Tuesday, January 31, 2023
Monday, January 30, 2023
Dhammapada 291
IMAGE: Carl Gustav Pilo, Cain and Abel—Allegory of Hatred (c. 1770)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.23
M. Even as in a battle the dastardly and timorous soldier throws away his shield on the first appearance of an enemy, and runs as fast as he can, and on that account loses his life sometimes, though he has never received even one wound, when he who stands his ground has nothing of the sort happen to him, so they who cannot bear the appearance of pain throw themselves away, and give themselves up to affliction and dismay.
But they that oppose it, often come off more than a match for it. For the body has a certain resemblance to the soul: as burdens are more easily borne the more the body is exerted, while they crush us if we give way, so the soul by exerting itself resists the whole weight that would oppress it; but if it yields, it is so pressed that it cannot support itself. And if we consider things truly, the soul should exert itself in every pursuit, for that is the only security for its doing its duty.
But this should be principally regarded in pain, that we must not do anything timidly, or dastardly, or basely, or slavishly, or effeminately, and, above all things, we must dismiss and avoid that Philoctetean sort of outcry.
A man is allowed sometimes to groan, but yet seldom; but it is not permissible even in a woman to howl; for such a noise as this is forbidden, by the twelve tables, to be used even at funerals.
Nor does a wise or brave man ever groan, unless when he exerts himself to give his resolution greater force, as they who run in the stadium make as much noise as they can.
The wrestlers, too, do the same when they are training; and the boxers, when they aim a blow with the cestus at their adversary, give a groan, not because they are in pain, or from a sinking of their spirits, but because their whole body is put upon the stretch by the throwing-out of these groans, and the blow comes the stronger.
But they that oppose it, often come off more than a match for it. For the body has a certain resemblance to the soul: as burdens are more easily borne the more the body is exerted, while they crush us if we give way, so the soul by exerting itself resists the whole weight that would oppress it; but if it yields, it is so pressed that it cannot support itself. And if we consider things truly, the soul should exert itself in every pursuit, for that is the only security for its doing its duty.
But this should be principally regarded in pain, that we must not do anything timidly, or dastardly, or basely, or slavishly, or effeminately, and, above all things, we must dismiss and avoid that Philoctetean sort of outcry.
A man is allowed sometimes to groan, but yet seldom; but it is not permissible even in a woman to howl; for such a noise as this is forbidden, by the twelve tables, to be used even at funerals.
Nor does a wise or brave man ever groan, unless when he exerts himself to give his resolution greater force, as they who run in the stadium make as much noise as they can.
The wrestlers, too, do the same when they are training; and the boxers, when they aim a blow with the cestus at their adversary, give a groan, not because they are in pain, or from a sinking of their spirits, but because their whole body is put upon the stretch by the throwing-out of these groans, and the blow comes the stronger.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.23
Once more, I am inclined to be suspicious of machismo, so I must restrain myself from tossing a book aside whenever I come across passages on virile courage. I spent too much time being bullied and beaten to admire any man who thinks with his fists.
Yet that is not what Cicero meant, is it? As a man closely familiar with tyrants, he understood the difference between those who, out of a sense of their own insufficiencies, feel the need to dominate others, and those who, at peace with themselves, are content to master their own souls.
It is far more difficult, and far more noble, to tame oneself than to lash out, to nurture a fortitude of the spirit than to hide behind a severity of the flesh.
In hindsight, I can indeed think of many instances when a surrender to my fears ended up doing me far more harm than if I had simply stood my ground. It was always my imagination running wild that did me in, such that the self-imposed anxiety was a thousand times worse than any consequences in reality.
The more I chose to dwell on the possibility of pain, the greater its force became in my estimation, and so the less my willingness to resist it.
I recall an incident in college, when a student mixed the wrong chemicals during a chemistry demonstration, and the room was quickly filled with an eerie smoke. The professor immediately called out that it was completely harmless, but to no avail. Everyone rushed for the doors, and everyone in the hallway then joined in the panic.
The result was a number of injuries as people pushed their way out of the building; it could all have been avoided if someone had just followed the calm advice to open a few windows.
Fortune is fickle, and circumstances will often unfold in ways we can hardly expect. We may call it “luck”, yet I think it no accident that the courage to act with a level head will always tilt the odds in our favor. Come what may, at least the brave man can rest assured he has done the best he could, the only guaranteed reward in this life.
Through all of this, I must not underestimate the power of habit. The body grows stronger or weaker through practice, and the mind and the will are no different in this regard. At first the effort might feel unbearable, and then it gradually becomes easier, and then, if I stay the course, I can even learn to respond without any conscious struggle at all.
When I tell myself it can’t be done, what I’m really saying is that I don’t want to risk such a long-term commitment to my moral improvement. Again, my judgments are shaping my expectations—if it is important enough to me, I will be glad to make the necessary sacrifices.
On the question of whether or not I should ever cry out in pain, I suspect that much of the way we express ourselves has to do with our particular social customs, and yet at the heart of it is still an awareness of a great difference between succumbing to despair and gathering the strength to fight. As is so often the case, the key is in the intention: is my scream an act of surrender or of endurance?
Back in the early 1980’s, I very much enjoyed the classic X-Men comics, and I couldn’t help but notice how the character of Wolverine would always growl and grunt his way through any hardship, though I never took it to be a sign of his complaining.
Once more, I am inclined to be suspicious of machismo, so I must restrain myself from tossing a book aside whenever I come across passages on virile courage. I spent too much time being bullied and beaten to admire any man who thinks with his fists.
Yet that is not what Cicero meant, is it? As a man closely familiar with tyrants, he understood the difference between those who, out of a sense of their own insufficiencies, feel the need to dominate others, and those who, at peace with themselves, are content to master their own souls.
It is far more difficult, and far more noble, to tame oneself than to lash out, to nurture a fortitude of the spirit than to hide behind a severity of the flesh.
In hindsight, I can indeed think of many instances when a surrender to my fears ended up doing me far more harm than if I had simply stood my ground. It was always my imagination running wild that did me in, such that the self-imposed anxiety was a thousand times worse than any consequences in reality.
The more I chose to dwell on the possibility of pain, the greater its force became in my estimation, and so the less my willingness to resist it.
I recall an incident in college, when a student mixed the wrong chemicals during a chemistry demonstration, and the room was quickly filled with an eerie smoke. The professor immediately called out that it was completely harmless, but to no avail. Everyone rushed for the doors, and everyone in the hallway then joined in the panic.
The result was a number of injuries as people pushed their way out of the building; it could all have been avoided if someone had just followed the calm advice to open a few windows.
