He who is thoughtful, blameless, settled, dutiful, without passions, and who has attained the highest end, him I call indeed a Brahmana.
.jpeg)
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Friday, September 13, 2024
Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 10
For all human beings have from nature inclinations toward virtue and, according to Cleanthes, are like half lines of iambic verse; hence, if they remain incomplete they are base, but if they are completed they are virtuous.
The Stoics also say that the wise man does everything in accordance with all the virtues; for his every action is perfect and so is bereft of none of the virtues.
IMAGE: Dai Jin, Employing Virtue (c. 1450)
Thursday, September 12, 2024
Proverbs 1:17-19
in the sight of any bird;
[18] but these men lie in wait for their own blood,
they set an ambush for their own lives.
[19] Such are the ways of all who get gain by violence;
it takes away the life of its possessors.
IMAGE: Albert Bierstadt, The Ambush (1876)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.28
M. But any perturbation of the mind of this sort may be, as it were, wiped away by the method of appeasing the mind, if you succeed in showing that there is no good in that which has given rise to joy and lust, nor any evil in that which has occasioned fear or grief.
But certainly the most effectual cure is to be achieved by showing that all perturbations are of themselves vicious, and have nothing natural or necessary in them. As we see, grief itself is easily softened when we charge those who grieve with weakness and an effeminate mind; or when we commend the gravity and constancy of those who bear calmly whatever befalls them here, as accidents to which all men are liable; and, indeed, this is generally the feeling of those who look on these as real evils, but yet think they should be borne with resignation. One imagines pleasure to be a good, another money; and yet the one may be called off from intemperance, the other from covetousness.
The other method and address, which, at the same time that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, has more subtlety in it; but it seldom succeeds, and is not applicable to vulgar minds, for there are some diseases which that medicine can by no means remove.
For, should anyone be uneasy because he is without virtue, without courage, destitute of a sense of duty or honesty, his anxiety proceeds from a real evil; and yet we must apply another method of cure to him, and such a one as all the philosophers, however they may differ about other things, agree in.
For they must necessarily agree in this, that commotions of the mind in opposition to right reason are vicious; and that even admitting those things to be evils which occasion fear or grief, and those to be goods which provoke desire or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious; for we mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is resolute, sedate, grave, and superior to everything in this life; but one who either grieves, or fears, or covets, or is transported with passion, cannot come under that denomination; for these things are consistent only with those who look on the things of this world as things with which their minds are unequal to contend.
But certainly the most effectual cure is to be achieved by showing that all perturbations are of themselves vicious, and have nothing natural or necessary in them. As we see, grief itself is easily softened when we charge those who grieve with weakness and an effeminate mind; or when we commend the gravity and constancy of those who bear calmly whatever befalls them here, as accidents to which all men are liable; and, indeed, this is generally the feeling of those who look on these as real evils, but yet think they should be borne with resignation. One imagines pleasure to be a good, another money; and yet the one may be called off from intemperance, the other from covetousness.
The other method and address, which, at the same time that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, has more subtlety in it; but it seldom succeeds, and is not applicable to vulgar minds, for there are some diseases which that medicine can by no means remove.
For, should anyone be uneasy because he is without virtue, without courage, destitute of a sense of duty or honesty, his anxiety proceeds from a real evil; and yet we must apply another method of cure to him, and such a one as all the philosophers, however they may differ about other things, agree in.
For they must necessarily agree in this, that commotions of the mind in opposition to right reason are vicious; and that even admitting those things to be evils which occasion fear or grief, and those to be goods which provoke desire or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious; for we mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is resolute, sedate, grave, and superior to everything in this life; but one who either grieves, or fears, or covets, or is transported with passion, cannot come under that denomination; for these things are consistent only with those who look on the things of this world as things with which their minds are unequal to contend.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.28
To be honest, I find myself swinging back and forth on which of these two methods is “better” for taming my passions. Sometimes I find more success with focusing on my inner temperament, and at other times I achieve more lasting results when I reconsider the seeming good or evil of the outer circumstances. I suppose this merely supports the idea that there are always different remedies for different conditions.
If you tell me that I must strengthen my resolve and stand firm in the virtues, I will most certainly be inspired, even as I have little patience for any macho demands to “man up”. Once I actually know how it is within my power to withstand hardships with dignity, I discover a remarkable moral courage I didn’t even know I had within me. Even the most indolent and wishy-washy fellow will feel ashamed when his character is challenged.
Nevertheless, I still feel the need to examine the reasons why my desires and aversions should be ruled with such discipline: is there not something good in the objects I desire and not something harmful in the objects I fear? Perhaps it is only the little philosopher in me, but I wish to understand how to distinguish the true benefit from the true harm. If you tell me to be strong, please explain how I will reap the rewards.
