A Philosopher

Philip James de Loutherbourg, A Philosopher in a Moonlit Churchyard (1790) 

Tomorrow

"Tomorrow"  

John Collins (1742-1808) 

In the down-hill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my fate no less fortunate be
Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining,
And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea;
With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn,
While I carol away idle sorrow,
And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn,
Look forward with hope for Tomorrow.

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too,
As the sunshine or rain may prevail,
And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too,
With a barn for the use of the flail:
A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game,
And a purse when a friend wants to borrow;
I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame,
Nor what honors may wait till Tomorrow.

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely
Secured by a neighboring hill;
And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly
By the sound of the murmuring rill.
And while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,
With my friends may I share what Today may afford,
And let them spread the table Tomorrow.

And when I at last must throw off this frail covering,
Which I've worn for three-score years and ten,
On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering,
Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again;
But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey,
And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow;
And this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare today,
May become everlasting Tomorrow. 

Michael Leunig 60

The Art of Peace 108

Unite yourself to the Cosmos, and the thought of transcendence will disappear. 

Transcendence belongs to the profane world. When all trace of transcendence vanishes, the true person—the Divine Being—is manifest. 

Empty yourself and let the Divine function. 

IMAGE: Sesshu Toyo, Winter Landscape (c. 1470) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.11

What, then? If such a spirit is possessed by abandoned and dangerous men, shall it not be possessed also by those who have trained themselves to meet such contingencies by long meditation, and by reason, the mistress of all things? 
 
It is reason which teaches us that fate has various ways of approach, but the same end, and that it makes no difference at what point the inevitable event begins.
 
Reason, too, advises us to die, if we may, according to our taste; if this cannot be, she advises us to die according to our ability, and to seize upon whatever means shall offer itself for doing violence to ourselves. 
 
It is criminal to "live by robbery"; but, on the other hand, it is most noble to "die by robbery." Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 
 
The ideal of “death before dishonor”, with a stress on the freedom to choose the manner of our own departure, will at the very least seem odd to modern mindsets, and to some it will appear downright perverse. 
 
I once again suggest that this is because many of us view survival as being a good in itself, and therefore we go to great lengths, sometimes to ridiculous extremes, simply to continue existing for just a little while longer. 
 
On the other side, some people are keen to decide on which lives are worth living, and which are only fit for disposal. They may say they are concerned with the “quality” of a life, though they are still defining any human value by convenience and gratification.
 
Yet if I recognize virtue as the highest good, I will then learn to measure any circumstance by means of moral character. It no longer seems so important whether I am rich or poor, healthy or sick, praised or defamed. Yes, I will also no longer worry so much about life and death, and I will be happy to embrace either, as long as it aids me in acting with understanding and love. 
 
I think again of another old Roman statue, The Dying Gaul. To me, it is a perfect representation of what it means to die with dignity. 
 
I do not expect to face an enemy in battle, or to be tortured on the rack, or to be forced into slavery, but I should not be so hasty. While few people foresee such hardships, Fortune is remarkably fickle. Be prepared in the pleasant times, and then you will find courage in the disagreeable times. 
 
I steadfastly refuse to become a man who is reduced to thriving by committing any misdeed, so I will depart the scene before it comes to that. I am here to master myself, not lord over others. Only then will the end be a relief instead of a burden. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: Roman, The Dying Gaul (2nd century AD) 

Maxims of Goethe 47

Memory may vanish so long as at the moment judgment does not fail you. 

IMAGE: Claude Mellan, Allegory of Intellect, Memory, and Will (1625) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.10

When a man desires to burst forth and take his departure, nothing stands in his way. It is an open space in which Nature guards us. When our plight is such as to permit it, we may look about us for an easy exit. 
 
If you have many opportunities ready to hand, by means of which you may liberate yourself, you may make a selection and think over the best way of gaining freedom; but if a chance is hard to find, instead of the best, snatch the next best, even though it be something unheard of, something new. If you do not lack the courage, you will not lack the cleverness, to die. 
 
See how even the lowest class of slave, when suffering goads him on, is aroused and discovers a way to deceive even the most watchful guards! He is truly great who not only has given himself the order to die, but has also found the means. 
 
