William Hogarth, Before and After

On one level, of course, these scenes are comical, and yet, as with so much of Hogarth's work, they are also biting social satire and a grave moral warning. 

I tend to avoid any public assertions on matters of sex, not because I am prudish, but because I find that very few people are willing to honestly reflect on the role of desire in nature—the discussion inevitably degrades into rage or ridicule. I will only say that too many of our troubles come from the confusion between lust and love; a mind and a will overwhelmed by appetites, of any sort, are dangerous things.  

The facial expressions in all three version are priceless, and can tell us far more about the peculiar weaknesses of both men and women than any scholarly essay. 

In the prints, I am especially taken by the details of the books in the drawer, a text on piety in front of a trashy novel, and the two paintings on the wall of a cherub with a rocket. The dog is yipping in one scene, and sleeping in the next, while another book on the floor proclaims "every animal is sad after sex." 

William Hogarth, Before and After (first painted version, 1731) 

William Hogarth, Before and After (second painted version, 1731) 

William Hogarth, Before and After (engraving, 1736) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 68.2

I now return to the advice which I set out to give you—that you keep your retirement in the background. There is no need to fasten a placard upon yourself with the words: "Philosopher and Quietist." Give your purpose some other name; call it ill-health and bodily weakness, or mere laziness. To boast of our retirement is but idle self-seeking.
 
Certain animals hide themselves from discovery by confusing the marks of their footprints in the neighborhood of their lairs. You should do the same. Otherwise, there will always be someone dogging your footsteps. 
 
Many men pass by that which is visible, and peer after things hidden and concealed; a locked room invites the thief. Things which lie in the open appear cheap; the housebreaker passes by that which is exposed to view. This is the way of the world, and the way of all ignorant men: they crave to burst in upon hidden things. It is therefore best not to vaunt one's retirement.
 
It is, however, a sort of vaunting to make too much of one's concealment and of one's withdrawal from the sight of men. So-and-so has gone into his retreat at Tarentum; that other man has shut himself up at Naples; this third person for many years has not crossed the threshold of his own house. To advertise one's retirement is to collect a crowd. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 68 
 
Though they will tell you that you must improve your worth by always increasing your influence and standing, you are in no way obliged to play the game. Their notions of success are not about your own dignity, but they would rather reduce you to a creature of mere appearances, constantly tossed back and forth by the opinions of others. If it is truly the right thing to do, then do it for its own sake, without any worries about winning or losing anyone’s approval. 
 
To retire from such a rat race is a blessing, not a curse. With apologies to Timothy Leary, by “dropping out” of the charade, you are finally “tuning in” to your nature. No mind-altering drugs or noisy politics are required, however, which would just be another surrender to fashion; it is more than sufficient to calmly and quietly rebuild your basic values from the ground up. 
 
The trick, as Seneca points out, is precisely in not making a scene about leaving the scene. Those who are ill at ease with themselves are inclined to poke into your business, and they can be quite clever about digging up the dirt they so crave—do not oblige them. Be content to cover your tracks, going your own way, on your own terms. If it is attention you crave, gently rebuke yourself for continuing to have your wires crossed. 
 
Observe how easy it is twist humility into vanity, to still desire recognition for our anonymity. Celebrities insist that they wish to be left alone, and yet they yell it out through the megaphone of their fame, daring us to gaze upon them. In high school, I once hid away from everyone for a whole week, and I was then disappointed when no one came searching for me. Someone who remains very dear to me makes a point of dramatically looking the other way when she passes by, and so is hoping to be noticed by pretending not to care. 

The path to authentic action demands ceasing to put on an act. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

Lost Illusions

Marc Gabriel Charles Gleyre, Lost Illusions (c. 1867) 

Romans under the Yoke

Marc Gabriel Charles Gleyre, Romans under the Yoke (1858) 

Maxims of Goethe 45

Favor, as a symbol of sovereignty, is exercised by weak men. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 68.1

Letter 68: On wisdom and retirement
 
I fall in with your plan; retire and conceal yourself in repose. But at the same time conceal your retirement also. 
 
