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The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Friday, September 30, 2022
Thursday, September 29, 2022
Dhammapada 252, 253
The fault of others is easily perceived, but that of oneself is difficult to perceive; a man winnows his neighbor's faults like chaff, but his own fault he hides, as a cheat hides the bad die from the gambler.
If a man looks after the faults of others, and is always inclined to be offended, his own passions will grow, and he is far from the destruction of passions.
Wisdom from the Bhagavad Gita 52
Arjuna said:
21. By what marks, O Lord, is he known who has gone beyond these three Gunas? What is his conduct, and how does he pass beyond these three Gunas?
The Blessed Lord said:
22. He who hates not the appearance of light (the effect of Sattva), activity (the effect of Rajas), and delusion (the effect of Tamas), in his own mind, O Pândava, nor longs for them when absent;
23. He who, sitting like one unconcerned, is moved not by the Gunas, who, knowing that the Gunas operate, is Self-centred and swerves not;
24. Alike in pleasure and pain, Self-abiding, regarding a clod of earth, a stone, and gold alike; the same to agreeable and disagreeable, firm, the same in censure and, praise;
25. The same in honor and disgrace, the same to friend and foe, relinquishing all undertakings—he is said to have gone beyond the Gunas.
26. And he who serves Me with an unswerving devotion, he, going beyond the Gunas, is fitted for becoming Brahman.
27. For I am the abode of Brahman, the Immortal and Immutable, of everlasting Dharma and of Absolute Bliss.
—Bhagavad Gita, 14:21-27
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.8-9
But let us observe Hercules himself, who was subdued by pain at the very time when he was on the point of attaining immortality by death.
What words does Sophocles here put in his mouth, in his Trachiniae? who, when Deianira had put upon him a tunic dyed in the centaur’s blood, and it stuck to his entrails, says,
“What tortures I endure no words can tell,
Far greater these, than those which erst befell
From the dire terror of thy consort, Jove—
E’en stern Eurystheus’ dire command above;
This of thy daughter, Oeneus, is the fruit,
Beguiling me with her envenom’d suit,
Whose close embrace doth on my entrails prey,
Consuming life; my lungs forbid to play;
The blood forsakes my veins; my manly heart
Forgets to beat; enervated, each part
Neglects its office, while my fatal doom
Proceeds ignobly from the weaver’s loom.
The hand of foe ne’er hurt me, nor the fierce
Giant issuing from his parent earth.
Ne’er could the Centaur such a blow enforce,
No barbarous foe, nor all the Grecian force;
This arm no savage people could withstand,
Whose realms I traversed to reform the land.
Thus, though I ever bore a manly heart,
I fall a victim to a woman’s art.
“Assist, my son, if thou that name dost hear,
My groans preferring to thy mother’s tear:
Convey her here, if, in thy pious heart,
Thy mother shares not an unequal part:
Proceed, be bold, thy father’s fate bemoan,
Nations will join, you will not weep alone.
Oh, what a sight is this same briny source,
Unknown before, through all my labors’ course!
That virtue, which could brave each toil but late,
With woman’s weakness now bewails its fate.
Approach, my son; behold thy father laid,
A wither’d carcass that implores thy aid;
Let all behold: and thou, imperious Jove,
On me direct thy lightning from above:
Now all its force the poison doth assume,
And my burnt entrails with its flame consume.
Crestfallen, unembraced, I now let fall
Listless, those hands that lately conquer’d all;
When the Nemaean lion own’d their force,
And he indignant fell a breathless corse;
The serpent slew, of the Lernean lake,
As did the Hydra of its force partake:
By this, too, fell the Erymanthian boar:
E’en Cerberus did his weak strength deplore.
This sinewy arm did overcome with ease
That dragon, guardian of the Golden Fleece.
My many conquests let some others trace;
It’s mine to say, I never knew disgrace.”
Can we then, despise pain, when we see Hercules himself giving vent to his expressions of agony with such impatience?
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.8-9
I believe my first direct exposure to the story of Hercules’ death came from a reading in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and I not only found it unpleasant, but the images were stuck in my dreams for some time.
I would wake up in a panic from a picture of my skin and muscles being pulled from the bones of my arm as I was trying to roll up the sleeve of my shirt, and to this day, when my mental state is especially weak, I will sometimes still have nightmares where I can look through a gaping hole in my hand.
Beyond my dread of emotional loss, which is perhaps best reserved for the discussion in the next book of the Tusculan Disputations, I am also notably squeamish about the pain that comes from bits and pieces of my body being destroyed.
I once had my thumb crushed in a heavy steel door, and I recall how the intense physical agony of it was not nearly as terrifying as the sight of a part of me as flat as a pancake, dangling precariously from the rest of my hand.