From the Stoic perspective, the key to embracing the primacy of the virtues is in realizing how no object is in itself good or bad for me at all, unless it is accompanied by my own virtue or vice. Cicero may not be willing to take it that far, yet he does accept how the effect of external circumstances is so minor compared to the perfection of our internal powers. In either case, it helps me to grasp why I should give far less concern to the things I crave or fear, and I should give far more concern to the state of my soul.
In my own experience, a hearty self-discipline only takes me so far, and then I turn outward to a reflection on the ways of the world to further encourage that composure. In other words, I better learn to master my own urges by observing why their objects really have very little to offer me—the latter invigorates the former. I imagine Cicero is right, however, to claim that an inner persistence is the more efficient means, even if an outer investigation can also provide a greater depth of conviction.
The disorder in my judgments is the ultimate problem, and that is why there are so many perturbations in my emotions. Even as real philosophers understand this, it flies in the face of popular opinion, which remains convinced that a despair over the situation is the only way out. By improving myself, I improve my ability to cope with my circumstances, however unpleasant it initially feels.
Unlike the Stoic, Aristotle might say that poverty is bad, but like the Stoic, he would agree that the best solution is in the exercise of character. How different this is from when I complain about my state, acting as if gratification, lust, grief, and fear are somehow unavoidable.
To be honest, I find myself swinging back and forth on which of these two methods is “better” for taming my passions. Sometimes I find more success with focusing on my inner temperament, and at other times I achieve more lasting results when I reconsider the seeming good or evil of the outer circumstances. I suppose this merely supports the idea that there are always different remedies for different conditions.
If you tell me that I must strengthen my resolve and stand firm in the virtues, I will most certainly be inspired, even as I have little patience for any macho demands to “man up”. Once I actually know how it is within my power to withstand hardships with dignity, I discover a remarkable moral courage I didn’t even know I had within me. Even the most indolent and wishy-washy fellow will feel ashamed when his character is challenged.
Nevertheless, I still feel the need to examine the reasons why my desires and aversions should be ruled with such discipline: is there not something good in the objects I desire and not something harmful in the objects I fear? Perhaps it is only the little philosopher in me, but I wish to understand how to distinguish the true benefit from the true harm. If you tell me to be strong, please explain how I will reap the rewards.
From the Stoic perspective, the key to embracing the primacy of the virtues is in realizing how no object is in itself good or bad for me at all, unless it is accompanied by my own virtue or vice. Cicero may not be willing to take it that far, yet he does accept how the effect of external circumstances is so minor compared to the perfection of our internal powers. In either case, it helps me to grasp why I should give far less concern to the things I crave or fear, and I should give far more concern to the state of my soul.
In my own experience, a hearty self-discipline only takes me so far, and then I turn outward to a reflection on the ways of the world to further encourage that composure. In other words, I better learn to master my own urges by observing why their objects really have very little to offer me—the latter invigorates the former. I imagine Cicero is right, however, to claim that an inner persistence is the more efficient means, even if an outer investigation can also provide a greater depth of conviction.
The disorder in my judgments is the ultimate problem, and that is why there are so many perturbations in my emotions. Even as real philosophers understand this, it flies in the face of popular opinion, which remains convinced that a despair over the situation is the only way out. By improving myself, I improve my ability to cope with my circumstances, however unpleasant it initially feels.
Unlike the Stoic, Aristotle might say that poverty is bad, but like the Stoic, he would agree that the best solution is in the exercise of character. How different this is from when I complain about my state, acting as if gratification, lust, grief, and fear are somehow unavoidable.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGES:
Jan Steen, The Effects of Intemperance (c. 1663)
Jan Steen, Beware of Luxury (c. 1663)
Wednesday, September 11, 2024
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.27
M. All these assertions proceed from the roots of errors, which must be entirely plucked up and destroyed, not pared and amputated. But as I suspect that your inquiry is not so much respecting the wise man as concerning yourself (for you allow that he is free from all perturbations, and you would willingly be so too yourself), let us see what remedies there are which may be applied by philosophy to the diseases of the mind.
There is certainly some remedy; nor has Nature been so unkind to the human race as to have discovered so many things salutary to the body, and none which are medicinal to the mind. She has even been kinder to the mind than to the body; inasmuch as you must seek abroad for the assistance which the body requires, while the mind has all that it requires within itself.
But in proportion as the excellency of the mind is of a higher and more divine nature, the more diligence does it require; and therefore reason, when it is well applied, discovers what is best, but when it is neglected, it becomes involved in many errors. I shall apply, then, all my discourse to you; for though you pretend to be inquiring about the wise man, your inquiry may possibly be about yourself.