In doing this, you may be sure that you will be following the example of the Stoics, if not their precept. But you will be acting according to their precept also; you will thus satisfy both yourself and any Stoic you please.
 
We Stoics do not urge men to take up public life in every case, or at all times, or without any qualification. 
 
Besides, when we have assigned to our wise man that field of public life which is worthy of him—in other words, the Universe—he is then not apart from public life, even if he withdraws; no, perhaps he has abandoned only one little corner thereof and has passed over into greater and wider regions; and when he has been set in the heavens, he understands how lowly was the place in which he sat when he mounted the curule chair or the judgment-seat. 
 
Lay this to heart—that the wise man is never more active in affairs than when things divine as well as things human have come within his ken. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 68 

 
Those who take the time to think about the meaning of the world will often find themselves as strangers to the world. If I wish to discover a deeper purpose, I may be discouraged by all the blind conformity around me, and if I find that I am different from the howling mob, I might just want to strike out on my own. Is it any wonder how many artists and philosophers are sorely tempted to become hermits? 
 
Some are surprised, therefore, at how Stoicism, a philosophy of introspection and self-reliance, also encourages us to be citizens of the world, to always take great care of our social responsibilities. This only begins to make more sense when we appreciate the Stoic reverence for the harmony of Nature, how the parts exist to work within the whole, and that we best improve ourselves when we assist others to improve themselves. 
 
What will make all the difference, however, is how we understand the essence of such a public participation. While the commonly accepted practice is to seek out attention by selling an image, and to shower ourselves with titles and honors, the Stoic knows that the true work is usually done in far more subtle and unassuming ways. A man is not defined by his external status, but by his internal character; how he inspires the good in others has far more to do the quality of his soul than the prestige of his rank.
 
Indeed, there will be times when the Stoic best serves his social calling by avoiding formal entanglements. His focus deepens as his perspective broadens, such that he may be seen to have retired from the field of business and politics, yet the noblest part of his vocation is just beginning. This only sounds ridiculous to those who continue to measure the world by decrees and balance sheets, oblivious to the necessity of character. 
 
I will not become a better citizen just by casting my vote, or by paying my taxes, or even by running for office. The engagements that matter are the humble bonds of friendship, a community built on the practice of virtue instead of accumulating greater power and wealth. Any man who loves God and who loves his neighbor is the genuine citizen, and he may have to forgo the trappings of prestige in order to do so. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGES: 

Giovanni Paolo Panini, View of the Roman Forum (1747) 

Giovanni Paolo Panini, View of the Colosseum (1747) 

James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 16

16. 

Ὅ τι ἄν τις ποιῇ ἢ λέγῃ, ἐμὲ δεῖ ἀγαθὸν εἶναι, ὡς ἂν εἰ ὁ χρυσὸς ἢ ὁ σμάραγδος ἢ ἡ πορφύρα τοῦτο ἀεὶ ἔλεγεν: ὅ τι ἄν τις ποιῇ ἢ λέγῃ, ἐμὲ δεῖ σμάραγδον εἶναι καὶ τὸ ἐμαυτοῦ χρῶμα ἔχειν.

Whatever any one may say or do, it is my business to be good; just as an emerald might always say: Let any one do or say whatever he will, it is my part to be an emerald, and preserve my hue. And in like manner might speak gold or purple.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.15 

16. 

’Tis said the ass cried down fine Philomel, 

The note of that sweet singer of the night 

Not being a bray. So might gross soil expel 

Emeralds, or gold, or royal purple’s light. 

But what saith gold, when so the soggy earth 

Disputes its yellow blaze, what th’ royal hue 

Or verdant gems, though everything i’ the girth 

Of ireful exhalations sulphurs the view? 

Unto the noisome mist of the gross chatter 

The gold saith naught, but shines as ’tis the more; 

The princely purple never heeds to flatter, 

And emeralds color like a small sea-shore. 

Like purple, gems and gold is my one art; 

Men cog and jog; my right self is my part. 

When . . .

Seneca, Moral Letters 67.7

In this connection I think of our friend Demetrius, who calls an easy existence, untroubled by the attacks of Fortune, a "Dead Sea." 
 
