Maxims of Goethe 71

Why should those who are happy expect one who is miserable to die before them in a graceful attitude, like the gladiator before the Roman mob? 

IMAGE: Jean-Leon Gerome, Ave Caesar Morituri te Salutant (1859) 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.8

A. I wish that, indeed, myself; but I want a little information. For I allow that in what you have stated the one proposition is the consequence of the other; that as, if what is honorable be the only good, it must follow that a happy life is the effect of virtue: so that if a happy life consists in virtue, nothing can be good but virtue. 
 
But your friend Brutus, on the authority of Aristo and Antiochus, does not see this; for he thinks the case would be the same even if there were anything good besides virtue. 
 
M. What, then? Do you imagine that I am going to argue against Brutus? 
 
A. You may do what you please; for it is not for me to prescribe what you shall do. 
 
M. How these things agree together shall be examined somewhere else; for I frequently discussed that point with Antiochus, and lately with Aristo, when, during the period of my command as general, I was lodging with him at Athens. 
 
For to me it seemed that no one could possibly be happy under any evil; but a wise man might be afflicted with evil, if there are any things arising from body or fortune deserving the name of evils. 
 
These things were said, which Antiochus has inserted in his books in many places—that virtue itself was sufficient to make life happy, but yet not perfectly happy; and that many things derive their names from the predominant portion of them, though they do not include everything, as strength, health, riches, honor, and glory: which qualities are determined by their kind, not their number. 
 
Thus a happy life is so called from its being so in a great degree, even though it should fall short in some point. 
 
To clear this up is not absolutely necessary at present, though it seems to be said without any great consistency; for I cannot imagine what is wanting to one that is happy to make him happier, for if anything be wanting to him, he cannot be so much as happy; and as to what they say, that everything is named and estimated from its predominant portion, that may be admitted in some things. 
 
But when they allow three kinds of evils—when any one is oppressed with every imaginable evil of two kinds, being afflicted with adverse fortune, and having at the same time his body worn out and harassed with all sorts of pains—shall we say that such a one is but little short of a happy life, to say nothing about the happiest possible life? 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.8 
 
I don’t know what Brutus, or Antiochus, or Aristo might have said, because we no longer possess their writings, and I am reluctant to follow the example of the professional scholar, who will produce extensive volumes based on a few fragments of second-hand accounts. As Cicero says, I am more interested in the consistency of someone’s thought, and that only as it serves us all for a common truth. 
 
It would seem that just as good and evil are opposed, so also happiness and misery are opposed, such that the best sort of life would have to be superior to any harm. I hardly need to study philosophy, however, to see how every one of us is subject to a variety of hardships, and I have never met a man who was without some deep suffering. Even if I could be unblemished in my own thoughts, words, and deeds, how could I possibly escape the injustices committed by others? 
 
And so quite often I have tried to have it both ways, to hedge my bets, even to play both ends against the middle. Yes, my character is an important part of my happiness, perhaps even the greatest part, and yet I also feel like I need to arrange the best possible circumstances for myself. Being a nice guy will only get me so far, and then I need to bend those rules a bit to manage the rest. It’s nothing personal, right? 
 
With Antiochus, should I say that virtue will provide for most of my happiness, while still leaving a few details unaccounted for? I am unfortunately reminded of being asked if I had finished my homework, and then being scolded later for claiming that “just about” meant “completely”. The problem would be worse if I were faithful to my wife for the entire month, except on the night of the third Saturday. 
 
With Cicero, I question to what extent happiness can admit of degrees. I know how I can feel more or less pleasure, and how my comforts may be rough or refined, but when it comes right down to it, either my life leaves nothing more to be desired, in which case I am completely content with both myself and my world, or something is wanting, in which case the work remains unfinished. 
 
I wonder what the amount of pleasure, fame, or wealth could do to increase or diminish a soul that is innately at peace with itself. As much as a tough body, a crowd of friends, or a fat wallet can certainly make my day easier, they do not necessarily make me any better; the presence or absence of something accidental does not determine the function of that which is essential. 
 
In the end, a man has either got it together in kind, or he is still struggling with the task, whatever the degrees to his other qualities. There is a good reason why I don’t consider the calculation of grades as a reflection of real learning, just as I don’t look to the numbers in a bank account as a proof of actual merit. 
 
