Wie ungleich Dott und Lebendig ist,
"Remember, O Man, Look who you are,
How unequal Dead and Alive are."
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Friday, June 6, 2025
Memento Mori 7
Wie ungleich Dott und Lebendig ist,
Thursday, June 5, 2025
Sayings of Publilius Syrus 176
IMAGE: Honoré Daumier, The Burden (c. 1853)
Seneca, Moral Letters 80.5
I often feel called upon to use the following illustration, and it seems to me that none expresses more effectively this drama of human life, wherein we are assigned the parts which we are to play so badly. Yonder is the man who stalks upon the stage with swelling port and head thrown back, and says:
“Lo, I am he whom Argos hails as lord,
Whom Pelops left the heir of lands that spread
From Hellespont and from th’ Ionian sea
E’en to the Isthmian straits.”
And who is this fellow? He is but a slave; his wage is five measures of grain and five denarii.
Yon other who, proud and wayward and puffed up by confidence in his power, declaims:
“Peace, Menelaus, or this hand shall slay thee!”
receives a daily pittance and sleeps on rags.
You may speak in the same way about all these dandies whom you see riding in litters above the heads of men and above the crowd; in every case their happiness is put on like the actor’s mask. Tear it off, and you will scorn them.
“Lo, I am he whom Argos hails as lord,
Whom Pelops left the heir of lands that spread
From Hellespont and from th’ Ionian sea
E’en to the Isthmian straits.”
And who is this fellow? He is but a slave; his wage is five measures of grain and five denarii.
Yon other who, proud and wayward and puffed up by confidence in his power, declaims:
“Peace, Menelaus, or this hand shall slay thee!”
receives a daily pittance and sleeps on rags.
You may speak in the same way about all these dandies whom you see riding in litters above the heads of men and above the crowd; in every case their happiness is put on like the actor’s mask. Tear it off, and you will scorn them.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 80
I have gradually learned not to confuse my preferences with principles, to avoid treating my particular tastes as if they were universal laws. I’m afraid I will still slip into the old habit, so common among pseudo-intellectuals, of dismissing any opinion that doesn’t happen to be my own, but I usually catch myself before I have done too much damage.
One instance of my presumption has been an intense dislike of stage plays, especially those that aspire to serious drama. As much as I now immensely enjoy reading Shakespeare, I cringe at what I take to be exaggerated performances, painfully conscious of being duped by histrionics. Am I expected to believe that this spectacle is sincere?
It finally dawned on me how the aversion was less about anyone else’s method of acting, and more about my own cynicism: I am uncomfortable with acting because I assume it is an attempt at deception. I should rightly distinguish between the thespian who wishes to expose a deeper truth, and the charlatan who poses as a far better man than he actually is.
So Seneca’s example helps me to not only look behind the mask, but also to examine the motive for the disguise: some acting reveals, and some acting conceals. I should not allow my personal baggage over trickery to get in the way of appreciating the theater, just as a child should not fear clowns on account of John Wayne Gacy.
Nonetheless, let me always remember why the appearance should never be confused with the reality. Some priests paint their own vanity to look like the will of God, some lawyers seek a cold profit under the guise of caring service, and some friends will cast you aside after speaking fine words of undying love.
Most importantly, let me not become a pretender myself, masquerading as righteous when I am wicked, as fulfilled when I am restless. Perhaps it will, at least for a time, fool others, but I can never run away from myself.
I have gradually learned not to confuse my preferences with principles, to avoid treating my particular tastes as if they were universal laws. I’m afraid I will still slip into the old habit, so common among pseudo-intellectuals, of dismissing any opinion that doesn’t happen to be my own, but I usually catch myself before I have done too much damage.
One instance of my presumption has been an intense dislike of stage plays, especially those that aspire to serious drama. As much as I now immensely enjoy reading Shakespeare, I cringe at what I take to be exaggerated performances, painfully conscious of being duped by histrionics. Am I expected to believe that this spectacle is sincere?
It finally dawned on me how the aversion was less about anyone else’s method of acting, and more about my own cynicism: I am uncomfortable with acting because I assume it is an attempt at deception. I should rightly distinguish between the thespian who wishes to expose a deeper truth, and the charlatan who poses as a far better man than he actually is.
So Seneca’s example helps me to not only look behind the mask, but also to examine the motive for the disguise: some acting reveals, and some acting conceals. I should not allow my personal baggage over trickery to get in the way of appreciating the theater, just as a child should not fear clowns on account of John Wayne Gacy.
