root in us, that even grief, the simplest of all emotions, begins to be counterfeited.

Though they will rarely admit it, many people will express an emotion, whether of joy or of sadness, for the sake of appearances. They can become quite adept at manipulating impressions, to the point where it almost looks sincere.

If I dwell on this in others, however, it will only breed resentment within me, so, as always, it is best for me to work on my own integrity. I should certainly be wary of another’s crocodile tears, yet I should be most concerned about never fabricating any lies of my own.

I do wonder how I should present myself to others, whether I feel elated or despondent, and then I remember that it is more important for me to be good than to seem good. Who I am on the outside should mirror who I am on the inside, and I will only get myself into trouble when the two are at odds with one another.

It can a bit more difficult when it comes to responding to the joy or pain of others, but most especially if they are suffering. I know that I am expected to say all sorts of things, whether or not I actually mean them, and I will then struggle with choosing my words.

What is the best way to say that I am sorry, that I am mourning with you, that I am there for you?

A few simple rules have always been helpful for me:

I should think before I speak, being sure that I am coming from genuine love and understanding. Just winging it won’t do. Better to be completely silent that spout nonsense.

Less is often more. A single gesture from the heart is far greater than many fancy lines copied from a playbook. Instead of writing a flowery eulogy for the crowd, spend a moment of absolute commitment.

Whatever I should say, it should be said in private, where no one else is around to see or to hear, to ensure that it serves one purpose and one purpose only, that of fulfilling my compassion for a friend.

Perhaps most important of all, it will mean nothing if actions do no follow from the words. If necessary, drop the words entirely, and go straight to the actions. A helping hand is far more powerful than the promise of a helping hand.

When I offer comfort, am I just stroking my own ego, or do I really mean it? As we said in the 1980’s, “where’s the beef?”

Moaning, wailing, or wallowing only make matters worse. Fancy speeches are just window dressing. How am I assisting other human beings to strengthen their happiness, instead of only encouraging further pain?

Grief is not a game to be played. Grief does not have to be the end of it all. Grief is deeply painful, but it is still an opportunity to know and to love all the more. Saying that isn’t enough; transforming the suffering into joy is necessary.

No more crocodile tears.

Written in 12/2011

Allegory of Justice

Albrecht Dürer, An Allegory of Justice (1498)

The Wisdom of Solomon 6:1-11

[1] Listen therefore, O kings, and understand;
learn, O judges of the ends of the earth.
[2] Give ear, you that rule over multitudes,
and boast of many nations.
[3] For your dominion was given you from the Lord,
and your sovereignty from the Most High,
who will search out your works and inquire into your plans.
[4] Because as servants of his kingdom you did not rule rightly,
nor keep the law,
nor walk according to the purpose of God,
[5] he will come upon you terribly and swiftly,
because severe judgment falls on those in high places.
[6] For the lowliest man may be pardoned in mercy,
but mighty men will be mightily tested.
[7] For the Lord of all will not stand in awe of anyone,
nor show deference to greatness;
because he himself made both small and great,
and he takes thought for all alike.
[8] But a strict inquiry is in store for the mighty.
[9] To you then, O monarchs, my words are directed,
that you may learn wisdom and not transgress.
[10] For they will be made holy who observe holy things in holiness,
and those who have been taught them will find a defense.
[11] Therefore set your desire on my words;
long for them, and you will be instructed.

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 15.5

Yet it is better to accept public morals and human vices calmly without bursting into either laughter or tears; for to be hurt by the sufferings of others is to be forever miserable, while to enjoy the sufferings of others is an inhuman pleasure, just as it is a useless piece of humanity to weep and pull a long face because someone is burying his son.

There is a great danger, however, in laughing or crying for all the wrong reasons.

Sometimes my smiling is not from cheerfulness, but from condescension.

Sometimes my frown is not from sympathy, but from despair.

The intentions behind the expressions are far more important than just the expressions themselves.

It is best, in the end, not to let any extreme emotion lead me about by the nose, but to find a constant and peaceful center.