The problem is confused by the way we label things as “good” for us. The Ancient often spoke of the distinction between external goods, goods of the body, and goods of the soul, which might lead us to believe that a combination of fortunate circumstances, a healthy constitution, and an informed conscience must all be joined together to provide us with all the benefits we require. 
 
And while I do not deny that money, popularity, or strength can be immensely useful, I can also think of many cases where they become downright harmful. Is it not how diverse conditions are employed, as guided by sound judgment, that makes the difference? If so, the external goods and good of the body are relative and contingent, dependent upon the goods of the soul, which are absolute and necessary. 
 
I would suggest, therefore, that some goods are conditional, receiving their worth from what is greater, and others are unconditional, conferring their worth upon what is lesser. We unfortunately get mystified when we lump them together, which is why both the philosopher and the man on the street will quickly assume that poverty or sickness are obstacles to their happiness. 
 
Once I am focusing on the wrong goal, I will think myself miserable for all the wrong reasons. 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

IMAGE: Konstantin Makovsky, Happy Arcadia (1890) 

Apparition

Odilon Redon, Apparition (c. 1910) 

Cup of Cognition

Odilon Redon, Cup of Cognition (The Children's Cup) (1894) 

Butterflies

Odilon Redon, Butterflies (c. 1910) 

Reflection

Odilon Redon, Reflection (1900) 

Delphic Maxims 80

Ἔριν μίσει 

Despise strife 

IMAGE: Joos van Craesbeeck, Death is Savage and Quick: Quarrel in a Pub (c. 1640) 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 268

Why does a Bhakta, one full of the love of God, forsake everything for the sake of God? 

An insect flies from the darkness as soon as any light meets its eyes; the ant loses its life in molasses, but never leaves them. 

So the Bhakta cleaves unto his God forever, and leaves all else. 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.7

A. But the one of these two propositions is undeniable, that they who are under no apprehensions, who are noways uneasy, who covet nothing, who are lifted up by no vain joy, are happy: and therefore I grant you that. 
 
But as for the other, that is not now in a fit state for discussion; for it has been proved by your former arguments that a wise man is free from every perturbation of mind. 
 
M. Doubtless, then, the dispute is over; for the question appears to have been entirely exhausted. 
 
A. I think, indeed, that that is almost the case. 
 
M. But yet that is more usually the case with the mathematicians than philosophers. For when the geometricians teach anything, if what they have before taught relates to their present subject, they take that for granted which has been already proved, and explain only what they had not written on before. 
 
But the philosophers, whatever subject they have in hand, get together everything that relates to it, notwithstanding they may have dilated on it somewhere else. 
 
Were not that the case, why should the Stoics say so much on that question, “Whether virtue was abundantly sufficient to a happy life?” when it would have been answer enough that they had before taught that nothing was good but what was honorable; for, as this had been proved, the consequence must be that virtue was sufficient to a happy life; and each premise may be made to follow from the admission of the other, so that if it be admitted that virtue is sufficient to secure a happy life, it may also be inferred that nothing is good except what is honorable. 
 
They, however, do not proceed in this manner; for they would separate books about what is honorable, and what is the chief good; and when they have demonstrated from the one that virtue has power enough to make life happy, yet they treat this point separately; for everything, and especially a subject of such great consequence, should be supported by arguments and exhortations which belong to that alone. 
 
For you should have a care how you imagine philosophy to have uttered anything more noble, or that she has promised anything more fruitful or of greater consequence, for, good gods! does she not engage that she will render him who submits to her laws so accomplished as to be always armed against fortune, and to have every assurance within himself of living well and happily—that he shall, in short, be forever happy? But let us see what she will perform? 
 
In the meanwhile, I look upon it as a great thing that she has even made such a promise. 
 
For Xerxes, who was loaded with all the rewards and gifts of fortune, not satisfied with his armies of horse and foot, nor the multitude of his ships, nor his infinite treasure of gold, offered a reward to anyone who could find out a new pleasure; and yet, when it was discovered, he was not satisfied with it; nor can there ever be an end to lust. 
 