If you have nothing to stir you up and rouse you to action, nothing which will test your resolution by its threats and hostilities; if you recline in unshaken comfort, it is not tranquility; it is merely a flat calm.
 
The Stoic Attalus was wont to say: "I should prefer that Fortune keep me in her camp rather than in the lap of luxury. If I am tortured, but bear it bravely, all is well; if I die, but die bravely, it is also well." 
 
Listen to Epicurus; he will tell you that it is actually pleasant. I myself shall never apply an effeminate word to an act so honorable and austere. If I go to the stake, I shall go unbeaten.
 
Why should I not regard this as desirable—not because the fire, burns me, but because it does not overcome me? Nothing is more excellent or more beautiful than virtue; whatever we do in obedience to her orders is both good and desirable. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67 

 
It will surely seem odd for a fellow like me to pursue courage and endurance. I feel no urge to grapple with danger. I am not inclined to prove my strength. If I wish to exercise the spirit, I will read a challenging book, and if I wish to invigorate the flesh, I will go for a brisk hike. Most of all, I have little desire to compete with anyone, or to find any achievement in conquest. Of all the fictional characters I admire, I most readily associate with Hobbits. 
 
And yet my many wanderings, both in body and in mind, have led me to embrace the beauty of hardship as a chance to practice virtue, such that any obstacle is now an instance for inspiration rather than despair. I no longer cry out for the circumstances to be corrected, or expect that there will be some fairy-tale ending. Instead, I hope only to rise to the occasion, to take complete responsibility for myself.
 
My hands may still tremble with fear, and my head may still spin with confusion, but that is just my instincts giving me their impressions; now it is the turn of my reason and will to do their part. In this moment, considered for itself and without being bound by any conditions about the past or the future, will I have the fortitude to do the right thing? The total liberation is in realizing that only I can make the choice. 
 
If I say it must be grand in scale, I am merely feeding my vanity. If I seek out your acclaim, I have made myself your slave. The earth does not need to shake, and no one else needs to know anything about it. The satisfaction it brings is precisely the awareness that I have done something in harmony with my own nature, and thereby contributed my small piece to the whole of Nature. 
 
I would not, with Epicurus, claim that it gives me pleasure, at least not of the sensual variety, though I do receive a feeling of fulfillment, what I call joy, for lack of a better word. In understanding how I am doing my proper work, I find myself at peace. At the risk of sounding too bookish, it is, for me, the Latin gaudium as distinct from voluptas. It is like Bilbo knowing he has finally made it home. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

Delphic Maxims 56

Ὑφορῶ μηδένα 

Envy no one 

IMAGE: Theodore Gericault, Monomaniac of Envy (1822) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 67.6

What? Do you think that those things only are desirable which come to us amid pleasure and ease, and which we bedeck our doors to welcome? There are certain goods whose features are forbidding. There are certain prayers which are offered by a throng, not of men who rejoice, but of men who bow down reverently and worship.
 
Was it not in this fashion, think you, that Regulus prayed that he might reach Carthage? 
 
Clothe yourself with a hero's courage, and withdraw for a little space from the opinions of the common man. Form a proper conception of the image of virtue, a thing of exceeding beauty and grandeur; this image is not to be worshipped by us with incense or garlands, but with sweat and blood.
 
Behold Marcus Cato, laying upon that hallowed breast his unspotted hands, and tearing apart the wounds which had not gone deep enough to kill him! Which, pray, shall you say to him: "I hope all will be as you wish," and "I am grieved," or shall it be "Good fortune in your undertaking!"? 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67 
 
Now how often do I still assume that the best thing is surely the easiest thing, and the most pleasant thing? I am ashamed to answer. Old habits can die hard, it is so tempting to follow the herd, and the force of the immediate impression requires the effort of a deliberate reflection. In the end, it is about what I choose to want, and why I judge it to be worthy. 
 
Both labor and hardship can sometimes frustrate me, because a bit of me remains enslaved to the passions: the thinking part submits to the unthinking part, such that I neglect to look beneath the feeling of the appearance to an understanding of the meaning; I expect a right to receive instead of taking the responsibility to give. 
 