Various, then, are the cures of those perturbations which I have expounded, for every disorder is not to be appeased the same way. One medicine must be applied to the man who mourns, another to the pitiful, another to the person who envies; for there is this difference to be maintained in all the four perturbations: we are to consider whether our discourse had better be directed to perturbations in general, which are a contempt of reason, or a somewhat too vehement appetite; or whether it would be better applied to particular descriptions, as, for instance, to fear, lust, and the rest, and whether it appears preferable to endeavor to remove that which has occasioned the grief, or rather to attempt wholly to eradicate every kind of grief.
As, should anyone grieve that he is poor, the question is, would you maintain poverty to be no evil, or would you contend that a man ought not to grieve at anything? Certainly, this last is the best course; for should you not convince him with regard to poverty, you must allow him to grieve; but if you remove grief by particular arguments, such as I used yesterday, the evil of poverty is in some manner removed.
There is certainly some remedy; nor has Nature been so unkind to the human race as to have discovered so many things salutary to the body, and none which are medicinal to the mind. She has even been kinder to the mind than to the body; inasmuch as you must seek abroad for the assistance which the body requires, while the mind has all that it requires within itself.
But in proportion as the excellency of the mind is of a higher and more divine nature, the more diligence does it require; and therefore reason, when it is well applied, discovers what is best, but when it is neglected, it becomes involved in many errors. I shall apply, then, all my discourse to you; for though you pretend to be inquiring about the wise man, your inquiry may possibly be about yourself.
Various, then, are the cures of those perturbations which I have expounded, for every disorder is not to be appeased the same way. One medicine must be applied to the man who mourns, another to the pitiful, another to the person who envies; for there is this difference to be maintained in all the four perturbations: we are to consider whether our discourse had better be directed to perturbations in general, which are a contempt of reason, or a somewhat too vehement appetite; or whether it would be better applied to particular descriptions, as, for instance, to fear, lust, and the rest, and whether it appears preferable to endeavor to remove that which has occasioned the grief, or rather to attempt wholly to eradicate every kind of grief.
As, should anyone grieve that he is poor, the question is, would you maintain poverty to be no evil, or would you contend that a man ought not to grieve at anything? Certainly, this last is the best course; for should you not convince him with regard to poverty, you must allow him to grieve; but if you remove grief by particular arguments, such as I used yesterday, the evil of poverty is in some manner removed.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.27
In the current trend, mental health is usually treated in much the same way as physical health, with a heavy reliance on the liberal use of prescription drugs. There are some wonderful exceptions, of course, but you will have to seek them out, and you will then run the risk of being labeled as a heretic, for failing to worship at the altar of Holy Science.
I have seen it in our clients, I have seen it in my students, and I have seen it as a patient myself, desperately trying to eradicate a clinging melancholy as if it were no more than a persistent fungus. If this particular pill isn’t working, let’s increase the dosage, or maybe try this cocktail that just came on the market; I sometimes wonder, only half in jest, if we might find more success with cupping or leeching.
I do not wish to engage in any metaphysical bickering about matter and spirit, since for practical purposes it should be more than sufficient to observe how the mind and the body are bound as one, while still operating in so markedly different ways. Whatever mode of existence we attribute to the “soul”, the flow of consciousness is not the same as the flow of blood.
Applying the remedy of philosophy to the diseases of the mind may appear odd, and yet this will only be the case when we turn to a purely academic philosophy, the sort that retains the word, but not the task. If we already begin with assumptions of skepticism and relativism, such philosophy will merely increase our feelings of existential dread, but if we are open to the order of Nature, we can discover a deeper meaning and purpose.
I feel as if Cicero is speaking directly to me when he tells the Auditor that his objection is not really about the merits of philosophy at all, but about his own personal confusion. I, too, will despair of wisdom’s comfort, even as the very cause of my grief is my own ignorance. It is properly humbling to be reminded that, if the wise man is free from distress, I have far more learning to do before I am at peace.
While the body finds its sustenance and support from the outside, the mind has a strength from the inside, through the actions of its own judgments. I am always grateful when someone has the insight and the decency to ask me to challenge my own thinking, and so to become the agent of my own healing. This is a far cry from the usual talk therapy, which is little more than scolding, or the usual philosophical discussion, which is little more than posturing.
When my passions are perturbed, what is the root cause of my illness? I go back to the Stoic distinctions about the healthy and the unhealthy emotions, and I ask myself honestly if I am afflicted with gratification, lust, grief, or fear. Perhaps there are many bound together, and so I must first untangle them, while also recognizing how all of them are equally in conflict with reason. In each case, depending on the ailment, the treatment will be different, much like it is with the guidance from a physician.
If I grieve, for example, I will be tempted to remove the object of my grief, and yet wouldn’t it be even better to manage my very tendency toward distress itself? Poverty has not made me sad—my unwillingness to cope with poverty has made me sad. It will be quite hard to convince the poor man that his hardship isn’t an evil, though he may be more willing to understand why he doesn’t need to be defeated by such circumstances.