I wish we could engage anyone by a reward to produce something the better to establish us in this belief. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.7 
 
This last book of the Tusculan Disputations regularly tempts me to get caught up in various digressions, probably because the subject of virtue as the highest good has become so dear to my heart. Yet no question could be more critical than the source of our happiness, so the student of philosophy can somewhat forgive himself for attending to the winding details, as long as he doesn’t get himself all turned around and tied up in knots. 
 
To his credit, the Auditor proceeds slowly and carefully. He rightly isolates the premises that happiness is a freedom from troubles, and that wisdom does indeed produce a peace of mind. So what is stopping him from joining the two, arriving at the conclusion that our inner virtues are all we require to be satisfied? 
 
For myself, I know that I sometimes fail to make the connection on account of my sloth, unwilling to admit a total responsibility for my life. On a purely intellectual level, however, it is prudent to be cautious, given how much is at stake. It’s a shame how often a vague definition or a sloppy argument will bring us such compounded misery down the line. It is better to be safe than sorry. 
 
I had to laugh out loud when I read Cicero’s contrast between the mathematicians and the philosophers. While a proof in geometry can briefly reference what has previously been established, the student of philosophy is inclined to dwell on each component, returning to it time and time again, squinting at it from different angles, like a customer suspiciously eyeing the wares at a shop. Such caution can be both a blessing and a curse. 
 
I understand, for instance, why the Stoic will pause at equating what is honorable and what is virtuous, given how easy it is to treat either term broadly or narrowly. If I speak of honor as being praised, then not all honored things are necessarily good things, but if I speak of it as what is in itself worthy of being praised, that makes a world of difference. If I speak of virtue as a mere social appearance, I am easily misled, but if I speak of it as a habit of character, I am now on the narrow path. 
 
As quick as we are in citing the “good”, we are too fond of jumping into murky water, rushing ahead before we are absolutely clear about what we mean. Yes, sometimes scholars just like to hear themselves talk, though sometimes we eventually learn to appreciate their fussiness. We would, of course, be angry at an accountant if he hadn’t been thorough in checking his numbers. 
 
And far beyond promising us the best possible tax refund, philosophy promises to guide us to the best possible life; it would be one thing to lose a car or a home, and quite another to lose happiness itself. I am rightly suspicious of the guarantees offered by lawyers and salesmen, so you must forgive me if I am reluctant to trust in the fruits of learning. 
 
Then I remember how I have everything to gain, and philosophy has nothing to lose: wisdom gives of itself without demanding any return, for the profit to one part of Nature is inseparable from the profit to the whole. When reason tells me how I can become impervious to fortune, I should make the effort to listen. 
 
Philosophy has more power than any emperor. Instead of growing peeved at her subtle assignments, an expression of profound gratitude is long overdue. 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

IMAGE: Johannes van Mildert, Honos (c. 1615) 

Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 23

After such a change as this had been wrought and all the senators had hastened to adopt the milder and more humane penalty, Cato rose to give his opinion, and launched at once into a passionate and angry speech, abusing Silanus for his change of opinion, and assailing Caesar. 

Caesar, he said, under a popular pretext and with humane words, was trying to subvert the state; he was seeking to frighten the senate in a case where he himself had much to fear; and he might be well content if he should come off guiltless of what had been done and free from suspicion, since he was so openly and recklessly trying to rescue the common enemies, while for his country, which had been on the brink of ruin, and was so good and great, he confessed that he had no pity; and yet for men who ought not to have lived or been born even, he was shedding tears and lamenting, although by their deaths they would free the state from great slaughter and perils. 

This is the only speech of Cato which has been preserved, we are told, and its preservation was due to Cicero the consul, who had previously given to those clerks who excelled in rapid writing instruction in the use of signs, which, in small and short figures, comprised the force of many letters; these clerks he had then distributed in various parts of the senate house. 

For up to that time the Romans did not employ or even possess what are called shorthand writers, but then for the first time, we are told, the first steps toward the practice were taken. 

Be that as it may, Cato carried the day and changed the opinions of the senators, so that they condemned the men to death. 

Justus Lipsius, On Constancy 1.10

A complaint against the former sharp reprehension of Langius. But he adds that it is the part of a philosopher so to speak freely. He endeavors to confute the former disputation speaking of duty and love to our country. 

This first skirmish seemed to me very hot, wherefore interrupting him I replied, "What liberty of speech is this that you use? Yea, what bitter taunting? Do you in this wise pinch and prick me? I may well answer you with Euripides' words, 

Add not more grief unto my strong disease,
I suffer more, God knows, than is mine ease."

