Harmen Steenwijck, Vanitas Still Life with Skull, Books, Flute, and Pipe (c. 1630)
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Thursday, February 29, 2024
Wednesday, February 28, 2024
Tuesday, February 27, 2024
Monday, February 26, 2024
Stoic Snippets 231
Consider what men are when they are eating, sleeping, generating, easing themselves, and so forth.
Then what kind of men they are when they are imperious and arrogant, or angry and scolding from their elevated place.
But a short time ago to how many they were slaves and for what things; and after a little time consider in what a condition they will be.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.19
IMAGE: Peter Paul Rubens, A Roman Triumph (c. 1630)
Justus Lipsius, On Constancy 1.2
That traveling into foreign countries is not available against the inward maladies of the mind: that it is a testimony of them but not a remedy against them, except only in slight and first motions of the affection.
Langius beckoning somewhat with his head, "I hear you, Lipsius, but I had rather you would hearken to the voice of wisdom and reason. For these mists and clouds that thus compass you, do proceed from the smoke of opinions. Wherefore, I say with Diogenes, you have more need of reason than of a rope. That bright beam of reason, I mean, which may illuminate the obscurity of your brain.
"Behold, you forsake your country: tell me in good sooth, in forsaking it, can you forsake yourself also? See that the contrary not fall out: and that whithersoever you go, you carry not in your breast the fountain and food of your own grief.
"As they that be holden with a fever, do toss and turn themselves unquietly, and often change their beds through a vain hope of remedy: in like case are we, who being sick in our minds do without any fruit wander from one country to another. This is indeed to bewray our grief, but not to allay it. To discover this inward flame, but not to quench it: very fitly said that wise Roman, Seneca:
It is proper to a sick person not to suffer anything long, but to use mutations instead of medicines: Hereof proceed wandering peregrinations, and walkings on sundry shores: and our inconstancy, always loathing things present, one while will be upon the sea, and incontinent desires the land.
"Therefore you fly from troubles always, but never escape them, not unlike the hind that Virgil speaks of:
Whom ranging through the chase, some hunter shooting far by chance
All unaware has smit, and in her side has left his lance,
She fast to wilderness and woods does draw, and there complains,
"But all in vain: because as the poet adds,
That underneath her ribs the deadly dart remains.
"So that you are wounded with this dart of affections, do not shake it out, but in traveling carry it with you to another place. He that has broken his thigh or his arm, is not inclined, I think, to go on horseback or into his chariot, but to a surgeon. And what madness is this in you, to seek remedy of this inward wound by motion and trudging from place to place?
"It is the mind that is wounded, and all this external imbecility, despair, and languishing, spring from this fountain, that the mind is thus prostrated and cast down. The principal and sovereign part has let the scepter fall and is become so vile and abject that it willingly serves its own servants.
"Tell me, what can any place or peregrination work in this case? Except perhaps there be some region in the world which can bring order of out fear, bridle hope, and draw out these evil dregs of vice, which we have sucked from our infancy. But none such is there, no not in the fortunate Islands: or if there be, show it unto us, and we will all hasten thither in troupes.
"But you will say that mutation and change itself has that force in it: And that the daily beholding of strange fashions, men, and places do refresh and lighten the mind loaded with oppressions.
"No, Lipsius, you are deceived. For, to tell you the truth plainly, I do not so much derogate from peregrination and traveling as though it bare no sway over men and their affections: Yes verily it avails, but yet thus far to the expelling of some small tediousness and weariness of our minds, not to the curing of maladies rooted so deeply, as that these external medicines cannot pluck them out.
"Music, wine, and sleep have oftentimes quenched the first enkindled sparks of anger, sorrow, and love: but never weeded out any settled or deep rooted grief. Likewise I say, that traveling might perhaps cure superficial scars, but not substantial sores. For these first motions having their original from the body do stick in the body or at the most do but cleave to the outer limit of the mind, as a man may say.
"And therefore no marvel is it, through though with a sponge they be lightly washed away: otherwise it is of old festered affections, which hold their seat, yea, and scepter in the castle of the mind.
"When you have gone far, and wandered every sea and shore, you shall neither drown them in the deep sea, nor bury them in the bowels of the earth. They will follow you at an inch: and, as the poet says, foul care will sit close in the skirts of footman and horseman.
"One demanded of Socrates how it came to pass that his traveling did him no good. 'Because,' said he, 'you forsook not your self.' So say I, that wherever you flee, you carry with you a corrupt mind, no good companion. And would to God it were but as your companion, I fear lest he be your captain, in that your affections follow not you, but you them."
Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.4
You will see that those who play ball with skill behave so. No one of them discusses whether the ball is good or bad, but only how to strike it and how to receive it.
Therefore, balanced play consists in this—skill, speed, good judgement consist in this—that while I cannot catch the ball, even if I spread my gown for it, the expert catches it if I throw it.
But if we catch or strike the ball with flurry or fear, what is the good of the game? How will anyone stick to the game and see how it works out?
One will say, “Strike”, and another, “Do not strike”, and another, “You have had one stroke.” This surely is fighting instead of playing.
Therefore, balanced play consists in this—skill, speed, good judgement consist in this—that while I cannot catch the ball, even if I spread my gown for it, the expert catches it if I throw it.
But if we catch or strike the ball with flurry or fear, what is the good of the game? How will anyone stick to the game and see how it works out?
One will say, “Strike”, and another, “Do not strike”, and another, “You have had one stroke.” This surely is fighting instead of playing.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5
I unfortunately did not pay much attention to this section on a first reading, since any reference to ball games instinctively brings to mind the sort of cruelty I remember from the school playground. It did not occur to me how my painful experience was just as applicable to the lesson, for dealing with bad sportsmanship can be a powerful aid in aiming for good sportsmanship.
It was a reference to this passage by James Stockdale that encouraged me to reconsider the analogy, and I’m awfully glad I did, because players with a bad attitude shouldn’t have to ruin it for the rest of us. Many of us will surely recall the pack of thugs who used any sport as an opportunity to puff out their chests, and as an excuse for their rage.
