What a man does not understand, he does not possess.
IMAGE: Marietta Robusti, Allegory of Wisdom (c. 1580)
Thursday, May 16, 2024
Seneca, Moral Letters 67.2
You ask me whether every good is desirable. You say: "If it is a good to be brave under torture, to go to the stake with a stout heart, to endure illness with resignation, it follows that these things are desirable. But I do not see that any of them is worth praying for. At any rate I have as yet known of no man who has paid a vow by reason of having been cut to pieces by the rod, or twisted out of shape by the gout, or made taller by the rack."
My dear Lucilius, you must distinguish between these cases; you will then comprehend that there is something in them that is to be desired.
I should prefer to be free from torture; but if the time comes when it must be endured, I shall desire that I may conduct myself therein with bravery, honor, and courage.
Of course I prefer that war should not occur; but if war does occur, I shall desire that I may nobly endure the wounds, the starvation, and all that the exigency of war brings.
Nor am I so mad as to crave illness; but if I must suffer illness, I shall desire that I may do nothing which shows lack of restraint, and nothing that is unmanly.
The conclusion is, not that hardships are desirable, but that virtue is desirable, which enables us patiently to endure hardships.
My dear Lucilius, you must distinguish between these cases; you will then comprehend that there is something in them that is to be desired.
I should prefer to be free from torture; but if the time comes when it must be endured, I shall desire that I may conduct myself therein with bravery, honor, and courage.
Of course I prefer that war should not occur; but if war does occur, I shall desire that I may nobly endure the wounds, the starvation, and all that the exigency of war brings.
Nor am I so mad as to crave illness; but if I must suffer illness, I shall desire that I may do nothing which shows lack of restraint, and nothing that is unmanly.
The conclusion is, not that hardships are desirable, but that virtue is desirable, which enables us patiently to endure hardships.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67
My years of dabbling in Stoicism have slowly accustomed me to the attitude that suffering is made to be redemptive, so I start to forget how ridiculous that sounds to most anyone else. If we sense the approach of any discomfort, our animal instincts raise the alarm—how could anything good come from this?
I know a fellow who likes to constantly remind me that I am “just a mammal”, and so he says my purpose in life ought to be about increasing my levels of dopamine. I always smile, and I tell him that there is also a little soul attached to that corpse. He has no idea what that means, and so he continues to chase after pleasure and run away from pain. I, too, enjoy the pleasure, but I also see the purpose to the pain.
Nothing in this world stands in isolation, for every action is intrinsically bound to a greater context. One thing will fall so another may rise, and an absence over here serves a presence over there. I have, from grueling experience, learned that this is especially true of hardship, when Providence presents an obstacle precisely so I might become a better man. Nature never acts in vain.
Growth will inevitably involve friction. There is a perfectly good reason, for example, why adolescence is both one of the most agonizing of times, and also one of the most fruitful of times. Or if I did not find myself so deeply frustrated with my wife, I would never be given the chance to love her all the more; I am sure she would say much the same about my own failings.
Like all of us, Lucilius will only learn about the meaning of adversity when he has embraced the very reason he was put upon this Earth. He was not created to be rich, or famous, or pampered—he was created to increase in the virtues, the fulfillment of his human identity. And like all of us, he will find no peace until he follows this calling.
Whatever is good for us is also whatever is desirable. The good in the suffering is not in the occasion of the pain itself, but rather in the transformation of that pain into the of building of character. When all is said and done, there is nothing more critical than a man’s moral integrity—everything else hinges upon it.
I will not pursue torture, or war, or illness for their own sake, but if they happen to come my way, I have a hunch about what I need to do with them.
My years of dabbling in Stoicism have slowly accustomed me to the attitude that suffering is made to be redemptive, so I start to forget how ridiculous that sounds to most anyone else. If we sense the approach of any discomfort, our animal instincts raise the alarm—how could anything good come from this?
I know a fellow who likes to constantly remind me that I am “just a mammal”, and so he says my purpose in life ought to be about increasing my levels of dopamine. I always smile, and I tell him that there is also a little soul attached to that corpse. He has no idea what that means, and so he continues to chase after pleasure and run away from pain. I, too, enjoy the pleasure, but I also see the purpose to the pain.
Nothing in this world stands in isolation, for every action is intrinsically bound to a greater context. One thing will fall so another may rise, and an absence over here serves a presence over there. I have, from grueling experience, learned that this is especially true of hardship, when Providence presents an obstacle precisely so I might become a better man. Nature never acts in vain.
Growth will inevitably involve friction. There is a perfectly good reason, for example, why adolescence is both one of the most agonizing of times, and also one of the most fruitful of times. Or if I did not find myself so deeply frustrated with my wife, I would never be given the chance to love her all the more; I am sure she would say much the same about my own failings.
Like all of us, Lucilius will only learn about the meaning of adversity when he has embraced the very reason he was put upon this Earth. He was not created to be rich, or famous, or pampered—he was created to increase in the virtues, the fulfillment of his human identity. And like all of us, he will find no peace until he follows this calling.
Whatever is good for us is also whatever is desirable. The good in the suffering is not in the occasion of the pain itself, but rather in the transformation of that pain into the of building of character. When all is said and done, there is nothing more critical than a man’s moral integrity—everything else hinges upon it.
I will not pursue torture, or war, or illness for their own sake, but if they happen to come my way, I have a hunch about what I need to do with them.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Pietro della Francesca, The Flagellation of Christ (c. 1470)
Wednesday, May 15, 2024
Tuesday, May 14, 2024
Monday, May 13, 2024
Delphic Maxims 55
Λαβὼν ἀπόδος
Give back what you have received
IMAGE: Peter Paul Rubens, The Tribute Money (c. 1615)
Seneca, Moral Letters 67.1
Letter 67: On ill-health and endurance of suffering
If I may begin with a commonplace remark, spring is gradually disclosing itself; but though it is rounding into summer, when you would expect hot weather, it has kept rather cool, and one cannot yet be sure of it. For it often slides back into winter weather. Do you wish to know how uncertain it still is? I do not yet trust myself to a bath which is absolutely cold; even at this time I break its chill.