Langius smiling at this, I perceived then, said he, "You expect wafer cakes or sweet wine at my hands; but a little while ago you desired either fire or razor: and therein you did well. For I am a philosopher, Lipsius, not a fiddler: my purpose is to teach, not to entice you; to profit, not to please you; to make you blush, rather than smile; and to make you penitent, not insolent. 

"The school of a philosopher is as a physician's shop, so said Rufus once, whither we must repair for health, not for pleasure. That physician dallies not, neither flatters but pierces, pricks, razes, and with the savory salt of good talk sucks out the filthy corruption of the mind. Wherefore look not hereafter of me for roses, oils, or pepper, but for thorns, lancing tools, wormwood, and sharp vinegar." 

Here I took him up, saying: "Truly, Langius, if I may be so bold as to be plain with you, you deal scarce well or charitably with me: neither do you like a stout champion overcome me in lawful striving, but undermine me by slights and subtleties, saying that I bewail my country's calamities feignedly, and not for good will to it; wherein you do me wrong. 

"For let me confess freely that I have some manner of regard to myself, yet not wholly. I lament the cause of my country principally, although the danger she is in extends not in any sort unto me. Good reason is there why I should do so. For she it is that first received me into this world, and after that nourished and bred me, being, by common consent of all nations, our most ancient and holiest mother. 

"But you assign me the whole world for my country. Who denies that? Yet further you may not gainsay, that besides this large and universal country, there is another more near and dear unto me, to the which I am tied by a secret bond of nature, except you think there is no virtue persuasive nor attractive in that native soil which we first touched with our bodies and pressed with our feet; where we first drew our breath; where we cried in our infancy, played in our childhood, and exercised ourselves in manhood; where our eyes are acquainted with the firmament, floods, and fields; where have been by a long continuance of descents our kinsfolk, friends, and companions, and to many occasions of joy besides, which I may expect in vain in another part of the world. 

"Neither is all this the slander packthread of opinion, as you would have it seem, but the strong fetters of nature herself. Look upon all other living creatures. The wild beasts do both known and love their dens; and birds their nests. Fishes in the great and endless ocean sea, desire to enjoy some certain part thereof. What need I speak of men who, whether they be civil or barbarous, are so addicted to this their native soil that whosoever bears the face of a man will never refuse to die for and in it. 

"Therefore, Langius, this newfound curious philosophy of yours, I neither perceive as yet the depth of it, nor mind to make profession thereof. I will listen rather to the true saying of Euripides,

Necessity forces every wight
To love his country with all his might." 

Storm on the Sea 25

Hermann Wilhelm Theodor Köppen, Distress at Sea (1893) 

Ruins 15

Thomas Cole, The Roman Campagna (1843) 

Memento Mori 8

Andrea Previtali, Memento Mori (c. 1502) 

Hic decor hec forma manet, hec lex omnibus unam.  

"This beauty endures only in this form, this law is the same for everyone." 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.6

M. I can easily bear with your behaving in this manner, though it is not fair in you to prescribe to me how you would have me carry on this discussion. But I ask you if I have effected anything or nothing in the preceding days? 
 
A. Yes; something was done, some little matter indeed. 
 
M. But if that is the case, this question is settled, and almost put an end to. 
 
A. How so? 
 
M. Because turbulent motions and violent agitations of the mind, when it is raised and elated by a rash impulse, getting the better of reason, leave no room for a happy life. For who that fears either pain or death, the one of which is always present, the other always impending, can be otherwise than miserable? 
 
Now, supposing the same person—which is often the case—to be afraid of poverty, ignominy, infamy, or weakness, or blindness, or, lastly, slavery, which does not only befall individual men, but often even the most powerful nations; now can anyone under the apprehension of these evils be happy? 
 
What shall we say of him who not only dreads these evils as impending, but actually feels and bears them at present? Let us unite in the same person banishment, mourning, the loss of children; now, how can anyone who is broken down and rendered sick in body and mind by such affliction be otherwise than very miserable indeed? 
 
What reason, again, can there be why a man should not rightly enough be called miserable whom we see inflamed and raging with lust, coveting everything with an insatiable desire, and, in proportion as he derives more pleasure from anything, thirsting the more violently after them? 
 