Fortune is fickle, and circumstances will often unfold in ways we can hardly expect. We may call it “luck”, yet I think it no accident that the courage to act with a level head will always tilt the odds in our favor. Come what may, at least the brave man can rest assured he has done the best he could, the only guaranteed reward in this life.
Through all of this, I must not underestimate the power of habit. The body grows stronger or weaker through practice, and the mind and the will are no different in this regard. At first the effort might feel unbearable, and then it gradually becomes easier, and then, if I stay the course, I can even learn to respond without any conscious struggle at all.
When I tell myself it can’t be done, what I’m really saying is that I don’t want to risk such a long-term commitment to my moral improvement. Again, my judgments are shaping my expectations—if it is important enough to me, I will be glad to make the necessary sacrifices.
On the question of whether or not I should ever cry out in pain, I suspect that much of the way we express ourselves has to do with our particular social customs, and yet at the heart of it is still an awareness of a great difference between succumbing to despair and gathering the strength to fight. As is so often the case, the key is in the intention: is my scream an act of surrender or of endurance?
Back in the early 1980’s, I very much enjoyed the classic X-Men comics, and I couldn’t help but notice how the character of Wolverine would always growl and grunt his way through any hardship, though I never took it to be a sign of his complaining.
In contrast, when I growl and grunt, I’m afraid it is too often a form of whining. Who says I can’t learn some good lessons from comic books? Logan was all about the attitude making the man, and that was precisely why he could face such constant adversity.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
Sunday, January 29, 2023
Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 18
To take a particular case. It was a mere kiss which, as he had heard, Critobulus had some time given to a fair youth, the son of Alcibiades. Accordingly Critobulus being present, Socrates propounded the question:
Socrates: "Tell me, Xenophon, have you not always believed Critobulus to be a man of sound sense, not wild and self-willed? Should you not have said that he was remarkable for his prudence rather than thoughtless or foolhardy?"
Xenophon: "Certainly that is what I should have said of him."
Socrates: "Then you are now to regard him as quite the reverse—a hot-blooded, reckless libertine: this is the sort of man to throw somersaults into knives, or to leap into the jaws of fire."
Xenophon: "And what have you seen him doing, that you give him so bad a character?"
Socrates: "Doing? Why, has not the fellow dared to steal a kiss from the son of Alcibiades, most fair of youths and in the golden prime?"
Xenophon: "Nay, then, if that is the foolhardy adventure, it is a danger which I could well encounter myself."
Socrates: "Poor soul! and what do you expect your fate to be after that kiss? Let me tell you. On the instant you will lose your freedom, the indenture of your bondage will be signed; it will be yours on compulsion to spend large sums on hurtful pleasures; you will have scarcely a moment's leisure left for any noble study; you will be driven to concern yourself most zealously with things which no man, not even a madman, would choose to make an object of concern."
Xenophon: "O Heracles! how fell a power to reside in a kiss!"
Socrates: "Does it surprise you? Do you not know that the tarantula, which is no bigger than a threepenny bit, has only to touch the mouth and it will afflict its victim with pains and drive him out of his senses?"
Xenophon: "Yes, but then the creature injects something with its bite."
Socrates: "Ah, fool! and do you imagine that these lovely creatures infuse nothing with their kiss, simply because you do not see the poison? Do you not know that this wild beast which men call beauty in its bloom is all the more terrible than the tarantula in that the insect must first touch its victim, but this at a mere glance of the beholder, without even contact, will inject something into him—yards away—which will make him man.
"And maybe that is why the Loves are called 'archers,' because these beauties wound so far off.
"But my advice to you, Xenophon, is, whenever you catch sight of one of these fair forms, to run helter-skelter for bare life without a glance behind; and to you, Critobulus, I would say, 'Go abroad for a year: so long time will it take to heal you of this wound.'"
Such, he said, in the affairs of Aphrodite, as in meats and drinks, should be the circumspection of all whose footing is insecure. At least they should confine themselves to such diet as the soul would dispense with, save for some necessity of the body; and which even so ought to set up no disturbance.
But for himself, it was clear, he was prepared at all points and invulnerable. He found less difficulty in abstaining from beauty's fairest and fullest bloom than many others from weeds and garbage.
To sum up: with regard to eating and drinking and these other temptations of the sense, the equipment of his soul made him independent; he could boast honestly that in his moderate fashion his pleasures were no less than theirs who take such trouble to procure them, and his pains far fewer.
—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.3
Saturday, January 28, 2023
Howard Jones, Human's Lib 8
The music alone for this song, well before I even considered the lyrics, set me up for a lifelong love affair with new wave and synth-pop. I realize it's only a matter of personal preference, but my soul lights up whenever I come across someone who is humming along to Depeche Mode, Alphaville, The Human League, or Heaven 17.
The words to this song were then far more important in making me the strange fellow I now am, and I do believe they go far beyond the realm of preference into the world of principle.
The odd part of it is that Howard Jones wasn't telling me something I didn't already know. Just as when Depeche Mode reminded us how "People Are People", I assumed such ideas were commonplace. Of course our shared human nature comes first, regardless of sex, race, class, or creed. Doesn't it? I was raised in a fairly "traditional" family, and a respect for the essence trumped any of the accidents.
I was surprised. therefore, when the more "progressive" people I eventually met would have none of it. Once I was in high school, I was lectured about how the whites couldn't help but hate the blacks, and so the blacks must therefore hate the whites. The rich were always oppressors, and the poor were always victims. Men were born to be rapists, and women had to meet such violence with yet more violence. Religion was a form of oppression, never a means to love or enlightenment.
After so many years of making my way through the minefield of tribalism, sadly the only "-ism" that really sells, I've had enough, and I will no longer dwell on the petty conflicts. I refuse to be labeled by my circumstances, and the only thing I care about in you is the beauty of your soul.
Howard Jones has been my friend through all of it, though he hardly knows it, and I thank him from the bottom of my heart for giving me a tune I can play in my head whenever someone wants to separate me from the love of my neighbor, whoever that happens to be. His constant encouragement made a huge difference.
We are all made for one another, and the rest, pardon my French, is a load of childish bullshit. Let resentment give way to understanding—it is within our power.
This song became my anthem to begin with myself; I would be so happy if you joined me!
