The Silence

"The Silence" 

Wendell Berry

Though the air is full of singing 
my head is loud 
with the labor of words. 

Though the season is rich 
with fruit, my tongue 
hungers for the sweet of speech. 

Though the beech is golden 
I cannot stand beside it 
mute, but must say 

"It is golden," while the leaves 
stir and fall with a sound 
that is not a name. 

It is in the silence 
that my hope is, and my aim. 
A song whose lines 

I cannot make or sing 
sounds men's silence 
like a root. Let me say 

and not mourn: the world 
lives in the death of speech 
and sings there. 

Delphic Maxims 1

Ἕπου θεῷ 

Follow God 

IMAGE: Heinrich Füger, Jupiter Enthroned (c. 1800) 

William Hogarth, The Sleeping Congregation

I'm afraid I don't come across many people who know the works of William Hogarth (1697-1764), and those who do will tend to dismiss him as either a prudish moralizer or a snarky cynic. That's a shame, because I have long admired how his paintings and engravings can combine a profound sense of right and wrong with a comical and irreverent streak, such that I don't know whether to laugh or cry about his subtle observations on the human condition. 

He wasn't afraid to point out the greed and depravity of established customs, thereby challenging the viewer to examine his own conscience. By pointing out how quick we are to mess things up, he inspires me to get it right. 

I will be forever grateful to a college professor, a true gentleman of the old school, who was kind enough to guide me through so many pieces by Hogarth, explaining all the historical references and literary allusions. When he offered our class a library tour to view some of the prints, I was the only one of sixty students who showed up. We had a grand time. 

If anyone ever asks, I suggest starting with something simple and immediately relatable. You don't have to be a churchgoer to understand how some people are enamored of their own voices, while all the rest of us are expected to be in awe of all the condescending platitudes. Think of this painting the next time you are forced into a committee meeting, for example, and time yourself to see how long you can stay awake. 

—10/2002 

William Hogarth, The Sleeping Congregation (1728) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 36.5

In death there is nothing harmful; for there must exist something to which it is harmful. 
 
And yet, if you are possessed by so great a craving for a longer life, reflect that none of the objects which vanish from our gaze and are reabsorbed into the world of things, from which they have come forth and are soon to come forth again, is annihilated; they merely end their course and do not perish. 
 
And death, which we fear and shrink from, merely interrupts life, but does not steal it away; the time will return when we shall be restored to the light of day; and many men would object to this, were they not brought back in forgetfulness of the past. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 36 
 
Once again, the Stoics consider the topic of our mortality not because they are bleak and forlorn, but because death offers an ideal means to isolate what is most precious in life. They return to it repeatedly as the apex of all our fears, only to be overcome by the embrace of our virtues. As I realize I cannot desperately continue holding on to things, I am then free to finally live with dignity and conviction. 
 
If I merely cling to survival, then dying will appear like an evil to me, just as if I simply pursue pleasures, their fickle nature will continually torment me. If, however, I aim to live each moment I am given with understanding and goodwill, then extinction, or any sort of pain, will pose no threat. 
 
Seneca here refers to an argument, also employed by other philosophers, on how there can be no further loss where there is nothing left to lose. I may say I am terrified of death, yet if death is the complete cessation of existence, there will clearly no longer be any “self” present to experience the suffering. Absence of everything means the end of worries. 
 
If I reply that what I fear is the agony that may well come over me as I am dying, then that remains a situation, however challenging, where I can continue to act with integrity and decency. One might even observe, without wishing to seem morbid, how all of life, and all forms of pain, are a sort of continual passing. Once I view my purpose rightly, I will grasp why a greater trial is just a greater opportunity to do my best work. By nature, every act is fulfilled in its completion 
 
It is foolish, however, for me to think that anything ever ceases to be absolutely, since the end of one state is just the beginning of another. Many of us learn about the laws of conservation for matter and energy in our physics classes, though we rarely dare to consider how this applies to our own living and dying. What I am calling destruction turns out to be a transformation, and therefore may be considered a conversion instead of a termination. 
 