And as to a man vainly elated, exulting with an empty joy, and boasting of himself without reason, is not he so much the more miserable in proportion as he thinks himself happier? 
 
Therefore, as these men are miserable, so, on the other hand, those are happy who are alarmed by no fears, wasted by no griefs, provoked by no lusts, melted by no languid pleasures that arise from vain and exulting joys. 
 
We look on the sea as calm when not the least breath of air disturbs its waves; and, in like manner, the placid and quiet state of the mind is discovered when unmoved by any perturbation. 
 
Now, if there be any one who holds the power of fortune, and everything human, everything that can possibly befall any man, as supportable, so as to be out of the reach of fear or anxiety, and if such a man covets nothing, and is lifted up by no vain joy of mind, what can prevent his being happy? 
 
And if these are the effects of virtue, why cannot virtue itself make men happy? 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.6 
 
Well, maybe the Auditor has gotten a little too snippy, and Cicero reminds him to speak only for himself, not for others. Lesson duly noted. 
 
I add to myself that a feeling of aggravation should not race ahead of a serene understanding, for the sense that I have been denied something essential may well arise from my confusion about that very essence. 
 
Though this last book discusses the capstone of Stoic ethics, that virtue is the highest human good, and thus is the perfection of our happiness, the four previous books have already given us all the basic principles to arrive at this conclusion. That the Auditor, or any one of us who has been disappointed by the world, remains hesitant may require connecting the dots more explicitly, so that the habits of cynicism might give way to a commitment of character. 
 
When I am overwhelmed by hardships, let me examine their source. Simply put, is it the circumstance itself that is the trouble, or is it rather my own response to the circumstance? If it is the former, then my happiness is at the whims of fortune, but if is the latter, then I am responsible for my own fate. 
 
In the language of the Peripatetics, which is the material cause, and which is the efficient cause? While poverty, disease, or violence have their direct effects upon the body, the mind retains the liberty to form its own estimation, to extract its own meaning, for good or for evil, on its own terms. Once it becomes what I make of it, I am no longer its victim. 
 
I observe how Cicero lays out his examples of agitations in the pattern of the Stoics, thereby highlighting how the root of the problem is a disordered emotion, which in turn arises from a disordered thought. 
 
Where there is fear of what is to come, or grief at what has already arrived, there is also a false judgment about the nature of harm. Where there is lust for a future conquest, or gratification in a present amusement, there is also a twisted belief about what is worth desiring. In each case, however I categorize my troubles, their origin is a frenzy of passion resulting from a surrender of understanding. The rider has lost his control of the reins. 
 
Once I bother to reflect, I realize how I complain about my condition precisely when these confused feelings are present, and yet I am somehow blaming other powers, supposedly beyond my control. There would be no fear, grief, lust, or gratification if there were a sound understanding of the true nature of benefit and harm. The Auditor and I should not be so quick to dismiss virtue as the remedy for misery. 
 
And when I find myself in the presence of a truly satisfied man, one who reveals it out of his inner being instead of putting on a superficial act, I will notice how he has a mastery over such passions. No, he does not repress his natural instincts, but at the same time he does not permit them to dominate his behavior—they are his, since he owns them, and they do not own him. 
 
When I think of the best moment of my life, they were invariably joined to a peace of mind, an awareness that I was as I was meant to me, in a state of harmony, regardless of what had passed before or what might still await me. They were always eternal nows, precisely because they were beyond the limitations of this or that experience.
 
And do not assume that they were all on a sandy beach or a scenic mountaintop, in the arms of my beloved, because many of them were in the oddest of places, at the most ridiculous of times, in bustling crowds or in complete solitude. It becomes clearer that my deliberate attitude had more to with it than any happenstance. It rose above the scenery. 
 
If I feel perturbed, where did that come from? If my virtues and vices are mine to decide, is not also my happiness mine to decide? 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

IMAGE: Gustave Courbet, The Calm Sea (1869) 

Vanitas 93

Antonio de Pereda, Vanitas (c. 1660) 

Stoic Snippets 267

Contemplate the forms of things bare of their coverings; the purposes of actions; consider what pain is, what pleasure is, and death, and fame; who is to himself the cause of his uneasiness; how no man is hindered by another; that everything is opinion. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.8 

Chuang Tzu 6.5

In this way they were one and the same in all their likings and dislikings. Where they liked, they were the same; where they did not like, they were the same. 