I have promised you, however, some more illustrations drawn from the same games. During the second event in a sham sea-fight one of the barbarians sank deep into his own throat a spear which had been given him for use against his foe. 
 
"Why, oh why," he said, "have I not long ago escaped from all this torture and all this mockery? Why should I be armed and yet wait for death to come?" 
 
This exhibition was all the more striking because of the lesson men learn from it that dying is more honorable than killing. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 
 
I am honestly uncomfortable with this letter, not on account of the subject matter itself, but because I have far too many painful memories about suicide. I lost dear friends to it, and I chastise myself for not being there when I could have been. I struggled with the bitter temptation myself, and only failed to follow through out of cowardice, not out of any virtue.
 
Each and every person I lost was a case born out of despair, and so the noble deed Seneca describes is far beyond my direct experience. My total compassion for the victims does not erase the dictate of my conscience, that each and every life has dignity, and that even the darkest melancholy can be defeated. 
 
I must not permit my passions to sweep me away, however powerful they may be. Let me work with them, pass through them, transform them into a vehicle for meaning and purpose. At the same time, I am aware how there will be times when laying down one’s life will be a consequence of fully living that life. It all revolves around the nature of the intention, the question of why I pass on, whether by my own hand or by that of another. 
 
Because I write daily, some people assume I am a verbose fellow, yet in real life I am actually quite silent. So that I will not muddy my thoughts by adding further technical distinctions, of which there are already enough in any of the Scholastic handbooks, I turn my attention to an old Roman sculpture, The Ludovisi Gaul, sometimes called The Galatian Suicide. 
 
It depicts a Gallic tribesman holding his dying wife in one arm, and preparing to thrust his sword into his neck with the other. When I look at it, I am filled with both sadness and admiration—I am moved by the loss, and I am inspired by the conviction. This man cannot speak to me, though I feel certain he is not acting out of hopelessness: his refusal to surrender to his foes is a final victory, a testament to his freedom. I believe it represents precisely that strength of character which Seneca applauds. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: Roman, The Ludovisi Gaul (2nd century AD) 

Sayings of Heraclitus 81

To God all things are fair and good and right, but men hold some things wrong and some right. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.9

Inasmuch as I began with an illustration taken from humble life, I shall keep on with that sort. For men will make greater demands upon themselves, if they see that death can be despised even by the most despised class of men. 
 
The Catos, the Scipios, and the others whose names we are wont to hear with admiration, we regard as beyond the sphere of imitation; but I shall now prove to you that the virtue of which I speak is found as frequently in the gladiators' training-school as among the leaders in a civil war.
 
Lately a gladiator, who had been sent forth to the morning exhibition, was being conveyed in a cart along with the other prisoners; nodding as if he were heavy with sleep, he let his head fall over so far that it was caught in the spokes; then he kept his body in position long enough to break his neck by the revolution of the wheel. So he made his escape by means of the very wagon which was carrying him to his punishment. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 
 
This story makes me shiver almost as much as the previous one, but I keep myself focused on Seneca’s deeper point: if we are to do what is right, just patiently awaiting a miserable end is not always the most honorable path. Sometimes, when push comes to shove, we have the choice to surrender the duration of our lives precisely in order to enrich the merit of those lives. 
 
Though I am hesitant to discuss it in the current political climate, the account of this second gladiator makes me reflect on how criminal suspects will sometimes commit “suicide by cop” before permitting themselves to be captured, tried, and imprisoned. I am sure many do so out of pure rage, and many more do so out of total desperation, though I also wonder if a few are thinking it through with far greater care than we might wish to admit.
 
Those on one side of the aisle say such men are sniveling cowards, and those on the other side of the aisle say they are hapless victims of society, while I am haunted by the possibility that they recognize something I am missing. 
 
I recall briefly meeting a prisoner years ago, during my stint in social services, who was put under psychiatric care because he refused to enter the general population. He would, for example, injure himself or threaten to take his own life if he was ever placed in his assigned cell. 
 
When he was asked if he did this because he was frightened of being locked up, or if he felt intimidated by the other inmates, he insisted he had already seen enough of this life to still be scared. 
 
“No,” he said calmly, “I know what I will have to do to survive in there, and I don’t want to do any of those things ever again. I’ll die before I become that guy again.” 
 