Despite all the bickering and cursing that may take place on the field or the court, it is never about where the ball ends up, but rather about how we choose to go about playing the game. The ball itself is merely an instrument for the action, and it ceases to have any significance once the match is complete. It becomes the medium, so to speak, through which we exercise our own skills; there is no good or bad in it, only in the way the participants make good or bad use of it.
The skilled and thoughtful player also learns how to distinguish between what he is capable of for himself, and what, in turn, depends on the proficiency of either his teammates or his opponents. He knows his place, and he knows his limits, and he knows how to work with the other conditions on the field. He becomes an expert in observation and cooperation as he hones his own abilities.
And so it is with the circumstances of our lives, where a life of serenity demands the prudence to discern what is within our power from what is beyond our power. The balance of the good life only becomes possible when we realize what is our own, and what belongs to another; anything less leads to the sort of pointless conflict that characterizes the life of the bully or the bellyacher.
I think it no accident that the way a man plays a game is so often an indicator of how he manages his other affairs in the real world. Does he constantly argue, complain, and cast blame, or does he simply do his best, while never ceasing to give due respect to both his allies and his rivals? How a man defines winning and losing applies equally in the little things and in the big things.
I unfortunately did not pay much attention to this section on a first reading, since any reference to ball games instinctively brings to mind the sort of cruelty I remember from the school playground. It did not occur to me how my painful experience was just as applicable to the lesson, for dealing with bad sportsmanship can be a powerful aid in aiming for good sportsmanship.
It was a reference to this passage by James Stockdale that encouraged me to reconsider the analogy, and I’m awfully glad I did, because players with a bad attitude shouldn’t have to ruin it for the rest of us. Many of us will surely recall the pack of thugs who used any sport as an opportunity to puff out their chests, and as an excuse for their rage.
Despite all the bickering and cursing that may take place on the field or the court, it is never about where the ball ends up, but rather about how we choose to go about playing the game. The ball itself is merely an instrument for the action, and it ceases to have any significance once the match is complete. It becomes the medium, so to speak, through which we exercise our own skills; there is no good or bad in it, only in the way the participants make good or bad use of it.
The skilled and thoughtful player also learns how to distinguish between what he is capable of for himself, and what, in turn, depends on the proficiency of either his teammates or his opponents. He knows his place, and he knows his limits, and he knows how to work with the other conditions on the field. He becomes an expert in observation and cooperation as he hones his own abilities.
And so it is with the circumstances of our lives, where a life of serenity demands the prudence to discern what is within our power from what is beyond our power. The balance of the good life only becomes possible when we realize what is our own, and what belongs to another; anything less leads to the sort of pointless conflict that characterizes the life of the bully or the bellyacher.
I think it no accident that the way a man plays a game is so often an indicator of how he manages his other affairs in the real world. Does he constantly argue, complain, and cast blame, or does he simply do his best, while never ceasing to give due respect to both his allies and his rivals? How a man defines winning and losing applies equally in the little things and in the big things.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
Sunday, February 25, 2024
Saturday, February 24, 2024
Dhammapada 364
He who dwells in the law, delights in the law, meditates on the law, follows the law, that Bhikshu will never fall away from the true law.
Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.3
We act very much as if we were on a voyage. What can I do? I can choose out the helmsman, the sailors, the day, the moment. Then a storm arises. What do I care? I have fulfilled my task: another has now to act, the helmsman.
Suppose even the ship goes down. What have I to do then? I do only what lies in my power, drowning, if drown I must, without fear, not crying out or accusing heaven, for I know that what is born must needs also perish.
For I am not immortal, but a man, a part of the Universe as an hour is part of the day. Like the hour I must be here and like an hour pass away. What matters it then to me how I pass, by drowning or by fever, for by some such means I must needs pass away?
Suppose even the ship goes down. What have I to do then? I do only what lies in my power, drowning, if drown I must, without fear, not crying out or accusing heaven, for I know that what is born must needs also perish.
For I am not immortal, but a man, a part of the Universe as an hour is part of the day. Like the hour I must be here and like an hour pass away. What matters it then to me how I pass, by drowning or by fever, for by some such means I must needs pass away?
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5
I suppose one can speak of Stoicism as a sort of “fatalism”, at least in a broad sense, and yet I would argue that there are far too many negative associations to such a term. Yes, while the Universe will proceed precisely as it will, and nothing can ever be outside the rule of Providence, this need not deny us our own freedom, or refuse us a role in how that plan is supposed to unfold. Our own contribution is not contrary to the grand design, but already contained within it.
To rightly distinguish what is within my power and what is outside of my power is thereby both humbling and liberating. On the one hand I learn how small and weak I really am, and on the other hand I stand in awe at how I still fit into the whole. I think of a single musician in a vast orchestra, whose choice to play his part well is just as significant to the piece as the efforts of any other performer.
If it is something that Nature gives me to control, let me completely commit myself to acting with excellence. If it is something that Nature intends to decide on her own terms, let me gladly accept whatever she has offered. What may initially appear as a conflict is resolved through a cooperation, an awareness of why my responsibility is meant to exist in a harmony.
Epictetus has a knack for picking examples that make me feel uncomfortable, though I imagine that’s the whole point, to knock us out of our old assumptions into a new insight about our priorities. I have an instinctive dread of water, and so the prospect of drowning on a sea voyage, totally helpless in the face of the ocean’s might, gives me the willies. I know other people who have similar anxieties about plane crashes and car wrecks.
And the more I honestly reflect upon my fear, the more I realize it is a consequence of flighty impressions, not of sound judgments. My actions are my own, even as the circumstances march to the beat of their own drum, and my confusion of the one with the other has already been a source of too much grief.
“What can I do?” That phrase may sound defeatist to some, but I can just as easily perceive it as a call to arms. There are times when I will feel, pleasure, and there are times when I will feel pain. Having been born to live, I am also destined to die. I am left to decide whether I will treat these occasions as blessings or as curses, and that is hardly an insignificant task.
As odd as it sounds, I am relieved to hear how the possibility of drowning or disease isn’t the problem, and that I should focus on how well I have prepared myself to cope with them. That is something I can manage, because that is something I own.