I am an admittedly odd fellow, and I am often told that I think far too much, yet I still can’t help but notice how both laughter and tears can arise from either healthy or unhealthy motives.

I may assume, for example, that laughing is all about fellowship and joviality, or that crying is all about compassion and understanding. That is, sadly, not always the case.

Now my evidence is only anecdotal, but when I look back at my life, I find that most of the laughter I saw was about a sense of power that came from mocking and dismissing others, and most of the tears I saw were signs of the deepest self-pity, the stroking of a sense of wounded vanity.

In either case, people too often laugh out of pride, and they too often cry out of pride. I am fairly certain we can do better than that.

I unfortunately have a very vivid memory, and so past events will often seem more vivid to me than those right here in the present. I have been laughed at more often than I can count, and I have cried for myself more often than I can count. It was no good when others chose to degrade me, and it was no good when I chose to degrade myself.

It is easier for me to understand how ridicule is a reflection of my arrogance, while it is more difficult for me to understand how wallowing is a reflection of my arrogance. Nevertheless, when I care only for a most glorious me, they are both much the same, two sides of the same coin.

Do I make myself bigger by making others smaller? My misguided anger or my misguided grief will do precisely that on the inside, even as they may look quite attractive on the outside.

Written in 12/2011

Stoic Snippets 31

That which makes a man no worse than he was makes his life no worse: it has no power to harm, without or within. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.8

The Art of Peace 58

Move like a beam of light,
Fly like lightning,  
Strike like thunder,
Whirl in circles around   
A stable center. 

 

Fragments of Parmenides 13

Nor was it ever, nor will it be; for now it is, all at once, a continuous one. 

For what kind of origin for it will you look for? 

In what way and from what source could it have drawn its increase?

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 15.4

As for the several causes which render us happy or sorrowful, let everyone describe them for himself, and learn the truth of Bion's saying, "That all the doings of men were very like what he began with, and that there is nothing in their lives which is more holy or decent than their conception."

It is so easy for me to feel shocked, offended, or outraged at the way of the world, and yet that response comes from my own thoughtlessness, and merely strengthens my resentment.

If only I observe carefully, and reflect calmly, I will recognize that all these things are there for a reason, exist as a part of Nature, and I should hardly expect them to be otherwise. Once I can accept this, I will not be so easily swept one way or another.

I may not prefer them, and they not make my life any easier to live, and the people who do such things may well be acting quite unjustly. Can I somehow magically change them, by yelling, and protesting, and pushing them around? That would simply be another exercise in force, a pointless clash of wills.

Yet I can change myself, and there could still be a ghost of a chance that my own actions, in however small a manner, will assist others in changing themselves. That is a very part of the order of things, where creatures of reason and choice will follow their own ways.

Bion of Borysthenes, in my mind second only to Diogenes of Sinope, or perhaps Mark Twain, for his cutting insights on human nature, once again puts me in my place. Did I really think that people would alter their living to fit my convenience?

We all came from the same place, and were made with the same dignity, and yet we so often abuse the identity of who we should be. Sometimes keeping the noble source in mind is the only way to make any sense of all the insanity.

On all the busy streets, in any of the big cities, you will see thousands upon thousands of people rushing this way and that, all occupied with their very particular business, even as they are all from the same seed.

Some will act with conscience and integrity. Others will act with greed and deception. Their paths are joined far more deeply than they can imagine, and they all play their own part in the whole.

Will there be loss, and suffering, and evil? Yes, and it can be no other way, given how we were made. Now how will I take responsibility for my part, before I throw stones at my neighbors?

If there is any hatred in my heart, I am not solving the problem; I am the problem.

Written in 12/2011

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 15.3

Add to this that he who laughs at the human race deserves better of it than he who mourns for it, for the former leaves it some good hopes of improvement, while the latter stupidly weeps over what he has given up all hopes of mending.

He who after surveying the Universe cannot control his laughter shows, too, a greater mind than he who cannot restrain his tears, because his mind is only affected in the slightest possible degree, and he does not think that any part of all this apparatus is either important, or serious, or unhappy.