—4/2007
A few words of commentary from Howard Jones:
And the song itself:
Howard Jones, "Equality" from Human's Lib (1984)
Everyone wants to know the secret, even if you think that you don't
Everybody thinks they're different from the next man now
But we just got to realize we're just the same
Always appear to be someone better
You know there will always appear to be someone worse
You know there'll always appear to be someone better
You know there'll always appear to be someone worse, oh
Everyone has got their character
Everyone has got their personality
But the longing is still the same
So what is the answer, by easy on yourself
Make yourself feel at ease, maybe that's the answer
Always appear to be someone better
You know there will always appear to be someone worse
Always appear to be someone better
You know there'll always appear to be someone worse, oh
We're just the same don't you know
We're just the same don't you know
Looking over there
He looks different, she looks different
They might even be different
But we're just the same, don't you know
We're just the same, don't you know
We're just the same
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.22
M. The man, then, in whom absolute wisdom exists (such a man, indeed, we have never as yet seen, but the philosophers have described in their writings what sort of man he will be, if he should exist); such a man, or at least that perfect and absolute reason which exists in him, will have the same authority over the inferior part as a good parent has over his dutiful children: he will bring it to obey his nod without any trouble or difficulty. He will rouse himself, prepare and arm himself, to oppose pain as he would an enemy.
If you inquire what arms he will provide himself with, they will be contention, encouragement, discourse with himself. He will say thus to himself: “Take care that you are guilty of nothing base, languid, or unmanly.” He will turn over in his mind all the different kinds of honor.
Zeno of Elea will occur to him, who suffered everything rather than betray his confederates in the design of putting an end to the tyranny. He will reflect on Anaxarchus, the pupil of Democritus, who, having fallen into the hands of Nicocreon, King of Cyprus, without the least entreaty for mercy or refusal, submitted to every kind of torture. Calanus the Indian will occur to him, an ignorant man and a barbarian, born at the foot of Mount Caucasus, who committed himself to the flames by his own free, voluntary act.
But we, if we have the toothache, or a pain in the foot, or if the body be anyways affected, cannot bear it. For our sentiments of pain as well as pleasure are so trifling and effeminate, we are so enervated and relaxed by luxuries, that we cannot bear the sting of a bee without crying out.
But Gaius Marius, a plain countryman, but of a manly soul, when he had an operation performed on him, as I mentioned above, at first refused to be tied down; and he is the first instance of any one’s having had an operation performed on him without being tied down.
Why, then, did others bear it afterward? Why, from the force of example. You see, then, that pain exists more in opinion than in nature; and yet the same Marius gave a proof that there is something very sharp in pain for he would not submit to have the other thigh cut. So that he bore his pain with resolution as a man; but, like a reasonable person, he was not willing to undergo any greater pain without some necessary reason.
The whole, then, consists in this—that you should have command over yourself. I have already told you what kind of command this is; and by considering what is most consistent with patience, fortitude, and greatness of soul, a man not only restrains himself, but, somehow or other, mitigates even pain itself.
If you inquire what arms he will provide himself with, they will be contention, encouragement, discourse with himself. He will say thus to himself: “Take care that you are guilty of nothing base, languid, or unmanly.” He will turn over in his mind all the different kinds of honor.
Zeno of Elea will occur to him, who suffered everything rather than betray his confederates in the design of putting an end to the tyranny. He will reflect on Anaxarchus, the pupil of Democritus, who, having fallen into the hands of Nicocreon, King of Cyprus, without the least entreaty for mercy or refusal, submitted to every kind of torture. Calanus the Indian will occur to him, an ignorant man and a barbarian, born at the foot of Mount Caucasus, who committed himself to the flames by his own free, voluntary act.
But we, if we have the toothache, or a pain in the foot, or if the body be anyways affected, cannot bear it. For our sentiments of pain as well as pleasure are so trifling and effeminate, we are so enervated and relaxed by luxuries, that we cannot bear the sting of a bee without crying out.
But Gaius Marius, a plain countryman, but of a manly soul, when he had an operation performed on him, as I mentioned above, at first refused to be tied down; and he is the first instance of any one’s having had an operation performed on him without being tied down.
Why, then, did others bear it afterward? Why, from the force of example. You see, then, that pain exists more in opinion than in nature; and yet the same Marius gave a proof that there is something very sharp in pain for he would not submit to have the other thigh cut. So that he bore his pain with resolution as a man; but, like a reasonable person, he was not willing to undergo any greater pain without some necessary reason.
The whole, then, consists in this—that you should have command over yourself. I have already told you what kind of command this is; and by considering what is most consistent with patience, fortitude, and greatness of soul, a man not only restrains himself, but, somehow or other, mitigates even pain itself.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.22
People will regularly tell me it is impossible to be perfect, and I certainly understand why error is built in, so to speak, to the nature of a creature moved by its own free judgments. Yet I wonder if we sometimes use this as an excuse to not strive for constant improvement, and so overlook the fact that the act of coping with mistakes is a very part of building our human perfection.
So maybe the ideal sage isn’t the fellow who never gets it wrong, but rather the fellow who takes up the responsibility of making it right.
My teachers usually taught me that the ability to have authority over others was a mark of greatness, and yet time has taught me that all true greatness comes from first having authority over oneself, from which any other achievements can then proceed.
People will regularly tell me it is impossible to be perfect, and I certainly understand why error is built in, so to speak, to the nature of a creature moved by its own free judgments. Yet I wonder if we sometimes use this as an excuse to not strive for constant improvement, and so overlook the fact that the act of coping with mistakes is a very part of building our human perfection.
So maybe the ideal sage isn’t the fellow who never gets it wrong, but rather the fellow who takes up the responsibility of making it right.
My teachers usually taught me that the ability to have authority over others was a mark of greatness, and yet time has taught me that all true greatness comes from first having authority over oneself, from which any other achievements can then proceed.
If I can put my nagging desires in their place, I am making a start. If I can meet an offense with a smile instead of a harsh word, I am getting the hang of it. If I can turn the pain of my many failures into opportunities for practicing the virtues, I beginning to receive the inner rewards.
When Cicero appeals to the rule of parents and the obedience of children, our modern sensibilities might be offended, for we falsely assume that a command can only be meant as a threat, and that a submission can only result in a denial of self.
When Cicero appeals to the rule of parents and the obedience of children, our modern sensibilities might be offended, for we falsely assume that a command can only be meant as a threat, and that a submission can only result in a denial of self.
That’s a shame, because in the natural order, the greater informs the lesser, and the lesser thereby aspires to the greater. What the adult knows for himself he shares with the youth, who is still developing his capacity to know, and so authority is rightly a form of giving, not a crime of taking away.
The self-mastery Cicero speaks of doesn’t require a toughness of brawny arms and big guns. The strength is rather in the habits of character, where a grasp of the true and the good prevails over the fickleness of impressions. It is a constancy in the soul that bestows the highest honors.