If I imagine this sort of damage being inflicted all over me, I feel nauseous and weak at the knees. How could anyone possible endure it? How much of the pain is in the event itself, and how much has been imposed by my own fantasies?
It is fitting that Cicero chose this gruesome account to work with, for it removes any illusions about cheerfully skipping along while chunks of flesh are being ripped out. It may remain to be established whether pain can be considered an evil, though there is little denying that it hurts, and there should be no tiptoeing around it.
I won’t venture to speak about what Epicurus intended, and instead limit myself to what goes on in my own head. If I were going to pick pleasure and pain as the axis of benefit and harm, I would be inclined to try diminishing the power of pain, since otherwise at least half of my life would be miserable.
The other option, of course, is to assess pleasure and pain by some higher standard, which would make them more manageable, without presenting them as something common sense clearly informs me they’re not. You may tell me that pain can mean something, but please don’t tell me to brush it aside—it’s too real for that.
While Ovid’s vivid description gave me the chills, it served me well to hear of Hercules’ suffering in a book about old things constantly becoming new. As the name suggests, the Metamorphoses are tales about transformations, and how all of Nature moves forward through change. It is never enough to ask what happened, and always necessary to discover what grew from it.
While the human half of Hercules burned away into ash, his divine half returned to its source, no longer hindered by the limitations of mortality. To know this does not negate the suffering, but it does offer something of the gain that might come through the pain.
I believe my first direct exposure to the story of Hercules’ death came from a reading in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and I not only found it unpleasant, but the images were stuck in my dreams for some time.
I would wake up in a panic from a picture of my skin and muscles being pulled from the bones of my arm as I was trying to roll up the sleeve of my shirt, and to this day, when my mental state is especially weak, I will sometimes still have nightmares where I can look through a gaping hole in my hand.
Beyond my dread of emotional loss, which is perhaps best reserved for the discussion in the next book of the Tusculan Disputations, I am also notably squeamish about the pain that comes from bits and pieces of my body being destroyed.
I once had my thumb crushed in a heavy steel door, and I recall how the intense physical agony of it was not nearly as terrifying as the sight of a part of me as flat as a pancake, dangling precariously from the rest of my hand.
If I imagine this sort of damage being inflicted all over me, I feel nauseous and weak at the knees. How could anyone possible endure it? How much of the pain is in the event itself, and how much has been imposed by my own fantasies?
It is fitting that Cicero chose this gruesome account to work with, for it removes any illusions about cheerfully skipping along while chunks of flesh are being ripped out. It may remain to be established whether pain can be considered an evil, though there is little denying that it hurts, and there should be no tiptoeing around it.
I won’t venture to speak about what Epicurus intended, and instead limit myself to what goes on in my own head. If I were going to pick pleasure and pain as the axis of benefit and harm, I would be inclined to try diminishing the power of pain, since otherwise at least half of my life would be miserable.
The other option, of course, is to assess pleasure and pain by some higher standard, which would make them more manageable, without presenting them as something common sense clearly informs me they’re not. You may tell me that pain can mean something, but please don’t tell me to brush it aside—it’s too real for that.
While Ovid’s vivid description gave me the chills, it served me well to hear of Hercules’ suffering in a book about old things constantly becoming new. As the name suggests, the Metamorphoses are tales about transformations, and how all of Nature moves forward through change. It is never enough to ask what happened, and always necessary to discover what grew from it.
While the human half of Hercules burned away into ash, his divine half returned to its source, no longer hindered by the limitations of mortality. To know this does not negate the suffering, but it does offer something of the gain that might come through the pain.
—Reflection written in 7/1996
IMAGE: Samuel F.B. Morse, Dying Hercules (c. 1812)
Wednesday, September 28, 2022
Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 12
The boys used to get by heart many passages from poets, historians, and the writings of Diogenes himself; and he would practice them in every short cut to a good memory.
In the house too he taught them to wait upon themselves, and to be content with plain fare and water to drink.
He used to make them crop their hair close and to wear it unadorned, and to go lightly clad, barefoot, silent, and not looking about them in the streets.
He would also take them out hunting.
They on their part had a great regard for Diogenes and made requests of their parents for him. The same Eubulus relates that he grew old in the house of Xeniades, and when he died was buried by his sons.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.31
Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 52
For all things, they say, are discerned by means of logical study, including whatever falls within the province of Physics, and again whatever belongs to that of Ethics.
For else, say they, as regards statement and reasoning Physics and Ethics could not tell how to express themselves, or again concerning the proper use of terms, how the laws have defined various actions.
Moreover, of the two kinds of common-sense inquiry included under Virtue one considers the nature of each particular thing, the other asks what it is called. Thus much for their logic.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.83
IMAGE: Gilles Rousselet, Dialectic (c. 1635)
Tuesday, September 27, 2022
Sayings of Ramakrishna 177
When the fruit grows the petals drop off of themselves.