Nonetheless, let me always remember why the appearance should never be confused with the reality. Some priests paint their own vanity to look like the will of God, some lawyers seek a cold profit under the guise of caring service, and some friends will cast you aside after speaking fine words of undying love.
Most importantly, let me not become a pretender myself, masquerading as righteous when I am wicked, as fulfilled when I am restless. Perhaps it will, at least for a time, fool others, but I can never run away from myself.
—Reflection written in 11/2013
IMAGE: William Hogarth, David Garrick as Richard III (c. 1745)
Wednesday, June 4, 2025
Seneca, Moral Letters 80.4
First of all, free yourself from the fear of death, for death puts the yoke about our necks; then free yourself from the fear of poverty.
If you would know how little evil there is in poverty, compare the faces of the poor with those of the rich; the poor man smiles more often and more genuinely; his troubles do not go deep down; even if any anxiety comes upon him, it passes like a fitful cloud.
But the merriment of those whom men call happy is feigned, while their sadness is heavy and festering, and all the heavier because they may not meanwhile display their grief, but must act the part of happiness in the midst of sorrows that eat out their very hearts.
If you would know how little evil there is in poverty, compare the faces of the poor with those of the rich; the poor man smiles more often and more genuinely; his troubles do not go deep down; even if any anxiety comes upon him, it passes like a fitful cloud.
But the merriment of those whom men call happy is feigned, while their sadness is heavy and festering, and all the heavier because they may not meanwhile display their grief, but must act the part of happiness in the midst of sorrows that eat out their very hearts.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 80
When I am not immediately in their grips, I sometimes wonder which of my fears is the most crippling, and so which must be managed first. While the coward is at the mercy of his anxieties, and the braggart insists that he is far above them, the wise man learns to understand himself, and so he distinguishes between the true benefit and the true harm in his life.
I am terrified of dying, of course, because I desperately cling to my existence, forgetting why living well is more important than merely living. Then I am also terrified of never having enough, convinced that my existence depends upon a precarious arrangement of circumstances, all for the sake of security and comfort. Once again, I am forgetting how my worth has nothing to do with my wallet.
We are accustomed to thinking of poverty as one of the greatest evils, as itself a cause of our suffering, and a condition out of which so many other troubles must inevitably arise. While most of us would certainly prefer to be rich instead of poor, the Stoic will argue that it is neither the presence nor the absence of money that makes us good or bad, happy or miserable. This is not a cold and uncaring position, but it stems rather from the principle that our human dignity is fulfilled by character, not by property.
Accordingly, we are misguided when we focus mainly on the distribution of wealth, since it is the virtues or vices behind our actions that make all the difference in our lives. Reduce a man to a producer and a consumer, to be bought and sold, and the envy will never cease. Treat him as a creature called to moral excellence, and the rest can take care of itself.
Once you actually become a good man, you will grow indifferent to luxuries.
I hardly believe that the poor man is any better because he happens to be poor, but we will often find how someone who has struggled with deprivation is far less inclined to define his life by titles and possessions. He knows not to trust in vanities, and so he builds up his inner resilience. Easy come, easy go.
Nor do I believe that the rich man is any worse because he happens to be rich, but we will often find how someone who has been spoiled is far more inclined to feel entitled. He expects to be gratified, and so he privately grumbles at the slightest nuisance. The bigger they come, the harder they fall.
This sort of thinking enrages the decadent snoots, who remain trapped in a game of ostentation. It seems quite sensible to the everyman, who has no need to pretend that he is special. Change the standards, and the old vices are suddenly cast aside. Some play the part of being happy, as others do the real work of being happy.
When I am not immediately in their grips, I sometimes wonder which of my fears is the most crippling, and so which must be managed first. While the coward is at the mercy of his anxieties, and the braggart insists that he is far above them, the wise man learns to understand himself, and so he distinguishes between the true benefit and the true harm in his life.
I am terrified of dying, of course, because I desperately cling to my existence, forgetting why living well is more important than merely living. Then I am also terrified of never having enough, convinced that my existence depends upon a precarious arrangement of circumstances, all for the sake of security and comfort. Once again, I am forgetting how my worth has nothing to do with my wallet.
We are accustomed to thinking of poverty as one of the greatest evils, as itself a cause of our suffering, and a condition out of which so many other troubles must inevitably arise. While most of us would certainly prefer to be rich instead of poor, the Stoic will argue that it is neither the presence nor the absence of money that makes us good or bad, happy or miserable. This is not a cold and uncaring position, but it stems rather from the principle that our human dignity is fulfilled by character, not by property.