A willingness to laugh at the world can certainly go hand in hand with the Stoic value of indifference, in the sense that I should not think too highly of either fortune or misfortune. I can take them, or I can leave them, with the full understanding that they will neither make me nor break me.

My cheerfulness arises from being aware that the world does not need to trouble me so much, in contrast to the tears that come from letting myself be overwhelmed. If I take the burden to be light, I will smile as I trot along, and I will only feel dread if I allow it to weigh me down.

Most importantly, if I remember that I can always transform any and all circumstances into something good for me, I will not find them so intimidating; it will only lead to despair if I surrender to the circumstances.

I might be tempted to smile when I receive pleasure, and to frown when I receive pain, but I can choose to go much deeper than that. What is often called a “positive attitude” does not have to mean the I only expect good things to happen to me, since I am conscious of the fact that whatever happens is only as good as what I make of it.

My own virtue or vice will decide the worth of the situation, and so it is within my power to achieve a far more profound form of joy.

The point is never to deny or to repress my feelings, but to form my judgments in such a way that I build up a mastery over those feelings. How I think about myself and my world will, in turn, affect my passions, such that I will naturally find contentment whenever I consciously discover the good in something.

And so, when I work to perceive that there is always a benefit to be found in every state of affairs, I will be far more inclined to laugh instead of cry.

It has never helped me to force a smile, though it is so much easier to smile when I have the priorities of my thinking in order. The Stoic will, therefore, hardly be a sourpuss.

Written in 12/2011

IMAGE: Peter Paul Rubens, Democritus and Heraclitus (1603)

Sayings of Heraclitus 32

The wise is one only. It is unwilling and willing to be called by the name of Zeus.

Tidbits from Montaigne 14

We must not attach knowledge to the mind, we have to incorporate it there.

—Michel de Montaigne, Essays, 1.25

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 15.2

We ought therefore to bring ourselves into such a state of mind that all the vices of the vulgar may not appear hateful to us, but merely ridiculous, and we should imitate Democritus rather than Heraclitus.

The latter of these, whenever he appeared in public, used to weep, the former to laugh: the one thought all human doings to be follies, the other thought them to be miseries.

We must take a higher view of all things, and bear with them more easily: it better becomes a man to scoff at life than to lament over it.

Tradition has long referred to Democritus as the “laughing philosopher”, and to Heraclitus as the “weeping philosopher”. This wonderful image is quite prevalent, for example, in the history of art. I suspect that it has less to do with the content of their teachings than it does with anecdotes about the dispositions of their particular personalities.

I struggle greatly to laugh at the world, and I find it far too easy to frown at the world. I should take Seneca’s advice to heart. When confronted with pain, let me meet it with my own joy, with a sense of lightness. What good will come of it if I wallow and mope?

I am more inclined to the melancholic tendencies of Heraclitus than the sanguine tendencies of Democritus. Once I understand where my feelings and instincts are taking me, I can then make conscious decisions to adjust my own judgments.

Should I laugh in the sense of carelessness, or of ridicule? Not at all. I should laugh in the sense of recognizing that what I think to be so terrible, so crushing, is hardly a threat. I can smile, and I can look beyond it, and I can walk right by it, knowing that I do not need to be ruled by my impressions, that who I am is far greater than such trivial things.

I often think of an ideal from Boethius, that if I care nothing for what is in my pockets, I can whistle my way past any robber. What can he take from me that truly matters? The money will come and go, and the fame will come and go, and even the health of my body will come and go. Yes, in the end, my very life will come and go. I can laugh when all of those things matter so much to him, and not so much to me.

I can laugh if I can attend to the bigger picture. I would laugh if I saw two dogs bickering over an old bone, and so I should laugh when I see people fighting over the shallow spoils of life. In the vanity and silliness of it is the very humor of it.

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became a man, I gave up childish ways.

It will only bring me sadness when I think of it as a loss. It can only bring me contentment when I see how insignificant it is, when compared the to the genuine happiness of life.