So when the Divinity in you increases, the weakness of humanity in you will vanish.
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.7
But Epicurus, indeed, says such things that it should seem that his design was only to make people laugh; for he affirms somewhere that if a wise man were to be burned or put to the torture—you expect, perhaps, that he is going to say he would bear it, he would support himself under it with resolution, he would not yield to it (and that by Hercules! would be very commendable, and worthy of that very Hercules whom I have just invoked): but even this will not satisfy Epicurus, that robust and hardy man!
No; his wise man, even if he were in Phalaris’s bull, would say, How sweet it is! How little do I regard it! What, sweet? Is it not sufficient, if it is not disagreeable?
But those very men who deny pain to be an evil are not in the habit of saying that it is agreeable to anyone to be tormented; they rather say that it is cruel, or hard to bear, afflicting, unnatural, but still not an evil: while this man who says that it is the only evil, and the very worst of all evils, yet thinks that a wise man would pronounce it sweet.
I do not require of you to speak of pain in the same words which Epicurus uses—a man, as you know, devoted to pleasure: he may make no difference, if he pleases, between Phalaris’s bull and his own bed; but I cannot allow the wise man to be so indifferent about pain.
If he bears it with courage, it is sufficient: that he should rejoice in it, I do not expect; for pain is, beyond all question, sharp, bitter, against Nature, hard to submit to and to bear.
Observe Philoctetes: We may allow him to lament, for he saw Hercules himself groaning loudly through extremity of pain on Mount Oeta. The arrows with which Hercules presented him were then no consolation to him, when
“The viper’s bite, impregnating his veins
With poison, rack’d him with its bitter pains.”
And therefore he cries out, desiring help, and wishing to die,
“Oh that some friendly hand its aid would lend,
Into the briny deep! I’m all on fire,
And by this fatal wound must soon expire.”
It is hard to say that the man who was obliged to cry out in this manner was not oppressed with evil, and great evil too.
No; his wise man, even if he were in Phalaris’s bull, would say, How sweet it is! How little do I regard it! What, sweet? Is it not sufficient, if it is not disagreeable?
But those very men who deny pain to be an evil are not in the habit of saying that it is agreeable to anyone to be tormented; they rather say that it is cruel, or hard to bear, afflicting, unnatural, but still not an evil: while this man who says that it is the only evil, and the very worst of all evils, yet thinks that a wise man would pronounce it sweet.
I do not require of you to speak of pain in the same words which Epicurus uses—a man, as you know, devoted to pleasure: he may make no difference, if he pleases, between Phalaris’s bull and his own bed; but I cannot allow the wise man to be so indifferent about pain.
If he bears it with courage, it is sufficient: that he should rejoice in it, I do not expect; for pain is, beyond all question, sharp, bitter, against Nature, hard to submit to and to bear.
Observe Philoctetes: We may allow him to lament, for he saw Hercules himself groaning loudly through extremity of pain on Mount Oeta. The arrows with which Hercules presented him were then no consolation to him, when
“The viper’s bite, impregnating his veins
With poison, rack’d him with its bitter pains.”
And therefore he cries out, desiring help, and wishing to die,
“Oh that some friendly hand its aid would lend,
Into the briny deep! I’m all on fire,
And by this fatal wound must soon expire.”
It is hard to say that the man who was obliged to cry out in this manner was not oppressed with evil, and great evil too.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.7
I am of a mixed mind about Epicurus, and I am relieved to see how Cicero shares in my confusion about his philosophy.
On the one hand, here is a philosopher of remarkable temperance and self-control, enough to make even the most committed Stoic envious. On the other hand, when I dig deeper into his arguments, I find that I cannot get around his reduction of human happiness to a merely sensitive state, or his rejection of purpose and design in the workings of the Universe.
For a man who can be so reasonable, he throws me for a loop by then saying things I find to be quite unreasonable, sometimes to the point of the ridiculous. For now, I can only continue following the example of Seneca, who went out of his way to present the good in Epicurus, and then respectfully left aside the rest.
Much like David Hume, Epicurus is often mistaken for an indulgent hedonist, when his real concern was to achieve a form of “untroubled” balance, where excessive pleasure or pain could not overwhelm an inner peace. The Stoic can, at least with a broad sweep, be on board with that.
What Cicero, describes here, however, is a rather odd development of this idea, where the one who defines his very life by pleasure and pain actually begins to stress a pleasure in the pain. Along with Cicero, I’m not sure what I can make of that.