I will not be so vain as to insist on what will become of “me” after I die, and I am happy to leave the matter in the hands of Providence. Yet my reason can at least tell me why something cannot come from nothing, and in turn why something cannot vanish into nothing. However radical that transition may be, whatever disguise the old matter may assume, what I am now must pass on to another purpose. It all comes around again. 

—Reflection written in 12/2012 

IMAGE: Thomas Cole, Life, Death, and Immortality (1844) 

Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 2

While Cato was still a boy, the Italian allies of the Romans were making efforts to obtain Roman citizen­ship. One of their number, Pompaedius Silo,​ a man of experience in war and of the highest position, was a friend of Drusus, and lodged at his house for several days. 

During this time he became familiar with the children, and said to them once: "Come, beg your uncle to help us in our struggle for citizen­ship." Caepio, accordingly, consented with a smile, but Cato made no reply and gazed fixedly and fiercely upon the strangers. 

Then Pompaedius said: "But you, young man, what say you to us? Can you not take the part of the strangers with your uncle, like your brother?" 

And when Cato said not a word, but by his silence and the look on his face seemed to refuse the request, Pompaedius lifted him up through a window, as if he would cast him out, and ordered him to consent, or he would throw him down, at the same time making the tone of his voice harsher, and frequently shaking the boy as he held his body out at the window. 

But when Cato had endured this treatment for a long time without showing fright or fear, Pompaedius put him down, saying quietly to his friends: "What a piece of good fortune it is for Italy that he is a boy; for if he were a man, I do not think we could get a single vote among the people." 

At another time a relation of his who was celebrating a birthday, invited Cato and other boys to supper, and the company were diverting themselves at play in a separate part of the house, older and younger together, their play being actions at law, accusations, and the conducting of the condemned persons to prison. 

Accordingly, one of those thus condemned, a boy of comely looks, was led off by an older boy and shut into a chamber, where he called upon Cato for help. 

Then Cato, when he understood what was going on, quickly came to the door, pushed aside the boys who stood before it and tried to stop him, led forth the prisoner, and went off home with him in a passion, followed by other boys also. 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 188

He who at the time of contemplation is entirely unconscious of everything outside, has acquired the perfection of contemplation. 

James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 1

Much like the poems by Ellis Walker on Epictetus, I came across these sonnets by James Vila Blake on Marcus Aurelius quite by accident. This time, in search of poetry with a Stoic character, I found them scanned in an obscure corner of the internet, the digital equivalent of a dusty shelf in a back room, and I have yet to hold a physical copy in my hands. Though I have always preferred the feel of real paper, this version will surely do for the moment. 

I had never heard of the author before, and a bit of digging revealed that James Vila Blake (1842-1925) was a Unitarian minister, best known for his essays, sermons, and as an editor of hymns. Though I am largely unfamiliar with the Unitarian tradition, I was quite taken by his words on the mission of his church: 

Love is the spirit of this church,
and service is its law.
This is our great covenant:
To dwell together in peace,
to seek the truth in love, 
and to help one another. 

Beyond all our theological bickering, it would be nice if more of us could hold to such basic principles. 

In his foreword, Rev. Blake explains how he came to write these poems, so I will only add how happy I was to see someone taking the time to reflect on the writings of Marcus Aurelius with such reverence and affection. If I had a gift for verse, I would attempt something similar, as a sort of homage, but I can only manage my cumbersome reflections. 

There are 31 sonnets here, each working from a specific passage in the Meditations, plus a proem and and epode. Blake includes these sections of the original text before the poems, both in the Greek and his own translation. 

Now while my Latin has become passable over the years, I have sadly never been able to move beyond the most rudimentary grammar and vocabulary for Greek, and so I cannot make any judgments about the quotations I see here. For the sake of completeness, I have included the Greek as it appears in the scan, fixing only the most obvious typos, and I have left the rest as it is. 

If you happen to have any talent in Greek, and you find glaring mistakes, which are quite likely in such a transcription, I would encourage you to embrace the task of a thorough edit. I'm sure a proper academic could do this in very little time, by comparing the Blake copy to a scholarly edition. Your effort would be of great help in keeping this fine work alive! 