Over the years, I regularly lived and worked with people who looked entirely to passive gratification. The irony was that I permitted this to annoy me, though I was just as subject to such a weakness. This initially led me to admiring a different sort of crowd, those who insisted on rigorous work and a willingness to sacrifice for the sake of success. 
 
I suspected something was amiss, however, when my new heroes would condemn all poor people as being weak and lazy, just as they viewed fortune and fame as merited rewards for their struggles. It turned out that they were prepared to put in the hours, but their goals were really no different than those of the indolent—they also sought entitlement and privilege, even if they knew it did first require some heavy lifting.
 
In both cases, I was surrounded by folks who defined their happiness by wealth, status, and pleasure, while a sense of right and wrong didn’t seem to enter into the picture. Some just shouted out their demands, and others were clever operators, yet neither group inspired me to inform my conscience. They were sycophants to those they saw as their superiors, and bullies to those they saw as their inferiors, revealing how integrity and justice were nowhere on the radar. 
 
Yes, I do now understand a little more about the necessity of exertion and endurance, but I am extremely careful to direct them to their proper end. What made the adversity of Regulus or Cato great was the way they used it as an opportunity to increase in virtue, not as part of some scheme to improve a position. I distinguish sharply between the man who takes a risk to win money and power, and the man who takes a risk to win character and peace of mind. 
 
I do revere those who persist through trials and tribulations, but no longer for the reasons most of my peers would do so. If you ask me to offer blood, toil, tears, and sweat, I will only follow if they are in the service of the soul. True courage is in the dignity of the purpose—a mountain of gold is as nothing to the love of friends. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: Nicolas Bernard Lepicie, Regulus Returning to Carthage (1779) 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 244

Money can procure bread and butter only. 

Do not consider it, therefore, as if it were your sole end and aim. 

Stoic Snippets 240

You will set little value on pleasing song and dancing and the pancratium, if you will distribute the melody of the voice into its several sounds, and ask yourself as to each, if you are mastered by this; for you will be prevented by shame from confessing it.

And in the matter of dancing, if at each movement and attitude you will do the same; and the like also in the matter of the pancratium. 

In all things, then, except virtue and the acts of virtue, remember to apply yourself to their several parts, and by this division to come to value them little: and apply this rule also to your whole life. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.2 

Seneca, Moral Letters 67.5

When one endures torture bravely, one is using all the virtues. 
 
Endurance may perhaps be the only virtue that is on view and most manifest; but bravery is there too, and endurance and resignation and long-suffering are its branches. 
 
There, too, is foresight; for without foresight no plan can be undertaken; it is foresight that advises one to bear as bravely as possible the things one cannot avoid. 
 
There also is steadfastness, which cannot be dislodged from its position, which the wrench of no force can cause to abandon its purpose. 
 
There is the whole inseparable company of virtues; every honorable act is the work of one single virtue, but it is in accordance with the judgment of the whole council. And that which is approved by all the virtues, even though it seems to be the work of one alone, is desirable. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67 
 
I sometimes catch myself sifting and separating the virtues, in the hope that I might more fully comprehend them, and yet I then fail to put them all back together again. This is a weakness that stems from both too much love of abstraction and too little confidence in my own capacities, for I quickly admire the order of the thinking at the expense of a commitment to the doing. 
 
If I am working on my courage, for example, I will get nowhere without the guidance of wisdom, or if I am trying to practice justice, I must also learn to become a master of my own temperance. The functioning of the whole is in the harmony of all its parts, not merely attending to some, and thus one virtue rightly reflects the integrity of all the virtues.
 
Now some aspects of virtue may be more noticeable on the outside, even as they are quietly supported by others on the inside. The sort of strength that impresses us, complete with the appearance of clenched fists and gritted teeth, is of little significance, and usually ends up being no more than a show, if it is not an expression of a thorough devotion within the soul. This is sadly why we often confuse an allegiance to principle with the brutality of anger. 
 
What matters far more than taking a stand is what I am willing to bear, and why I am willing to bear it: hence endurance without prudence is more akin to recklessness than it is to fortitude, to stubbornness than it is to constancy. Like the ridiculous bodybuilder who has been so busy developing his massive biceps while neglecting his spindly legs, I am well advised to view my character as a totality. 
 