I suppose one can speak of Stoicism as a sort of “fatalism”, at least in a broad sense, and yet I would argue that there are far too many negative associations to such a term. Yes, while the Universe will proceed precisely as it will, and nothing can ever be outside the rule of Providence, this need not deny us our own freedom, or refuse us a role in how that plan is supposed to unfold. Our own contribution is not contrary to the grand design, but already contained within it.
To rightly distinguish what is within my power and what is outside of my power is thereby both humbling and liberating. On the one hand I learn how small and weak I really am, and on the other hand I stand in awe at how I still fit into the whole. I think of a single musician in a vast orchestra, whose choice to play his part well is just as significant to the piece as the efforts of any other performer.
If it is something that Nature gives me to control, let me completely commit myself to acting with excellence. If it is something that Nature intends to decide on her own terms, let me gladly accept whatever she has offered. What may initially appear as a conflict is resolved through a cooperation, an awareness of why my responsibility is meant to exist in a harmony.
Epictetus has a knack for picking examples that make me feel uncomfortable, though I imagine that’s the whole point, to knock us out of our old assumptions into a new insight about our priorities. I have an instinctive dread of water, and so the prospect of drowning on a sea voyage, totally helpless in the face of the ocean’s might, gives me the willies. I know other people who have similar anxieties about plane crashes and car wrecks.
And the more I honestly reflect upon my fear, the more I realize it is a consequence of flighty impressions, not of sound judgments. My actions are my own, even as the circumstances march to the beat of their own drum, and my confusion of the one with the other has already been a source of too much grief.
“What can I do?” That phrase may sound defeatist to some, but I can just as easily perceive it as a call to arms. There are times when I will feel, pleasure, and there are times when I will feel pain. Having been born to live, I am also destined to die. I am left to decide whether I will treat these occasions as blessings or as curses, and that is hardly an insignificant task.
As odd as it sounds, I am relieved to hear how the possibility of drowning or disease isn’t the problem, and that I should focus on how well I have prepared myself to cope with them. That is something I can manage, because that is something I own.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
IMAGE: Ivan Aivazovsky, Wave (1889)
Friday, February 23, 2024
Stoic Snippets 230
No longer talk at all about the kind of man that a good man ought to be, but be such.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.16
IMAGE: Rembrandt, Landscape with the Good Samaritan (1638)
Thursday, February 22, 2024
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Wednesday, February 21, 2024
Chuang Tzu 5.2
Shan-thû Kiâ was another man who had lost his feet. Along with Tsze-khân of Kang he studied under the master Po-hwan Wû-zan.
Tsze-khân said to him one day, "If I go out first, do you remain behind; and if you go out first, I will remain behind."
Next day they were again sitting together on the same mat in the hall, when Tsze-khân spoke the same words to him, adding, "Now I am about to go out; will you stay behind or not? Moreover, when you see one of official rank like myself, you do not try to get out of his way—do you consider yourself equal to one of official rank?"
Shan-thû Kiâ replied, "In our Master's school is there indeed such recognition required of official rank? You are one, Sir, whose pleasure is in your official rank, and would therefore take precedence of other men.
"I have heard that when a mirror is bright, the dust does not rest on it; when dust rests on it the mirror is not bright. When one dwells long with a man of ability and virtue, he comes to be without error.
"There now is our teacher whom you have chosen to make you greater than you are; and when you still talk in this way, are you not in error?"
Tsze-khan rejoined, "A shattered object as you are, you would still strive to make yourself out as good as Yâo! If I may form an estimate of your virtue, might it not be sufficient to lead you to the examination of yourself?"
The other said, "Most criminals, in describing their offenses, would make it out that they ought not to have lost their feet for them; few would describe them so as to make it appear that they should not have preserved their feet. They are only the virtuous who know that such a calamity was unavoidable, and therefore rest in it as what was appointed for them.
"When men stand before an archer, like Yi, with his bent bow, if they are in the middle of his field, that is the place where they should be hit; and if they be not hit, that also was appointed.
"There are many with their feet entire who laugh at me because I have lost my feet, which makes me feel vexed and angry. But when I go to our teacher, I throw off that feeling, and return to a better mood— he has washed, without my knowing it, the other from me by his instructions in what is good. I have attended him now for nineteen years, and have not known that I am without my feet.
"Now, you, Sir, and I have for the object of our study the virtue which is internal, and not an adjunct of the body, and yet you are continually directing your attention to my external body—are you not wrong in this?"
Tsze-khân felt uneasy, altered his manner and looks, and said, "You need not, Sir, say anything more about it."
Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.2
“Do you mean then that outward things are to be used without care?”
By no means. For this again is evil for the will and unnatural to it. They must be used with care, for their use is not a matter of indifference, but at the same time with constancy and tranquility, for in themselves they are indifferent.
For where the true value of things is concerned, no one can hinder or compel me. I am subject to hindrance and compulsion only in matters which lie out of my power to win, which are neither good nor evil, but they may be dealt with well or ill, and this rests with me.
It is difficult to unite and combine these qualities—the diligence of a man who devotes himself to material things, and the constancy of one who disregards them—yet not impossible. Otherwise, it would be impossible to be happy.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5
Here is a great danger, of taking a Stoic “indifference” to mean that I should have no concern about the outside world, or that I should withdraw into myself and be reckless about the consequences of my deeds. If it’s all about my thoughts, why not forget the outcome?
The false dichotomies must cease. There is no conflict between my needs and your needs. There is no opposition between intention and action. What Nature asks of me on the inside must be expressed with total integrity on the outside.
I must start from the interior, and work to the exterior. I am unfortunately accustomed to the reverse, the monstrous concept that I must conform, that I must follow, that I must obey the man with the biggest muscles, or the finest credentials, or the thickest wallet.
Where there is a sound mind and a brave heart, there will also be an impeccable commitment to living with virtue—by their fruits shall you know them. Don’t trust the fellow who speaks well, trust the fellow who does well, and strive to share what is good within yourself with those around you.
The error is in thinking that being indifferent means not caring at all, when for the Stoic it is rather a matter of how and why we should care.