—3/2010 

* * * * * 

Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 

James Vila Blake 

THOS. P. HALPIN COMPANY, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 

Copyright by JAMES VILA BLAKE, 1920 

TO THE Rev. A. W. OXFORD, M. O. 

LONDON, ENGLAND


FOREWORD

When I had read the book of Marcus Aurelius many times, and was reading it after a long interval once again, which was also in company and aloud, I noticed the worthy matter for poetic treatment presented by the great Emperor’s noblest and most characteristic sayings. I marked such passages, and they remained for many years marked and no more. 

Then I remembered them, recurred to them, and found my former impression confirmed. Hence these heroic hymns, as perhaps I may call them, the sonnet appearing to me the poetic form most suitable and germane. Do or can the lofty thoughts herein versed, gain from verse? The reader must judge, and possibly the fortunes of the present recital may afford some indication whether the stern and high terseness of the original can profit by the expansion, diction and imagery of verse. 

Certainly in clarity, no; but in persuasiveness, possibly yes. The question seems much like a query whether excellent drawing in ink can gain by brush and color. What is proper matter for poesy, is a question belonging to poetic technics, and there is wide space and a thousand species between a geometrical demonstration or a bit of chemical nomenclature, and the heroics of a ballad; but at first blush perhaps it may be surmised that whatever thought is big enough and humane enough, may lay all Nature under contribution, and need not disdain the warrant of poetic fancy, trope, form or diction. 

As to the diction, for aught that appears, the word rondure which Shakespeare liked, is as good as roundness, or sphericity, or circularity, or curve, or curvature, or concavity, or convexity, or circumbendibus, and if this be granted, poetic language scores a point perhaps, though I have known poets and others look askance at “rondure.” 

The Greek and a prose rendering are placed together, and the sonnet opposite them. In the rendering I have not sought to give a literal transcription of the original, but rather the embosomed spirit and redolence of it. But it may be hoped this will be acceptable, since for those who might disapprove the Greek is added. 

The text is accepted from “The Communings with Himself of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Emperor of Rome, together with his Speeches and Sayings. A Revised Text and a Translation into English, by C. R. Haines, M.A.,, F.S.A. London, William Heinemann. New York, G. P. Putnam’s Sons.” 

—J. V. B. 

The Greek excerpts are taken by means of a photo-etching process. Of course the result would have been more elegant if I had employed a Greek compositor; but the virtue of the text is not affected, and J have done what I could under the conditions.

* * * * * 

PROEM 

Marcus, thy stoic wit lacks naught in-door; 

Out-door methinks thou shouldst be more at play, 

Hill, vale, wood, brook, be fellows by thy way, 

And wider wanderings on the sea-green shore. 

Thou shouldst a stilly meadow pool explore 

For doubled lustres of the early day, 

Or soft reflections of capacious gray 

That hath the meadow’s verdure tented o’er. 

O if a rose had trembled to thy kiss 

More than some culprit quailed before thy power, 

Mayhap I had not now been writing this, 

Thou being too great to gain thy day and hour. 

Well, well, wide soul thou wert, kind heart, mind’s dower, 

And to thee I am pious and submiss. 

* * * * * 

1. 

Εωθεν προλέγειν ἑαυτῷ: συντεύξομαι περιἔργῳ, ἀχαρίστῳ, ὑβριστῇ, δολερῷ, βασκάνῳ, ἀκοινωνήτῳ. πάντα ταῦτα συμβέβηκεν ἐκείνοις παρὰ τὴν ἄγνοιαν τῶν ἀγαθῶν καὶ κακῶν. ἐγὼ δὲ τεθεωρηκὼς τὴν φύσιν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ, ὅτι καλόν, καὶ τοῦ κακοῦ, ὅτι αἰσχρόν, καὶ τὴν αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἁμαρτάνοντος φύσιν, ὅτε μοι συγγενής, οὐχὶ αἵματος ἣ σπέρματος τοῦ αὐτοῦ, ἀλλὰ νοῦ καὶ θείας ἀπομοίρας μέτοχος, οὔτε βλαβῆναι ὑπό τινος αὐτῶν δύναμαι: αἰσχρῷ γάρ με οὐδεὶς περιβαλεῖ: οὔτε ὀργίζεσθαι τῷ συγγενεῖ δύναμαι οὔτε ἀπέχθεσθαι αὐτῷ. 