In the former case where they liked, they were fellow-workers with the Heavenly in them; in the latter where they disliked, they were co-workers with the Human in them. 

The one of these elements in their nature did not overcome the other. Such were those who are called the True men. 

Death and life are ordained, just as we have the constant succession of night and day; in both cases from Heaven. Men have no power to do anything in reference to them; such is the constitution of things. 

There are those who specially regard Heaven as their father, and they still love It, distant as It is; how much more should they love That which stands out, Superior and Alone! 

Some specially regard their ruler as superior to themselves, and will give their bodies to die for him; how much more should they do so for That which is their true Ruler! 

When the springs are dried up, the fishes collect together on the land. Than that they should moisten one another there by the damp about them, and keep one another wet by their slime, it would be better for them to forget one another in the rivers and lakes. 

And when men praise Yâo and condemn Kieh, it would be better to forget them both, and seek the renovation of the Tâo. 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.5

A. I do not think virtue can possibly be sufficient for a happy life.
 
M. But my friend Brutus thinks so, whose judgment, with submission, I greatly prefer to yours.
 
A. I make no doubt of it; but your regard for him is not the business now: the question is now, what is the real character of that quality of which I have declared my opinion. I wish you to dispute on that. 
 
M. What! Do you deny that virtue can possibly be sufficient for a happy life? 
 
A. It is what I entirely deny. 
 
M. What! Is not virtue sufficient to enable us to live as we ought, honestly, commendably, or, in fine, to live well? 
 
A. Certainly sufficient. 
 
M. Can you, then, help calling any one miserable who lives ill? Or will you deny that anyone who you allow lives well must inevitably live happily? 
 
A. Why may I not? For a man may be upright in his life, honest, praiseworthy, even in the midst of torments, and therefore live well. Provided you understand what I mean by well; for when I say well, I mean with constancy, and dignity, and wisdom, and courage; for a man may display all these qualities on the rack; but yet the rack is inconsistent with a happy life. 
 
M. What, then? Is your happy life left on the outside of the prison, while constancy, dignity, wisdom, and the other virtues, are surrendered up to the executioner, and bear punishment and pain without reluctance? 
 
A. You must look out for something new if you would do any good. These things have very little effect on me, not merely from their being common, but principally because, like certain light wines that will not bear water, these arguments of the Stoics are pleasanter to taste than to swallow. 
 
As when that assemblage of virtues is committed to the rack, it raises so reverend a spectacle before our eyes that happiness seems to hasten on towards them, and not to suffer them to be deserted by her. 
 
But when you take your attention off from this picture and these images of the virtues to the truth and the reality, what remains without disguise is, the question whether anyone can be happy in torment? 
 
Wherefore let us now examine that point, and not be under any apprehensions, lest the virtues should expostulate, and complain that they are forsaken by happiness. 

 
For if prudence is connected with every virtue, then prudence itself discovers this, that all good men are not therefore happy; and she recollects many things of Marcus Atilius, Quintus Caepio, Marcus Aquilius; and prudence herself, if these representations are more agreeable to you than the things themselves, restrains happiness when it is endeavoring to throw itself into torments, and denies that it has any connection with pain and torture. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.5 

I enjoy how the Auditor seems to have a little more spunk this time around, willing to dig in his heels on the tension between virtue and happiness. Nor is he merely being stubborn, as he argues for a grounded awareness of the fact that life will not necessarily shower us with blessings, just because we choose to be good. While something may sound fine in the grand theory, it also needs to work in the gritty practice. 
 
The objection is timeless, for all of us know how doing the right thing does not always feel like the most fulfilling thing. Indeed, we may be tempted to believe that there is even a contradiction between morality and success, that no good deed goes unpunished, that nice guys finish last. While this may not diminish the glory of righteousness, it still means that the man of character has no guarantee of ever being content with his lot. 
 
From the perspective of a philosophy geek, it bears a certain resemblance to the challenge presented by Immanuel Kant: do your duty, whatever the consequences, but don’t expect it to bring you bliss. I can appreciate the heroic gesture, and yet I can’t help but find it tragic. It makes for a fractured world, a world of noble causes and broken hearts. 
 