Accordingly, we are misguided when we focus mainly on the distribution of wealth, since it is the virtues or vices behind our actions that make all the difference in our lives. Reduce a man to a producer and a consumer, to be bought and sold, and the envy will never cease. Treat him as a creature called to moral excellence, and the rest can take care of itself.
Once you actually become a good man, you will grow indifferent to luxuries.
I hardly believe that the poor man is any better because he happens to be poor, but we will often find how someone who has struggled with deprivation is far less inclined to define his life by titles and possessions. He knows not to trust in vanities, and so he builds up his inner resilience. Easy come, easy go.
Nor do I believe that the rich man is any worse because he happens to be rich, but we will often find how someone who has been spoiled is far more inclined to feel entitled. He expects to be gratified, and so he privately grumbles at the slightest nuisance. The bigger they come, the harder they fall.
This sort of thinking enrages the decadent snoots, who remain trapped in a game of ostentation. It seems quite sensible to the everyman, who has no need to pretend that he is special. Change the standards, and the old vices are suddenly cast aside. Some play the part of being happy, as others do the real work of being happy.
—Reflection written in 11/2013
IMAGE: Alfred de Dreux, Rich and Poor (1845)
Tuesday, June 3, 2025
Chuang Tzu 6.4
The True men of old presented the aspect of judging others aright, but without being partisans; of feeling their own insufficiency, but being without flattery or cringing.
Their peculiarities were natural to them, but they were not obstinately attached to them; their humility was evident, but there was nothing of unreality or display about it.
Their placidity and satisfaction had the appearance of joy; their every movement seemed to be a necessity to them.
Their accumulated attractiveness drew men's looks to them; their blandness fixed men's attachment to their virtue.
They seemed to accommodate themselves to the manners of their age, but with a certain severity; their haughty indifference was beyond its control.
Unceasing seemed their endeavors to keep their mouths shut; when they looked down, they had forgotten what they wished to say.
They considered punishments to be the substance of government, and they never incurred it; ceremonies to be its supporting wings and they always observed them; wisdom to indicate the time for action, and they always selected it; and virtue to be accordance with others, and they were all-accordant.
Considering punishments to be the substance of government, yet their generosity appeared in the manner of their infliction of death.
Considering ceremonies to be its supporting wings, they pursued by means of them their course in the world.
Considering wisdom to indicate the time for action, they felt it necessary to employ it in the direction of affairs.
Considering virtue to be accordance with others, they sought to ascend its height along with all who had feet to climb it.
Such were they, and yet men really thought that they did what they did by earnest effort.
Seneca, Moral Letters 80.3
For although the body needs many things in order to be strong, yet the mind grows from within, giving to itself nourishment and exercise. Yonder athletes must have copious food, copious drink, copious quantities of oil, and long training besides; but you can acquire virtue without equipment and without expense. All that goes to make you a good man lies within yourself.
And what do you need in order to become good? To wish it. But what better thing could you wish for than to break away from this slavery—a slavery that oppresses us all, a slavery which even chattels of the lowest estate, born amid such degradation, strive in every possible way to strip off?
In exchange for freedom they pay out the savings which they have scraped together by cheating their own bellies; shall you not be eager to attain liberty at any price, seeing that you claim it as your birthright? Why cast glances toward your strong box? Liberty cannot be bought.
It is therefore useless to enter in your ledger the item of “Freedom”, for freedom is possessed neither by those who have bought it, nor by those who have sold it. You must give this good to yourself, and seek it from yourself.
And what do you need in order to become good? To wish it. But what better thing could you wish for than to break away from this slavery—a slavery that oppresses us all, a slavery which even chattels of the lowest estate, born amid such degradation, strive in every possible way to strip off?
In exchange for freedom they pay out the savings which they have scraped together by cheating their own bellies; shall you not be eager to attain liberty at any price, seeing that you claim it as your birthright? Why cast glances toward your strong box? Liberty cannot be bought.
It is therefore useless to enter in your ledger the item of “Freedom”, for freedom is possessed neither by those who have bought it, nor by those who have sold it. You must give this good to yourself, and seek it from yourself.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 80
I will not recklessly claim that working to become a good man is somehow “easier” than working to become a champion in the arena, for it also demands its own form of rigor and discipline. Yet a life of inner constancy is nevertheless far simpler, in the sense that self-mastery does not rest upon the crutches of outer conditions. Whatever the circumstances may be, whether convenient or inconvenient, virtue requires only an absolute act of committed choice.
The warrior reaches for his honed weapons. The athlete trains with his specialized gear. The academic must refer to his extensive library. But the man who just wants to become more understanding and more loving from day to day needs nothing beyond the strength of his own convictions. There is a fierce beauty to this profound Stoic truth.