Then I can smile, and then I can laugh.

Written in 12/2011

IMAGE: Heraclitus and Democritus

Another World

M.C. Escher, Another World (1947)

 

Dhammapada 84

If, whether for his own sake, or for the sake of others, a man wishes neither for a son, nor for wealth, nor for lordship, and if he does not wish for his own success by unfair means, then he is good, wise, and virtuous. 

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 15.1

Chapter 15

Yet we gain nothing by getting rid of all personal causes of sadness, for sometimes we are possessed by hatred of the human race.

When you reflect how rare simplicity is, how unknown innocence, how seldom faith is kept, unless it be to our advantage, when you remember such numbers of successful crimes, so many equally hateful losses and gains of lust, and ambition so impatient even of its own natural limits that it is willing to purchase distinction by baseness, the mind seems as it were cast into darkness, and shadows rise before it as though the virtues were all overthrown and we were no longer allowed to hope to possess them or benefited by their possession.

Canius learned to master himself, to rely upon the merit that was within him, and so he lived and died happy. He thereby won an absolute victory, as Nature had intended for him, as is intended for us all.

There have been many times when I have thought I could take a shortcut to happiness, to follow a cheap emulation of his approach, by just distancing myself from all the things that hurt me. After all, if I remove the causes, then won’t I also be removing the effects?

Not only is that no decent way to live, it is also an impossible way to live, in stubborn isolation from the rest of the world.

The circumstances were never the cause of my pain to begin with; I was the cause, by failing to manage my circumstances.

Other people did not make me any worse; I made myself worse, by reversing my order of priorities.

Has he deprived me of my livelihood? Look more closely. He has taken nothing from me that was ever my own, and so my suffering is in my estimation. Getting rid of him won’t change a thing.

Has she broken my heart? Look more closely. She did what she chose to do, and yet all of my grief comes from my own choices, not her choices. Pretending she never existed won’t change a thing.

Running away solves nothing, precisely because I can never run away from facing life itself.

What will life bring me? I always look for the best, and yet long experience has taught me that most conditions will hardly be pleasant or convenient.

I always want people to do what is right, and yet long experience has taught me that they will usually do what is wrong.

It is vain, not optimistic, to think that the world will do as I say. It is naïve, not hopeful, to believe that creatures of reason and choice, working from their own designs, will hit the mark more often than they will miss it.

I have spent most of my life in simply being ignored. That brought with it feelings of gnawing hurt.

There were also times when I was given some attention, and it perked me up, but I soon realized that the attention faded when my usefulness faded. I was disposable as soon as I had nothing else to give. That brought with it sharper feelings of hurt.

Then there were a few moments, however few and far between, when I became the deliberate focus of malice, where something about me was so deeply offensive to another that I had to be destroyed. That brought with it gutting feelings of hurt.

If I choose to let my life only be measured by how I am treated, what will become of me? A noose around the neck, or a .45 in the mouth, are all that I can think of. It might seem like a blessed relief.

I recognize the darkness Seneca describes, that sense of being so deeply saddened by my surroundings, so terribly disappointed by the people I thought might be my friends. There seems to be only suffering, and hence a complete absence of hope.

I affectionately call it the Black Dog, present now for over half of my life.

Old philosophy and literature called it melancholy, an imbalanced disposition of the soul.

Modern psychology calls it clinical depression, a mental illness.

For all of the best wishes, the devout prayers, the fancy theories, the clever therapies, or the numbing drugs, only one thing has helped me grapple with the Black Dog. Only my own thinking has helped me, by moving me to stop confusing the false with the true, and the bad with the good.

Does it hurt? Yes, sometimes so much that I want to die. The only way around that it is to reconsider what I should truly want, and to find something worth living for.

The impressions might not leave me, but my judgment of the impressions has within it the power to save me. Let the impressions say what they want me to be, and let me tame them by being who I know I should be.

Written 12/2011

IMAGE:  Giovanni Benedetto Castiglione, Melancholia (c. 1640)

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 126

Have you again forgotten? Know you not that a good man does nothing for appearance's sake, but for the sake of having done right? . . . 