At early morning warn yourself thus: Today I shall happen on busy-bodies, ungrateful fellows, insolent boors, deceitful plotters, spiteful churls, unkind neighbors. All these ills have befallen them by reason of their ignorance of good and evil. But I have understood the nature of the good, that it is beautiful, and of the evil, that it is ugly, and of the ill-behaved man himself, that he is of the same source, kith and kin, with me—not of the same blood and flesh, but sharing in reason and a divine part; for which cause I neither can be injured by any one of them (since no one can wrap me up in baseness) nor can I be angry or hold bitter feeling against this kinsman of mine. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.1 

1. 

When the sun riseth, consider what he sees, 

And tell thyself that surely through the day 

Thou shalt see like the sun. Not hills, and trees 

On them, green meads, kine grazing, lambs at play, 

Soft clouds, and birds sipping at brooks—not these 

I mean, albeit they sparkle wide away; 

But surly men, churls, fops at insolent ease, 

The gossip, knaves that envy, steal, betray. 

But what! If so they be, be so must I? 

Or to do like them, is that arms to meet them? 

So hapless they in sense, ’tis mine to ply 

My wisdom for them, not flout or ill-entreat them. 

Fine wit ’s most dowered, and hath his best estate, 

When civil most to wits less fortunate. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 36.4

If your friend had been born in Parthia, he would have begun, when a child, to bend the bow; if in Germany, he would forthwith have been brandishing his slender spear; if he had been born in the days of our forefathers, he would have learned to ride a horse and smite his enemy hand to hand. These are the occupations which the system of each race recommends to the individual—yes, prescribes for him. 
 
To what, then, shall this friend of yours devote his attention? I say, let him learn that which is helpful against all weapons, against every kind of foe—contempt of death; because no one doubts that death has in it something that inspires terror, so that it shocks even our souls, which nature has so molded that they love their own existence; for otherwise there would be no need to prepare ourselves, and to whet our courage, to face that towards which we should move with a sort of voluntary instinct, precisely as all men tend to preserve their existence. 
 
No man learns a thing in order that, if necessity arises, he may lie down with composure upon a bed of roses; but he steels his courage to this end—that he may not surrender his plighted faith to torture, and that, if need be, he may some day stay out his watch in the trenches, even though wounded, without even leaning on his spear; because sleep is likely to creep over men who support themselves by any prop whatsoever. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 36 
 
From the moment we come into this world, people will insist on what we must do, and a big part of growing up involves realizing how little thought has gone into so many of those commands. Listen with care, yet be willing to understand before you comply. 
 
For my generation, the default was that truckloads of money would bring success, and recreational sex would bring gratification, while hating the communists was de rigueur. A few decades later, the cash and the lust are still taken for granted, though now we are expected to say we hate the fascists. 
 
When culture is reduced to nothing more than a blind tribal loyalty, a relativism made palatable by an obedience to fashion, then a positive identity, in harmony with Nature, is replaced by a negative reaction, a contempt for the enemy. The Parthian, the German, or the Roman will focus on fighting the other, defined not by who they are but by who they are not, all the while confusing their accidental trappings with essential values. 
 
An early retirement from all this nonsense would be a blessing, not a curse. It’s finally the time to return back home. It isn’t about running away from the office grind to finally play some golf—it’s about restoring some sanity. 
 
Why should I worry about fighting anyone else, about imposing my preferences on some poor fellow who has rubbed me the wrong way? I observe how much bitterness and resentment pervade public discourse, and then instead of rallying the troops for battle, it might be a better idea to tame my own anger, and to learn why self-mastery is the only mastery that counts, besides being the only mastery about which I actually have any say. 
 