If it came instantaneously, I would already be a saint. I stumble regularly, and sometimes I fall flat on my face, though the difference is now that I decide to get up, to dust myself off, and to begin once more. The practice builds the habit. The habit improves the character. The character makes the man. Slowly but surely, the resolution forms a disposition like a second nature. Never be ashamed of progress, however slight.
And what prize awaits me? The warrior, the athlete, or the academic may win fortune and fame, while I am pursuing my freedom. This is not the usual conception of liberty, as the power to be delivered from the tyranny of others, and is instead the power to rule myself, regardless of the force inflicted by another. No money can purchase it, no position can grant it; it is available to anyone who knows himself.
The cardinal error is to equate success with a dominion over the world, when the true king reigns over his judgments. I crave riches because I fear poverty, and I seek out the approval of others because I remain ignorant of my nature. That was what I needed to hear back in college, not to fret over the football, the beer, or the job market.
Better late than never?
I will not recklessly claim that working to become a good man is somehow “easier” than working to become a champion in the arena, for it also demands its own form of rigor and discipline. Yet a life of inner constancy is nevertheless far simpler, in the sense that self-mastery does not rest upon the crutches of outer conditions. Whatever the circumstances may be, whether convenient or inconvenient, virtue requires only an absolute act of committed choice.
The warrior reaches for his honed weapons. The athlete trains with his specialized gear. The academic must refer to his extensive library. But the man who just wants to become more understanding and more loving from day to day needs nothing beyond the strength of his own convictions. There is a fierce beauty to this profound Stoic truth.
If it came instantaneously, I would already be a saint. I stumble regularly, and sometimes I fall flat on my face, though the difference is now that I decide to get up, to dust myself off, and to begin once more. The practice builds the habit. The habit improves the character. The character makes the man. Slowly but surely, the resolution forms a disposition like a second nature. Never be ashamed of progress, however slight.
And what prize awaits me? The warrior, the athlete, or the academic may win fortune and fame, while I am pursuing my freedom. This is not the usual conception of liberty, as the power to be delivered from the tyranny of others, and is instead the power to rule myself, regardless of the force inflicted by another. No money can purchase it, no position can grant it; it is available to anyone who knows himself.
The cardinal error is to equate success with a dominion over the world, when the true king reigns over his judgments. I crave riches because I fear poverty, and I seek out the approval of others because I remain ignorant of my nature. That was what I needed to hear back in college, not to fret over the football, the beer, or the job market.
Better late than never?
—Reflection written in 11/2013
IMAGE: Ilya Repin, What Freedom! (1903)
Monday, June 2, 2025
Delphic Maxims 77
Be fond of fortune
IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Bonacina, The Games of Fortune (c. 1650)
Seneca, Moral Letters 80.2
And yet that was a very bold word which I spoke when I assured myself that I should have some quiet, and some uninterrupted retirement. For lo, a great cheer comes from the stadium, and while it does not drive me distracted, yet it shifts my thought to a contrast suggested by this very noise.
How many men, I say to myself, train their bodies, and how few train their minds! What crowds flock to the games—spurious as they are and arranged merely for pastime—and what a solitude reigns where the good arts are taught! How feather-brained are the athletes whose muscles and shoulders we admire!
The question which I ponder most of all is this: if the body can be trained to such a degree of endurance that it will stand the blows and kicks of several opponents at once and to such a degree that a man can last out the day and resist the scorching sun in the midst of the burning dust, drenched all the while with his own blood —if this can be done, how much more easily might the mind be toughened so that it could receive the blows of Fortune and not be conquered, so that it might struggle to its feet again after it has been laid low, after it has been trampled underfoot?
How many men, I say to myself, train their bodies, and how few train their minds! What crowds flock to the games—spurious as they are and arranged merely for pastime—and what a solitude reigns where the good arts are taught! How feather-brained are the athletes whose muscles and shoulders we admire!
The question which I ponder most of all is this: if the body can be trained to such a degree of endurance that it will stand the blows and kicks of several opponents at once and to such a degree that a man can last out the day and resist the scorching sun in the midst of the burning dust, drenched all the while with his own blood —if this can be done, how much more easily might the mind be toughened so that it could receive the blows of Fortune and not be conquered, so that it might struggle to its feet again after it has been laid low, after it has been trampled underfoot?