My own dabbling in Stoicism has never taken me to claiming that suffering is somehow enjoyable. I know it must happen, and I know it has a deeper meaning, and I know it can be transformed into a blessing, but I have not been able to perceive an agony as “sweet”.
Cicero always helps me to ground myself, especially if I have been flirting with grossly exaggerated points of view. His eclecticism and practicality are an anchor for me whenever I drift away into nebulous abstractions.
No, just because I recognize that pleasure and pain are not the beginning and the end of me doesn’t mean that I try to deny the distinction between them. Sometimes it just hurts like hell, and there’s no getting around it.
A few years back, I finally admitted to myself that it was quite acceptable for me to cry, or to scream when I was in pain, because, as Viktor Frankl put it:
There was no need to be ashamed of tears, for tears bore witness that a man had the greatest of courage, the courage to suffer.
Bear it nobly and use it for the good, if need be with clenched fists and grinding teeth, but don’t be so foolish as to deny it. The intensity of the hurting should itself be a badge of honor—go with it, not against it.
When Hercules passed from this word, it didn’t go smoothly for him. Tricked into wearing a shirt soaked in the acid blood of the Hydra, his flesh was slowly eaten away from his bones, and yet he strove to build his own funeral pyre, which only Philoctetes was daring enough to light.
There was much virtue in it, though nothing “sweet” in it.
I am of a mixed mind about Epicurus, and I am relieved to see how Cicero shares in my confusion about his philosophy.
On the one hand, here is a philosopher of remarkable temperance and self-control, enough to make even the most committed Stoic envious. On the other hand, when I dig deeper into his arguments, I find that I cannot get around his reduction of human happiness to a merely sensitive state, or his rejection of purpose and design in the workings of the Universe.
For a man who can be so reasonable, he throws me for a loop by then saying things I find to be quite unreasonable, sometimes to the point of the ridiculous. For now, I can only continue following the example of Seneca, who went out of his way to present the good in Epicurus, and then respectfully left aside the rest.
Much like David Hume, Epicurus is often mistaken for an indulgent hedonist, when his real concern was to achieve a form of “untroubled” balance, where excessive pleasure or pain could not overwhelm an inner peace. The Stoic can, at least with a broad sweep, be on board with that.
What Cicero, describes here, however, is a rather odd development of this idea, where the one who defines his very life by pleasure and pain actually begins to stress a pleasure in the pain. Along with Cicero, I’m not sure what I can make of that.
My own dabbling in Stoicism has never taken me to claiming that suffering is somehow enjoyable. I know it must happen, and I know it has a deeper meaning, and I know it can be transformed into a blessing, but I have not been able to perceive an agony as “sweet”.
Cicero always helps me to ground myself, especially if I have been flirting with grossly exaggerated points of view. His eclecticism and practicality are an anchor for me whenever I drift away into nebulous abstractions.
No, just because I recognize that pleasure and pain are not the beginning and the end of me doesn’t mean that I try to deny the distinction between them. Sometimes it just hurts like hell, and there’s no getting around it.
A few years back, I finally admitted to myself that it was quite acceptable for me to cry, or to scream when I was in pain, because, as Viktor Frankl put it:
There was no need to be ashamed of tears, for tears bore witness that a man had the greatest of courage, the courage to suffer.
Bear it nobly and use it for the good, if need be with clenched fists and grinding teeth, but don’t be so foolish as to deny it. The intensity of the hurting should itself be a badge of honor—go with it, not against it.
When Hercules passed from this word, it didn’t go smoothly for him. Tricked into wearing a shirt soaked in the acid blood of the Hydra, his flesh was slowly eaten away from his bones, and yet he strove to build his own funeral pyre, which only Philoctetes was daring enough to light.
There was much virtue in it, though nothing “sweet” in it.
—Reflection written in 7/1996
IMAGE: Gabriel Salmon, The Death of Hercules (c. 1500)
Monday, September 26, 2022
Free Your Mind
The bite of the Black Dog was already bad enough, but it became almost unbearable during the early '90's, when Grunge music was the thing. I had no problem with the sloppy, flannel, faux-punk vibe, but I did not take well to the constant dread and angst.
It was as if every young musician had decided to read a smidgeon of Sartre, smoke too much pot, and write a song about why he was so miserable. The fact that they strummed the same three chords didn't help one bit.
I was miserable enough, thank you very much, and by that time I knew enough not to wallow in it.
So I made a point of looking elsewhere. I focused in on Acid Jazz, the exact opposite of Grunge.
These were actual musicians, not skinny and pimply posers like me. They took pride in playing well.
They were obviously interested in looking cool, but they had the chops, and they didn't think that cool was about wearing a constant hangover. Good shoes and a tie were a sign of class. Can you dig it?
Most importantly for me, their lyrics, when they chose to include vocals, were uplifting. I have never heard an Acid Jazz song from the classic era that asked you to feel sorry for yourself.