I do not know if he was right or wrong to act as he did; I do know he was struggling with questions of conscience the rest of us can barely imagine. I was only there to assist a priest who was hearing his confession, so I had absolutely no power in the matter, which left me heartbroken. 
 
I am hardly a man of physical bravery, and I don’t manage too well with noble gestures, but if you told me to murder another man to spare my own life, I would rather turn the weapon on myself. The poor gladiator understood that, and I suspect the troubled prisoner at Bridgewater also understood something about that. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

Delphic Maxims 58

Ὃ μέλλεις, δός 

Do what you mean to do 

IMAGE: John Pettie, The Vigil (1884) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.8

You need not think that none but great men have had the strength to burst the bonds of human servitude; you need not believe that this cannot be done except by a Cato—Cato, who with his hand dragged forth the spirit which he had not succeeded in freeing by the sword. 
 
Nay, men of the meanest lot in life have by a mighty impulse escaped to safety, and when they were not allowed to die at their own convenience, or to suit themselves in their choice of the instruments of death, they have snatched up whatever was lying ready to hand, and by sheer strength have turned objects which were by nature harmless into weapons of their own.
 
For example, there was lately in a training-school for wild-beast gladiators a German, who was making ready for the morning exhibition; he withdrew in order to relieve himself—the only thing which he was allowed to do in secret and without the presence of a guard. 
 
While so engaged, he seized the stick of wood, tipped with a sponge, which was devoted to the vilest uses, and stuffed it, just as it was, down his throat; thus he blocked up his windpipe, and choked the breath from his body. That was truly to insult death!
 
Yes, indeed; it was not a very elegant or becoming way to die; but what is more foolish than to be over-nice about dying? What a brave fellow! He surely deserved to be allowed to choose his fate! How bravely he would have wielded a sword! With what courage he would have hurled himself into the depths of the sea, or down a precipice! 
 
Cut off from resources on every hand, he yet found a way to furnish himself with death, and with a weapon for death. Hence you can understand that nothing but the will need postpone death. Let each man judge the deed of this most zealous fellow as he likes, provided we agree on this point—that the foulest death is preferable to the fairest slavery. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 
 
You need not have a squeamish disposition to find this tale disturbing, and yet Seneca presents it as a triumph of the highest order. I admit I had to think the matter through for quite some time before I could even begin to appreciate the courage of this nameless gladiator. As always with anything Stoic, it only becomes possible when the priorities are flipped. 
 
The context is important, for the German’s unsung act is meant to contrast with the celebrated martyrdom of Cato. We may gasp with admiration when we hear of “great men” doing extraordinary deeds, but we believe it impossible for the everyman to be so noble, and perhaps even condemn his brutish ways, while still praising the renowned hero. If Cato fills me with awe, why not this barbarian? If any slave can do it, what is keeping me from being extraordinary in all my ordinariness? 
 
Recall that when Cato pierced his own belly, the wound was not fatal, and so he had to rip out his entrails with his hands. The standing of the man should not be the question, though I am not yet convinced that anyone ever needs to take this path of extreme violence. Might it have been better for Cato, or for the German, to endure humiliation as a captive for the sake of the virtues? 
 
It then occurred to me why it is one thing to bear an evil, and then another to cooperate with an evil, however indirectly. If a self-appointed tyrant, by the sheer exercise of force, commands me to surrender my judgment and to engage in base practices, I am fairly certain I should refuse; the liberty of my conscience is at stake, not just the liberty of my body. Assuming no other option remains open to me, I am free to lose my life before I lose my integrity. 
 
I should not assume that a self-sacrifice is the same as a “suicide”, or that it is necessarily a consequence of fear, or of despair, or even of spite—it can also be a final statement of conviction. To do the right thing, it is better to abandon something lesser for the sake of something greater. Both Cato and the German slave affirmed their ultimate mastery over themselves by firmly denying it to their would-be conquerors. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 246

The iron must be heated several times and hammered before it becomes good steel. Then only it becomes fit to be made into a sharp sword, and can be bent any way you like. 

So a man must be heated several times in the furnace of tribulations, and hammered with the persecutions of the world, before he becomes pure and humble. 