You may say that this is no way to show the endurance either of heat or of cold; very true, dear Lucilius, but at my time of life one is at length contented with the natural chill of the body. I can scarcely thaw out in the middle of summer. Accordingly, I spend most of the time bundled up; and I thank old age for keeping me fastened to my bed.
Why should I not thank old age on this account? That which I ought not to wish to do, I lack the ability to do. Most of my converse is with books. Whenever your letters arrive, I imagine that I am with you, and I have the feeling that I am about to speak my answer, instead of writing it. Therefore, let us together investigate the nature of this problem of yours, just as if we were conversing with one another.
If I may begin with a commonplace remark, spring is gradually disclosing itself; but though it is rounding into summer, when you would expect hot weather, it has kept rather cool, and one cannot yet be sure of it. For it often slides back into winter weather. Do you wish to know how uncertain it still is? I do not yet trust myself to a bath which is absolutely cold; even at this time I break its chill.
You may say that this is no way to show the endurance either of heat or of cold; very true, dear Lucilius, but at my time of life one is at length contented with the natural chill of the body. I can scarcely thaw out in the middle of summer. Accordingly, I spend most of the time bundled up; and I thank old age for keeping me fastened to my bed.
Why should I not thank old age on this account? That which I ought not to wish to do, I lack the ability to do. Most of my converse is with books. Whenever your letters arrive, I imagine that I am with you, and I have the feeling that I am about to speak my answer, instead of writing it. Therefore, let us together investigate the nature of this problem of yours, just as if we were conversing with one another.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67
I lag well behind Seneca in years, though I can already feel age creeping up on me. The vitality of my twenties and thirties is in the rear-view mirror, and they now tell me I have a problem with the old ticker. This means I can no longer race about as I once did, or manage without sleep, or consume ridiculous amounts of questionable food and drink.
I smile as I write those words, because I used to tease my elders when they complained of aches and pains, and they wisely reminded me how I would soon be next. It doesn’t all have to be about doom and gloom, however, since there is a blessing wrapped up in the curse, as I increasingly find is true of all circumstances. Seneca hits the nail on the head: a vice is hardly so tempting when I now lack the vigor to chase after it.
I would like to proudly give my conscience the sole credit for dragging me out of the gutter, but I must sheepishly admit that the fading of the flesh also gave the spirit a solid push. I suppose this as it should be, and I am grateful for the opportunity. I now tend to prefer my club soda without the whiskey, a loyal friend over a pretty face, and Johann Sebastian Bach instead of Iron Maiden.
The old saying that youth is wasted on the young is perhaps only half a truth, for the things I once desired have slowly but surely changed, along with my constitution. Why would I even want to behave like an ass? What I once considered to be “manliness” now makes me shudder, and I no longer give so much weight to strutting about or proving my mettle; I would much rather be patient and kind than tough and clever.
In the past, bravery was about putting on a show, and endurance was about sticking it to the other guy. If you had tried to explain to me what it meant to practice the classical virtue of “constancy”, I would have looked at you funny, and yet a serene state of inner commitment, regardless of the trappings, has become one of my greatest treasures.
I lag well behind Seneca in years, though I can already feel age creeping up on me. The vitality of my twenties and thirties is in the rear-view mirror, and they now tell me I have a problem with the old ticker. This means I can no longer race about as I once did, or manage without sleep, or consume ridiculous amounts of questionable food and drink.
I smile as I write those words, because I used to tease my elders when they complained of aches and pains, and they wisely reminded me how I would soon be next. It doesn’t all have to be about doom and gloom, however, since there is a blessing wrapped up in the curse, as I increasingly find is true of all circumstances. Seneca hits the nail on the head: a vice is hardly so tempting when I now lack the vigor to chase after it.
I would like to proudly give my conscience the sole credit for dragging me out of the gutter, but I must sheepishly admit that the fading of the flesh also gave the spirit a solid push. I suppose this as it should be, and I am grateful for the opportunity. I now tend to prefer my club soda without the whiskey, a loyal friend over a pretty face, and Johann Sebastian Bach instead of Iron Maiden.
The old saying that youth is wasted on the young is perhaps only half a truth, for the things I once desired have slowly but surely changed, along with my constitution. Why would I even want to behave like an ass? What I once considered to be “manliness” now makes me shudder, and I no longer give so much weight to strutting about or proving my mettle; I would much rather be patient and kind than tough and clever.
In the past, bravery was about putting on a show, and endurance was about sticking it to the other guy. If you had tried to explain to me what it meant to practice the classical virtue of “constancy”, I would have looked at you funny, and yet a serene state of inner commitment, regardless of the trappings, has become one of my greatest treasures.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Godfrey Kneller, Scholar in His Study (c. 1668)
Sunday, May 12, 2024
Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 32
Socrates: "What quarter of the world do you hail from, Eutherus?"
The other answered: "From abroad, just before the close of the war; but at present from the city itself. You see, since we have been denuded of our possessions across the frontier, and my father left me nothing in Attica, I must needs bide at home, and provide myself with the necessaries of life by means of bodily toil, which seems preferable to begging from another, especially as I have no security on which to raise a loan."
Socrates: "And how long do you expect your body to be equal to providing the necessaries of life for hire?"
Eutherus: "Goodness knows, Socrates—not for long."
Socrates: "And when you find yourself an old man, expenses will not diminish, and yet no one will care to pay you for the labor of your hands."
Eutherus: "That is true."
Socrates: "Would it not be better then to apply yourself at once to such work as will stand you in good stead when you are old—that is, address yourself to some large proprietor who needs an assistant in managing his estate? By superintending his works, helping to get in his crops, and guarding his property in general, you will be a benefit to the estate and be benefited in return."
"I could not endure the yoke of slavery, Socrates!" he exclaimed.
Socrates: "And when you find yourself an old man, expenses will not diminish, and yet no one will care to pay you for the labor of your hands."
Eutherus: "That is true."