James Taylor Quartet, "Free Your Mind" from In the Hand of the Inevitable (1995)
friend of mine
cornered in on time
mix a bit with mine
you will find
he could take you higher
fool upon a wire
cornered in on time
mix a bit with mine
you will find
he could take you higher
fool upon a wire
time to time
need a helping hand
you're gonna call the man
in the rain
you can walk the sunshine
you can chooose to
free your mind
use your time
there's no care
when you're here
it's alright to find the real thing
it's alright to find the real thing
now's the time for a real thing
it's alright to find the real thing
find your way
get yourself together
living day to day
you can't hide
face the situation
you don't have to
it's alright to find the real thing
it's alright to find the real thing
find the real thing . . .
there's no care
when you're here
it's alright to find the real thing
it's alright to find the real thing
now's the time for a real thing
it's alright to find the real thing
find your way
get yourself together
living day to day
you can't hide
face the situation
you don't have to
free your mind
use your time
there's no care
when you're here
there's no care
when you're here
it's alright to find the real thing
it's alright to find the real thing
find the real thing . . .
Stoic Snippets 165
There are three relations between you and other things:
The one to the body which surrounds you.
The second to the Divine cause from which all things come to all.
And the third to those who live with you.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.27
IMAGE: William Blake, Angel of the Divine Presence Bringing Eve to Adam (c. 1803)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.6
M. First, then, I will speak of the weakness of many philosophers, and those, too, of various sects; the head of whom, both in authority and antiquity, was Aristippus, the pupil of Socrates, who hesitated not to say that pain was the greatest of all evils.
And after him Epicurus easily gave in to this effeminate and enervated doctrine.
After him Hieronymus the Rhodian said, that to be without pain was the chief good, so great an evil did pain appear to him to be.
The rest, with the exceptions of Zeno, Aristo, Pyrrho, were pretty much of the same opinion that you were of just now—that it was indeed an evil, but that there were many worse.
When, then, Nature herself, and a certain generous feeling of virtue, at once prevents you from persisting in the assertion that pain is the chief evil, and when you were driven from such an opinion when disgrace was contrasted with pain, shall Philosophy, the preceptress of life, cling to this idea for so many ages?
What duty of life, what praise, what reputation, would be of such consequence that a man should be desirous of gaining it at the expense of submitting to bodily pain, when he has persuaded himself that pain is the greatest evil?
On the other side, what disgrace, what ignominy, would he not submit to that he might avoid pain, when persuaded that it was the greatest of evils?
Besides, what person, if it be only true that pain is the greatest of evils, is not miserable, not only when he actually feels pain, but also whenever he is aware that it may befall him? And who is there whom pain may not befall? So that it is clear that there is absolutely no one who can possibly be happy.
Metrodorus, indeed, thinks that man perfectly happy whose body is free from all disorders, and who has an assurance that it will always continue so; but who is there who can be assured of that?
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.6
Making pleasure the greatest good, and by extension making pain the greatest evil, has always been present in the history of philosophy, because it is also such an easy conclusion to arrive at in daily life. A feeling is an immediate and powerful thing, and it is inclined to demand all the attention in the order of human priorities.
That we are creatures of passion is not in question, but that our passions should be the primary measure of our choices should not be so hastily assumed. Can it be that the emotion itself matters the most, or is it that the emotion must be taken within the context of the action and the judgment?
It all comes back to the old Socratic question: is it good because it is desirable, or is it desirable because it is good? If I only want to pursue pleasure and avoid pain, I will end up living a radically different life than if I wish to pursue what is right and avoid what is wrong, and so this isn’t just an issue of abstract contemplation. Consider the stark contrast between the man who runs away from hurt and the man who runs away from vice.
I have often rambled on about this problem, and no doubt I will do so again, yet my thoughts for the moment are on a specific experience from my younger days. I had always been taught to go out of my way to be helpful to others, and I usually did as I was asked, though I often found myself annoyed by the inconvenience of it, and occasionally I even resented the intrusion.
Simply put, I didn’t much like the feelings that went along with being charitable. Needless to say, this troubled me, and I wondered if I was some sort of heartless monster. I was in the Boy Scouts at the time, and found myself pondering their slogan: “Do a good turn daily.” I genuinely wanted to figure out how this could be fulfilling.
And then one day, without any warning whatsoever, a simple act of concern made me feel the most incredible elation. One the next day, a harsh word to a friend made me feel a stinging regret. What was going on? Where were these emotions coming from?
With time, I came to realize how my earlier reflection on the matter was the very cause of my altered sentiments. I had thought through the meaning of doing right, and so I started to feel good about it. Conversely, I had thought through the meaning of doing wrong, and so I started to feel bad about it.