The essential task of being human demands the formation of character, and to that end, all other conditions, however convenient or inconvenient, must be measured according to this standard. While all things have their own innate goodness, when I approach my own relationship to them, I am called to consider how I can employ them for the increase of my virtues, and for the decrease of my vices. Everything else is relative.
With such a standard constantly in mind, I need no longer be ruled by my circumstances, but I can be confident in my ability to act rightly, whatever may happen. When I have acted in good conscience, I can then also be certain that, by playing my own part, I have contributed to the harmony and the balance of the whole.
As Epictetus says, this makes for quite the challenge, since it requires both the devotion of a man of principle and the alertness of a man of the world. Yet it becomes possible by following through on our priorities, from the purity within to the justice without.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
IMAGE: Jan van den Hoecke, Hercules Between Virtue and Vice (c. 1650)
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Tuesday, February 20, 2024
Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 27
Being short of money, Diogenes told his friends that he applied to them not for alms, but for repayment of his due.
When behaving indecently in the marketplace, he wished it were as easy to relieve hunger by rubbing an empty stomach.
Seeing a youth starting off to dine with satraps, he dragged him off, took him to his friends and bade them keep strict watch over him.
When a youth effeminately attired put a question to him, he declined to answer unless he pulled up his robe and showed whether he was man or woman.
A youth was playing kottabos in the baths. Diogenes said to him, "The better you play, the worse it is for you."
At a feast certain people kept throwing all the bones to him as they would have done to a dog. Thereupon he played a dog's trick and drenched them.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.46
Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 67
To benefit is to set in motion or sustain in accordance with virtue; whereas to harm is to set in motion or sustain in accordance with vice.
The term "indifferent" has two meanings: in the first it denotes the things which do not contribute either to happiness or to misery, as wealth, fame, health, strength, and the like; for it is possible to be happy without having these, although, if they are used in a certain way, such use of them tends to happiness or misery.
In quite another sense those things are said to be indifferent which are without the power of stirring inclination or aversion; for example, the fact that the number of hairs on one's head is odd or even, or whether you hold out your finger straight or bent.
But it was not in this sense that the things mentioned above were termed indifferent, they being quite capable of exciting inclination or aversion.
Hence of these latter some are taken by preference, others are rejected, whereas indifference in the other sense affords no ground for either choosing or avoiding.
Of things indifferent, as they express it, some are "preferred," others "rejected." Such as have value, they say, are "preferred," while such as have negative, instead of positive, value are "rejected."
Value they define as, first, any contribution to harmonious living, such as attaches to every good.
Secondly, some faculty or use which indirectly contributes to the life according to nature: which is as much as to say "any assistance brought by wealth or health towards living a natural life".
Thirdly, value is the full equivalent of an appraiser, as fixed by an expert acquainted with the facts – as when it is said that wheat exchanges for so much barley with a mule thrown in.
Thus things of the preferred class are those which have positive value, for example among mental qualities, natural ability, skill, moral improvement, and the like.
Among bodily qualities, life, health, strength, good condition, soundness of organs, beauty, and so forth.
And in the sphere of external things, wealth, fame, noble birth, and the like.
To the class of things "rejected" belong, of mental qualities, lack of ability, want of skill, and the like.
Among bodily qualities, death, disease, weakness, being out of condition, mutilation, ugliness, and the like.
In the sphere of external things, poverty, ignominy, low birth, and so forth.
But again, there are things belonging to neither class; such are not preferred, neither are they rejected.
Again, of things preferred some are preferred for their own sake, some for the sake of something else, and others again both for their own sake and for the sake of something else.
To the first of these classes belong natural ability, moral improvement, and the like; to the second wealth, noble birth, and the like.
To the last strength, perfect faculties, soundness of bodily organs.
Things are preferred for their own sake because they accord with nature; not for their own sake, but for the sake of something else, because they secure not a few utilities. And similarly with the class of things rejected under the contrary heads.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.104-107
IMAGE: Friedrich Friedländer, A Difficult Decision (c. 1870)
Monday, February 19, 2024
Maxims of Goethe 36
Is not the world full enough of riddles already, without our making riddles too out of the simplest phenomena?
IMAGE: Gabriel von Max, The Scholars (c. 1890)
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Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.1
Chapter 5: How a careful life is compatible with a noble spirit.
Material things are indifferent, but how we handle them is not indifferent.
How then is one to maintain the constant and tranquil mind, and. therewith the careful spirit which is not random or hasty?
You can do it if you imitate those who play dice. Counters and dice are indifferent: how do I know what is going to turn up? My business is to use what does turn up with diligence and skill.
In like manner this is the principal business of life: distinguish between things, weigh them one against the other, and say, “External things are not in my power, my will is my own. Where am I to seek what is good and what is evil? Within me, among my own possessions.”
You must never use the word good or evil or benefit or injury or any such word, in connection with other men's possessions.
Material things are indifferent, but how we handle them is not indifferent.
How then is one to maintain the constant and tranquil mind, and. therewith the careful spirit which is not random or hasty?
You can do it if you imitate those who play dice. Counters and dice are indifferent: how do I know what is going to turn up? My business is to use what does turn up with diligence and skill.
In like manner this is the principal business of life: distinguish between things, weigh them one against the other, and say, “External things are not in my power, my will is my own. Where am I to seek what is good and what is evil? Within me, among my own possessions.”
You must never use the word good or evil or benefit or injury or any such word, in connection with other men's possessions.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5
Most people I meet will, as if by default, assume that the value of their lives is measured by the arrangement of their circumstances. They do not do so because they are somehow wicked or dim-witted, but rather because they have been told, time and time again, to define their worth by their pleasures, their positions, and their properties.
Who but the demigod, or perhaps the hermit, could possibly resist the incessant pressure of his peers?
And yet I also find that most people, given the genuine opportunity to reflect on their own nature, are quite open to the argument that human dignity must be in what we do, not in what is done to us. Where they then stumble, however, is in following through on the insight; the old habits die hard, and the commitment will demand making radical changes.
Who of us has the moxie to put the theory into practice?