Now the Auditor is no relativist or hedonist, since he isn’t denying the existence of a higher moral law; he is simply pointing out how some other law appears to decide whether we will be happy. Perhaps there is a reason why the most heroic people end up looking so somber and severe, burdened with pain while they fearlessly cling to their principles. 
 
Observe how Cicero appeals to both authority and shame; were those rhetorical tricks he learned from the teachings of Carneades? The Auditor will have none of it. There is no avoiding the reality that no man can be satisfied while he is being tortured on the rack. Tell me how the holy martyr died with total integrity, and I will remind you how he was also in terrible agony—no reasonable man calls that happiness! 
 
I once knew a psychology student who made a similar claim, and he pointed to saints like Sebastian or Lawrence as instances of sexual masochism, the only possible explanation for finding joy in the midst of suffering. Indeed, how could we think otherwise, if we measure our satisfaction by the presence of pleasure and the absence of pain? But I am getting too far ahead of myself . . . 
 
And the Auditor will not budge after calls upon lofty ideals, insisting that philosophers like the Stoics make it all sound far too easy. Again, this fellow is plucky—might Cicero be deliberately testing his mettle? Whether or not I agree with his conclusions, he presents his case with clarity and conviction, to the point where I find myself nodding my head, equally irritated by the experts pontificating from their cozy armchairs. 
 
If the three examples from Roman history are too obscure, I can immediately think of so many cases closer to home. For every one who finds a life of integrity joined with comfort, there are dozens and dozens who try to be honest and end up in the gutter. I think it no accident that the sleaziest person I know is showered with fame and fortune, while the most decent person I know can never get a break. 
 
Once you remind me of the details about why life doesn’t seem fair, I once again have my doubts. I have sympathy with the Auditor, and I am eager to hear Cicero’s reply. 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 35

Being asked what was the right time to marry, Diogenes replied, "For a young man not yet: for an old man never at all." 

Being asked what he would take to be soundly cuffed, he replied, "A helmet." 

Seeing a youth dressing with elaborate care, he said, "If it's for men, you're a fool; if for women, a knave." 

One day he detected a youth blushing. "Courage," said he, "that is the hue of virtue." 

One day after listening to a couple of lawyers disputing, he condemned them both, saying that the one had no doubt stolen, but the other had not lost anything. 

To the question what wine he found pleasant to drink, he replied, "That for which other people pay." 

When he was told that many people laughed at him, he made answer, "But I am not laughed down." 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.54 

IMAGE: Jacob Jordaens, Diogenes Searching for an Honest Man (c. 1642) 

Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 75

Again, the Stoics say that the wise man will take part in politics, if nothing hinders him—so, for instance, Chrysippus in the first book of his work On Various Types of Life—since thus he will restrain vice and promote virtue. 

Also, they maintain, he will marry, as Zeno says in his Republic, and beget children. 

Moreover, they say that the wise man will never form mere opinions, that is to say, he will never give assent to anything that is false; that he will also play the Cynic, Cynicism being a short cut to virtue, as Apollodorus calls it in his Ethics; that he will even turn cannibal under stress of circumstances. 

They declare that he alone is free and bad men are slaves, freedom being power of independent action, whereas slavery is privation of the same; though indeed there is also a second form of slavery consisting in subordination, and a third which implies possession of the slave as well as his subordination; the correlative of such servitude being lordship; and this too is evil. 

Moreover, according to them not only are the wise free, they are also kings; kingship being irresponsible rule, which none but the wise can maintain: so Chrysippus in his treatise vindicating Zeno’s use of terminology. 

For he holds that knowledge of good and evil is a necessary attribute of the ruler, and that no bad man is acquainted with this science. 

Similarly the wise and good alone are fit to be magistrates, judges, or orators, whereas among the bad there is not one so qualified. 

Furthermore, the wise are infallible, not being liable to error. They are also without offense; for they do no hurt to others or to themselves. 