Long before I took a single class in philosophy, I was already hooked. I perceived, in however hazy a way, a relationship between awareness and sensation, between reason and the appetites, and I have since then never turned back from my conviction that the worth of the passion derives from the merit in the understanding.
Feelings are often a mixed bag, the pleasurable all tangled up with the painful. Only an attention to conscience can discern how those feelings are to be interpreted. Sometimes pain is an opportunity for improvement, and sometimes pleasure is a prophetic warning.
Cicero doesn’t hold back in his disdain for those philosophers who treat pain as an evil, whether total or partial. I stand with him in this, while I simultaneously know how often I have fallen into that same trap.
At a lack for more eloquent language, when it hurts bad, I get caught up in the doom and the gloom. I then have to step back and organize my mess of emotions. This is precisely why we are made as creatures of reason, to go along with being creatures of passion.
My love of philosophy is sorely tested when I suffer. It requires all my might to take the suffering as a means for building character, not as an excuse for surrender. Cicero precisely isolates the critical point: of what am I persuaded? Where do my deepest principles lie?
It will be as easy or as hard for me to manage pleasure and pain as it is for me to master my own estimation of truth and falsehood.
I take a special note of a problem Cicero presents, as I have been there many times. The fact is that I will always feel pain, to greater or lesser degrees, and I can certainly expect great big wallops in the face for the future. If dodging pain is necessary for my happiness, how can I handle that?
What a miserable life it would be, if, like Metrodorus, I hoped for a life full of ease and empty of any affliction. It’s no wonder why the pleasure-seeker so often ends up as a bitter pessimist.
Embrace the feelings God gave you. Now put them to use with the mind God gave you.
—Reflection written in 7/1996
IMAGE: Edvard Munch, The Scream (1893)
Sunday, September 25, 2022
Storm on the Sea 1
Unlike my father, I do not have a knack for the sea, but I have long been drawn to paintings of ships struggling through a storm, both as an expression of Nature's power and as a testament to the remarkable human capacity for facing hardship.
Along with Vanitas paintings, they have taken on a deep Stoic significance for me; I find them simultaneously frightening and comforting.
Saturday, September 24, 2022
Dhammapada 251
There is no fire like passion, there is no shark like hatred, there is no snare like folly, there is no torrent like greed.
Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 14
From the first their eyes were fixed on the headship of the state as their final goal. During the time of their intimacy with Socrates there were no disputants whom they were more eager to encounter than professed politicians.
Thus the story is told of Alcibiades—how before the age of twenty he engaged his own guardian, Pericles, at that time prime minister of the state, in a discussion concerning laws.
Alcibiades: "Please, Pericles, can you teach me what a law is?"
Pericles: "To be sure I can."
Alcibiades: "I should be so much obliged if you would do so. One so often hears the epithet 'law-abiding' applied in a complimentary sense; yet, it strikes me, one hardly deserves the compliment, if one does not know what a law is."
Pericles: "Fortunately there is a ready answer to your difficulty. You wish to know what a law is? Well, those are laws which the majority, being met together in conclave, approve and enact as to what it is right to do, and what it is right to abstain from doing."
Alcibiades: "Enact on the hypothesis that it is right to do what is good? or to do what is bad?"
Pericles: "What is good, to be sure, young sir, not what is bad."
Alcibiades: "Supposing it is not the majority, but, as in the case of an oligarchy, the minority, who meet and enact the rules of conduct, what are these?
Pericles: Whatever the ruling power of the state after deliberation enacts as our duty to do, goes by the name of laws."
Alcibiades: "Then if a tyrant, holding the chief power in the state, enacts rules of conduct for the citizens, are these enactments law?"
Pericles: "Yes, anything which a tyrant as head of the state enacts, also goes by the name of law."
Alcibiades: "But, Pericles, violence and lawlessness—how do we define them? Is it not when a stronger man forces a weaker to do what seems right to him—not by persuasion but by compulsion?"
Pericles: "I should say so."
Alcibiades: "It would seem to follow that if a tyrant, without persuading the citizens, drives them by enactment to do certain things—that is lawlessness?"
Pericles: "You are right; and I retract the statement that measures passed by a tyrant without persuasion of the citizens are law."
Alcibiades: "And what of measures passed by a minority, not by persuasion of the majority, but in the exercise of its power only? Are we, or are we not, to apply the term violence to these?"
Pericles: "I think that anything which any one forces another to do without persuasion, whether by enactment or not, is violence rather than law."
Alcibiades: "It would seem that everything which the majority, in the exercise of its power over the possessors of wealth, and without persuading them, chooses to enact, is of the nature of violence rather than of law?"