No, Lucilius’ friend does not need to teach his foes a lesson, because the real war he must wage is entirely within himself. His fears come from his own hasty judgments, and his anxieties arise from his misplaced desires. If he looks behind all his particular worries, he will discover how he must ultimately conquer his dread of dying. There will be liberation whenever we recognize how the quality of life, which is within our power, is superior to the duration of life, which is not within our power. 
 
As much as the body may revolt against the approach of both suffering and death, the soul can temper and redirect such impulses, through an awareness that living with wisdom and love, right here and now, will vanquish any circumstances. Yes, it takes great courage, but not of the brutal or violent sort, for a commitment of will is best fortified by a peace of mind. 
 

Where I choose not to rely on the presence or absence of external conditions, I will no longer fret about their coming or going. 

—Reflection written in 12/2012 

  

Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 1

Over the years, a good number of Stoics have come to consider Cato the Younger (95-46 BC) as a sort of martyr or patron saint for the philosophy. I am always wary of any hero worship, which too readily praises the strengths while conveniently overlooking the weaknesses, but however you cut it, the life of Cato provides a wonderful opportunity to reflect on what it means to strive for virtue as the highest human good. 

The man could certainly be stubborn, and he sometimes let his passions get the better of him. I take note of this because I also struggle with those flaws, even as my own life is not nearly so grand in scale. I find that I learn best from those who have already faced the same sort of trials. 

I have now read through Plutarch's Life of Cato the Younger numerous times, and each occasion leads me down a different path, often leaving me with more questions than answers. I take a keen interest in Plutarch's writings, as all the entries in the Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans are focused on examining the development of character, and yet I don't have to worry about him trying to whitewash the Stoics, since he was often quite critical of their views. Like any good thinker, he praises what is good while also finding a lesson in what is bad. 

I am not fluent enough in the subtleties of Roman history to share my own notes on Cato's conflict with Julius Caesar and his eventual role in the civil war, so I tend to encourage people to read Plutarch's account free from any of my annoying commentary. All of Plutarch's Lives have left me a bit wiser than I was before, though the story of Cato is the one I return to most often and eagerly. 

The translation used here is by Bernadotte Perrin, from the Loeb Classical Library (1919), which is in the public domain. 

—4/2001 

* * * * * 

Cato's family got its first luster and fame from his great-grandfather Cato (a man whose virtue gained him the greatest reputation and influence among the Romans, as has been written in his Life), but the death of both parents left him an orphan, together with his brother Caepio and his sister Porcia. Cato had also a half-sister, Servilia, the daughter of his mother.​ All these children were brought up in the home of Livius Drusus, their uncle on the mother's side, who at that time was a leader in the conduct of public affairs; for he was a most power­ful speaker, in general a man of the greatest discretion, and yielded to no Roman in dignity of purpose.

We are told that from his very childhood Cato displayed, in speech, countenance, and in his childish sports, a nature that was inflexible, imperturbable, and altogether steadfast. He set out to accomplish his purposes with a vigor beyond his years, and while he was harsh and repellent to those who would flatter him, he was still more master­ful towards those who tried to frighten him. It was altogether difficult to make him laugh, although once in a while he relaxed his features so far as to smile; and he was not quickly nor easily moved to anger, though once angered he was inexorable.

When, accordingly, he came to study, he was sluggish of comprehension and slow, but what he comprehended he held fast in his memory. And this is generally the way of nature: those who are well endowed are more apt to recall things to mind, but those retain things in their memory who acquire them with toil and trouble;​ for everything they learn becomes branded, as it were, upon their minds. 

It would appear, too, that Cato's reluctance to be persuaded made his learning anything more laborious. For, to learn is simply to allow something to be done to you, and to be quickly persuaded is natural for those who are less able to offer resistance. Therefore young men are more easily persuaded than old men, and sick folk, than those who are well, and, in a word, where the power to raise objections is weakest, the act of submission is easiest. 

However, we are told that Cato was obedient to his tutor, and did everything that was enjoined upon him, although in each case he demanded the reason and wanted to know the why and wherefore. And, indeed, his tutor was a man of culture, and more ready to reason with a pupil than to thrash him. His name was Sarpedon. 