Socrates: "Would it not be better then to apply yourself at once to such work as will stand you in good stead when you are old—that is, address yourself to some large proprietor who needs an assistant in managing his estate? By superintending his works, helping to get in his crops, and guarding his property in general, you will be a benefit to the estate and be benefited in return."
"I could not endure the yoke of slavery, Socrates!" he exclaimed.
Socrates: "And yet the heads of departments in a state are not regarded as adopting the badge of slavery because they manage the public property, but as having attained a higher degree of freedom rather."
Eutherus: "In a word, Socrates, the idea of being held to account to another is not at all to my taste."
Socrates: "And yet, Eutherus, it would be hard to find a work which did not involve some liability to account; in fact it is difficult to do anything without some mistake or other, and no less difficult, if you should succeed in doing it immaculately, to escape all unfriendly criticism.
Eutherus: "In a word, Socrates, the idea of being held to account to another is not at all to my taste."
Socrates: "And yet, Eutherus, it would be hard to find a work which did not involve some liability to account; in fact it is difficult to do anything without some mistake or other, and no less difficult, if you should succeed in doing it immaculately, to escape all unfriendly criticism.
"I wonder now whether you find it easy to get through your present occupations entirely without reproach. No? Let me tell you what you should do. You should avoid censorious persons and attach yourself to the considerate and kind-hearted, and in all your affairs accept with a good grace what you can and decline what you feel you cannot do.
"Whatever it be, do it heart and soul, and make it your finest work. There lies the method at once to silence fault-finders and to minister help to your own difficulties. Life will flow smoothly, risks will be diminished, provision against old age secured."
—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 2.8
Sayings of Ramakrishna 243
Q: Why do religions degenerate?
A: The rainwater is pure, but becomes soiled according to the medium it passes through. If the roof and the pipe are dirty, the discharge is dirty.
Saturday, May 11, 2024
Seneca, Moral Letters 66.14
Why should I not reckon this good among the primary goods, and deem it in so far greater than those other goods which are unattended by danger and have made no trial of fortune, as it is a rarer thing to have overcome a foe with a hand lost than with a hand armed?
"What then?" you say; "shall you desire this good for yourself?"
Of course I shall. For this is a thing that a man cannot achieve unless he can also desire it. Should I desire, instead, to be allowed to stretch out my limbs for my slaves to massage, or to have a woman, or a man changed into the likeness of a woman, pull my finger joints?
I cannot help believing that Mucius was all the more lucky because he manipulated the flames as calmly as if he were holding out his hand to the manipulator. He had wiped out all his previous mistakes; he finished the war unarmed and maimed; and with that stump of a hand he conquered two kings. Farewell.
"What then?" you say; "shall you desire this good for yourself?"
Of course I shall. For this is a thing that a man cannot achieve unless he can also desire it. Should I desire, instead, to be allowed to stretch out my limbs for my slaves to massage, or to have a woman, or a man changed into the likeness of a woman, pull my finger joints?
I cannot help believing that Mucius was all the more lucky because he manipulated the flames as calmly as if he were holding out his hand to the manipulator. He had wiped out all his previous mistakes; he finished the war unarmed and maimed; and with that stump of a hand he conquered two kings. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 66
It may seem rather odd, perhaps even a touch perverse, to say that the goods of the second class might be preferable to those of the first. If I can practice the virtues in the comforts of my home, why would I face the hardships of torture or death in a strange land? If the circumstances are to be treated with indifference, where is the shame in choosing the gentler path?
There is surely no shame in it at all, yet if excellence of character is the sincere goal, and if I am not making cheap excuses for myself, hard experience has taught me how I tend to be at my best when the conditions are at their worst. No, I will not seek out pain, but if it comes to me, I know why I should rise to it: Nature has given me a precious opportunity to surpass myself, to succeed in the very way she intended, not in the way of those who merely play it safe.
When my definition of a profit has changed, so too my estimation of the risks will change. While a longer life might bring me more indulgence, the prospect of a shorter life raises the bar and dares me to jump higher. As much as I would be partial to keeping both hands, I will gladly sacrifice the body to improve the soul. Where will I choose to find my Pearl of Great Price?
Mucius only looks like a fool to the grasping man, no pun intended, who measures his worth by his worldly conveniences. For some of us, the Roman saw a chance to act with absolute conviction, and these are the occasions we must never avoid. I do not mind if you mock a man like Mucius, but I will object once you mock him while also claiming to love virtue above all else.
While my own suffering has never been that intense, I recognize how I could not have moved further along the path without braving my own obstacles. I am at least doing something right when the effort of fulfilling a responsibility becomes a joy. I do not permit it to conquer me, hence I am now finally conquering myself.
—Reflection written in 7/2013
IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Mucius Scaevola before Porsenna (c. 1729)
Stoic Snippets 239
In contemplating yourself never include the vessel which surrounds you and these instruments which are attached about it. For they are like to an axe, differing only in this, that they grow to the body.
For indeed there is no more use in these parts without the cause which moves and checks them than in the weaver's shuttle, and the writer's pen, and the driver's whip.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.38
IMAGE: Paul Gauguin, A Man with an Axe (1891)
Friday, May 10, 2024
Dhammapada 373, 374
A Bhikshu who has entered his empty house, and whose mind is tranquil, feels a more than human delight when he sees the law clearly.
As soon as he has considered the origin and destruction of the elements of the body, he finds happiness and joy which belong to those who know the immortal.
The Continence of Scipio 1
The Continence of Scipio, sometimes called the Clemency of Scipio, is a wonderful story reflecting a distinctly Roman view of the virtues. The oldest surviving account is in Livy, and it eventually became a common theme in art, literature, and music during the Renaissance.
Publius Cornelius Scipio, later known as Scipio Africanus, commanded a Roman army in Spain during the Second Punic War (218-201 BC). The Roman soldiers captured a beautiful woman, who was engaged to the Celtiberian prince, Allucius, an ally of the Carthaginians.
She was presented to Scipio, perhaps because the soldiers knew of his reputation as a playboy. Instead of forcing himself upon her, making her a slave, or selling her for a hefty ransom, Scipio instead saw the opportunity to exercise his power with character.