So when Epictetus says that our worldly conditions are indifferent, in themselves neither good nor bad for us, and that they only become good or bad for us through our estimation of them, the spirit may be willing, but the flesh remains weak. We need all the help we can get to strengthen our resolve. The prize of serenity is surely worth the effort.
Now I am not a gambler, but I can certainly appreciate how a roll of the dice is symbolic of life’s many gives and takes. While it is not within my power to determine the toss, it is completely within my power to decide on my response. Given that Fortune has handed me this or that, what will I now choose to make of it?
I have very fond memories of playing the board game Parcheesi with my family, and though the worst that could happen was a slightly bruised ego, it served as a useful training for rolling with the punches. Beyond all the bragging or the cursing, the trick was to walk away as gracious in either victory or defeat.
I suppose the true winner was actually the player who managed not to get smug or angry.
On many days, I still catch myself speaking in terms of good luck and bad luck, or as if events provide me with a blessing or a curse. This reveals how my attitude remains fixated with externals, at the expense of focusing on my own character. The work continues. I am at my best when I am happy to find the benefit in any occurrence, however it first appears.
In the simplest of terms, my happiness is about minding my own business, not everyone else’s.
Most people I meet will, as if by default, assume that the value of their lives is measured by the arrangement of their circumstances. They do not do so because they are somehow wicked or dim-witted, but rather because they have been told, time and time again, to define their worth by their pleasures, their positions, and their properties.
Who but the demigod, or perhaps the hermit, could possibly resist the incessant pressure of his peers?
And yet I also find that most people, given the genuine opportunity to reflect on their own nature, are quite open to the argument that human dignity must be in what we do, not in what is done to us. Where they then stumble, however, is in following through on the insight; the old habits die hard, and the commitment will demand making radical changes.
Who of us has the moxie to put the theory into practice?
So when Epictetus says that our worldly conditions are indifferent, in themselves neither good nor bad for us, and that they only become good or bad for us through our estimation of them, the spirit may be willing, but the flesh remains weak. We need all the help we can get to strengthen our resolve. The prize of serenity is surely worth the effort.
Now I am not a gambler, but I can certainly appreciate how a roll of the dice is symbolic of life’s many gives and takes. While it is not within my power to determine the toss, it is completely within my power to decide on my response. Given that Fortune has handed me this or that, what will I now choose to make of it?
I have very fond memories of playing the board game Parcheesi with my family, and though the worst that could happen was a slightly bruised ego, it served as a useful training for rolling with the punches. Beyond all the bragging or the cursing, the trick was to walk away as gracious in either victory or defeat.
I suppose the true winner was actually the player who managed not to get smug or angry.
On many days, I still catch myself speaking in terms of good luck and bad luck, or as if events provide me with a blessing or a curse. This reveals how my attitude remains fixated with externals, at the expense of focusing on my own character. The work continues. I am at my best when I am happy to find the benefit in any occurrence, however it first appears.
In the simplest of terms, my happiness is about minding my own business, not everyone else’s.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
Sunday, February 18, 2024
Stoic Snippets 229
To her who gives and takes back all, to Nature, the man who is instructed and modest says, "Give what you will; take back what you will."
And he says this not proudly, but obediently, and well pleased with her.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.14
IMAGE: Jan Sanders van Hemessen, Allegory of Nature as the Mother of Art (c. 1550)
Saturday, February 17, 2024
Friday, February 16, 2024
Thursday, February 15, 2024
Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 30
"Tell me," said Socrates, addressing Critobulus, "supposing we stood in need of a good friend, how should we set about his discovery? We must, in the first place, I suppose, seek out one who is master of his appetites, not under the dominion, that is, of his belly, not addicted to the wine-cup or to lechery or sleep or idleness, since no one enslaved to such tyrants could hope to do his duty either by himself or by his friends, could he?"
"Certainly not," Critobulus answered.
Socrates: "Do you agree, then, that we must hold aloof from every one so dominated?"
Critobulus: "Most assuredly."
"Well then," proceeded Socrates, "what shall we say of the spendthrift who has lost his independence and is for ever begging of his neighbors; if he gets anything out of them he cannot repay, but if he fails to get anything, he hates you for not giving—do you not think that this man too would prove but a disagreeable friend?"
Critobulus: "Certainly."
Socrates: "Then we must keep away from him too?"
Critobulus: "That we must."
Socrates: "Well! And what of the man whose strength lies in monetary transactions? His one craving is to amass money; and for that reason he is an adept at driving a hard bargain—glad enough to take in, but loath to pay out."
Critobulus: "In my opinion he will prove even a worse fellow than the last."
Socrates: "Well! And what of that other whose passion for money-making is so absorbing that he has no leisure for anything else, save how he may add to his gains?"
Critobulus: "Hold aloof from him, say I, since there is no good to be got out of him or his society."
Socrates: "Well! What of the quarrelsome and factious person whose main object is to saddle his friends with a host of enemies?"
Critobulus: "For God's sake let us avoid him also."
Socrates: "But now we will imagine a man exempt indeed from all the above defects—a man who has no objection to receive kindnesses, but it never enters into his head to do a kindness in return."
Critobulus: "There will be no good in him either. But, Socrates, what kind of man shall we endeavor to make our friend? What is he like?"
Socrates: "I should say he must be just the converse of the above: he has control over the pleasures of the body, he is kindly disposed, upright in all his dealings, very zealous is he not to be outdone in kindness by his benefactors, if only his friends may derive some profit from his acquaintance."
Critobulus: "But how are we to test these qualities, Socrates, before acquaintance?"
Socrates: "How do we test the merits of a sculptor?—not by inferences drawn from the talk of the artist merely. No, we look to what he has already achieved. These former statues of his were nobly executed, and we trust he will do equally well with the rest."
Critobulus: "You mean that if we find a man whose kindness to older friends is established, we may take it as proved that he will treat his newer friends as amiably?"
Socrates: "Why, certainly, if I see a man who has shown skill in the handling of horses previously, I argue that he will handle others no less skillfully again."
Critobulus: "Good! And when we have discovered a man whose friendship is worth having, how ought we to make him our friend?"