What must I do to achieve this? I am called to continually challenge myself, question myself, debate with myself. If I can keep my thoughts, words, and deeds pure and serene, I will be my own best friend; if I permit myself to be turned around by the slightest breeze, I will become my own worst enemy. The unbroken exercise of conscience is my first calling, rather than a mere afterthought.
The many heroes of history and legend do inspire me, though I must always remember how they are not just distant abstractions, and I can readily find someone like a Gaius Marius right here and now, if I only know to look for the grit instead of the glitter.
The self-mastery Cicero speaks of doesn’t require a toughness of brawny arms and big guns. The strength is rather in the habits of character, where a grasp of the true and the good prevails over the fickleness of impressions. It is a constancy in the soul that bestows the highest honors.
What must I do to achieve this? I am called to continually challenge myself, question myself, debate with myself. If I can keep my thoughts, words, and deeds pure and serene, I will be my own best friend; if I permit myself to be turned around by the slightest breeze, I will become my own worst enemy. The unbroken exercise of conscience is my first calling, rather than a mere afterthought.
The many heroes of history and legend do inspire me, though I must always remember how they are not just distant abstractions, and I can readily find someone like a Gaius Marius right here and now, if I only know to look for the grit instead of the glitter.
The power of providing a good example takes hold when someone else shows me that it can be done, and I am not limited to being told what I should do by an armchair expert.
Indeed, it is remarkable how much I find I am able to bear, once I observe another leading the way. They tell me some athletic achievements were only dreamed of for years and years, and then when one fellow pushed himself beyond the perceived limit, dozens of others quickly followed suit. I believe the moral life is no different, where we help one another by easing the way.
Indeed, it is remarkable how much I find I am able to bear, once I observe another leading the way. They tell me some athletic achievements were only dreamed of for years and years, and then when one fellow pushed himself beyond the perceived limit, dozens of others quickly followed suit. I believe the moral life is no different, where we help one another by easing the way.
I will not take the pain if I don’t have to, but if I have my head screwed on right, I will recognize how the worst part of any pain is in the way I perceive it, and the intensity of the suffering will actually decrease as my awareness of its meaning increases.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
Friday, January 27, 2023
The Wisdom of Solomon 16:1-4
through such creatures,
and were tormented by a multitude of animals.
[2] Instead of this punishment you did show
kindness to your people,
and you did prepare quails to eat,
a delicacy to satisfy the desire of appetite;
[3] in order that those men, when they desired food,
might lose the least remnant of appetite
because of the odious creatures sent to them,
while your people, after suffering want a short time,
might partake of delicacies.
[4] For it was necessary that upon those oppressors
inexorable want should come,
while to these it was merely shown how their
enemies were being tormented.
Thursday, January 26, 2023
The Art of Peace 94
Progress comes
To those who
Train and train;
Reliance on secret techniques
Will get you nowhere.
To those who
Train and train;
Reliance on secret techniques
Will get you nowhere.
Sayings of Ramakrishna 195
So a sinner is sometimes purified by simply resigning himself totally and absolutely to the mercy and grace of God.
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.21
M. Yet this division does not proceed from ignorance; for the soul admits of a twofold division, one of which partakes of reason, the other is without it. When, therefore, we are ordered to give a law to ourselves, the meaning is, that reason should restrain our rashness.
There is in the soul of every man something naturally soft, low, enervated in a manner, and languid. Were there nothing besides this, men would be the greatest of monsters; but there is present to every man reason, which presides over and gives laws to all; which, by improving itself, and making continual advances, becomes perfect virtue.
It behooves a man, then, to take care that reason shall have the command over that part which is bound to practice obedience. “In what manner?” you will say. Why, as a master has over his slave, a general over his army, a father over his son.
If that part of the soul which I have called soft behaves disgracefully, if it gives itself up to lamentations and womanish tears, then let it be restrained, and committed to the care of friends and relations, for we often see those persons brought to order by shame whom no reasons can influence.
Therefore, we should confine those feelings, like our servants, in safe custody, and almost with chains. But those who have more resolution, and yet are not utterly immovable, we should encourage with our exhortations, as we would good soldiers, to recollect themselves, and maintain their honor.
That wisest man of all Greece, in the Niptrae, does not lament too much over his wounds, or, rather, he is moderate in his grief:
“Move slow, my friends; your hasty speed refrain,
Lest by your motion you increase my pain.”
Pacuvius is better in this than Sophocles, for in the one Ulysses bemoans his wounds too vehemently; for the very people who carried him after he was wounded, though his grief was moderate, yet, considering the dignity of the man, did not scruple to say,
“And thou, Ulysses, long to war inured,
Thy wounds, though great, too feebly hast endured.”
The wise poet understood that custom was no contemptible instructor how to bear pain. But the same hero complains with more decency, though in great pain:
“Assist, support me, never leave me so;
Unbind my wounds, oh! execrable woe!”
He begins to give way, but instantly checks himself:
“Away! begone! but cover first the sore;
For your rude hands but make my pains the more.”
Do you observe how he constrains himself? not that his bodily pains were less, but because he checks the anguish of his mind. Therefore, in the conclusion of the Niptrae, he blames others, even when he himself is dying:
“Complaints of fortune may become the man,
None but a woman will thus weeping stand.”
And so that soft place in his soul obeys his reason, just as an abashed soldier does his stern commander.
There is in the soul of every man something naturally soft, low, enervated in a manner, and languid. Were there nothing besides this, men would be the greatest of monsters; but there is present to every man reason, which presides over and gives laws to all; which, by improving itself, and making continual advances, becomes perfect virtue.
It behooves a man, then, to take care that reason shall have the command over that part which is bound to practice obedience. “In what manner?” you will say. Why, as a master has over his slave, a general over his army, a father over his son.
If that part of the soul which I have called soft behaves disgracefully, if it gives itself up to lamentations and womanish tears, then let it be restrained, and committed to the care of friends and relations, for we often see those persons brought to order by shame whom no reasons can influence.
Therefore, we should confine those feelings, like our servants, in safe custody, and almost with chains. But those who have more resolution, and yet are not utterly immovable, we should encourage with our exhortations, as we would good soldiers, to recollect themselves, and maintain their honor.
That wisest man of all Greece, in the Niptrae, does not lament too much over his wounds, or, rather, he is moderate in his grief:
“Move slow, my friends; your hasty speed refrain,
Lest by your motion you increase my pain.”
Pacuvius is better in this than Sophocles, for in the one Ulysses bemoans his wounds too vehemently; for the very people who carried him after he was wounded, though his grief was moderate, yet, considering the dignity of the man, did not scruple to say,
“And thou, Ulysses, long to war inured,
Thy wounds, though great, too feebly hast endured.”