"Is there no reward then?" 

Reward! do you seek any greater reward for a good man than doing what is right and just? 

Yet at the Great Games you look for nothing else; there the victor's crown you deem enough. 

Seems it to you so small a thing and worthless, to be a good man, and happy therein? 

Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy 5.5

“I have listened to you,” I said, “and agree that it is as you say. But in this close sequence of causes, is there any freedom for our judgment or does this chain of fate bind the very feelings of our minds too?”

“There is free will,” she answered. “Nor could there be any reasoning nature without freedom of judgment. For any being that can use its reason by nature, has a power of judgment by which it can without further aid decide each point, and so distinguish between objects to be desired and objects to be shunned.

“Each therefore seeks what it deems desirable, and flies from what it considers should be shunned. Wherefore all who have reason have also freedom of desiring and refusing in themselves.”

—from Book 5, Prose 2

Being confronted with the vast cosmic scale of things, I may easily feel intimidated. If everything is truly subject to a grand design, with all the bits and pieces meant to be precisely where they are, I will begin to wonder if I can actually matter, if my own choices really make any difference. Perhaps I don’t even have any choices to begin with; perhaps I am just a puppet on a string?

If nothing is ever random, can anything ever move of its own accord? Under the firm hand of Providence, what becomes of my own freedom?

At first, I wish to laugh a little bit, remembering that Boethius originally thought the Universe ran far too loosely, and yet now he worries that it is wound far too tightly. Then, however, I begin to take his dilemma more seriously, when I remember how often I have swung from one extreme to another in my own life.

Here, once again, I may be tempted to think that there are hidden forces at work, such that the decisions I think of as my own are not my own at all. Yes, I seem to be doing the picking and choosing, but could that all be an illusion? Might there be unseen causes, quite beyond my power, lurking behind the causes I think I can see?

There are indeed many things I don’t know, and as I get older, I realize that I know ever less and less. But let me not be overwhelmed by what is beyond me, or swept away by a panic about my own significance. Let me begin with what I do know, with what is most immediate and self-evident within my own experience.

I observe many different things, acting in many different ways, and moving along many different paths. Behind all of it, I am conscious of their presence, and I reflect upon their identity. Who am I, then, in contrast to all of this? I have unwittingly answered my own question, just by asking it: I am a creature of understanding, driven by reason.

It is my own judgment, the power to distinguish between what I consider true or false, right or wrong, that determines how I will perceive my world, and in turn determines how I will act.

Yes, things will act upon me, and produce a vast variety of impressions within me, and they may push me this way or pull me that way, bit I will ultimately be the one who decides what is worthy or unworthy, desirable or undesirable, and so I will have the final say in how I act in the face of them. Their meaning is uncovered by my own awareness, and their value is revealed through my own estimation.

I will pursue what I judge as being good, and I will avoid what I judge as being bad. The world will be what it will be, but how I respond to it will be up to me.

“But how do I really know the choice is from me, and not from something else?”

A moment of calm is called for here. Am I saying that it will be my judgment that I have no judgments? However contradictory that is, it has still determined how I will act. My internal disposition remains my own.

“But maybe I can decide all I want, and it just doesn’t make any difference with how other things behave, or with what happens to me?”

That may well be the case, and my decision may not determine what those things do, but my decision still determines my own attitude. That may not seem like much at first, but it is the fullness of who I am. The rest is about externals.

To the degree that a creature possesses reason, it also possesses the freedom to shape its own thoughts. Where there is consciousness, there is also choice, not as something added to it, but as inherent in its very identity.

In the simplest of terms, my own judgment is the very measure by which I choose.

Before considering how that might possibly fit in with an all-knowing and all-powerful Providence, I need to start with just that. One step at a time!

Written in 1/2016

Nineteen Eighty-Four

Now I know that it is still a required text at many schools, but does anyone actually read it anymore? Does anyone look to its meaning?