If only more leaders could think and act in this way! I find great inspiration in the many paintings of this noble scene.
—3/2003
* * * * *
Soon afterwards an adult maiden who had been captured was brought to Scipio by the soldiers, a girl of such exceptional beauty that she attracted the eyes of all wherever she moved. On enquiring as to her country and parentage, Scipio learnt, amongst other things, that she had been betrothed to a young Celtiberian noble named Allucius.
He at once sent for her parents and also for her betrothed, who, he learnt, was pining to death through love of her. On the arrival of the latter Scipio addressed him in more studied terms than a father would use.
"A young man myself," he said, "I am addressing myself to a young man, so we may lay aside all reserve. When your betrothed had been taken by my soldiers and brought to me, I was informed that she was very dear to you, and her beauty made me believe it. Were I allowed the pleasures suitable to my age, especially those of chaste and lawful love, instead of being preoccupied with affairs of state, I should wish that I might be forgiven for loving too ardently.
"Now I have the power to indulge another's love, namely yours. Your betrothed has received the same respectful treatment since she has been in my power that she would have met with from her own parents. She has been reserved for you, in order that she might be given to you as a gift inviolate and worthy of us both.
"In return for that boon I stipulate for this one reward—that you will be a friend to Rome. If you believe me to be an upright and honorable man such as the nations here found my father and uncle to be, you may rest assured that there are many in Rome like us, and you may be perfectly certain that nowhere in the world can any people be named whom you would less wish to have as a foe to you and yours, or whom you would more desire as a friend."
The young man was overcome with bashfulness and joy. He grasped Scipio's hand, and besought all the gods to recompense him, for it was quite impossible for him to make any return adequate to his own feelings, or the kindness Scipio had shown him.
Then the girl's parents and relatives were called. They had brought a large amount of gold for her ransom, and when she was freely given back to them, they begged Scipio to accept it as a gift from them; his doing so, they declared, would evoke as much gratitude as the restoration of the maiden unhurt.
As they urged their request with great importunity, Scipio said that he would accept it, and ordered it to be laid at his feet. Calling Allucius, he said to him: "In addition to the dowry which you are to receive from your future father-in-law you will now receive this from me as a wedding present." He then told him to take up the gold and keep it.
Delighted with the present and the honorable treatment he had received, the young man resumed home, and filled the ears of his countrymen with justly-earned praises of Scipio. A young man had come among them, he declared, in all ways like the gods, winning his way everywhere by his generosity and goodness of heart as much as by the might of his arms. He began to enlist a body of his retainers, and in a few days returned to Scipio with a picked force of 1,400 mounted men.
—from Livy, The History of Rome, 26.50
Giovanni Bellini, The Continence of Scipio (c. 1508)
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Thursday, May 9, 2024
Seneca, Moral Letters 66.13
We therefore find mentioned, even by Epicurus, those goods which one would prefer not to experience; which, however, because circumstances have decided thus, must be welcomed and approved and placed on a level with the highest goods. We cannot say that the good which has rounded out a happy life, the good for which Epicurus rendered thanks in the last words he uttered, is not equal to the greatest.
Allow me, excellent Lucilius, to utter a still bolder word: if any goods could be greater than others, I should prefer those which seem harsh to those which are mild and alluring, and should pronounce them greater. For it is more of an accomplishment to break one's way through difficulties than to keep joy within bounds.
It requires the same use of reason, I am fully aware, for a man to endure prosperity well and also to endure misfortune bravely. That man may be just as brave who sleeps in front of the ramparts without fear of danger when no enemy attacks the camp, as the man who, when the tendons of his legs have been severed, holds himself up on his knees and does not let fall his weapons; but it is to the blood-stained soldier returning from the front that men cry: "Well done, thou hero!" And therefore I should bestow greater praise upon those goods that have stood trial, and show courage, and have fought it out with fortune.
Should I hesitate whether to give greater praise to the maimed and shriveled hand of Mucius than to the uninjured hand of the bravest man in the world? There stood Mucius, despising the enemy and despising the fire, and watched his hand as it dripped blood over the fire on his enemy's altar, until Porsenna, envying the fame of the hero whose punishment he was advocating, ordered the fire to be removed against the will of the victim.
Allow me, excellent Lucilius, to utter a still bolder word: if any goods could be greater than others, I should prefer those which seem harsh to those which are mild and alluring, and should pronounce them greater. For it is more of an accomplishment to break one's way through difficulties than to keep joy within bounds.
It requires the same use of reason, I am fully aware, for a man to endure prosperity well and also to endure misfortune bravely. That man may be just as brave who sleeps in front of the ramparts without fear of danger when no enemy attacks the camp, as the man who, when the tendons of his legs have been severed, holds himself up on his knees and does not let fall his weapons; but it is to the blood-stained soldier returning from the front that men cry: "Well done, thou hero!" And therefore I should bestow greater praise upon those goods that have stood trial, and show courage, and have fought it out with fortune.
Should I hesitate whether to give greater praise to the maimed and shriveled hand of Mucius than to the uninjured hand of the bravest man in the world? There stood Mucius, despising the enemy and despising the fire, and watched his hand as it dripped blood over the fire on his enemy's altar, until Porsenna, envying the fame of the hero whose punishment he was advocating, ordered the fire to be removed against the will of the victim.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 66
Even those of my peers who were willing to work hard were mainly interested in an effort now for the sake of the luxuries later; I was met with blank stares if I ever suggested how character could be an end in itself, and they could not bring themselves to conceive of a good life that wasn’t also accompanied by prosperity and comfort.
The rigorous studying was for the perfect grades, and the perfect grades were for the top law school, and the top law school was for getting a job with the best firm, since the best firm paid the highest salary and brought the greatest renown. They would then pass these same values on to their children, so the cycle might continue.
Now I would not complain if I had a fatter wallet, and I would even put in the extra hours if it were in the cards, but I have found that each and every time such a carrot was dangled in front of me, I was also being asked to sell just a little bit of my integrity. While your mileage may vary, I am not willing to pay that kind of price. We sadly cling to a rather sinister model of success.