In the current trend, mental health is usually treated in much the same way as physical health, with a heavy reliance on the liberal use of prescription drugs. There are some wonderful exceptions, of course, but you will have to seek them out, and you will then run the risk of being labeled as a heretic, for failing to worship at the altar of Holy Science.
I have seen it in our clients, I have seen it in my students, and I have seen it as a patient myself, desperately trying to eradicate a clinging melancholy as if it were no more than a persistent fungus. If this particular pill isn’t working, let’s increase the dosage, or maybe try this cocktail that just came on the market; I sometimes wonder, only half in jest, if we might find more success with cupping or leeching.
I do not wish to engage in any metaphysical bickering about matter and spirit, since for practical purposes it should be more than sufficient to observe how the mind and the body are bound as one, while still operating in so markedly different ways. Whatever mode of existence we attribute to the “soul”, the flow of consciousness is not the same as the flow of blood.
Applying the remedy of philosophy to the diseases of the mind may appear odd, and yet this will only be the case when we turn to a purely academic philosophy, the sort that retains the word, but not the task. If we already begin with assumptions of skepticism and relativism, such philosophy will merely increase our feelings of existential dread, but if we are open to the order of Nature, we can discover a deeper meaning and purpose.
I feel as if Cicero is speaking directly to me when he tells the Auditor that his objection is not really about the merits of philosophy at all, but about his own personal confusion. I, too, will despair of wisdom’s comfort, even as the very cause of my grief is my own ignorance. It is properly humbling to be reminded that, if the wise man is free from distress, I have far more learning to do before I am at peace.
While the body finds its sustenance and support from the outside, the mind has a strength from the inside, through the actions of its own judgments. I am always grateful when someone has the insight and the decency to ask me to challenge my own thinking, and so to become the agent of my own healing. This is a far cry from the usual talk therapy, which is little more than scolding, or the usual philosophical discussion, which is little more than posturing.
When my passions are perturbed, what is the root cause of my illness? I go back to the Stoic distinctions about the healthy and the unhealthy emotions, and I ask myself honestly if I am afflicted with gratification, lust, grief, or fear. Perhaps there are many bound together, and so I must first untangle them, while also recognizing how all of them are equally in conflict with reason. In each case, depending on the ailment, the treatment will be different, much like it is with the guidance from a physician.
If I grieve, for example, I will be tempted to remove the object of my grief, and yet wouldn’t it be even better to manage my very tendency toward distress itself? Poverty has not made me sad—my unwillingness to cope with poverty has made me sad. It will be quite hard to convince the poor man that his hardship isn’t an evil, though he may be more willing to understand why he doesn’t need to be defeated by such circumstances.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Asclepius, a god of healing
Tuesday, September 10, 2024
.jpg)
The River of Life
"The River of Life"
Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)
Our life’s succeeding stages;
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.
But as the careworn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow’s shafts fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,
And life itself is vapid,
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death
Feel we its tide more rapid?
It may be strange—yet who would change
Time’s course to slower speeding,
When one by one our friends have gone,
And left our bosoms bleeding?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Indemnifying fleetness;
And those of youth, a seeming length,
Proportion’d to their sweetness.
Monday, September 9, 2024
Maxims of Goethe 53
Those from whom we are always learning are rightly called our masters; but not everyone who teaches us deserves this title.
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.26
M. But even envy, detraction, pity, have their use. Why should you pity rather than assist, if it is in your power to do so? Is it because you cannot be liberal without pity? We should not take sorrows on ourselves upon another’s account; but we ought to relieve others of their grief if we can. But to detract from another’s reputation, or to rival him with that vicious emulation which resembles an enmity, of what use can that conduct be?
Now, envy implies being uneasy at another’s good because one does not enjoy it one’s self; but detraction is the being uneasy at another’s good, merely because he enjoys it. How can it be right that you should voluntarily grieve, rather than take the trouble of acquiring what you want to have? For it is madness in the highest degree to desire to be the only one that has any particular happiness.
But who can with correctness speak in praise of a mediocrity of evils? Can anyone in whom there is lust or desire be otherwise than libidinous or desirous? Or can a man who is occupied by anger avoid being angry? Or can one who is exposed to any vexation escape being vexed? Or if he is under the influence of fear, must he not be fearful? Do we look, then, on the libidinous, the angry, the anxious, and the timid man, as persons of wisdom, of excellence? Of which I could speak very copiously and diffusely, but I wish to be as concise as possible.
And so, I will merely say that wisdom is an acquaintance with all divine and human affairs, and a knowledge of the cause of everything. Hence it is that it imitates what is divine, and looks upon all human concerns as inferior to virtue.