"To be sure," answered Pericles, adding: "At your age we were clever hands at such quibbles ourselves. It was just such subtleties which we used to practise our wits upon; as you do now, if I mistake not."
To which Alcibiades replied: "Ah, Pericles, I do wish we could have met in those days when you were at your cleverest in such matters."
Well, then, as soon as the desired superiority over the politicians of the day seemed to be attained, Critias and Alcibiades turned their backs on Socrates. They found his society unattractive, not to speak of the annoyance of being cross-questioned on their own shortcomings. Forthwith they devoted themselves to those affairs of state but for which they would never have come near him at all.
Alcibiades: "Please, Pericles, can you teach me what a law is?"
Pericles: "To be sure I can."
Alcibiades: "I should be so much obliged if you would do so. One so often hears the epithet 'law-abiding' applied in a complimentary sense; yet, it strikes me, one hardly deserves the compliment, if one does not know what a law is."
Pericles: "Fortunately there is a ready answer to your difficulty. You wish to know what a law is? Well, those are laws which the majority, being met together in conclave, approve and enact as to what it is right to do, and what it is right to abstain from doing."
Alcibiades: "Enact on the hypothesis that it is right to do what is good? or to do what is bad?"
Pericles: "What is good, to be sure, young sir, not what is bad."
Alcibiades: "Supposing it is not the majority, but, as in the case of an oligarchy, the minority, who meet and enact the rules of conduct, what are these?
Pericles: Whatever the ruling power of the state after deliberation enacts as our duty to do, goes by the name of laws."
Alcibiades: "Then if a tyrant, holding the chief power in the state, enacts rules of conduct for the citizens, are these enactments law?"
Pericles: "Yes, anything which a tyrant as head of the state enacts, also goes by the name of law."
Alcibiades: "But, Pericles, violence and lawlessness—how do we define them? Is it not when a stronger man forces a weaker to do what seems right to him—not by persuasion but by compulsion?"
Pericles: "I should say so."
Alcibiades: "It would seem to follow that if a tyrant, without persuading the citizens, drives them by enactment to do certain things—that is lawlessness?"
Pericles: "You are right; and I retract the statement that measures passed by a tyrant without persuasion of the citizens are law."
Alcibiades: "And what of measures passed by a minority, not by persuasion of the majority, but in the exercise of its power only? Are we, or are we not, to apply the term violence to these?"
Pericles: "I think that anything which any one forces another to do without persuasion, whether by enactment or not, is violence rather than law."
Alcibiades: "It would seem that everything which the majority, in the exercise of its power over the possessors of wealth, and without persuading them, chooses to enact, is of the nature of violence rather than of law?"
"To be sure," answered Pericles, adding: "At your age we were clever hands at such quibbles ourselves. It was just such subtleties which we used to practise our wits upon; as you do now, if I mistake not."
To which Alcibiades replied: "Ah, Pericles, I do wish we could have met in those days when you were at your cleverest in such matters."
Well, then, as soon as the desired superiority over the politicians of the day seemed to be attained, Critias and Alcibiades turned their backs on Socrates. They found his society unattractive, not to speak of the annoyance of being cross-questioned on their own shortcomings. Forthwith they devoted themselves to those affairs of state but for which they would never have come near him at all.
No; if one would seek to see true companions of Socrates, one must look to Crito, and Chaerephon, and Chaerecrates, to Hermogenes, to Simmias and Cebes, to Phaedondes and others, who clung to him not to excel in the rhetoric of the Assembly or the law courts, but with the nobler ambition of attaining to such beauty and goodliness of soul as would enable them to discharge the various duties of life to house and family, to relatives and friends, to fellow citizens, and to the state at large.
Of these true followers not one in youth or old age was ever guilty, or thought guilty, of committing any evil deed.
—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.2
IMAGE: Jean-Baptiste Regnault, Socrates Tears Alcibiades from the Embrace of Sensual Pleasure (c. 1791)
Epictetus, Discourses 1.26.5
This, then, is where the philosophic life begins; in the discovery of the true state of one's own mind: for when once you realize that it is in a feeble state, you will not choose to employ it any more for great matters.
But, as it is, some men, finding themselves unable to swallow a mouthful, buy themselves a treatise, and set about eating it whole, and, in consequence they vomit or have indigestion. Hence come colics and fluxes and fevers. They ought first to have considered whether they have the faculty.
It is easy enough in speculation to examine and refute the ignorant, but in practical life men do not submit themselves to be tested, and we hate the man who examines and exposes us. Yet Socrates used to say that a life which was not put to the test was not worth living.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.26
I can be aware of so many things outside of me, and it will do me no good if I do not use those experiences to become more fully aware of what is inside of me. Philosophy, as a way of living and not merely as a career, might not make me rich and famous, but I do know it is the only way for me to be happy.