Stoic Snippets 176

Take me and cast me where you will; for there I shall keep my divine part tranquil, that is, content, if it can feel and act conformably to its proper constitution. 

Is this change of place sufficient reason why my soul should be unhappy and worse than it was, depressed, expanded, shrinking, frightened? 

And what will you find which is sufficient reason for this? 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.45 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, War. The Exile and the Rock Limpet (1842) 

Storm on the Sea 4

Ivan Aivazovsky, The Ninth Wave (1850) 

Vanitas 65

Willem Claesz. Heda, Vanitas (1628) 

Dhammapada 271, 272

Not only by discipline and vows, not only by much learning, not by entering into a trance, not by sleeping alone, do I earn the happiness of release which no worldling can know. 

Bhikshu, be not confident as long as you have not attained the extinction of desires. 

Chuang Tzu 3.3

When Kung-wan Hsien saw the Master of the Left, he was startled, and said, "What sort of man is this? How is it he has but one foot? Is it from Heaven? Or from Man?" 

Then he added, "It must be from Heaven, and not from Man. Heaven's making of this man caused him to have but one foot. In the person of man, each foot has its marrow. By this I know that his peculiarity is from Heaven, and not from Man. 

"A pheasant of the marshes has to take ten steps to pick up a mouthful of food, and thirty steps to get a drink, but it does not seek to be nourished in a coop. Though its spirit would there enjoy a royal abundance, it does not think such confinement good." 

IMAGE: Rembrandt, Beggar with a Wooden Leg (c. 1630) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 36.3

Finally, he has no longer any freedom in the matter; he has pledged his word. And it is less disgraceful to compound with a creditor than to compound with a promising future. 
 
To pay his debt of money, the businessman must have a prosperous voyage, the farmer must have fruitful fields and kindly weather; but the debt which your friend owes can be completely paid by mere goodwill. 
 
Fortune has no jurisdiction over character. Let him so regulate his character that in perfect peace he may bring to perfection that spirit within him which feels neither loss nor gain, but remains in the same attitude, no matter how things fall out. 
 
A spirit like this, if it is heaped with worldly goods, rises superior to its wealth; if, on the other hand, chance has stripped him of a part of his wealth, or even all, it is not impaired. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 36 

 
In the hubbub of the day, I still find myself confused about what makes people tick. Did he really mean it? What sort of game is she playing? How do I know if I can really trust them? 
 
So I take a deep breath, and I remember two basic guidelines that have long served me well. I didn’t learn them from some brilliant insight, or by gaining access to any secret knowledge, but by finally taking the time to observe without any prejudice or wishful thinking. The patterns emerged far more quickly than I had anticipated.
 
First, are the words followed by deeds? Does the talking translate into walking? In the grand matters, someone may be playing a long game, so I just look to see if the simplest of assurances are kept, if there is a continuity between the presentation and the completion. Once I sense even the slightest artifice or hypocrisy, I should be on my guard. 
 
Second, in what currency is this person dealing? They say everyone has a price, and this may be true in the sense that we are all working from a certain measure, but only a man who neglects his own conscience assumes that others will sell their principles for convenience or gratification. What a man cares for the most is revealed by the compromises he is willing, or unwilling, to make. 
 
For the cynical and jaded the phrase has been reduced to a caricature, though for those who still value a life of virtue it remains an essential rule: a man is only as good as his word. While some just pretend to be cowboys, those of genuine character, whatever hats they happen to wear, understand why integrity is the foundation for all human relations. Even as everything else might be negotiable, a free and informed commitment is absolute. 
 
Money, influence, and charm will come and go, and only the fool believes they stand for anything on their own terms. Being subject to the whims of Fortune, they are not mine to give and take, and so I must rely on what is safely within my power. My thoughts and actions remain my own, however, and Nature has made it so that no one else can take them away from me. 
 
This is why people of decency consider a promise to be sacred. It should not be entered into lightly, yet once it is made, a good man would rather die than fall back on his responsibility. 
 