Did you, then, say that it was your opinion that such a man was as naturally liable to perturbation as the sea is exposed to winds? What is there that can discompose such gravity and constancy? Anything sudden or unforeseen? How can anything of this kind befall one to whom nothing is sudden and unforeseen that can happen to man?
Now, as to their saying that redundancies should be pared off, and only what is natural remain, what, I pray you, can be natural which may be too exuberant?
Now, envy implies being uneasy at another’s good because one does not enjoy it one’s self; but detraction is the being uneasy at another’s good, merely because he enjoys it. How can it be right that you should voluntarily grieve, rather than take the trouble of acquiring what you want to have? For it is madness in the highest degree to desire to be the only one that has any particular happiness.
But who can with correctness speak in praise of a mediocrity of evils? Can anyone in whom there is lust or desire be otherwise than libidinous or desirous? Or can a man who is occupied by anger avoid being angry? Or can one who is exposed to any vexation escape being vexed? Or if he is under the influence of fear, must he not be fearful? Do we look, then, on the libidinous, the angry, the anxious, and the timid man, as persons of wisdom, of excellence? Of which I could speak very copiously and diffusely, but I wish to be as concise as possible.
And so, I will merely say that wisdom is an acquaintance with all divine and human affairs, and a knowledge of the cause of everything. Hence it is that it imitates what is divine, and looks upon all human concerns as inferior to virtue.
Did you, then, say that it was your opinion that such a man was as naturally liable to perturbation as the sea is exposed to winds? What is there that can discompose such gravity and constancy? Anything sudden or unforeseen? How can anything of this kind befall one to whom nothing is sudden and unforeseen that can happen to man?
Now, as to their saying that redundancies should be pared off, and only what is natural remain, what, I pray you, can be natural which may be too exuberant?
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.26
I find myself nodding along in agreement here, delighted to see that someone is finally saying what I have always wanted to say, yet I have been too afraid to face the looks of shock and contempt. We are quick to praise the man who feels intensely, while brushing aside the man who thinks soundly. The head and the gut have perversely swapped their rightful places.
It is wonderful, for example, to feel empathy, but is no substitute for understanding, and it is completely meaningless without action. I think of the pious crowd, who affect a tender look, tell you how they will pray for you, and then they believe their work to be done. A sentiment cannot take the place of a commitment.
When I just say I feel sorry for you, that is hardly enough. How is it within my power to help you comprehend your pain, to transform your sorrow into joy? There is a reason why pity can have a negative meaning, when it merely involves looking down at someone, instead of finding a way to raise him up. Yes, sadness will come, though there is no cause to dwell upon it, to wallow in it, to commiserate without finding a way out of that dark hole.
As teenagers, we would often sit around and mope, while listening to somber music. As adults we now complain to one another in the break room. Both are but a step away from wasting away in a dingy bar. No, there is no virtue in it, for the virtues demand an improvement through our thoughts and deeds, which is why it is only the wise man who can become a truly happy man. He knows what he is about.
The same will be true for the many forms of envy, where we define ourselves by desiring what the other fellow happens to have, or even wish to deny him any of his own pleasures. If it is indeed a good, what can I do to provide it for myself? How might I discern that the exercise of my own nature is the highest good, and why it is never necessary to seize what rightly belongs to another?
I recall a boy in second grade, who would constantly grab at a toy when a different child was playing with it, and then he would immediately lose interest. I was baffled why our progressive teacher would never put a stop to this, and she explained that she was only trying to “validate” his feelings. Even at that tender age, I had a sneaking sense that forming a conscience would be the best means for nurturing healthy feelings.
You may say that I am trying to stifle our passions, but I assure you that my concern is about expressing them through a peace of mind. No, not all emotions are good for us, and while it is deeply harmful to ignore or to repress them, it is our power of awareness that permits us to channel them in a harmonious way.
Those who know me will gladly confirm that I have a ridiculously passionate temperament, a hopeless romantic, which is precisely why I recognize the urgency of bringing order and purpose to my jumbled mass of desires and aversions. It is the recovering drunk who best knows the importance of sobriety, and the agitated man who most appreciates the prize of serenity.
When I am feeling lustful, or angry, or frightened, I therefore know that something is off about my judgments. I crave what I believe to be good, I oppose what I believe to be bad, and I am scared of what I believe to be a threat. Rather than allowing these urges to smother me, it is wiser to examine the assumptions from which they sprang. There is nothing natural about excess.
I find myself nodding along in agreement here, delighted to see that someone is finally saying what I have always wanted to say, yet I have been too afraid to face the looks of shock and contempt. We are quick to praise the man who feels intensely, while brushing aside the man who thinks soundly. The head and the gut have perversely swapped their rightful places.