Socrates: "First we ought to ascertain the will of Heaven whether it be advisable to make him our friend."
Critobulus: "Well! And how are we to effect the capture of this friend of our choice, whom the gods approve? will you tell me that?"
"Not, in good sooth," replied Socrates, "by running him down like a hare, nor by decoying him like a bird, or by force like a wild boar. To capture a friend against his will is a toilsome business, and to bind him in fetters like a slave by no means easy. Those who are so treated are apt to become foes instead of friends."
Critobulus: "But how convert them into friends?"
Socrates: "There are certain incantations, we are told, which those who know them have only to utter, and they can make friends of whom they list; and there are certain philtres also which those who have the secret of them may administer to whom they like and win their love."
Critobulus: "From what source shall we learn them?"
Socrates: "You need not go farther than Homer to learn that which the Sirens sang to Odysseus, the first words of which run, I think, as follows:
"Hither, come hither, thou famous man, Odysseus, great glory of the
Achaeans!"
Critobulus: "And did the magic words of this spell serve for all men alike? Had the Sirens only to utter this one incantation, and was every listener constrained to stay?"
Socrates: "No; this was the incantation reserved for souls athirst for fame, of virtue emulous."
Critobulus: "Which is as much as to say, we must suit the incantation to the listener, so that when he hears the words he shall not think that the enchanter is laughing at him in his sleeve. I cannot certainly conceive a method better calculated to excite hatred and repulsion than to go to someone who knows that he is small and ugly and a weakling, and to breathe in his ears the flattering tale that he is beautiful and tall and stalwart. But do you know any other love-charms, Socrates?"
Socrates: "I cannot say that I do; but I have heard that Pericles was skilled in not a few, which he poured into the ear of our city and won her love."
Critobulus: "And how did Themistocles win our city's love?"
Socrates: "Ah, that was not by incantation at all. What he did was to encircle our city with an amulet of saving virtue."
Critobulus: "You would imply, Socrates, would you not, that if we want to win the love of any good man we need to be good ourselves in speech and action?"
"And did you imagine," replied Socrates, "that it was possible for a bad man to make good friends?"
Critobulus: "Why, I could fancy I had seen some sorry speech-monger who was fast friends with a great and noble statesman; or again, some born commander and general who was boon companion with fellows quite incapable of generalship."
Socrates: "But in reference to the point we were discussing, may I ask whether you know of any one who can attach a useful friend to himself without being of use in return? Can service ally in friendship with disservice?"
Critobulus: "In good sooth no. But now, granted it is impossible for a base man to be friends with the beautiful and noble, I am concerned at once to discover if one who is himself of a beautiful and noble character can, with a wave of the hand, as it were, attach himself in friendship to every other beautiful and noble nature."
Socrates: "What perplexes and confounds you, Critobulus, is the fact that so often men of noble conduct, with souls aloof from baseness, are not friends but rather at strife and discord with one another, and deal more harshly by one another than they would by the most good-for-nothing of mankind."
Critobulus: "Yes, and this holds true not of private persons only, but states, the most eager to pursue a noble policy and to repudiate a base one, are frequently in hostile relation to one another.
Critobulus: "And did the magic words of this spell serve for all men alike? Had the Sirens only to utter this one incantation, and was every listener constrained to stay?"
Socrates: "No; this was the incantation reserved for souls athirst for fame, of virtue emulous."
Critobulus: "Which is as much as to say, we must suit the incantation to the listener, so that when he hears the words he shall not think that the enchanter is laughing at him in his sleeve. I cannot certainly conceive a method better calculated to excite hatred and repulsion than to go to someone who knows that he is small and ugly and a weakling, and to breathe in his ears the flattering tale that he is beautiful and tall and stalwart. But do you know any other love-charms, Socrates?"
Socrates: "I cannot say that I do; but I have heard that Pericles was skilled in not a few, which he poured into the ear of our city and won her love."
Critobulus: "And how did Themistocles win our city's love?"
Socrates: "Ah, that was not by incantation at all. What he did was to encircle our city with an amulet of saving virtue."
Critobulus: "You would imply, Socrates, would you not, that if we want to win the love of any good man we need to be good ourselves in speech and action?"
"And did you imagine," replied Socrates, "that it was possible for a bad man to make good friends?"
Critobulus: "Why, I could fancy I had seen some sorry speech-monger who was fast friends with a great and noble statesman; or again, some born commander and general who was boon companion with fellows quite incapable of generalship."
Socrates: "But in reference to the point we were discussing, may I ask whether you know of any one who can attach a useful friend to himself without being of use in return? Can service ally in friendship with disservice?"
Critobulus: "In good sooth no. But now, granted it is impossible for a base man to be friends with the beautiful and noble, I am concerned at once to discover if one who is himself of a beautiful and noble character can, with a wave of the hand, as it were, attach himself in friendship to every other beautiful and noble nature."
Socrates: "What perplexes and confounds you, Critobulus, is the fact that so often men of noble conduct, with souls aloof from baseness, are not friends but rather at strife and discord with one another, and deal more harshly by one another than they would by the most good-for-nothing of mankind."
Critobulus: "Yes, and this holds true not of private persons only, but states, the most eager to pursue a noble policy and to repudiate a base one, are frequently in hostile relation to one another.
"As I reason on these things my heart fails me, and the question, how friends are to be acquired, fills me with despondency.
"The bad, as I see, cannot be friends with one another. For how can such people, the ungrateful, or reckless, or covetous, or faithless, or incontinent, adhere together as friends? Without hesitation I set down the bad as born to be foes not friends, and as bearing the birthmark of internecine hate.
"But then again, as you suggest, no more can these same people harmonise in friendship with the good. For how should they who do evil be friends with those who hate all evil-doing?
"And if, last of all, they that cultivate virtue are torn by party strife in their struggle for the headship of the states, envying one another, hating one another, who are left to be friends? where shall goodwill and faithfulness be found among men?"
Socrates: "The fact is there is some subtlety in the texture of these things. Seeds of love are implanted in man by nature. Men have need of one another, feel pity, help each other by united efforts, and in recognition of the fact show mutual gratitude.