The wise poet understood that custom was no contemptible instructor how to bear pain. But the same hero complains with more decency, though in great pain:
“Assist, support me, never leave me so;
Unbind my wounds, oh! execrable woe!”
He begins to give way, but instantly checks himself:
“Away! begone! but cover first the sore;
For your rude hands but make my pains the more.”
Do you observe how he constrains himself? not that his bodily pains were less, but because he checks the anguish of his mind. Therefore, in the conclusion of the Niptrae, he blames others, even when he himself is dying:
“Complaints of fortune may become the man,
None but a woman will thus weeping stand.”
And so that soft place in his soul obeys his reason, just as an abashed soldier does his stern commander.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.21
It isn’t my place to speculate on what Plato may originally have intended, but I am wary when some of his followers insist upon a strict dualism, which can even come across like Manicheanism, where the soul is good and the body is evil. Instead of separating mind from matter, I suppose I am more interested in discovering how they have been made to work together.
At the same time, few texts have helped me to better understand the relationship between the intellect and the passions than the Platonic dialogues, particularly the various accounts from the Republic, though also some of the arguments in the Phaedo, Meno, Crito, and Pheadrus.
The vivid Chariot Allegory, for example, has done me a world of good, in which the mind as a driver is giving direction to the appetites as two mighty horses. While my aggressive spirit urges me to go this way, my desire for pleasures pulls me in another, and it will be my judgment that permits me to tame them, to discern the proper path. As odd as it may sound, that image has kept me away from heaps of trouble.
The natural order is for my head, the intellect, to command the heart, the irascible appetite, and thereby the gut, the concupiscible appetite. And yes, even as they create a harmony, it remains a matter of authority, of the superior ruling over the inferior.
In an age when the illusion of lazy egalitarianism has become the fashion, such a hierarchy, however benign, seems repugnant to the free thinker. Yet when sound judgments no longer hold sway, the force of the impressions alone will run wild, and we find ourselves in a twisted reversal of the human condition. The gut now takes a hold of the heart, and the heart finally makes a slave of the head.
Plato and Cicero spoke of this perversion long ago, where men become like monsters, and the warning still applies today. The classics are not old—they are perennial.
If I surrender the clarity of my own thinking, then anger tells me to seek revenge over justice, lust tells me to gratify myself without question, and fear tells me to cling to survival at all costs. It will now feel shameful to stand against the crowd, to tolerate any hardship, to restrain my reproach and resentment.
And the way out of this destructive cycle is to rebuild what has been knocked over, to restore the upside down to the right side up. The virtuous man knows why he should not become a libertine.
Upon my first reading of this chapter, I was confused about the references to the Niptrae, which goes to show how little I know about the things I pretend to teach. I went off on a little research adventure, and it turns out that there were a number of different accounts, including plays by Sophocles and Pacuvius, of the death of Odysseus. The quick version is that he was mortally wounded by his own son, Telegonus, with a spear tipped in the venom of a stingray.
Who needs soap operas when you have ancient epics and tragedies?
Now how should Odysseus, or any person of character, face a painful death? The version by Pacuvius had him remain steadfast in his suffering, though it would seem that the version by Sophocles had his litter-bearers question the hero’s demeanor.
Were they perhaps being too critical? Again, Cicero reminds us how pain is all too real, and crying out is no sin, nor is any agony to be dismissed lightly. What matters most is taking control of oneself before the feelings take control of you.
I cannot imagine myself being brave enough not to scream or to weep, so I don’t buy into the claim that real men never shed a tear. A good many will do so, and I have even heard some of them call out for their mothers when the going gets tough. There is the immediate instinct, and then there is the conscious commitment to rise above the circumstances, as fully as is within our power.
The moral excellence of a wise man is not to be confused with the impulsive persistence of an ignorant beast. Moderate the lower while ascending to the higher.
It isn’t my place to speculate on what Plato may originally have intended, but I am wary when some of his followers insist upon a strict dualism, which can even come across like Manicheanism, where the soul is good and the body is evil. Instead of separating mind from matter, I suppose I am more interested in discovering how they have been made to work together.
At the same time, few texts have helped me to better understand the relationship between the intellect and the passions than the Platonic dialogues, particularly the various accounts from the Republic, though also some of the arguments in the Phaedo, Meno, Crito, and Pheadrus.
The vivid Chariot Allegory, for example, has done me a world of good, in which the mind as a driver is giving direction to the appetites as two mighty horses. While my aggressive spirit urges me to go this way, my desire for pleasures pulls me in another, and it will be my judgment that permits me to tame them, to discern the proper path. As odd as it may sound, that image has kept me away from heaps of trouble.
The natural order is for my head, the intellect, to command the heart, the irascible appetite, and thereby the gut, the concupiscible appetite. And yes, even as they create a harmony, it remains a matter of authority, of the superior ruling over the inferior.
In an age when the illusion of lazy egalitarianism has become the fashion, such a hierarchy, however benign, seems repugnant to the free thinker. Yet when sound judgments no longer hold sway, the force of the impressions alone will run wild, and we find ourselves in a twisted reversal of the human condition. The gut now takes a hold of the heart, and the heart finally makes a slave of the head.
Plato and Cicero spoke of this perversion long ago, where men become like monsters, and the warning still applies today. The classics are not old—they are perennial.
If I surrender the clarity of my own thinking, then anger tells me to seek revenge over justice, lust tells me to gratify myself without question, and fear tells me to cling to survival at all costs. It will now feel shameful to stand against the crowd, to tolerate any hardship, to restrain my reproach and resentment.
And the way out of this destructive cycle is to rebuild what has been knocked over, to restore the upside down to the right side up. The virtuous man knows why he should not become a libertine.
Upon my first reading of this chapter, I was confused about the references to the Niptrae, which goes to show how little I know about the things I pretend to teach. I went off on a little research adventure, and it turns out that there were a number of different accounts, including plays by Sophocles and Pacuvius, of the death of Odysseus. The quick version is that he was mortally wounded by his own son, Telegonus, with a spear tipped in the venom of a stingray.
Who needs soap operas when you have ancient epics and tragedies?
Now how should Odysseus, or any person of character, face a painful death? The version by Pacuvius had him remain steadfast in his suffering, though it would seem that the version by Sophocles had his litter-bearers question the hero’s demeanor.
Were they perhaps being too critical? Again, Cicero reminds us how pain is all too real, and crying out is no sin, nor is any agony to be dismissed lightly. What matters most is taking control of oneself before the feelings take control of you.
I cannot imagine myself being brave enough not to scream or to weep, so I don’t buy into the claim that real men never shed a tear. A good many will do so, and I have even heard some of them call out for their mothers when the going gets tough. There is the immediate instinct, and then there is the conscious commitment to rise above the circumstances, as fully as is within our power.