It is wonderful, for example, to feel empathy, but is no substitute for understanding, and it is completely meaningless without action. I think of the pious crowd, who affect a tender look, tell you how they will pray for you, and then they believe their work to be done. A sentiment cannot take the place of a commitment.
When I just say I feel sorry for you, that is hardly enough. How is it within my power to help you comprehend your pain, to transform your sorrow into joy? There is a reason why pity can have a negative meaning, when it merely involves looking down at someone, instead of finding a way to raise him up. Yes, sadness will come, though there is no cause to dwell upon it, to wallow in it, to commiserate without finding a way out of that dark hole.
As teenagers, we would often sit around and mope, while listening to somber music. As adults we now complain to one another in the break room. Both are but a step away from wasting away in a dingy bar. No, there is no virtue in it, for the virtues demand an improvement through our thoughts and deeds, which is why it is only the wise man who can become a truly happy man. He knows what he is about.
The same will be true for the many forms of envy, where we define ourselves by desiring what the other fellow happens to have, or even wish to deny him any of his own pleasures. If it is indeed a good, what can I do to provide it for myself? How might I discern that the exercise of my own nature is the highest good, and why it is never necessary to seize what rightly belongs to another?
I recall a boy in second grade, who would constantly grab at a toy when a different child was playing with it, and then he would immediately lose interest. I was baffled why our progressive teacher would never put a stop to this, and she explained that she was only trying to “validate” his feelings. Even at that tender age, I had a sneaking sense that forming a conscience would be the best means for nurturing healthy feelings.
You may say that I am trying to stifle our passions, but I assure you that my concern is about expressing them through a peace of mind. No, not all emotions are good for us, and while it is deeply harmful to ignore or to repress them, it is our power of awareness that permits us to channel them in a harmonious way.
Those who know me will gladly confirm that I have a ridiculously passionate temperament, a hopeless romantic, which is precisely why I recognize the urgency of bringing order and purpose to my jumbled mass of desires and aversions. It is the recovering drunk who best knows the importance of sobriety, and the agitated man who most appreciates the prize of serenity.
When I am feeling lustful, or angry, or frightened, I therefore know that something is off about my judgments. I crave what I believe to be good, I oppose what I believe to be bad, and I am scared of what I believe to be a threat. Rather than allowing these urges to smother me, it is wiser to examine the assumptions from which they sprang. There is nothing natural about excess.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
Sunday, September 8, 2024
The Art of Peace 109
You cannot see or touch the Divine with your gross senses. The Divine is within you, not somewhere else.
Unite yourself to the Divine, and you will be able to perceive gods wherever you are, but do not try to grasp or cling to them.
_(38686595785).jpg)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.25
M. Anger is in no wise becoming in an orator, though it is not amiss to affect it. Do you imagine that I am angry when in pleading I use any extraordinary vehemence and sharpness? What! When I write out my speeches after all is over and past, am I then angry while writing?
Or do you think Aesopus was ever angry when he acted, or Accius was so when he wrote? Those men, indeed, act very well, but the orator acts better than the player, provided he be really an orator; but, then, they carry it on without passion, and with a composed mind.
But what wantonness is it to commend lust! You produce Themistocles and Demosthenes; to these you add Pythagoras, Democritus, and Plato. What! Do you then call studies lust? But these studies of the most excellent and admirable things, such as those were which you bring forward on all occasions, ought to be composed and tranquil; and what kind of philosophers are they who commend grief, than which nothing is more detestable? Afranius has said much to this purpose:
“Let him but grieve, no matter what the cause.”
But he spoke this of a debauched and dissolute youth. But we are inquiring into the conduct of a constant and wise man. We may even allow a centurion or standard-bearer to be angry, or any others, whom, not to explain too far the mysteries of the rhetoricians, I shall not mention here; for to touch the passions, where reason cannot be come at, may have its use; but my inquiry, as I often repeat, is about a wise man.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.25
“Oh, what an inspiring man! He speaks with such passion!”
I hear this regularly about politicians, and preachers, and all sorts of celebrities, and while I appreciate it when people are moved, I do wonder what exactly it is that so moves them. If it is the mere presence of intense emotion, then I can think of many men whose wickedness was driven by a fiery rage, and I dare to suggest that the passion is only as good as the principle.
True conviction is about knowing the good, not just about feeling intoxicated. You may scornfully tell me that Nietzsche would disagree, and I will quietly tell you that you may be following the wrong role models.
I am glad to hear Cicero say that anger doesn’t make for a fine speech, unless it is cautiously employed as a rhetorical device. In any case, even if a simulation of outrage is present, it is never itself a cause for confidence. A man who is furious, or horrified, or envious does not even understand himself at that moment, let alone possess any authority to persuade others.