Socrates: "The fact is there is some subtlety in the texture of these things. Seeds of love are implanted in man by nature. Men have need of one another, feel pity, help each other by united efforts, and in recognition of the fact show mutual gratitude.
"But there are seeds of war implanted also. The same objects being regarded as beautiful or agreeable by all alike, they do battle for their possession; a spirit of disunion enters, and the parties range themselves in adverse camps. Discord and anger sound a note of war: the passion of more-having, staunchless avarice, threatens hostility; and envy is a hateful fiend.
"But nevertheless, through all opposing barriers friendship steals her way and binds together the beautiful and good among mankind. Such is their virtue that they would rather possess scant means painlessly than wield an empire won by war.
"But nevertheless, through all opposing barriers friendship steals her way and binds together the beautiful and good among mankind. Such is their virtue that they would rather possess scant means painlessly than wield an empire won by war.
"In spite of hunger and thirst they will share their meat and drink without a pang. Not bloom of lusty youth, nor love's delights can warp their self-control; nor will they be tempted to cause pain where pain should be unknown. It is theirs not merely to eschew all greed of riches, not merely to make a just and lawful distribution of wealth, but to supply what is lacking to the needs of one another.
"Theirs it is to compose strife and discord not in painless oblivion simply, but to the general advantage. Theirs also to hinder such extravagance of anger as shall entail remorse hereafter. And as to envy they will make a clean sweep and clearance of it: the good things which a man possesses shall be also the property of his friends, and the goods which they possess are to be looked upon as his. Where then is the improbability that the beautiful and noble should be sharers in the honors of the state not only without injury, but even to their mutual advantage?
"They indeed who covet and desire the honors and offices in a state for the sake of the liberty thereby given them to embezzle the public moneys, to deal violently by their fellow-creatures, and to batten in luxury themselves, may well be regarded as unjust and villainous persons incapable of harmony with one another.
"They indeed who covet and desire the honors and offices in a state for the sake of the liberty thereby given them to embezzle the public moneys, to deal violently by their fellow-creatures, and to batten in luxury themselves, may well be regarded as unjust and villainous persons incapable of harmony with one another.
"But if a man desire to obtain these selfsame honors in order that, being himself secure against wrong-doing, he may be able to assist his friends in what is right, and, raised to a high position, may essay to confer some blessing on the land of his fathers, what is there to hinder him from working in harmony with some other of a like spirit? Will he, with the "beautiful and noble" at his side, be less able to aid his friends? Or will his power to benefit the community be shortened because the flower of that community are fellow-workers in that work?
"Why, even in the contests of the games it is obvious that if it were possible for the stoutest combatants to combine against the weakest, the chosen band would come off victors in every bout, and would carry off all the prizes. This indeed is against the rules of the actual arena; but in the field of politics, where the beautiful and good hold empery, and there is nought to hinder any from combining with whomsoever a man may choose to benefit the state, it will be a clear gain, will it not, for any one engaged in state affairs to make the best men his friends, whereby he will find partners and co-operators in his aims instead of rivals and antagonists? And this at least is obvious: in case of foreign war a man will need allies, but all the more if in the ranks opposed to him should stand the flower of the enemy.
"Moreover, those who are willing to fight your battles must be kindly dealt with, that goodwill may quicken to enthusiasm; and one good man is better worth your benefiting that a dozen knaves, since a little kindness goes a long way with the good, but with the base the more you give them the more they ask for.
"So keep a good heart, Critobulus; only try to become good yourself, and when you have attained, set to your hand to capture the beautiful and good.
"So keep a good heart, Critobulus; only try to become good yourself, and when you have attained, set to your hand to capture the beautiful and good.
"Perhaps I may be able to give you some help in this quest, being myself an adept in Love's lore. No matter who it is for whom my heart is aflame; in an instant my whole soul is eager to leap forth. With vehemence I speed to the mark. I, who love, demand to be loved again; this desire in me must be met by counter desire in him; this thirst for his society by thirst reciprocal for mine.
"And these will be your needs also, I foresee, whenever you are seized with longing to contract a friendship. Do not hide from me, therefore, whom you would choose as a friend, since, owing to the pains I take to please him who pleases me, I am not altogether unversed, I fancy, in the art of catching men."
Critobulus replied: "Why, these are the very lessons of instruction, Socrates, for which I have been long athirst, and the more particularly if this same love's lore will enable me to capture those who are good of soul and those who are beautiful of person."
Socrates: "Nay, now I warn you, Critobulus, it is not within the province of my science to make the beautiful endure him who would lay hands upon them. And that is why men fled from Scylla, I am persuaded, because she laid hands upon them; but the Sirens were different—they laid hands on nobody, but sat afar off and chanted their spells in the ears of all; and therefore, it is said, all men endured to listen, and were charmed."
Critobulus: "I promise I will not lay violent hands on any; therefore, if you have any good device for winning friends, instruct your pupil."
Socrates: "And if there is to be no laying on of the hands, there must be no application either of the lips; is it agreed?"
Critobulus: "No, nor application of the lips to anyone—not beautiful."
Socrates: "See now! You cannot open your mouth without some luckless utterance. Beauty suffers no such liberty, however eagerly the ugly may invite it, making believe some quality of soul must rank them with the beautiful."
Critobulus: "Be of good cheer then; let the compact stand thus: 'Kisses for the beautiful, and for the good a rain of kisses.' So now teach us the art of catching friends."
Socrates: "Well then, when you wish to win some one's affection, you will allow me to lodge information against you to the effect that you admire him and desire to be his friend?"
Critobulus: "Lodge the indictment, with all my heart. I never heard of any one who hated his admirers."
Socrates: "And if I add to the indictment the further charge that through your admiration you are kindly disposed towards him, you will not feel I am taking away your character?"
Critobulus: "Why, no; for myself I know a kindly feeling springs up in my heart towards any one whom I conceive to be kindly disposed to me."