The moral excellence of a wise man is not to be confused with the impulsive persistence of an ignorant beast. Moderate the lower while ascending to the higher.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
Wednesday, January 25, 2023
Epictetus, Golden Sayings 164
Let silence be your general rule; or say only what is necessary and in few words.
We shall, however, when occasion demands, enter into discourse sparingly. avoiding common topics as gladiators, horse races, athletes; and the perpetual talk about food and drink. Above all avoid speaking of persons, either in way of praise or blame, or comparison.
If you can, win over the conversation of your company to what it should be by your own. But if you find yourself cut off without escape among strangers and aliens, be silent.
If you can, win over the conversation of your company to what it should be by your own. But if you find yourself cut off without escape among strangers and aliens, be silent.
Tidbits from Montaigne 50
—Michel de Montaigne, Essays 3.2
IMAGE: Thomas Waterman Wood, When We Were Boys Together (1881)
Tuesday, January 24, 2023
Stoic Snippets 183
And he who does not know for what purpose the world exists, does not know who he is, nor what the world is.
But he who has failed in any one of these things could not even say for what purpose he exists himself.
What then do you think of him who avoids or seeks the praise of those who applaud, of men who know not either where they are or who they are?
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.52
IMAGE: Agostino Musi (after Rosso Fiorentino), Allegory of Death and Fame (1518)
The Labors of Hercules 6
Albrecht Dürer, Hercules Killing the Stymphalian Birds (1500)
Anonymous German, Hercules and the Stymphalian Birds (c. 1600)
Gustave Moreau, Hercules and the Stymphalian Birds (c. 1872)
Gustave Moreau, Hercules at Lake Stymphalos (c. 1880)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.20
M. Will you, when you may observe children at Lacedaemon, and young men at Olympia, and barbarians in the amphitheater, receive the severest wounds, and bear them without once opening their mouths—will you, I say, if any pain should by chance attack you, cry out like a woman? Will you not rather bear it with resolution and constancy? And not cry, “It is intolerable; nature cannot bear it!”
I hear what you say: boys bear this because they are led thereto by glory; some bear it through shame, many through fear, and yet are we afraid that nature cannot bear what is borne by many, and in such different circumstances? Nature not only bears it, but challenges it, for there is nothing with her preferable, nothing which she desires more than credit, and reputation, and praise, and honor, and glory.
I choose here to describe this one thing under many names, and I have used many that you may have the clearer idea of it; for what I mean to say is, that whatever is desirable of itself, proceeding from virtue, or placed in virtue, and commendable on its own account (which I would rather agree to call the only good than deny it to be the chief good) is what men should prefer above all things.
And as we declare this to be the case with respect to honesty, so we speak in the contrary manner of infamy; nothing is so odious, so detestable, nothing so unworthy of a man.
And if you are thoroughly convinced of this (for, at the beginning of this discourse, you allowed that there appeared to you more evil in infamy than in pain), it follows that you ought to have the command over yourself, though I scarcely know how this expression may seem an accurate one, which appears to represent man as made up of two natures, so that one should be in command and the other be subject to it.
I hear what you say: boys bear this because they are led thereto by glory; some bear it through shame, many through fear, and yet are we afraid that nature cannot bear what is borne by many, and in such different circumstances? Nature not only bears it, but challenges it, for there is nothing with her preferable, nothing which she desires more than credit, and reputation, and praise, and honor, and glory.
I choose here to describe this one thing under many names, and I have used many that you may have the clearer idea of it; for what I mean to say is, that whatever is desirable of itself, proceeding from virtue, or placed in virtue, and commendable on its own account (which I would rather agree to call the only good than deny it to be the chief good) is what men should prefer above all things.
And as we declare this to be the case with respect to honesty, so we speak in the contrary manner of infamy; nothing is so odious, so detestable, nothing so unworthy of a man.
And if you are thoroughly convinced of this (for, at the beginning of this discourse, you allowed that there appeared to you more evil in infamy than in pain), it follows that you ought to have the command over yourself, though I scarcely know how this expression may seem an accurate one, which appears to represent man as made up of two natures, so that one should be in command and the other be subject to it.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.20
I am often told I can conquer the world, if only I work hard enough, and yet I hear surprisingly little about conquering myself, if only I stand by my values; the same people who are so confident about becoming rich and famous will suddenly lose their nerve when it comes to mastering their passions.
We have our priorities out of order when we are willing to give anything for wealth or status, but then claim to be incapacitated by fear or lust. I choose to buck the trend by exerting more effort on improving my character than I do on manipulating my circumstances.
The cynical will continue to mock bravery, just as they will mock temperance or chastity; it is best to pity them, for they do not understand how the greatest freedom and joy come from an ownership of one’s thoughts and deeds. Whenever I have managed it, my worries about the whims of fortune seem to recede, because I know a bit more about what I am, and what I am not, about.
The Spartan youth, or the Olympic athlete, or the Roman gladiator are not some extraordinary outliers—they are instances, however dramatically expressed, of the natural human ability for self-rule.
Whatever the degree or the duration of the pain, its significance to me is in my estimation. When I was five, ripping off a Band-Aid or getting a shot seemed like the end of the world. Now that I am older, and hopefully a bit wiser, I should have the awareness to put the prospect of any bodily injury or loss, including that of death itself, in its proper context. Rather than dwelling on how much it will hurt, let my attention be on how I might make the best use of it.
There is always the danger of doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, as when I act with the appearance of courage merely to impress someone, or out of embarrassment, or due to a dread of a greater suffering, but even then, I still display the fact that the pain is not insurmountable. Once I discern my own nature, I grasp why the only unbearable thing is the refusal to bear.
To be deeply conscious of virtue as the highest human good, leaving aside, for the moment, the debate with the Stoics about whether it is the only human good, is the foundation for all other worthy achievements.
I do not usually take well to being scolded or shamed, though when Cicero raises the level of the rhetoric here, he also has the decency to explain why I should seek out a new standard of judgment and action. Please don’t challenge me to “Be a man!” when you won’t take the time to say, “This is what it means to be a man!”
In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna had to present the workings of the whole cosmic order before Arjuna overcame his doubts about going into battle. I may not need quite that much, yet reasoning always remains the best motivator.
I further hesitate when Cicero refers to credit, reputation, praise, honor, and glory, concerned that he is confusing the way we seem with the way we are. I am relieved, therefore, when he relates these many terms back to their rightful measure, the inner merit of the virtues, dignified in and of themselves.