With a few notable exceptions, most of what passes for philosophy among my peers is an exercise in emotional manipulation. I could blame David Hume, for attempting to reduce all meaning and value to the appetites, or Jean-Paul Sartre, for wrapping everything in anxiety and dread, but resentment is hardly the point, since I refuse to restrict myself to my impressions. With Cicero, and with the Stoics, I reach beyond myself through an awareness of my place within Nature, as a creature defined by reason.
So, when they insist that I be lustful in order to be sincere, or depressed in order to be genuine, I will respectfully refuse, because I know that this is not who I was made to be. Your fervor does not intimidate me, though a sign from your conscience would embolden me.
A fellow student once claimed that Plato’s Symposium was one of the greatest texts he had ever read, because it was all about sex. I countered that I believed it to be all about love, and he gave me a puzzled look. “What’s the difference?”
I know very little about speaking, and even less about acting, but I am happy to learn that Cicero was firmly in control of his faculties when he scolded Catiline. If he hadn’t been, there would have been nothing just or noble about it.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: B. Barloccini, Cicero Denouncing Catiline (1849)
Saturday, September 7, 2024
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.24
M. Examine the definitions of courage: you will find it does not require the assistance of passion.
Courage is, then, an affection of mind that endures all things, being itself in proper subjection to the highest of all laws; or it may be called a firm maintenance of judgment in supporting or repelling everything that has a formidable appearance, or a knowledge of what is formidable or otherwise, and maintaining invariably a stable judgment of all such things, so as to bear them or despise them; or, in fewer words, according to Chrysippus (for the above definitions are Sphaerus’s, a man of the first ability as a layer-down of definitions, as the Stoics think. But they are all pretty much alike: they give us only common notions, some one way, and some another).
But what is Chrysippus’s definition? Fortitude, says he, is the knowledge of all things that are bearable, or an affection of the mind which bears and supports everything in obedience to the chief law of reason without fear.
Now, though we should attack these men in the same manner as Carneades used to do, I fear they are the only real philosophers; for which of these definitions is there which does not explain that obscure and intricate notion of courage which every man conceives within himself? And when it is thus explained, what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator want more?
And no one can think that they will be unable to behave themselves courageously without anger. What! Do not even the Stoics, who maintain that all fools are mad, make the same inferences? For, take away perturbations, especially a hastiness of temper, and they will appear to talk very absurdly.
But what they assert is this: they say that all fools are mad, as all dunghills stink; not that they always do so, but stir them, and you will perceive it. And in like manner, a warm-tempered man is not always in a passion; but provoke him, and you will see him run mad.
Now, that very warlike anger, which is of such service in war, what is the use of it to him when he is at home with his wife, children, and family? Is there, then, anything that a disturbed mind can do better than one which is calm and steady? Or can anyone be angry without a perturbation of mind? Our people, then, were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our manners, and nothing is worse than a passionate disposition, called angry men the only morose men.
Courage is, then, an affection of mind that endures all things, being itself in proper subjection to the highest of all laws; or it may be called a firm maintenance of judgment in supporting or repelling everything that has a formidable appearance, or a knowledge of what is formidable or otherwise, and maintaining invariably a stable judgment of all such things, so as to bear them or despise them; or, in fewer words, according to Chrysippus (for the above definitions are Sphaerus’s, a man of the first ability as a layer-down of definitions, as the Stoics think. But they are all pretty much alike: they give us only common notions, some one way, and some another).
But what is Chrysippus’s definition? Fortitude, says he, is the knowledge of all things that are bearable, or an affection of the mind which bears and supports everything in obedience to the chief law of reason without fear.
Now, though we should attack these men in the same manner as Carneades used to do, I fear they are the only real philosophers; for which of these definitions is there which does not explain that obscure and intricate notion of courage which every man conceives within himself? And when it is thus explained, what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator want more?
And no one can think that they will be unable to behave themselves courageously without anger. What! Do not even the Stoics, who maintain that all fools are mad, make the same inferences? For, take away perturbations, especially a hastiness of temper, and they will appear to talk very absurdly.
But what they assert is this: they say that all fools are mad, as all dunghills stink; not that they always do so, but stir them, and you will perceive it. And in like manner, a warm-tempered man is not always in a passion; but provoke him, and you will see him run mad.
Now, that very warlike anger, which is of such service in war, what is the use of it to him when he is at home with his wife, children, and family? Is there, then, anything that a disturbed mind can do better than one which is calm and steady? Or can anyone be angry without a perturbation of mind? Our people, then, were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our manners, and nothing is worse than a passionate disposition, called angry men the only morose men.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.24
This doesn’t mean that I won’t feel anything when I am being brave, but it does mean that I won’t be consumed by any extreme or disordered feelings when I am being brave: the very presence of an unhealthy passion is already in conflict with a sound judgment, for I am allowing myself to be carried along instead of steering my own course. An unruly emotion is a symptom of a troubled mind, and never the cause of any excellence.