There is no solution to a conflict with another when I am first in conflict with myself. I do not trust the man who rushes the barricades during the day while cheating on his wife at night, since he is sorely confused about what it means to be steadfast across the board. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: Hans Burgkmair, Fortitude (c. 1510) 

Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 17

By thus humbling the clerks and making them submissive, and by managing the business as he himself desired, in a little while he brought the quaestor­ship into greater respect than the senate, so that all men said and thought that Cato had invested the quaestor­ship with the dignity of the consul­ship. 

For, in the first place, when he found that many persons were owing debts of long standing to the public treasury and the treasury to many persons, he made an end at the same time of the state being wronged and wronging others; from its debtors he rigorously and inexorably demanded payment, and to its creditors he promptly and readily made payment, so that the people were filled with respect as they saw men making payments who thought to defraud the state, and men receiving payment which they had ceased to expect. 

In the next place, though many used improper methods to get writings filed with the quaestors, and though  previous quaestors had been accustomed to receive false decrees at the request of those whom they wished to please, nothing of this sort could be done now without Cato finding it out. 

Indeed, on one occasion when he was doubtful whether a certain decree had actually passed the senate, though many testified to the fact, he would not believe them, nor would he file the decree away until the consuls had come and taken oath to its validity. 

Again, there were many persons whom the famous Sulla had rewarded for killing men under proscription, at the rate of twelve thousand drachmas. All men hated them as accursed and polluted wretches, but no one had the courage to punish them. 

Cato, however, called each one of these to account for having public money in his possession by unjust means, and made him give it up, at the same time rebuking him with passionate eloquence for his illegal and unholy act. 

After this experience they were at once charged with murder, were brought before their judges condemned beforehand, one might say, and were punished. At this all men were delighted, and thought that with their deaths the tyranny of that former time was extinguished, and that Sulla himself was punished before men's eyes. 

IMAGE: Lucius Cornelius Sulla 

Dhammapada 375, 376

And this is the beginning here for a wise Bhikshu: watchfulness over the senses, contentedness, restraint under the law; keep noble friends whose life is pure, and who are not slothful. 

Let him live in charity, let him be perfect in his duties; then in the fullness of delight he will make an end of suffering. 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 146

Avoid cupidity, and you conquer a kingdom. 

IMAGE: Evelyn De Morgan, Blindness and Cupidity Chasing Joy from the City (1897) 

Hunted Joy flies through the gate.
Blind Blindness is left desolate.
Cupidity the city's fate. 
With hungry hounds insatiate,
Stays fettered to a sightless mate. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 67.4

"But," you say, "whoever desired such a thing for himself?" 
 
Some prayers are open and outspoken, when the requests are offered specifically; other prayers are indirectly expressed, when they include many requests under one title. For example, 
 
I desire a life of honor. Now a life of honor includes various kinds of conduct; it may include the chest in which Regulus was confined, or the wound of Cato which was torn open by Cato's own hand, or the exile of Rutilius, or the cup of poison which removed Socrates from jail to heaven. 
 
Accordingly, in praying for a life of honor, I have prayed also for those things without which, on some occasions, life cannot be honorable: 
 
“O thrice and four times blest were they
Who underneath the lofty walls of Troy 
Met happy death before their parents' eyes!”
 
What does it matter whether you offer this prayer for some individual, or admit that it was desirable in the past? Decius sacrificed himself for the State; he set spurs to his horse and rushed into the midst of the foe, seeking death. 
 
The second Decius, rivalling his father's valor, reproducing the words which had become sacred and already household words, dashed into the thickest of the fight, anxious only that his sacrifice might bring omen of success, and regarding a noble death as a thing to be desired. 
 
Do you doubt, then, whether it is best to die glorious and performing some deed of valor? 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67 
 
I find that I am hesitant to risk my creature comforts only when I am deeply confused about my purpose for being here on this Earth. If I define myself by my pleasures, and I am simply seeking to live for as long as possible, I will flinch at the thought of hardship, but if I understand why the goal is in living with the virtues, regardless of the circumstance or the duration, I will no longer be so timid. 
 