Tidbits from Montaigne 64

It is more of a job to interpret the interpretations than to interpret the things, and there are more books about books than about any other subject: we do nothing but write glosses about each other. 

—Michel de Montaigne, Essays 3.13 

IMAGE: Carl Schleicher, An Argument over the Talmud (c. 1860) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.7

What, then, is it which makes us lazy and sluggish? None of us reflects that someday he must depart from this house of life; just so old tenants are kept from moving by fondness for a particular place and by custom, even in spite of ill-treatment.
 
Would you be free from the restraint of your body? Live in it as if you were about to leave it. Keep thinking of the fact that someday you will be deprived of this tenure; then you will be more brave against the necessity of departing. 
 
But how will a man take thought of his own end, if he craves all things without end? And yet there is nothing so essential for us to consider. For our training in other things is perhaps superfluous. 
 
Our souls have been made ready to meet poverty; but our riches have held out. We have armed ourselves to scorn pain; but we have had the good fortune to possess sound and healthy bodies, and so have never been forced to put this virtue to the test. We have taught ourselves to endure bravely the loss of those we love; but Fortune has preserved to us all whom we loved.
 
It is in this one matter only that the day will come which will require us to test our training. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 
 
For all of our intellectual ruminations, I have a hunch that we are really approaching death with our feelings first, gripped by fear and panic. In clinging so desperately to mere existence, we ignore how Nature delights in change, and so we neglect to embrace our true essence—that this life must end is a very condition for learning to thrive in the virtues. 
 
In other words, we don’t want to go, because we haven’t yet figured out why we are even here. Once we do discover our purpose, however, the prospect of dying is no longer so dreadful. Indeed, it can even become a sort of relief from the trials of Fortune, in the knowledge that the job was well done. 
 
If I have already achieved what I was put here to do, why be terrified of moving on? More time will not make me any better, and I can choose to become a good man right now, at this very instant. I am the only obstacle. What I was will be reformed into something new, and the cycle will continue, in all of its beauty. 
 
When I wish to be liberated from the burden of pain, I can remember how tenuous my hold on this life really is, not in a morbid way, but as a challenge to rise to the occasion. My problem is that I am still longing to receive more, when what I already have within me is enough. Everything else I do is quite secondary to the task of taking a hold of my responsibility to be genuinely human. 
 
Once you have given me too much money, I run the grave risk of forgetting what it means to be poor. Once you have granted me constant health, I become weaker in the face of disease. Once I receive all the things I desire, I no longer know how to do without them. Prosperity of any sort can quickly become a curse, not a blessing. 
 
By reflecting upon my mortality, and by my willingness to surrender this life at any moment, I am simply preparing myself to do without the trivial diversions, to walk without the crutches. Dying to vain expectations is finally living in serenity. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: Hippolyt Sobeslav Pinkas, The Old Man and Death (1863) 

Stoic Snippets 243

As those who try to stand in your way when you are proceeding according to right reason will not be able to turn you aside from your proper action, so neither let them drive you from your benevolent feelings toward them, but be on your guard equally in both matters, not only in the matter of steady judgment and action, but also in the matter of gentleness to those who try to hinder or otherwise trouble you. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.9 

IMAGE: Charles Spencelayh, That Damned Cat (c. 1920) 

Netherlandish Proverbs 2

"To be a pillar-biter." 

To be a religious hypocrite. 

Netherlandish Proverbs 1

"To be able to tie even the devil to a pillow."

Obstinacy overcomes everything. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.6

You can find men who have gone so far as to profess wisdom and yet maintain that one should not offer violence to one's own life, and hold it accursed for a man to be the means of his own destruction; we should wait, say they, for the end decreed by Nature. 
 
But one who says this does not see that he is shutting off the path to freedom. The best thing which eternal law ever ordained was that it allowed to us one entrance into life, but many exits.
 
Must I await the cruelty either of disease or of man, when I can depart through the midst of torture, and shake off my troubles? This is the one reason why we cannot complain of life: it keeps no one against his will. 
 
Humanity is well situated, because no man is unhappy except by his own fault. Live, if you so desire; if not, you may return to the place whence you came.
 