Now it may be misleading to speak as if there are somehow separate and opposed natures working within me, for I am made as one man, and not as two; nevertheless, it can, at the very least, help as an analogy for realizing how my lower functions are meant to be obedient to my higher functions. Place the part within the harmony of the whole.
I am often told I can conquer the world, if only I work hard enough, and yet I hear surprisingly little about conquering myself, if only I stand by my values; the same people who are so confident about becoming rich and famous will suddenly lose their nerve when it comes to mastering their passions.
We have our priorities out of order when we are willing to give anything for wealth or status, but then claim to be incapacitated by fear or lust. I choose to buck the trend by exerting more effort on improving my character than I do on manipulating my circumstances.
The cynical will continue to mock bravery, just as they will mock temperance or chastity; it is best to pity them, for they do not understand how the greatest freedom and joy come from an ownership of one’s thoughts and deeds. Whenever I have managed it, my worries about the whims of fortune seem to recede, because I know a bit more about what I am, and what I am not, about.
The Spartan youth, or the Olympic athlete, or the Roman gladiator are not some extraordinary outliers—they are instances, however dramatically expressed, of the natural human ability for self-rule.
Whatever the degree or the duration of the pain, its significance to me is in my estimation. When I was five, ripping off a Band-Aid or getting a shot seemed like the end of the world. Now that I am older, and hopefully a bit wiser, I should have the awareness to put the prospect of any bodily injury or loss, including that of death itself, in its proper context. Rather than dwelling on how much it will hurt, let my attention be on how I might make the best use of it.
There is always the danger of doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, as when I act with the appearance of courage merely to impress someone, or out of embarrassment, or due to a dread of a greater suffering, but even then, I still display the fact that the pain is not insurmountable. Once I discern my own nature, I grasp why the only unbearable thing is the refusal to bear.
To be deeply conscious of virtue as the highest human good, leaving aside, for the moment, the debate with the Stoics about whether it is the only human good, is the foundation for all other worthy achievements.
I do not usually take well to being scolded or shamed, though when Cicero raises the level of the rhetoric here, he also has the decency to explain why I should seek out a new standard of judgment and action. Please don’t challenge me to “Be a man!” when you won’t take the time to say, “This is what it means to be a man!”
In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna had to present the workings of the whole cosmic order before Arjuna overcame his doubts about going into battle. I may not need quite that much, yet reasoning always remains the best motivator.
I further hesitate when Cicero refers to credit, reputation, praise, honor, and glory, concerned that he is confusing the way we seem with the way we are. I am relieved, therefore, when he relates these many terms back to their rightful measure, the inner merit of the virtues, dignified in and of themselves.
Now it may be misleading to speak as if there are somehow separate and opposed natures working within me, for I am made as one man, and not as two; nevertheless, it can, at the very least, help as an analogy for realizing how my lower functions are meant to be obedient to my higher functions. Place the part within the harmony of the whole.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGE: Jean-Simon Berthelemy, Death of a Gladiator (1773)
Monday, January 23, 2023
Sunday, January 22, 2023
Aesop's Fables 62
Once upon a time there was a Miser who used to hide his gold at the foot of a tree in his garden; but every week he used to go and dig it up and gloat over his gains.
A robber, who had noticed this, went and dug up the gold and decamped with it. When the Miser next came to gloat over his treasures, he found nothing but the empty hole.
He tore his hair, and raised such an outcry that all the neighbors came around him, and he told them how he used to come and visit his gold.
"Did you ever take any of it out?" asked one of them.
"Nay," said he, "I only came to look at it."
"Then come again and look at the hole," said a neighbor; "it will do you just as much good."
Wealth unused might as well not exist.
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Dhammapada 290
If by leaving a small pleasure one sees a great pleasure, let a wise man leave the small pleasure, and look to the great.
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.19
M. You may inquire, perhaps, how? And such an inquiry is not amiss, for philosophy is ready with her assistance.
Epicurus offers himself to you, a man far from a bad—or, I should rather say, a very good man: he advises no more than he knows. “Despise pain,” says he. Who is it says this? Is it the same man who calls pain the greatest of all evils? It is not, indeed, very consistent in him. Let us hear what he says: “If the pain is excessive, it must needs be short.”
I must have that over again, for I do not apprehend what you mean exactly by “excessive” or “short.” That is excessive than which nothing can be greater; that is short than which nothing is shorter. I do not regard the greatness of any pain from which, by reason of the shortness of its continuance, I shall be delivered almost before it reaches me.
But if the pain be as great as that of Philoctetes, it will appear great indeed to me, but yet not the greatest that I am capable of bearing; for the pain is confined to my foot. But my eye may pain me, I may have a pain in the head, or sides, or lungs, or in every part of me. It is far, then, from being excessive. Therefore, says he, pain of a long continuance has more pleasure in it than uneasiness.
Now, I cannot bring myself to say so great a man talks nonsense; but I imagine he is laughing at us. My opinion is that the greatest pain (I say the greatest, though it may be ten atoms less than another) is not therefore short, because it is acute. I could name to you a great many good men who have been tormented many years with the acutest pains of the gout.
But this cautious man does not determine the measure of that greatness or of duration, so as to enable us to know what he calls excessive with regard to pain, or short with respect to its continuance.
Let us pass him by, then, as one who says just nothing at all; and let us force him to acknowledge, notwithstanding he might behave himself somewhat boldly under his colic and his strangury, that no remedy against pain can be had from him who looks on pain as the greatest of all evils.
We must apply, then, for relief elsewhere, and nowhere better (if we seek for what is most consistent with itself) than to those who place the chief good in honesty, and the greatest evil in infamy. You dare not so much as groan, or discover the least uneasiness in their company, for virtue itself speaks to you through them.
Epicurus offers himself to you, a man far from a bad—or, I should rather say, a very good man: he advises no more than he knows. “Despise pain,” says he. Who is it says this? Is it the same man who calls pain the greatest of all evils? It is not, indeed, very consistent in him. Let us hear what he says: “If the pain is excessive, it must needs be short.”
I must have that over again, for I do not apprehend what you mean exactly by “excessive” or “short.” That is excessive than which nothing can be greater; that is short than which nothing is shorter. I do not regard the greatness of any pain from which, by reason of the shortness of its continuance, I shall be delivered almost before it reaches me.
But if the pain be as great as that of Philoctetes, it will appear great indeed to me, but yet not the greatest that I am capable of bearing; for the pain is confined to my foot. But my eye may pain me, I may have a pain in the head, or sides, or lungs, or in every part of me. It is far, then, from being excessive. Therefore, says he, pain of a long continuance has more pleasure in it than uneasiness.