What do I need to make a profit in business? Just a touch gumption when the mighty forces of fate happen to go my way for a moment. What do I need to be a good man? Nothing beyond my own conscience. Rich or poor, healthy or diseased, esteemed or despised, my soul can be invincible. 
 
So the Stoic doesn’t have to cry when his circumstances change, since they do not define his self-worth. He can take it or leave it, making the most of what people usually call gains and losses, precisely because he treats both as equal opportunities for self-improvement. From a sound estimation, he knows what he is about, and he rises above the rest. 

—Reflection written in 12/2012 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 91

The wounds of conscience always leave a scar. 

Wisdom from the Bhagavad Gita 54

11. The Yogis striving for perfection behold Him dwelling in themselves; but the unrefined and unintelligent, even though striving, see Him not. 

12. The light which, residing in the sun illumines the whole world, that which is in the moon and in the fire—know that light to be Mine. 

13. Entering the earth with My energy, I support all beings, and I nourish all the herbs, becoming the watery moon. 

14. Abiding in the body of living beings as the fire Vaishvânara, I, associated with Prâna and Apâna, digest the fourfold food. 

15. I am centred in the hearts of all; memory and perception as well as their loss come from Me. I am verily that which has to be known by all the Vedas, I indeed am the Author of the Vedânta, and the Knower of the Veda am I. 

16. There are two Purushas in the world—the Perishable and the Imperishable. All beings are the Perishable; and the Kutastha is called Imperishable. 

17. But there is another, the Supreme Purusha, called the Highest Self, the immutable Lord, who pervading the three worlds, sustains them. 

18. As I transcend the Perishable and am above even the Imperishable, therefore am I in the world and in the Veda celebrated as the Purushottama, the Highest Purusha. 

19. He who free from delusion thus knows Me, the Highest Spirit, he knowing all, worships Me with all his heart, O descendant of Bharata. 

20. Thus, O sinless one, has this most profound teaching been imparted by Me. Knowing this one attains the highest intelligence and will have accomplished all one's duties, O descendant of Bharata. 

—Bhagavad Gita, 15:11-20 

Seneca, Moral Letters 36.2

Even the fact that to certain persons he seems a man of a very rough and gloomy cast of mind, does not trouble me. Aristo used to say that he preferred a youth of stern disposition to one who was a jolly fellow and agreeable to the crowd. "For," he added, "wine which, when new, seemed harsh and sour, becomes good wine; but that which tasted well at the vintage cannot stand age." 

 
So let them call him stern and a foe to his own advancement. It is just this sternness that will go well when it is aged, provided only that he continues to cherish virtue and to absorb thoroughly the studies which make for culture—not those with which it is sufficient for a man to sprinkle himself, but those in which the mind should be steeped. 
 
Now is the time to learn. 
 
“What? Is there any time when a man should not learn?” 
 
By no means; but just as it is creditable for every age to study, so it is not creditable for every age to be instructed. An old man learning his A B C is a disgraceful and absurd object; the young man must store up, the old man must use. 
 
You will therefore be doing a thing most helpful to yourself if you make this friend of yours as good a man as possible; those kindnesses, they tell us, are to be both sought for and bestowed, which benefit the giver no less than the receiver; and they are unquestionably the best kind. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 36 
 
As much as I know it is necessary for me to become a good man, I would still prefer to also be a beloved man. These two can most certainly coincide, though I should never think that esteem must be some sort of a reward for virtue. Where I am caught up in making an impression, the merit can only suffer. 
 
If I don’t follow the route of fashion, which is usually the path of least resistance, they will think I am weird. If I listen first to my conscience, since the human good is ultimately moral, they will say I am stuffy and grouchy. I may enjoy my fun just as much as the next fellow, but I am failing to be as indulgent and permissive as they would like. 
 
In other words, if I wish to be myself, and not what others expect me to be, I must be prepared to stand on my own—and that is precisely as it was meant to be. 
 
We assume that youth, because it is characterized by a green vitality, will also have to be thoughtless and reckless, yet a strong will benefits the most from a sound mind, and the young man who struggles to be responsible for himself shows why we shouldn’t hastily think so ill of the human condition. Judge him by how he forms his sense of right and wrong, not by either his awkward posturing or his worldly prospects. 
 