You have often been cupped in order to relieve headaches. You have had veins cut for the purpose of reducing your weight. If you would pierce your heart, a gaping wound is not necessary; a lancet will open the way to that great freedom, and tranquility can be purchased at the cost of a pinprick. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 
 
I travel in academic circles where a strict intolerance for anything that even vaguely smacks of suicide is the norm, and these folks do not at all take kindly to my claim that Christ freely chose to die, even as he did not desire that death for its own sake. Socrates, and countless other fine souls, did much the same. 
 
I would suggest we be clear on how we define “taking” our own lives, being careful to measure the act within the context of the intention. I do not believe that Seneca is proposing we treat life as cheap or disposable, but rather that we be fully responsible for leaving this world in whatever way will best increase our virtues. 
 
First, remember that from the Stoic perspective, life or death are, strictly speaking, neither good nor bad in themselves, and are instead things to be treated with indifference. I must only ask which state will best serve the content of my character, at which point I will no longer fret over the other advantages or disadvantages of staying or going. 
 
Second, I should not assume that Universal Nature is somehow forbidding me to exercise my human nature as a creature of reason and will. Was I not given these powers precisely so that I might serve the whole, to make my own way as best I see fit? Freedom is not in conflict with Providence, but a very expression of that Providence; my conscience has the capacity to make the most fitting use of my circumstances. 
 
How I make my exit is a very part of how I fulfill my purpose. If reason prohibits it, I am called to refrain. If reason permits it, the option remains open. All other things being equal, to depart with dignity is my prerogative. For better or for worse, I can engage or disengage from this life, and I ultimately have no one to blame for my happiness or my misery but myself. 
 
Cato chose to cut the cord, just as Seneca himself would do within a short time of writing this letter. While Cicero did not do the deed himself, he stretched out his neck to invite the fatal blow. There is a certain streak of “death before dishonor” among the Romans, sharing something in common with the precepts of bushido, which may now feel alien to our more delicate cultural sensibilities. 
 
I honestly do not know if I would die by my own hand before submitting to an injustice from another, though I do know I would never question the integrity and courage of those who do. Where I might still see the possibility to do a bit more good, another might be convinced that this is the final test. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Seneca (1773) 

Jacob Wrestling with the Angel 8

Anonymous German, Jacob with the Angel (c. 1630) 

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 178

At feasts, remember that you are entertaining two guests, body and soul. 

What you give to the body, you presently lose; what you give to the soul, you keep forever. 

IMAGE: Gerard David, The Marriage at Cana (c. 1500) 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 148

How hard his fate, who grows old through anxiety. 

IMAGE by Jim Blanchard 

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.5

No general statement can be made, therefore, with regard to the question whether, when a power beyond our control threatens us with death, we should anticipate death, or await it. For there are many arguments to pull us in either direction. 
 
If one death is accompanied by torture, and the other is simple and easy, why not snatch the latter? Just as I shall select my ship when I am about to go on a voyage or my house when I propose to take a residence, so I shall choose my death when I am about to depart from life.
 
Moreover, just as a long-drawn out life does not necessarily mean a better one, so a long-drawn-out death necessarily means a worse one. There is no occasion when the soul should be humored more than at the moment of death. Let the soul depart as it feels itself impelled to go; whether it seeks the sword, or the halter, or some draught that attacks the veins, let it proceed and burst the bonds of its slavery. 
 
Every man ought to make his life acceptable to others besides himself, but his death to himself alone. The best form of death is the one we like.
 
Men are foolish who reflect thus: "One person will say that my conduct was not brave enough; another, that I was too headstrong; a third, that a particular kind of death would have betokened more spirit." 
 
What you should really reflect is: "I have under consideration a purpose with which the talk of men has no concern!" 
 
Your sole aim should be to escape from Fortune as speedily as possible; otherwise, there will be no lack of persons who will think ill of what you have done. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 
 
I may wish to be given a simple rule to follow, and yet it really ceases to be a rule in the fullest sense if I merely obey out of conformity, instead of understanding through the power of my own reason. If a quick summary is called for, I tell myself that I am only free to depart this world when the choice of dying would do more good for my soul than to continue with living. 
 