Socrates: "All this I shall feel empowered to say about you to those whose friendship you seek, and I can promise further help; only there is a comprehensive 'if' to be considered: if you will further authorize me to say that you are devoted to your friends; that nothing gives you so much joy as a good friend; that you pride yourself no less on the fine deeds of those you love than on your own; and on their good things equally with your own; that you never weary of plotting and planning to procure them a rich harvest of the same; and lastly, that you have discovered a man's virtue is to excel his friends in kindness and his foes in hostility. If I am authorized thus to report of you, I think you will find me a serviceable fellow-hunter in the quest of friends, which is the conquest of the good."
Critobulus: "Why this appeal to me?—as if you had not free permission to say exactly what you like about me."
Socrates: "No; that I deny, on the authority of Aspasia. I have it from her own lips. 'Good matchmakers,' she said to me, 'were clever hands at cementing alliances between people, provided the good qualities they vouched for were truthfully reported; but when it came to their telling lies, for her part she could not compliment them. Their poor deluded dupes ended by hating each other and the go-betweens as well.' Now I myself am so fully persuaded of the truth of this that I feel it is not in my power to say aught in your praise which I cannot say with truth."
Critobulus: "Really, Socrates, you are a wonderfully good friend to me—in so far as I have any merit which will entitle me to win a friend, you will lend me a helping hand, it seems; otherwise you would rather not forge any petty fiction for my benefit."
Socrates: "But tell me, how shall I assist you best, think you? By praising you falsely or by persuading you to try to be a good man? Or if it is not plain to you thus, look at the matter by the light of some examples.
Critobulus replied: "Why, these are the very lessons of instruction, Socrates, for which I have been long athirst, and the more particularly if this same love's lore will enable me to capture those who are good of soul and those who are beautiful of person."
Socrates: "Nay, now I warn you, Critobulus, it is not within the province of my science to make the beautiful endure him who would lay hands upon them. And that is why men fled from Scylla, I am persuaded, because she laid hands upon them; but the Sirens were different—they laid hands on nobody, but sat afar off and chanted their spells in the ears of all; and therefore, it is said, all men endured to listen, and were charmed."
Critobulus: "I promise I will not lay violent hands on any; therefore, if you have any good device for winning friends, instruct your pupil."
Socrates: "And if there is to be no laying on of the hands, there must be no application either of the lips; is it agreed?"
Critobulus: "No, nor application of the lips to anyone—not beautiful."
Socrates: "See now! You cannot open your mouth without some luckless utterance. Beauty suffers no such liberty, however eagerly the ugly may invite it, making believe some quality of soul must rank them with the beautiful."
Critobulus: "Be of good cheer then; let the compact stand thus: 'Kisses for the beautiful, and for the good a rain of kisses.' So now teach us the art of catching friends."
Socrates: "Well then, when you wish to win some one's affection, you will allow me to lodge information against you to the effect that you admire him and desire to be his friend?"
Critobulus: "Lodge the indictment, with all my heart. I never heard of any one who hated his admirers."
Socrates: "And if I add to the indictment the further charge that through your admiration you are kindly disposed towards him, you will not feel I am taking away your character?"
Critobulus: "Why, no; for myself I know a kindly feeling springs up in my heart towards any one whom I conceive to be kindly disposed to me."
Socrates: "All this I shall feel empowered to say about you to those whose friendship you seek, and I can promise further help; only there is a comprehensive 'if' to be considered: if you will further authorize me to say that you are devoted to your friends; that nothing gives you so much joy as a good friend; that you pride yourself no less on the fine deeds of those you love than on your own; and on their good things equally with your own; that you never weary of plotting and planning to procure them a rich harvest of the same; and lastly, that you have discovered a man's virtue is to excel his friends in kindness and his foes in hostility. If I am authorized thus to report of you, I think you will find me a serviceable fellow-hunter in the quest of friends, which is the conquest of the good."
Critobulus: "Why this appeal to me?—as if you had not free permission to say exactly what you like about me."
Socrates: "No; that I deny, on the authority of Aspasia. I have it from her own lips. 'Good matchmakers,' she said to me, 'were clever hands at cementing alliances between people, provided the good qualities they vouched for were truthfully reported; but when it came to their telling lies, for her part she could not compliment them. Their poor deluded dupes ended by hating each other and the go-betweens as well.' Now I myself am so fully persuaded of the truth of this that I feel it is not in my power to say aught in your praise which I cannot say with truth."
Critobulus: "Really, Socrates, you are a wonderfully good friend to me—in so far as I have any merit which will entitle me to win a friend, you will lend me a helping hand, it seems; otherwise you would rather not forge any petty fiction for my benefit."
Socrates: "But tell me, how shall I assist you best, think you? By praising you falsely or by persuading you to try to be a good man? Or if it is not plain to you thus, look at the matter by the light of some examples.
"I wish to introduce you to a shipowner, or to make him your friend: I begin by singing your praises to him falsely thus, 'You will find him a good pilot'; he catches at the phrase, and entrusts his ship to you, who have no notion of guiding a vessel. What can you expect but to make shipwreck of the craft and yourself together?
"Or suppose by similar false assertions I can persuade the state at large to entrust her destinies to you—'a man with a fine genius for command,' I say, 'a practiced lawyer,' 'a politician born,' and so forth. The odds are, the state and you may come to grief through you.
"Or to take an instance from everyday life. By my falsehoods I persuade some private person to entrust his affairs to you as 'a really careful and business-like person with a head for economy.' When put to the test would not your administration prove ruinous, and the figure you cut ridiculous?
"No, my dear friend, there is but one road, the shortest, safest, best, and it is simply this: In whatsoever you desire to be deemed good, endeavour to be good. For of all the virtues namable among men, consider, and you will find there is not one but may be increased by learning and practice.
"For my part then, Critobulus, these are the principles on which we ought to go a-hunting; but if you take a different view, I am all attention, please instruct me."
Then Critobulus: "Nay, Socrates, I should be ashamed to gainsay what you have said; if I did, it would neither be a noble statement nor a true."
Then Critobulus: "Nay, Socrates, I should be ashamed to gainsay what you have said; if I did, it would neither be a noble statement nor a true."
—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 2.6
IMAGE: John William Waterhouse, Ulysses and the Sirens (1891)
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