I do not prefer hardship—let this cup pass from me. Yet if I am torn between conscience and convenience, I know what I should do, and I must do so gladly, without harboring any resentment. Far too often, we take happiness to be in conflict with the practice of the virtues, when the reality is that happiness is the very practice of the virtues. What else could any man desire than being most fully human?
There is a world of difference between the nobility of sacrificing the lesser for the greater, and the treachery of bartering the greater for the lesser. Compromise can only make sense when we have our priorities in order. I am pleased that Epicurus also understood this, that it is more than merely a Stoic eccentricity.
If I am to stick with an indifference to circumstances. I must be careful not to romanticize suffering, just as I should not admire a life of ease; sound minds with good hearts are all equal. Nevertheless, I understand why Seneca has a special place for those who face the more difficult challenges, because they reflect such a dignity in the most remarkable of ways. There is a greater glory on the outside when an adversity is resisted from the inside.
For myself, I know how exceptional fortitude inspires me to increase my own constancy all the more, and how I find myself roused to a regimen of temperance when I am provided with less rather than with more. Perhaps the truly vigorous instances of virtue are so noteworthy precisely because they are too rare.
I do not believe Mucius was a better man for thrusting his right hand into the fire to deny Porsenna the power to harm him, but I do believe he was a more exemplary man for his choice. At the very least, he was certainly not in a worse state than some senator pushing paper back behind the walls of Rome.
Even those of my peers who were willing to work hard were mainly interested in an effort now for the sake of the luxuries later; I was met with blank stares if I ever suggested how character could be an end in itself, and they could not bring themselves to conceive of a good life that wasn’t also accompanied by prosperity and comfort.
The rigorous studying was for the perfect grades, and the perfect grades were for the top law school, and the top law school was for getting a job with the best firm, since the best firm paid the highest salary and brought the greatest renown. They would then pass these same values on to their children, so the cycle might continue.
Now I would not complain if I had a fatter wallet, and I would even put in the extra hours if it were in the cards, but I have found that each and every time such a carrot was dangled in front of me, I was also being asked to sell just a little bit of my integrity. While your mileage may vary, I am not willing to pay that kind of price. We sadly cling to a rather sinister model of success.
I do not prefer hardship—let this cup pass from me. Yet if I am torn between conscience and convenience, I know what I should do, and I must do so gladly, without harboring any resentment. Far too often, we take happiness to be in conflict with the practice of the virtues, when the reality is that happiness is the very practice of the virtues. What else could any man desire than being most fully human?
There is a world of difference between the nobility of sacrificing the lesser for the greater, and the treachery of bartering the greater for the lesser. Compromise can only make sense when we have our priorities in order. I am pleased that Epicurus also understood this, that it is more than merely a Stoic eccentricity.
If I am to stick with an indifference to circumstances. I must be careful not to romanticize suffering, just as I should not admire a life of ease; sound minds with good hearts are all equal. Nevertheless, I understand why Seneca has a special place for those who face the more difficult challenges, because they reflect such a dignity in the most remarkable of ways. There is a greater glory on the outside when an adversity is resisted from the inside.
For myself, I know how exceptional fortitude inspires me to increase my own constancy all the more, and how I find myself roused to a regimen of temperance when I am provided with less rather than with more. Perhaps the truly vigorous instances of virtue are so noteworthy precisely because they are too rare.
I do not believe Mucius was a better man for thrusting his right hand into the fire to deny Porsenna the power to harm him, but I do believe he was a more exemplary man for his choice. At the very least, he was certainly not in a worse state than some senator pushing paper back behind the walls of Rome.
—Reflection written in 7/2013
IMAGE: Peter Paul Rubens, Mucius Scaevola before Porsenna (c. 1628)
Man's Search for Meaning 8
The thought of suicide was entertained by nearly everyone, if only for a brief time. It was born of the hopelessness of the situation, the constant danger of death looming over us daily and hourly, and the closeness of the deaths suffered by many of the others.
From personal convictions which will be mentioned later, I made myself a firm promise, on my first evening in camp, that I would not "run into the wire." This was a phrase used in camp to describe the most popular method of suicide— touching the electrically charged barbed-wire fence.
It was not entirely difficult for me to make this decision. There was little point in committing suicide, since, for the average inmate, life expectation, calculating objectively and counting all likely chances, was very poor. He could not with any assurance expect to be among the small percentage of men who survived all the selections.
The prisoner of Auschwitz, in the first phase of shock, did not fear death. Even the gas chambers lost their horrors for him after the first few days—after all, they spared him the act of committing suicide.
—from Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning
Wednesday, May 8, 2024
Sayings of Publilius Syrus 145
The more promptly bestowed, the greater the kindness.
IMAGE: Johannes Stradanus, The Charity of St. Nicholas (c. 1580)
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Howard Jones, Dream into Action 11
There is something about the sound of this track that represents everything I loved about the early 1980's, even as the period was quite frustrating for me in so many other ways. The message of the lyrics, however, did not really sink in for me until a good decade later. It took me some time to appreciate how difficult it can be to think for ourselves, and how easily we define our own identities through others.
It is good to have teachers, mentors, even heroes and gurus, and indeed, we can hardly walk through this world without being moved and inspired, for better or for worse, by the example of our fellows. And yet there is also the danger zone, where we stop doing the work for ourselves and we start hitching a free ride. It feels so much easier to follow, and there is a misleading security in becoming a yes-man.
So many of my generation were convinced that we were going our own way, while we were really just jumping on the bandwagon of the latest fad. We see it in religion, in politics, and in any sort of ideology, for as long as the image appears fresh and edgy, we will settle for the same old stale conformities.
Even when I tried to separate myself from the herd, I found that I was only following the next herd over. I would allow myself to be pushed back and forth by pretentious writers, raging militants, and crazed zealots. While it all seemed so radical, it ended up as a complete surrender of the self.