And since I know full well, despite all the excuses I might be tempted to make, that the human good is never measured by convenience or gratification, this does not reduce staying or leaving to just haggling about fear or pain. What will come will come, and what remains for me to decide is whether I care more for virtue than I do for survival. 
 
I am hesitant to speak about dying “on my own terms”, since that could be too easily confused with seeking to dictate the circumstances. Nevertheless, if my end is already inevitable, I see no shame in preferring to relieve the agony, or if I am called to stand up for what is right, I am content to be cut down before my time, as a fitting result of such a commitment. Once again, a longer life is not necessarily the same thing as a better life. 
 
Three examples immediately come to mind that may offend my more conservative friends, but I can only ask them to carefully think about the principles before hastily condemning any practices: 
 
In many “primitive” societies, the old who can be of no further service to the young will quietly take a one-way trip into the wilderness. They do so out of love, not out of misery. 
 
In the modern world, a terminal patient who faces intense suffering may ask his doctor for drugs that will both ease his anguish and speed his passing. If judgment remains sound, I would neither refuse to ask nor to grant this. 
 
A pilot sees that he can best do his duty by crashing his plane into the enemy ship, and though he knows he will die, he also knows he will die with dignity. I respect the call he makes, and I honor him, even if he happens to be my foe. 
 
All these instances have their own peculiarities, but they all generally fall into what the Catholic intellectual tradition calls Double Effect Theory, where an unintended effect is necessarily bound to an intended purpose. 
 
While I suspect that some of the examples provided by Seneca seriously push the envelope of such a model, I believe they share in a common spirit: there is no good in desiring death for its own sake, though there can be great good in accepting death for the sake of character. 
 
If my biggest worry is about what other people might think or say about my decision, I am confusing the cause and the consequence. Fortune is to be borne for as long as my own conscience bids, not for as long as she blindly demands. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

Netherlandish Proverbs

Pieter Bruegel the Elder, Netherlandish Proverbs (1559) 

Also called The Folly of the World, this large and detailed painting illustrates over a hundred different traditional Dutch sayings, 

I return to it regularly so I might both laugh and cry at the vanity and the silliness of the human condition. As with all proverbs, the comedy and the tragedy help to teach me valuable lessons about life. 

The specific listing of proverbs in this series is taken from Rainer and Rose-Marie Hagen. 

Here are also two links to online interactive versions: 

http://bruegel.analog.is 

http://s3.imagediver.org/topic/album/4294b0e/the_dutch_proverbs/1/index.html 

Maxims of Goethe 46

Every man has enough power left to carry out that of which he is convinced. 

IMAGE: Richard Caton Woodville Jr, The Charge of the Light Brigade (1894) 

Aesop's Fables 76

The Cat-Maiden 

The gods were once disputing whether it was possible for a living being to change its nature. 

Jupiter said "Yes," but Venus said "No." 

So, to try the question, Jupiter turned a Cat into a Maiden, and gave her to a young man for a wife. The wedding was duly performed and the young couple sat down to the wedding-feast. 

"See," said Jupiter to Venus, "how becomingly she behaves. Who could tell that yesterday she was but a Cat? Surely her nature is changed?"

"Wait a minute," replied Venus, and let loose a mouse into the room. 

No sooner did the bride see this than she jumped up from her seat and tried to pounce upon the mouse. 

"Ah, you see," said Venus,

"Nature will win out." 

The Mother Road 1

I have a strange fascination with the "Mother Road", the old Route 66, both as a monument to our human vitality and as a reminder of our human mortality. 

One of the blessings of moving to rural Oklahoma was the opportunity to travel this great stretch of highway many times, and while I have now made it to one end in Chicago, I fear I will never make it to the other end in Santa Monica. It is of no matter—Arizona will have to do! In any event, I somehow have a sneaking suspicion that California wouldn't really be my cup of tea. 

I make it a point to follow the oldest possible track wherever I can, and this involves much cursing over a map, as well as moments of profound joy when I see my country in its most gritty and noble form. It has been a privilege to have these years of exploration: I learn more about myself as I learn more about the hearts and minds of those who made their way along the path. 

As long as I can still drag myself into the Jeep, I will continue to make my rounds. . . . 

—2/2017 

Abandoned Places 55

IMAGE by Niki Feijen