I have sadly known some people, far more than you might think, who wish for death, because they have despaired of living. I have also known a handful who romanticize martyrdom, and so believed that only the pain could be glorious, praying daily for it to end in fire and blood. 
 
With Seneca, I choose to bypass the doom and the gloom, to neither crave extinction nor to demand suffering, yet I do know how the fullness of life is a sort of “package deal”, where the pursuit of character will sometimes call for the surrender of conveniences. If this should come to pass, let me go forward with conviction and joy. It is, after all, very little to ask for so great a prize; if I want this, I must also be willing to tolerate that. 
 
In and of itself, I have no yearning to be locked in a box like Regulus, or to throw myself on a sword like Cato, or to drink the poison like Socrates. I am not gifted with the constitution to charge headlong into battle like a Decius, especially when I am aware it will be a one-way trip. 
 
Still, endurance is ultimately a matter of the spirit far more than it is of the flesh, and, even in my own small way, I have found that praying for an increase of constancy always trumps coming up with pitiful excuses. 
 
When I grow weak, I must always remind myself how Seneca himself would, soon after writing this letter, be faced with a final choice of honor. I am inspired to see that he was a man who could walk the walk, not just talk the talk. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: Gioacchino Assereto, The Death of Cato (c. 1640) 

 

Ruins 9

Thomas Cole, L'Allegro (1845) 

Storm on the Sea 19

Hubert Sattler, Hurricane on the North Sea (1836) 

Memento Mori 2

Justus Lipsius, On Constancy 1.4

The definitions of constancy, patience, right reason, opinion: also how obstinacy differs from constancy, and baseness of mind from patience. 

I being somewhat emboldened with these speeches of Langius, said unto him, that truly these admonitions of his were notable and worthy to be esteemed, and that I began now to lift up my self a little, but yet in vain, as it were a man in a slumber. 

"For surely, Langius, to tell you the truth, my cogitations do slide back again to my country, and the cares of the same both private and public fast in my mind. But if you are able, chase away these evil birds that thus feed upon me, and loose those bands of cares wherewith I am tied fast to the Caucasus, like Prometheus." 

Hereto Langius with a smiling countenance replied: "I will drive them away, and like a newborn Hercules will set at liberty this chained Prometheus: only give attentive care to that which I shall say unto you. 

"I have exhorted you to constancy, and placed therein all hope of your safety. First, therefore, we must know what it is. Constancy is a right and immovable strength of the mind, neither lifted up nor pressed down with external or casual accidents. By strength I understand a steadfastness not from opinion, but from judgment and sound reason. For I would in any case exclude obstinacy (or as I may more fitly term it, frowardness) which is a certain hardness of a stubborn mind, proceeding from pride or vainglory. 

"And this hardness is only in one respect incident to the froward and obstinate. For they can hardly be pressed down but are lifted up, not unlike to a blown bladder, which you cannot without much ado thrust under water, but is ready to leap upwards of itself without help. 

"Even such is the lighthardiness of those men, springing of pride and too much estimation of themselves, and therefore from opinion. But the true mother of constancy is patience, and lowliness of mind, which is a voluntary sufferance without grudging of all things whatsoever can happen to or in a man. This being regulated by the rule of right reason is the very root whereupon is settled the high and mighty body of that fair oak constancy. 

"Beware here, lest opinion beguile you, presenting unto you instead of patience a certain abjection and baseness of a dastardly mind. Being a foul vice, proceeding from the vile unworthiness of a man's own person. 

"But virtue keeps the mean, not suffering any excess or defect in her actions, because it weighs all things in the balance of Reason, making it the rule and squire of all her trials. Therefore we define right reason to be a true sense and judgment of things human and divine, so far as the same pertains to us. But opinion being the contrary to it is defined to be a false and frivolous conjecture of those things." 

IMAGE: Thomas Cole, Prometheus Bound (1847) 

Vanitas 87

Nicolaes van Verendael, Allegory of the Vanity of Life (1679) 

Vanitas 86

Nicolaes van Verendael, Vanitas with Skulls (c. 1680)