There needs to come a point where you take what you need, and you leave the rest, when all the guidance is just a preparation for taking that first step alone. The partisan lets others do his reasoning for him, while the brave soul finally strikes out on his own. Yes, it can be quite frightening, though it is also supremely liberating.
I strive to learn from everyone, but my judgments must ultimately be my own.
—5/2007
A few words of commentary from Howard Jones:
And the song itself:
Howard Jones, "Why Look for the Key?" from Dream into Action (1985)
And they made this secret pact His knowledge would be tapped The link was based on a respect On their lives they would reflect
A perfect state of non-attachment Was striven for and claimed as fact The younger grew and learnt his lesson well All his ideals were intact
Why look for the key in another? The answer lay in his own heart Won't find yourself in some other It always was there right at the start
But power it corrupted That's where attachment starts The power had erupted The spell will crack
As each mental bond was broken Strength grew in the young man's heart What began as love, not passion Had left a seed in his heart
Why look for the key in another? The answer lay in his own heart Won't find yourself in some other It always was there right at the start
Why look for the key in another? The answer lay in his own heart Won't find yourself in some other It always was there right at the start
Why look for the key in another? Won't find yourself in some other
Tuesday, May 7, 2024
Seneca, Moral Letters 66.12
The same thing holds true, I assure you, concerning goods; you will find one amid circumstances of pure pleasure, another amid sorrow and bitterness. The one controls the favors of fortune; the other overcomes her onslaughts.
Each is equally a good, although the one travels a level and easy road, and the other a rough road. And the end of them all is the same: they are goods, they are worthy of praise, they accompany virtue and reason. Virtue makes all the things that it acknowledges equal to one another.
You need not wonder that this is one of our principles; we find mentioned in the works of Epicurus two goods, of which his Supreme Good, or blessedness, is composed, namely, a body free from pain and a soul free from disturbance.
These goods, if they are complete, do not increase; for how can that which is complete increase? The body is, let us suppose, free from pain; what increase can there be to this absence of pain? The soul is composed and calm; what increase can there be to this tranquility?
Just as fair weather, purified into the purest brilliancy, does not admit of a still greater degree of clearness; so, when a man takes care of his body and of his soul, weaving the texture of his good from both, his condition is perfect, and he has found the consummation of his prayers, if there is no commotion in his soul or pain in his body.
Whatever delights fall to his lot over and above these two things do not increase his Supreme Good; they merely season it, so to speak, and add spice to it. For the absolute good of man's nature is satisfied with peace in the body and peace in the soul.
I can show you at this moment in the writings of Epicurus a graded list of goods just like that of our own school. For there are some things, he declares, which he prefers should fall to his lot, such as bodily rest free from all inconvenience, and relaxation of the soul as it takes delight in the contemplation of its own goods.
And there are other things which, though he would prefer that they did not happen, he nevertheless praises and approves—for example, the kind of resignation, in times of ill-health and serious suffering, to which I alluded a moment ago, and which Epicurus displayed on that last and most blessed day of his life.
For he tells us that he had to endure excruciating agony from a diseased bladder and from an ulcerated stomach—so acute that it permitted no increase of pain; "and yet," he says, "that day was none the less happy." And no man can spend such a day in happiness unless he possesses the Supreme Good.
Each is equally a good, although the one travels a level and easy road, and the other a rough road. And the end of them all is the same: they are goods, they are worthy of praise, they accompany virtue and reason. Virtue makes all the things that it acknowledges equal to one another.
You need not wonder that this is one of our principles; we find mentioned in the works of Epicurus two goods, of which his Supreme Good, or blessedness, is composed, namely, a body free from pain and a soul free from disturbance.
These goods, if they are complete, do not increase; for how can that which is complete increase? The body is, let us suppose, free from pain; what increase can there be to this absence of pain? The soul is composed and calm; what increase can there be to this tranquility?
Just as fair weather, purified into the purest brilliancy, does not admit of a still greater degree of clearness; so, when a man takes care of his body and of his soul, weaving the texture of his good from both, his condition is perfect, and he has found the consummation of his prayers, if there is no commotion in his soul or pain in his body.
Whatever delights fall to his lot over and above these two things do not increase his Supreme Good; they merely season it, so to speak, and add spice to it. For the absolute good of man's nature is satisfied with peace in the body and peace in the soul.
I can show you at this moment in the writings of Epicurus a graded list of goods just like that of our own school. For there are some things, he declares, which he prefers should fall to his lot, such as bodily rest free from all inconvenience, and relaxation of the soul as it takes delight in the contemplation of its own goods.
And there are other things which, though he would prefer that they did not happen, he nevertheless praises and approves—for example, the kind of resignation, in times of ill-health and serious suffering, to which I alluded a moment ago, and which Epicurus displayed on that last and most blessed day of his life.
For he tells us that he had to endure excruciating agony from a diseased bladder and from an ulcerated stomach—so acute that it permitted no increase of pain; "and yet," he says, "that day was none the less happy." And no man can spend such a day in happiness unless he possesses the Supreme Good.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 66
I can distinguish the degrees as much as I like, but it remains absolutely the same in kind. Though I am fascinated by the ornate scenery, I must stay focused on the purity of the action.
Just recently, I was making one of my weekly trips to the grocery store, which I actually enjoy as a leisurely time to observe people doing quite ordinary things. I passed by an elderly lady, who was hunched over a cane and walking with great difficulty. I smiled and nodded at her, only to be met with the sort of glare that only the aged can muster. I then spent the next five minutes struggling not to feel any bitterness toward her. Yes, my moods are often that precarious.
Later, at the checkout counter, she was straining to remove items from her cart, and the cane slipped out from under her. In a flash, a young fellow seemingly came out of nowhere to grab her arm. He then helped with her bags. She glared at him the whole time, yet he patiently stood by her.
If I had glanced at him casually, I might have made all sorts of assumptions about how he lived in his parents’ basement, and that he surely smoked pot and played video games all day. I would be mistaken to be so shallow. Human decency is to be found everywhere, and it doesn’t need to have any bells and whistles attached.