At the same time they are not pitiful and make no allowance for anyone; they never relax the penalties fixed by the laws, since indulgence and pity and even equitable consideration are marks of a weak mind, which affects kindness in place of chastizing. Nor do they deem punishments too severe. 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.121-123 

IMAGE: Raphael, The Judgment of Solomon (c. 1519) 

Dhammapada 402

Him I call indeed a Brahmana who, even here, knows the end of his suffering, has put down his burden, and is unshackled. 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.4

Nor was Pythagoras the inventor only of the name, but he enlarged also the thing itself, and, when he came into Italy after this conversation at Phlius, he adorned that Greece, which is called Great Greece, both privately and publicly, with the most excellent institutions and arts; but of his school and system I shall, perhaps, find another opportunity to speak. 
 
But numbers and motions, and the beginning and end of all things, were the subjects of the ancient philosophy down to Socrates, who was a pupil of Archelaus, who had been the disciple of Anaxagoras. These made diligent inquiry into the magnitude of the stars, their distances, courses, and all that relates to the heavens. 
 
But Socrates was the first who brought down philosophy from the heavens, placed it in cities, introduced it into families, and obliged it to examine into life and morals, and good and evil. 
 
And his different methods of discussing questions, together with the variety of his topics, and the greatness of his abilities, being immortalized by the memory and writings of Plato, gave rise to many sects of philosophers of different sentiments, of all which I have principally adhered to that one which, in my opinion, Socrates himself followed; and argue so as to conceal my own opinion, while I deliver others from their errors, and so discover what has the greatest appearance of probability in every question. 
 
And this custom Carneades adopted with great copiousness and acuteness, and I myself have often given in to it on many occasions elsewhere, and in this manner, too, I disputed lately, in my Tusculan villa; indeed, I have sent you a book of the four former days’ discussions; but the fifth day, when we had seated ourselves as before, what we were to dispute on was proposed thus. . . . 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.4 
 
Philosophers may not have always gone by the same name, and they may have approached their understanding from very different angles, but what they all shared in common was a calling to explain, not merely to describe. 
 
They always dug down deep, and that sometimes had a way of shaking things up. Listening to them probably didn’t make you any richer or more popular, though it always left you just a little bit better and wiser, if only from looking at the world in a totally unfamiliar manner. 
 
I doubt that Socrates was literally the first to “do” philosophy on the streets, or that he invented the method, equally enlightening and annoying, of stimulating awareness by debating inconvenient questions. He was, however, the first to so notably draw attention to himself for being a gadfly, and our cultural tradition would never be the same without him. 
 
To be honest, I was initially offended by Socrates, failing to distinguish him from your garden-variety intellectual bully. It took me some time to recognize what he was really up to, and as a result I would also never be the same without him. If I recall correctly, it was actually Xenophon who finally allowed me to see Socrates as more than just a mouthpiece for Plato. 
 
Cicero here highlights the very same Socratic qualities that have been so influential for me: an unwavering insistence on critical thinking, and an absolute commitment to an informed conscience. We are all, each and every one of us, adrift in this life without the knowledge to judge right from wrong, and any philosophy that fails to address this vital need doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. 
 
When I grow tired of the endless bickering among the ideological tribes, it helps me to remember how all of their efforts are ultimately attempts at fulfilling the noble mission of Socrates, which points to the unity behind so much fracturing. Yes, there comes a point when two principles can no longer coexist, but far more of our disagreements are about matters of stress, concerning distinctions where we are sadly talking past one another. 
 
I can respect why Cicero, for example, was guided by the Academic Skepticism of Carneades, just as I am pleased to see him further open his mind to the teachings of the Stoics. Take what you need and leave the rest. The end results in practice do not justify the quarrelling about the theory; what at first looks like a contradiction can well turn out to be a complement. 
 
How can I blame Cicero for questioning the dogmatism of the Stoics? I imagine that some of them were insufferable in their elitism. Perhaps it is more prudent to settle for what is likely than to idly speculate about what is beyond our grasp. 
 
At the same time, I am drawn to the formulations of Stoicism for three reasons: the quest for a certainty in knowledge, the immanence of Divine Providence, and the primacy of virtue in human affairs. I think it no accident that these themes correspond to the three branches of inquiry in Stoicism: logic, physics, and ethics. 
 
It is a good sign when one follower of Socrates finds something of value from another follower of Socrates, regardless of the attached “-isms”. This final book of the Tusculan Disputations, on the sufficiency of virtue, is a step in the right direction. 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

IMAGE: William Blake, Socrates, A Visionary Head (c. 1820)