By 2050—earlier, probably—all real knowledge of Oldspeak will have disappeared. The whole literature of the past will have been destroyed. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Byron—they'll exist only in Newspeak versions, not merely changed into something different, but actually contradictory of what they used to be. Even the literature of The Party will change. Even the slogans will change. How could you have a slogan like 'Freedom is Slavery' when the concept of freedom has been abolished? The whole climate of thought will be different. In fact, there will be no thought, as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means not thinking—not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness. . . .

The German Nazis and the Russian Communists came very close to us in their methods, but they never had the courage to recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a limited time, and that just round the corner there lay a paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not like that. We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means, it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power. 

—bsc

  

Abandoned Places 4

Nature 6

NGC 6357, The Star Cathedral

Aesop's Fables 26

The Serpent and the File

A Serpent in the course of its wanderings came into an armorer's shop. As he glided over the floor he felt his skin pricked by a file lying there. 

In a rage he turned round upon it and tried to dart his fangs into it; but he could do no harm to heavy iron and had soon to give over his wrath. 

It is useless attacking the insensible. 

 

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 14.9

It is clear, therefore, that it is fitting for a philosopher to concern himself with marriage and having children.

And if this is fitting, how, my young friend, could that argument of yours that marriage is a handicap for a philosopher ever be sound? For manifestly the study of philosophy is nothing else than to search out by reason what is right and proper, and by deeds to put it into practice.

Such, then, were the words he spoke at that time.

Some of us don’t just think that marriage and family get in the way of the “job” of philosophy; we will foolishly think that marriage and family get in the way of any and all professions.

In Athens and Rome, the philosophers, especially the Stoics, were annoyances, but they were at least revered annoyances. Many of them grew their hair long, begged for food, and yelled inconvenient truths at you when you passed them on the street. Still, it was understood that they were necessary.

Now the term of “philosopher” has been narrowed to be just another path of employment, really no different at all from being a lawyer, or a doctor, or a stockbroker.

Imagine if Socrates, or Musonius, or Epictetus had bickered about getting a promotion, or winning the corner office. Imagine if Marcus Aurelius had bothered about sleeping on a feather bed, instead of on a cot or on the floor.

If philosophers behaved like real philosophers, we’d probably call them useless bums.

“Get a job, you loser!”

Maybe some of them have rather important jobs, however, and we just don’t see it, having abandoned our human values?

That is a deep tragedy. “Have you gotten tenure yet? Did you present at the Chicago conference this year?”

Perhaps I think that my career requires me to give up the trivialities of human love. All I have done, in that case, is actually surrender my very humanity for the trivialities of Fortune. What I have lost is far greater than what I believe I have gained.

It won’t be enough if I add a family as some sort of further accessory to my social status, as if they were merely an afterthought. I might praise my children for being so bright and full of potential, but I will do them no good if I only prepare them for worldly success, if I fail to attend first and foremost to the health of their souls.

Where is the true brightness in my life, where is the real potential? Do I wish to make my children slaves to circumstances, as I myself was for far too long?

If I really want to be a good man, then the calling to a life of wisdom and virtue is the only profession that matters. This, in turn, will find its practical expression in how I go about loving those closest to me. All the rest of it is accidental.

Marriage and children make quite a bit of sense to someone who lives by love, first and foremost. Otherwise they are just vanities, more objects to be bought and sold.

Be a philosopher before you marry. Be a philosopher, and you can then be happy to marry.

Written in 1/2000

Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 3.18

That temporal miseries are to be borne patiently after the example of Christ

1. "My Son! I came down from heaven for your salvation; I took upon Me your miseries not of necessity, but drawn by love that you might learn patience and might bear temporal miseries without murmuring. For from the hour of My birth, until My death upon the Cross, I ceased not from bearing of sorrow; I had much lack of temporal things; I oftentimes heard many reproaches against Myself; I gently bore contradictions and hard words; I received ingratitude for benefits, blasphemies for My miracles, rebukes for My doctrine."