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 80
I was sometimes told that I was being a snob for not buying into the football frenzy, though my motives never did involve a belief in being superior. If anything, I felt that I was missing something, that others already knew who they were supposed to be, while I was still struggling to find my place in things. Even as I observed from afar, I most certainly did not belong to the tribe.
When I later read this letter by Seneca, I recognized something of my own thoughts from back then, expressed with a far greater clarity than I could ever manage. It would be easy to say that I was condemning the excitement of the fans in the stadium, yet all that really came to my mind was why we could not take that enthusiasm for the great feats of the body, and then also apply it to the great feats of the soul.
The problem does not merely come from celebrating athletic excellence, but it rather arises when we ignore any moral excellence. Would the crowd cheer with equal passion for a fellow who faced overwhelming odds in order to forgive his enemy? Indeed, should not the latter elicit far more intensity than the former, since the goods of the spirit are for more critical to our lives than the goods of the flesh?
And how much time and effort are dedicated to building up the muscles on the outside, when only a lip service is paid to building up the character on the inside? With Plato, I do admire a formation of the whole person; I only have an objection when our model of the person is turned upside down, where both the mind and the will become like slaves to the gut.
In case that still sounds too haughty, I ought to follow Seneca’s example, by not simply bemoaning how terrible we are, but by further inspiring us to learn how much better we can yet become. Observe the incredible hardships we are willing to suffer so we might vanquish a foe on the field. Now imagine those same sacrifices made for the sake of increasing the virtues in our own hearts.
If we chose to glorify such a way of life, there might well be as many aspiring sages on a university campus as there are now aspiring athletes. Our constancy would perhaps make us invincible on a whole new level.
I was sometimes told that I was being a snob for not buying into the football frenzy, though my motives never did involve a belief in being superior. If anything, I felt that I was missing something, that others already knew who they were supposed to be, while I was still struggling to find my place in things. Even as I observed from afar, I most certainly did not belong to the tribe.
When I later read this letter by Seneca, I recognized something of my own thoughts from back then, expressed with a far greater clarity than I could ever manage. It would be easy to say that I was condemning the excitement of the fans in the stadium, yet all that really came to my mind was why we could not take that enthusiasm for the great feats of the body, and then also apply it to the great feats of the soul.
The problem does not merely come from celebrating athletic excellence, but it rather arises when we ignore any moral excellence. Would the crowd cheer with equal passion for a fellow who faced overwhelming odds in order to forgive his enemy? Indeed, should not the latter elicit far more intensity than the former, since the goods of the spirit are for more critical to our lives than the goods of the flesh?
And how much time and effort are dedicated to building up the muscles on the outside, when only a lip service is paid to building up the character on the inside? With Plato, I do admire a formation of the whole person; I only have an objection when our model of the person is turned upside down, where both the mind and the will become like slaves to the gut.
In case that still sounds too haughty, I ought to follow Seneca’s example, by not simply bemoaning how terrible we are, but by further inspiring us to learn how much better we can yet become. Observe the incredible hardships we are willing to suffer so we might vanquish a foe on the field. Now imagine those same sacrifices made for the sake of increasing the virtues in our own hearts.
If we chose to glorify such a way of life, there might well be as many aspiring sages on a university campus as there are now aspiring athletes. Our constancy would perhaps make us invincible on a whole new level.
—Reflection written in 11/2013
Sunday, June 1, 2025
Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 34
Noticing a good-looking youth lying in an exposed position, Diogenes nudged him and cried, "Up, man, up, lest some foe thrust a dart into your back!"
To one who was feasting lavishly he said:
Short-liv'd thou'lt be, my son, by what thou buy'st."
As Plato was conversing about Ideas and using the nouns "tablehood" and "cuphood," Diogenes said, "Table and cup I see; but your tablehood and cuphood, Plato, I can nowise see."
"That's readily accounted for," said Plato, "for you have the eyes to see the visible table and cup; but not the understanding by which ideal tablehood and cuphood are discerned."
On being asked by somebody, "What sort of a man do you consider Diogenes to be?"
"A Socrates gone mad," said Plato.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.53-54
Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 74
It is one of their tenets that sins are all equal: so Chrysippus in the fourth book of his Ethical Questions, as well as Persaeus and Zeno.
For if one truth is not more true than another, neither is one falsehood more false than another, and in the same way one deceit is not more so than another, nor sin than sin.
For he who is a hundred furlongs from Canopus and he who is only one furlong away are equally not in Canopus, and so too he who commits the greater sin and he who commits the less are equally not in the path of right conduct.
But Heraclides of Tarsus, who was the disciple of Antipater of Tarsus, and Athenodorus both assert that sins are not equal.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.120-121
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)