To do the right thing, for the right reasons, is the height of the human condition, and there can be nothing higher. Fame and fortune may be present, or they may be absent, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The setting may be sensational, or it may be tiresome, and the virtue remains identical. It is enough, because the vessel is now filled to the brim.
As much as the Stoic likes to bicker with the Epicurean, it should say something that even the “hedonist”, understood broadly and without any malice, has a reverence for the highest good. One school relates it to virtue and vice, and the other school relates it to pleasure and pain, yet both are aiming for the ultimate, and they realize how it may be found under any conditions.
As my health has gradually declined over the last year, I have mightily resisted the temptation—you guessed it—to use this as another occasion for resentment. If Epicurus could find his happiness in the midst of agony, what is holding me back? It is only my fixation with petty diversions, my vanity in believing that my dignity is somehow bound to receiving convenience, esteem, and prosperity. I am reworking my definition of what it means to be rich.
All too often, it turns out that what I prefer is not necessarily what I need. Did the Good Samaritan curse his misfortune in stumbling across a hapless victim? Did he worry about how this would affect his finances or alter his social standing? I’m glad Jesus told that story, though it didn’t need to be told in order for it to already be perfect in itself.
I can distinguish the degrees as much as I like, but it remains absolutely the same in kind. Though I am fascinated by the ornate scenery, I must stay focused on the purity of the action.
Just recently, I was making one of my weekly trips to the grocery store, which I actually enjoy as a leisurely time to observe people doing quite ordinary things. I passed by an elderly lady, who was hunched over a cane and walking with great difficulty. I smiled and nodded at her, only to be met with the sort of glare that only the aged can muster. I then spent the next five minutes struggling not to feel any bitterness toward her. Yes, my moods are often that precarious.
Later, at the checkout counter, she was straining to remove items from her cart, and the cane slipped out from under her. In a flash, a young fellow seemingly came out of nowhere to grab her arm. He then helped with her bags. She glared at him the whole time, yet he patiently stood by her.
If I had glanced at him casually, I might have made all sorts of assumptions about how he lived in his parents’ basement, and that he surely smoked pot and played video games all day. I would be mistaken to be so shallow. Human decency is to be found everywhere, and it doesn’t need to have any bells and whistles attached.
To do the right thing, for the right reasons, is the height of the human condition, and there can be nothing higher. Fame and fortune may be present, or they may be absent, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The setting may be sensational, or it may be tiresome, and the virtue remains identical. It is enough, because the vessel is now filled to the brim.
As much as the Stoic likes to bicker with the Epicurean, it should say something that even the “hedonist”, understood broadly and without any malice, has a reverence for the highest good. One school relates it to virtue and vice, and the other school relates it to pleasure and pain, yet both are aiming for the ultimate, and they realize how it may be found under any conditions.
As my health has gradually declined over the last year, I have mightily resisted the temptation—you guessed it—to use this as another occasion for resentment. If Epicurus could find his happiness in the midst of agony, what is holding me back? It is only my fixation with petty diversions, my vanity in believing that my dignity is somehow bound to receiving convenience, esteem, and prosperity. I am reworking my definition of what it means to be rich.
All too often, it turns out that what I prefer is not necessarily what I need. Did the Good Samaritan curse his misfortune in stumbling across a hapless victim? Did he worry about how this would affect his finances or alter his social standing? I’m glad Jesus told that story, though it didn’t need to be told in order for it to already be perfect in itself.
—Reflection written in 7/2013
IMAGE: Balthasar van Cortbemde, The Good Samaritan (1647)
Maxims of Goethe 43
If a man thinks about his physical or moral condition, he generally finds that he is ill.
IMAGE: Francisco Goya, Self-portrait with Dr. Arrieta (1820)
Monday, May 6, 2024
Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 8
Diogenes of Babylon says that there are two senses of "things worth choosing for their own sake and worth choosing in the final sense": those set out in the previous division, which are the virtues, and those which have in themselves the cause of being worth choosing, and this is a property of every good thing.
Sunday, May 5, 2024
Proverbs 1:7-9
[7] The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge;
fools despise wisdom and instruction.
[8] Hear, my son, your father's instruction,
and reject not your mother's teaching;
[9] for they are a fair garland for your head,
fools despise wisdom and instruction.
[8] Hear, my son, your father's instruction,
and reject not your mother's teaching;
[9] for they are a fair garland for your head,
Seneca, Moral Letters 66.11
"What, then," you ask, "is reason?" It is copying Nature.
"And what," you say, "is the greatest good that man can possess?" It is to conduct oneself according to what Nature wills.
"There is no doubt," says the objector, "that peace affords more happiness when it has not been assailed than when it has been recovered at the cost of great slaughter."
"There is no doubt also," he continues, "that health which has not been impaired affords more happiness than health which has been restored to soundness by means of force, as it were, and by endurance of suffering, after serious illnesses that threaten life itself. And similarly, there will be no doubt that joy is a greater good than a soul's struggle to endure to the bitter end the torments of wounds or burning at the stake."
By no means. For things that result from hazard admit of wide distinctions, since they are rated according to their usefulness in the eyes of those who experience them, but with regard to goods, the only point to be considered is that they are in agreement with Nature; and this is equal in the case of all goods.
When at a meeting of the Senate we vote in favor of someone's motion, it cannot be said, "A. is more in accord with the motion than B." All alike vote for the same motion. I make the same statement with regard to virtues—they are all in accord with Nature; and I make it with regard to goods also—they are all in accord with Nature.
One man dies young, another in old age, and still another in infancy, having enjoyed nothing more than a mere glimpse out into life. They have all been equally subject to death, even though death has permitted the one to proceed farther along the pathway of life, has cut off the life of the second in his flower, and has broken off the life of the third at its very beginning.
Some get their release at the dinner table. Others extend their sleep into the sleep of death. Some are blotted out during dissipation. Now contrast with these persons individuals who have been pierced by the sword, or bitten to death by snakes, or crushed in ruins, or tortured piecemeal out of existence by the prolonged twisting of their sinews.