2. Lord, because You were patient in Your life, herein most of all fulfilling the commandment of Your Father, it is well that I, miserable sinner, should patiently bear myself according to Your will, and as long as You will have it so, should bear about with me for my salvation, the burden of this corruptible life. For although the present life seems burdensome, it is nevertheless already made very full of merit through Your grace, and to those who are weak it becomes easier and brighter through Your example and the footsteps of Your saints; but it is also much more full of consolation than it was of old, under the old Testament, when the gate of heaven remained shut; and even the way to heaven seemed more obscure when so few cared to seek after the heavenly kingdom. But not even those who were then just and in the way of salvation were able, before Your Passion and the ransom of Your holy Death, to enter the kingdom of heaven.

3. Oh what great thanks am I bound to give You, who has vouchsafed to show me and all faithful people the good and right way to Your eternal kingdom, for Your way is our way, and by holy patience we walk to You who is our Crown. If You had not gone before and taught us, who would care to follow? Oh, how far would they have gone backward if they had not beheld Your glorious example! Behold we are still lukewarm, though we have heard of Your many signs and discourses; what would become of us if we had not such a light to help us follow You?

IMAGE: Adriaen de Weerdt, Agony in the Garden (c. 1550)

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 14.8

Why should one say that they are the proper concern of man but not the concern of the philosopher? Can it be because the philosopher is worse than other men? Certainly, he ought not to be worse, but better and more just and more truly good.

Or could one say that the man who does not take an interest in his city is not worse and more unjust than the man who does, the man who looks out only for his own interests is not worse than the one who looks out for the common good?

Or can it be that the man who chooses the single life is more patriotic, more a friend and partner of his fellow man, than the man who maintains a home and rears children and contributes to the growth of his city, which is exactly what a married man does?

I will sometimes find myself confused about the intersection of being a good person, of being a philosopher, and of being married. Musonius reminds me that these are all in perfect harmony with one another.

There are days when I want to lock up my moral self, over in some forgotten corner, and work instead on my professional self.

There are days when I want to separate a commitment to my job from a love for my wife and children.

There are days when I want to divide myself into scattered bits, each having little to do with the others, and live in an ignorant fragmentation, where I do one thing here, another thing there, and never bother to consider the beauty of the whole.

If I want to be a good man, I will have to be a philosopher, not as a trade, but as my most fundamental human vocation. If I want to choose what is right, I will first have to understand what is right.

If I want to be a good man, informed by a knowledge of true from false, I will also be called to love. Not love as gratification, or love as preference, or love as confused with lust, but love as a complete sharing of my own being.

Of all the ways that might be put into practice, few could be as suitable as the love between spouses. There are times when it will hurt like hell, and there are times when it will make me doubt myself to the core, but there will never be a time when it fails to give me the opportunity to become better.

“Well, that’s a bit naïve, don’t you think? I’m committed to my career right now, and maybe a wife and kids are somewhere further down the line, but surely I need to make something of myself first?”

Define your terms. What does it mean to make something of yourself? Is it you with others, or you at the expense of others? Where is the decency, the sacrifice, or the commitment if you cannot serve another, in absolutely every way? Where is the love, if it must always be qualified by other goals?

If the circumstances had been only slightly different, in the most subtle of ways, I may have found myself married to someone for all the wrong reasons, or not even married to anyone at all. Some of us won’t necessarily be able to choose a mate, a second self, because of things far beyond our own power.

Yes, the good man must, in a certain sense, be a philosopher, and the good man must, in another sense, be open to embracing absolute love. Must every good man marry? His particular path may not take him that way, but there’s a big difference between saying that he can’t do it and that he won’t do it.

Put in other words, I have known many virtuous people who have never married, but I have never known any virtuous people who assumed that marriage was somehow a violation of their most essential humanity.

An interest in myself can never exclude an interest in others. Family, in whatever form it may take, is the most natural vehicle for exercising love, the one upon which every other association is built. 

Written in 1/2000

IMAGE: Jan Bruegel, The Wedding Banquet (1623)

A Philosopher by Lamp Light

Joseph Wright, A Philosopher by Lamp Light (1769)