Once I honestly look within myself, I see how I’m not all I might make myself out to be. The demeanor of a cool confidence can’t cover for the huge gaps in my understanding, particularly in the way I’m not living up to my supposed ideals. The connection isn’t being made because my thinking is still sloppy.
Without the habits of coordination that come from practice, my mind can barely handle the little things, let alone cope with the big things. I might as well tell a child to run before he is able to walk.
When I was in high school, and everyone asked me what I wanted to do with my life, how could I answer without at least a general sense of what it meant to be human, and how to put the pieces together in pursuit of that goal? We rushed to the conclusions, never spending much time on the relationship between the premises, or even clearly defining our terms.
The result, especially among the “educated” class, is an elaborate stage play where we make dramatic proclamations about the sweeping concepts, all the while avoiding the inconvenient bits and pieces. Indeed, we often begin with our preferences, and then work backwards to fabricate the evidence.
Yes, then there is much vomiting forth, and everyone wonders why they feel so sick to their stomachs. It came from biting off more than we could chew. We waved our fists about justice, lacking the ability to either define it or to apply it in an orderly demonstration.
In a controlled environment, like a classroom, a board meeting, or a formal debate, it is easier to set artificial rules. The real problems arise when we can no longer manipulate the variables, and we find that people don’t take kindly to being offended: they will most certainly bite back.
Now what is the prudent man to do?
He learns not to be outraged when others are outraged, since he knows something about the line between his own responsibility and the responsibility of others.
He chooses not to hate, as much as others might choose to hate.
He offers love, as much as it costs him in worldly conveniences.
He does not apply any mercenary conditions to his principles.
He can do so because he started out with a patient attention to the details of sound reasoning. Only then did he advance to the lofty rules of Nature.
—Reflection written in 4/2001
Friday, September 23, 2022
The Wisdom of Solomon 15:1-6
patient, and ruling all things in mercy.
[2] For even if we sin we are yours, knowing your power;
but we will not sin, because we know that we
are accounted yours.
[3] For to know you is complete righteousness,
and to know your power is the root of immortality.
[4] For neither has the evil intent of human art misled us,
nor the fruitless toil of painters,
a figure stained with varied colors,
[5] whose appearance arouses yearning in fools,
so that they desire the lifeless form of a dead image.
[6] Lovers of evil things and fit for such objects of hope
are those who either make or desire or worship them.
IMAGE: William Blake, Moses Indignant at the Golden Calf (c. 1800)
Epictetus, Discourses 1.26.4
Once when he put to confusion the student who was reading hypothetical arguments, and the master who had set him to read laughed at his pupil, he said: You are laughing at yourself; you did not give the young man any preliminary training, nor discover whether he can follow the arguments, but just treat him as a reader.
Why is it, he said, that when a mind is unable to follow and judge a complex argument we trust to it the task of praise and blame and of deciding on good and bad actions?
If he speaks ill of anyone, does the man attend to him, and is anyone elated by a praise which comes from one who cannot find the logical connection in such small matters?
—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.26
We often expect young people to develop a capacity for moral judgment on their own, offering very little in the way of assistance. Yes, each of us must do his own work, and yet we are also social animals, made to cooperate with one another.
If the student falls short in his reasoning, should I not ask how I have failed him before I dismiss him? If I have served him poorly in the basics of critical thinking, I can hardly hope that he will later be able to distinguish the nuances of right from wrong.
When he is weak in the habits of hypothetical arguments, he will be overwhelmed when he faces the reality of practical arguments, where conflicting impressions are always vying for attention—unrestrained desire and anger will make short shrift of him.
And it’s all because we are pushed into the living without first attending to the thinking. Look before you leap.
Training in recitation, memorization, and routine skills provides the building blocks, but is itself insufficient to engage an active mind. Simply adding further years to a passive curriculum may result in more efficient producers, while it sadly neglects to inspire more prudent thinkers.
Nor can moral formation be achieved by an indoctrination into some prevailing ideology, for it offers only the form without the content, and stresses a blind obedience over any conscious reflection. As Epictetus says, if I just treat the student as a reader, I deny him the chance to understand the “why?” behind what is written.
He has taken a course in operating a bulldozer, or she has earned a degree in running a business, though we have asked neither of them to consider the purpose of building or the meaning of profit. The most significant tool, a well-honed mind, is missing from the toolbox.
In all walks of life, people make countless decisions every day about benefit and harm, and we assume they are qualified to do so because they possess certain slips of paper. Is it not more important, however, to argue for a conclusion instead of taking it for granted? The man who can actually explain himself is the man worth following, for he proves and does not impose.
All is lost without an account of the reasons why it is true, good, and beautiful.
—Reflection written in 4/2001
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