Some of these departures may be regarded as better, some as worse; but the act of dying is equal in all. The methods of ending life are different; but the end is one and the same. Death has no degrees of greater or less; for it has the same limit in all instances—the finishing of life.
"And what," you say, "is the greatest good that man can possess?" It is to conduct oneself according to what Nature wills.
"There is no doubt," says the objector, "that peace affords more happiness when it has not been assailed than when it has been recovered at the cost of great slaughter."
"There is no doubt also," he continues, "that health which has not been impaired affords more happiness than health which has been restored to soundness by means of force, as it were, and by endurance of suffering, after serious illnesses that threaten life itself. And similarly, there will be no doubt that joy is a greater good than a soul's struggle to endure to the bitter end the torments of wounds or burning at the stake."
By no means. For things that result from hazard admit of wide distinctions, since they are rated according to their usefulness in the eyes of those who experience them, but with regard to goods, the only point to be considered is that they are in agreement with Nature; and this is equal in the case of all goods.
When at a meeting of the Senate we vote in favor of someone's motion, it cannot be said, "A. is more in accord with the motion than B." All alike vote for the same motion. I make the same statement with regard to virtues—they are all in accord with Nature; and I make it with regard to goods also—they are all in accord with Nature.
One man dies young, another in old age, and still another in infancy, having enjoyed nothing more than a mere glimpse out into life. They have all been equally subject to death, even though death has permitted the one to proceed farther along the pathway of life, has cut off the life of the second in his flower, and has broken off the life of the third at its very beginning.
Some get their release at the dinner table. Others extend their sleep into the sleep of death. Some are blotted out during dissipation. Now contrast with these persons individuals who have been pierced by the sword, or bitten to death by snakes, or crushed in ruins, or tortured piecemeal out of existence by the prolonged twisting of their sinews.
Some of these departures may be regarded as better, some as worse; but the act of dying is equal in all. The methods of ending life are different; but the end is one and the same. Death has no degrees of greater or less; for it has the same limit in all instances—the finishing of life.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 66
Appeals to reason are often taken to be cold and distant, as if they must be a rejection of the zealous passions, and that is deeply unfortunate. I suppose I could mumble something about the missteps of the Enlightenment, yet I fear it is a universal human weakness to be caught in false dichotomies, to insist upon a conflict where there is no conflict at all.
Thinking and feeling are made to go together, being but two aspects to the order of the whole—the trick is in working out how that relationship is intended to unfold, and only then will there be a harmony. Impressions provide the matter, and understanding reveals the meaning. An emotion fuels a thought, and a thought informs an emotion: with the human, there is no one without the other.
So, I am relieved when a thinker like Seneca does not reduce reason to a calculation abstracted from an underlying unity, for he here defines reason as a conformity to Nature, such that the awareness within the mind is in agreement with an absolute purpose. By knowing something, I identify with its rightful place, and thereby I also come to perfect my own rightful place.
Nevertheless, I may be tempted to want it both ways, to pursue the best life while also insisting it be the easiest life, failing to recognize how the circumstances I face are a necessary part of the happiness I seek. Just as reason operates through all varieties of impressions, so virtue expresses itself under all conditions, however pleasurable or painful.
Reason has the power to distinguish the good from the bad in anything and everything made present to it, and virtue has the capacity to thrive in both prosperity and in hardship; the events do not make the man, but the man makes himself by the events.
If I have said “yes”, it will not be any greater or lesser if I do so in plenty or in want. If I have said “no”, my character is not increased or decreased by comfort or by injury. It will be in the affirmative or in the negative, as the principle of the excluded middle properly teaches us. While I can speak of degrees in the process, or about the variety of ways to arrive, the destination is one and the same.
When the Stoics turn to the topic of death, it serves as a great equalizer, not as a source of doom and gloom. That we must all die is inevitable, however much time we are given. That we are all called to virtue is essential, whether the weight of the circumstances be light or heavy.
Appeals to reason are often taken to be cold and distant, as if they must be a rejection of the zealous passions, and that is deeply unfortunate. I suppose I could mumble something about the missteps of the Enlightenment, yet I fear it is a universal human weakness to be caught in false dichotomies, to insist upon a conflict where there is no conflict at all.
Thinking and feeling are made to go together, being but two aspects to the order of the whole—the trick is in working out how that relationship is intended to unfold, and only then will there be a harmony. Impressions provide the matter, and understanding reveals the meaning. An emotion fuels a thought, and a thought informs an emotion: with the human, there is no one without the other.
So, I am relieved when a thinker like Seneca does not reduce reason to a calculation abstracted from an underlying unity, for he here defines reason as a conformity to Nature, such that the awareness within the mind is in agreement with an absolute purpose. By knowing something, I identify with its rightful place, and thereby I also come to perfect my own rightful place.
Nevertheless, I may be tempted to want it both ways, to pursue the best life while also insisting it be the easiest life, failing to recognize how the circumstances I face are a necessary part of the happiness I seek. Just as reason operates through all varieties of impressions, so virtue expresses itself under all conditions, however pleasurable or painful.
Reason has the power to distinguish the good from the bad in anything and everything made present to it, and virtue has the capacity to thrive in both prosperity and in hardship; the events do not make the man, but the man makes himself by the events.
If I have said “yes”, it will not be any greater or lesser if I do so in plenty or in want. If I have said “no”, my character is not increased or decreased by comfort or by injury. It will be in the affirmative or in the negative, as the principle of the excluded middle properly teaches us. While I can speak of degrees in the process, or about the variety of ways to arrive, the destination is one and the same.
When the Stoics turn to the topic of death, it serves as a great equalizer, not as a source of doom and gloom. That we must all die is inevitable, however much time we are given. That we are all called to virtue is essential, whether the weight of the circumstances be light or heavy.
I have often wished my life had played itself out differently, and then I remember why the cards I was dealt were already a part of the plan. What will I now choose to make of them?
—Reflection written in 7/2013
IMAGE: Nicolas Beatrizet, Combat between Reason and Passion (1545)