Now, I cannot bring myself to say so great a man talks nonsense; but I imagine he is laughing at us. My opinion is that the greatest pain (I say the greatest, though it may be ten atoms less than another) is not therefore short, because it is acute. I could name to you a great many good men who have been tormented many years with the acutest pains of the gout.
But this cautious man does not determine the measure of that greatness or of duration, so as to enable us to know what he calls excessive with regard to pain, or short with respect to its continuance.
Let us pass him by, then, as one who says just nothing at all; and let us force him to acknowledge, notwithstanding he might behave himself somewhat boldly under his colic and his strangury, that no remedy against pain can be had from him who looks on pain as the greatest of all evils.
We must apply, then, for relief elsewhere, and nowhere better (if we seek for what is most consistent with itself) than to those who place the chief good in honesty, and the greatest evil in infamy. You dare not so much as groan, or discover the least uneasiness in their company, for virtue itself speaks to you through them.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.19
To despise death and pain in favor of the exercise of the virtues? I will not scoff if you say it is easier said than done, because many will talk the talk, in the hope of winning fame, while few will walk the walk, in the hope of forming character.
Yet I do believe that every one of us, peculiar to our own circumstances and abilities, is gifted with this capacity, for the power to choose what is right, especially when it faces the tendency to defer to what is convenient, is at the core of our human identity. As overwhelming it at first appears, living with a conscience is the very fulfillment of our nature, and therefore the only road to happiness.
The values I begin with point the way to where I will end up. If I assume that pleasure alone is the goal, and pain to be avoided at any cost, I have bound myself to slavery. If I look to the merits of my actions, however, I have the chance to stand on conviction, and there is absolutely no one able to stop me from doing so.
I remain intrigued by the way Cicero places himself between the Epicurean and the Stoic, even as I sense him having far more in common with the latter than with the former. Regardless of his own position, Cicero proves the priority of virtue by recognizing and praising the decency of those he happens to disagree with.
I know some who would condemn the Epicurean as a hedonist, though I suspect they have never bothered to read from the school with any care. I know others who would condemn the Stoic as cold and heartless, though I suspect they are not inclined to thinking in subtleties. Find what is good, and leave the rest, without casting aspersion.
And so with all due respect, the bit from Epicurus that Cicero, as well as I, must pass over is the insistence upon the appetites as the ultimate standards. As Cicero points out, once I make pleasure the greatest good, and pain the greatest evil, it is impossible to then claim that I should take no heed of pain, or to claim that the worst pains are bearable, simply on account of being temporary.
No, I would prefer to whitewash it that way, but I have found the most agonizing pains to be precisely those that go one and on, with no seeming end in sight. And at the same time, those were the pains that did the best for me, by calling me to be something better—to a change of attitude, not to a pursuit of some opposing gratification.
“I don’t think she satisfies me enough, so I’ll try somewhere else.” My friend, you have just dug your own grave.
I have now spent a number of years in the company of the Black Dog, and I know, in the most practical way possible, that I cannot live the lie of hoping it will “feel better tomorrow”. Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t. It always comes back. And drugs, prescribed or otherwise, don’t help.
Can’t I at least expect it to kill me soon, and put me out of my misery? Not at all; observe, once again, the intense suffering of Philoctetes, who in body struggled with a festering wound that would not heal, and in mind struggled with being rejected by all his companions, for a whole decade. His bitterness was understandable, while beyond that his integrity was extraordinary.
When, like the Epicurean, I start and stop with the passions, literally feelings that come to me, I am at the mercy of what everyone else happens to do. Emotion expresses the reality, yet it does not determine the significance of the reality—it’s my own judgments that will do that.
The relief from hardship is in the direction offered by awareness, and there can be no peace in fleeing to illusions. Feelings, without first committing to principles, simply won’t cut it.
To despise death and pain in favor of the exercise of the virtues? I will not scoff if you say it is easier said than done, because many will talk the talk, in the hope of winning fame, while few will walk the walk, in the hope of forming character.
Yet I do believe that every one of us, peculiar to our own circumstances and abilities, is gifted with this capacity, for the power to choose what is right, especially when it faces the tendency to defer to what is convenient, is at the core of our human identity. As overwhelming it at first appears, living with a conscience is the very fulfillment of our nature, and therefore the only road to happiness.
The values I begin with point the way to where I will end up. If I assume that pleasure alone is the goal, and pain to be avoided at any cost, I have bound myself to slavery. If I look to the merits of my actions, however, I have the chance to stand on conviction, and there is absolutely no one able to stop me from doing so.
I remain intrigued by the way Cicero places himself between the Epicurean and the Stoic, even as I sense him having far more in common with the latter than with the former. Regardless of his own position, Cicero proves the priority of virtue by recognizing and praising the decency of those he happens to disagree with.
I know some who would condemn the Epicurean as a hedonist, though I suspect they have never bothered to read from the school with any care. I know others who would condemn the Stoic as cold and heartless, though I suspect they are not inclined to thinking in subtleties. Find what is good, and leave the rest, without casting aspersion.
And so with all due respect, the bit from Epicurus that Cicero, as well as I, must pass over is the insistence upon the appetites as the ultimate standards. As Cicero points out, once I make pleasure the greatest good, and pain the greatest evil, it is impossible to then claim that I should take no heed of pain, or to claim that the worst pains are bearable, simply on account of being temporary.
No, I would prefer to whitewash it that way, but I have found the most agonizing pains to be precisely those that go one and on, with no seeming end in sight. And at the same time, those were the pains that did the best for me, by calling me to be something better—to a change of attitude, not to a pursuit of some opposing gratification.
“I don’t think she satisfies me enough, so I’ll try somewhere else.” My friend, you have just dug your own grave.
I have now spent a number of years in the company of the Black Dog, and I know, in the most practical way possible, that I cannot live the lie of hoping it will “feel better tomorrow”. Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t. It always comes back. And drugs, prescribed or otherwise, don’t help.
Can’t I at least expect it to kill me soon, and put me out of my misery? Not at all; observe, once again, the intense suffering of Philoctetes, who in body struggled with a festering wound that would not heal, and in mind struggled with being rejected by all his companions, for a whole decade. His bitterness was understandable, while beyond that his integrity was extraordinary.
When, like the Epicurean, I start and stop with the passions, literally feelings that come to me, I am at the mercy of what everyone else happens to do. Emotion expresses the reality, yet it does not determine the significance of the reality—it’s my own judgments that will do that.
The relief from hardship is in the direction offered by awareness, and there can be no peace in fleeing to illusions. Feelings, without first committing to principles, simply won’t cut it.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGE: Guillaume Guillon-Lethiere, Philoctetes on the Island of Lemnos (1798)