Much as we get ourselves in trouble by treating love as a mere sentiment, instead of as a deliberate choice, so we have our wires crossed when we assume that anger is a condition for courage. Even as a frenzy puts on an impressive show, fortitude overcomes fear by first offering an understanding of true benefit and harm, and so what once appeared so terrifying is now no longer so dreadful. I know that I can bear it when I know how my virtues are always within my power, and why my circumstances can never do me any real injury.
For Chrysippus, this was because there is no evil in fortune at all, and for Cicero, this was because any pain from the outside pales in comparison when compared to the glory on the inside. It is either nonexistent, or, at the very least, it is insignificant. I keep an open mind when Cicero, like Carneades, is critical of the Stoics, and yet here he is supportive of their definitions for courage, since they describe clearly what most of us only sense confusedly. Know it before choosing to feel it.
In practice, of course, there will be a struggle to apply such principles, as the force of the passions requires a steady discipline to tame. I still cringe at the thought of a wound to my body, or the loss of my property, or an insult to my reputation, and this is all due to my own weakness of character. Calling myself an admirer of the Stoics does not automatically make me a Stoic—I need only think of how often I have permitted my anger to take the lead, while stubbornly insisting I was still firmly in command.
Last year, I found myself the target of a troll on a Usenet group, and after an initial attempt to reply with civility, I was caught up in the malice as much as the other fellow. And what, pray tell, were we so furious about? Picky details about Stoic philosophy, that’s what! Indeed, some of the most ill-tempered people I know are seemingly refined academics, so the problem of a foul disposition is hardly limited to marines, bikers, or construction workers.
In line with Cicero’s vivid image, one must only stir the pot to discern someone’s true qualities, and then we discover how many of us are habitually quite irritable and vindictive. It is indeed a sort of madness, however much we seek to mask it with the illusion of good manners; the cure is in peace of mind, a constancy born of daily practice. What use is the hysteria of a battlefield for the tranquility of a home? Look to the stalwart and patient father, not to the boisterous and jittery soldier: no man ever needs to be incensed.
This doesn’t mean that I won’t feel anything when I am being brave, but it does mean that I won’t be consumed by any extreme or disordered feelings when I am being brave: the very presence of an unhealthy passion is already in conflict with a sound judgment, for I am allowing myself to be carried along instead of steering my own course. An unruly emotion is a symptom of a troubled mind, and never the cause of any excellence.
Much as we get ourselves in trouble by treating love as a mere sentiment, instead of as a deliberate choice, so we have our wires crossed when we assume that anger is a condition for courage. Even as a frenzy puts on an impressive show, fortitude overcomes fear by first offering an understanding of true benefit and harm, and so what once appeared so terrifying is now no longer so dreadful. I know that I can bear it when I know how my virtues are always within my power, and why my circumstances can never do me any real injury.
For Chrysippus, this was because there is no evil in fortune at all, and for Cicero, this was because any pain from the outside pales in comparison when compared to the glory on the inside. It is either nonexistent, or, at the very least, it is insignificant. I keep an open mind when Cicero, like Carneades, is critical of the Stoics, and yet here he is supportive of their definitions for courage, since they describe clearly what most of us only sense confusedly. Know it before choosing to feel it.
In practice, of course, there will be a struggle to apply such principles, as the force of the passions requires a steady discipline to tame. I still cringe at the thought of a wound to my body, or the loss of my property, or an insult to my reputation, and this is all due to my own weakness of character. Calling myself an admirer of the Stoics does not automatically make me a Stoic—I need only think of how often I have permitted my anger to take the lead, while stubbornly insisting I was still firmly in command.
Last year, I found myself the target of a troll on a Usenet group, and after an initial attempt to reply with civility, I was caught up in the malice as much as the other fellow. And what, pray tell, were we so furious about? Picky details about Stoic philosophy, that’s what! Indeed, some of the most ill-tempered people I know are seemingly refined academics, so the problem of a foul disposition is hardly limited to marines, bikers, or construction workers.
In line with Cicero’s vivid image, one must only stir the pot to discern someone’s true qualities, and then we discover how many of us are habitually quite irritable and vindictive. It is indeed a sort of madness, however much we seek to mask it with the illusion of good manners; the cure is in peace of mind, a constancy born of daily practice. What use is the hysteria of a battlefield for the tranquility of a home? Look to the stalwart and patient father, not to the boisterous and jittery soldier: no man ever needs to be incensed.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Carneades
Friday, September 6, 2024
Thursday, September 5, 2024
Wednesday, September 4, 2024
Tuesday, September 3, 2024
Monday, September 2, 2024
Sunday, September 1, 2024
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)