If he is a sluggard and a libertine now, he will find it far more difficult to turn himself around once the habits have settled; it is best to learn before it is too late. His quest for understanding may seem odd, and he may carry his principles clumsily, but he is well on his way to growing into what Nature intended. 
 
Think of the ugly duckling who finally discovered he was a beautiful swan, after enduring all that rejection, ridicule, and uncertainty. 
 
Many will go through the motions of an education, touching on a bit of everything while absorbing absolutely nothing, and they will then use their credentials to get ahead. A few will take wisdom to heart, seeking out the elements for building character, and they will then quietly make their mark with integrity and compassion. 
 
We are always works in progress, so there is no end to learning, though it is best to master the basics before claiming to be an expert. How sad to find a lawyer who has never reflected on justice, or a businessman who has never trained for temperance, or a priest who has never practiced piety. A tree that is sick in the roots will not have the luxury of bearing good fruit. 
 
I am especially taken by the way Seneca tells Lucilius to encourage his friend with charity, for such a willingness to gladly give of oneself for the sake of another is a very mark of the moral worth that prudence brings. Do not ask for anything more, because you already have everything you need. 

—Reflection written in 12/2012 

IMAGE: Milo Winter, The Ugly Duckling (1916) 

Delphic Maxims

The Delphic Maxims are a collection of pithy sayings admired in the Ancient world, and are often offered as points of reference for a good life. 

Tradition attributes them to the Oracle at Delphi, and so to the wisdom of Apollo, though others say they were coined by the Seven Sages, or were popular expressions that came to be bundled together over the centuries. With the universal nature of truth, it is quite possible that all of these accounts are true. 

They are simple and direct, which is a part of their appeal, and yet I have discovered that they serve as wonderful opportunities for deeper reflection. I begin with the the basic maxim, and as soon as I ask myself how I should actually put it into practice, or ponder the reasons why it might be true, I end up going down the rabbit hole, connecting a straightforward rule to the far wider context of Nature. 

As a little experiment, I once picked a maxim a day, and after glancing at it in the morning, found that it constantly popped up in ways I didn't expect, and by the evening I had somehow managed to apply it to so many of the things I came across. Again, universal truth is like that. 

There are many variation of these rules, and you shouldn't be surprised to find them reflected in all other traditional cultures. The ones listed in this series are taken from Stobaeus. 

The most famous are the three that were said to be inscribed in the court of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi: 

Γνῶθι σεαυτόν 

Know yourself 

Μηδὲν ἄγαν 

Nothing in excess 

Ἐγγύα πάρα δ' Ἄτα 

Surety brings ruin 

IMAGE: Albert Tournaire, The Sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi (1894) 

Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 14

The word "disabled" (ἀναπήρους), Diogenes held, ought to be applied not to the deaf or blind, but to those who have no wallet (πήρα). 

One day he made his way with head half shaven into a party of young revellers, as Metrocles relates in his Anecdotes, and was roughly handled by them. 

Afterwards he entered on a tablet the names of those who had struck him and went about with the tablet hung round his neck, until he had covered them with ridicule and brought universal blame and discredit upon them. 

He described himself as a hound of the sort which all men praise, but no one, he added, of his admirers dared go out hunting along with him. 

When some one boasted that at the Pythian games he had vanquished men, Diogenes replied, "Nay, I defeat men, you defeat slaves." 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.33 

Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 54

An animal's first impulse, say the Stoics, is to self-preservation, because Nature from the outset endears it to itself, as Chrysippus affirms in the first book of his work On Ends. 

His words are: "The dearest thing to every animal is its own constitution and its consciousness thereof"; for it was not likely that Nature should estrange the living thing from itself or that she should leave the creature she has made without either estrangement from or affection for its own constitution. 

We are forced then to conclude that Nature in constituting the animal made it near and dear to itself; for so it comes to repel all that is injurious and give free access to all that is serviceable or akin to it. 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.85