Humility

They say this was from a plaque on Dr. Bob's desk: 

Songs of Innocence 6

 

The Blossom (1789) 

William Blake (1757-1827) 

Merry, Merry Sparrow! 
Under leaves so green 
A happy Blossom 
Sees you, swift as arrow, 
Seek your cradle narrow, 
Near my Bosom. 

Pretty, Pretty Robin! 
Under leaves so green 
A happy Blossom 
Hears you sobbing, sobbing, 
Pretty Pretty Robin, 
Near my Bosom. 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 180

No one ever lost honor but him who never had any. 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.19

M. Look but on the single consulship of Laelius, and that, too, after having been set aside (though when a wise and good man like him is outvoted, the people are disappointed of a good consul, rather than be disappointed by a vain people); but the point is, would you prefer, were it in your power, to be once such a consul as Laelius, or be elected four times, like Cinna? I have no doubt in the world what answer you will make, and it is on that account I put the question to you. 
 
I would not ask everyone this question; for someone perhaps might answer that he would not only prefer four consulates to one, but even one day of Cinna’s life to whole ages of many famous men. Laelius would have suffered had he but touched any one with his finger; but Cinna ordered the head of his colleague consul, Cn. Octavius, to be struck off; and put to death P. Crassus, and L. Caesar, those excellent men, so renowned both at home and abroad; and even M. Antonius, the greatest orator whom I ever heard; and C. Caesar, who seems to me to have been the pattern of humanity, politeness, sweetness of temper, and wit. 
 
Could he, then, be happy who occasioned the death of these men? So far from it, that he seems to be miserable, not only for having performed these actions, but also for acting in such a manner that it was lawful for him to do it, though it is unlawful for anyone to do wicked actions; but this proceeds from inaccuracy, of speech, for we call whatever a man is allowed to do lawful.
 
Was not Marius happier, I pray you, when he shared the glory of the victory gained over the Cimbrians with his colleague Catulus (who was almost another Laelius; for I look upon the two men as very like one another), than when, conqueror in the civil war, he in a passion answered the friends of Catulus, who were interceding for him, “Let him die?” And this answer he gave, not once only, but often. 
 
But in such a case, he was happier who submitted to that barbarous decree than he who issued it. And it is better to receive an injury than to do one; and so it was better to advance a little to meet that death that was making its approaches, as Catulus did, than, like Marius, to sully the glory of six consulships, and disgrace his latter days, by the death of such a man. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.19 
 
As much as I have learned from the conflicts of history, I desperately try to avoid the entanglements of political partisanship, both ancient and modern. If I share a passage such as this one with my fellow eggheads, the group will immediately start to bicker about whether Laelius or Cinna was the more “effective” ruler, and before you know it, the conversation degenerates into a grudge match about the contemporary tribal quarrels, whatever they might be for the season. 
 
It is not uncommon for voices to be raised or insults to be hurled. Some folks will storm out of the room in protest. And it is all because we permit our preferences to enslave our principles, finding comfort in conformity before daring to think for ourselves. If his reasoning is sound, a man will be happy to explain it in friendship, yet once there is outrage, be assured that he is masking a crippling insecurity behind his battle cries. An intensity of feeling is never a substitute for a clarity of thinking, right back to the source. 
 
I do not doubt that Cicero had his personal loyalties, but I suggest that the example is intended to go deeper than the waving of sectarian banners. Beyond the blues, the greens, or the reds, what sort of life will bring us happiness? Is it better to have four terms of the consulship with wickedness, or merely one term of the consulship with integrity? While the grasping man defines himself by the quantity of his power, the honorable man pursues the quality of his character. 
 
I’m afraid most rulers I’ve observed, both big and small, seem obsessed with maintaining and increasing their authority, which probably fits Plato’s claim that those who are best suited to leadership are precisely those who wish to avoid it. As a child, I remember being impressed by the story of Cincinnatus, as well as Washington’s refusal to seek office for a third term. I began to worry that the great men could only be found in dusty books, hence my continuing struggle with appearing like an old codger, even when I was still a young pup. 
 
There are, of course, many fine leaders out there, at any time or in any place, and we just don’t particularly notice them, since they have little interest in putting on a show. They understand why each instance of virtue is complete within itself, as the perfection of our human nature, and so they do not chase after more and more. They find their sole contentment in doing what is right, regardless of whether anyone else takes notice. It is the same for all walks of life, where the question of how much is supplanted by the question of how well.
 
Now you may object that the covetous man is surely a happy man, offering as evidence his assured swagger and his luxurious ways. If this were so, however, why is he always so anxious, so angry, so insatiable? Don’t be fooled by the act, which betrays the misery fueling the bluster. If his soul is at peace, his words and deeds will not be marked by scheming and strife. 
 
If I must choose, let me be the consul who bravely suffers an evil rather than the consul who brazenly commits it. I will not blindly praise Laelius and Catulus, or swiftly condemn Cinna and Marius, but I will always celebrate virtue and reproach vice, with less concern for what happens to be convenient. The work of simple decency is the law of happiness. 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

Cosmos 19

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 3

Remember then, that if you mistake those things for free, which nature has made servile; and fancy that your own, which is indeed another’s; you shall be sure to meet with many hindrances and disappointments, much trouble, and great distractions, and be continually finding fault both with God and man. 

But if you take things right, as they really are, looking upon no more to be your own than indeed is so; and all that to be another’s, which really belongs to him; nobody shall ever be able to put any constraint upon you, nobody shall check or disappoint you; you shall accuse nobody, shall complain of nothing, shall never do anything unwillingly, shall receive harm from nobody, shall have no enemy; for no man will be able to do you any prejudice. 

Comment: 

He had told us before, what was, and what was not in our own power, and described the qualities peculiar to both sorts, and what relation they bear to us: that the things in our power are properly ours; that those out of our power, are another’s. 

And now he advises, that men would manage themselves, suitably to the nature of these things, and not be guilty of perverse and ridiculous absurdities, with regard to them. For this is the true foundation of all the happiness, or the wretchedness, of our lives. The succeeding well in our attempts, attaining to the good we aim at, and restraining all the mischief that could befall us, makes us happy. The being disappointed in our hopes, missing our ends and advantages, or the falling into mischiefs and inconveniences, are the things that make us miserable. 

But now, if your happiness consists in regular desires, and just aversions, and these desires and aversions are in our own power; we must seek our happiness here, that we may be sure to find it; and to find that happiness, which is properly ours, and peculiar to us. And we shall be sure to find it; for how is it possible we should not, when the regulation of our desires and aversions, depends entirely upon ourselves? 

On the other hand, if we place our affections and desires upon things not in our power, and expect to find our happiness in such; this double misfortune must needs follow upon it: one way the disappointment is unavoidable, that, though we should prove successful, and obtain what we are so fond of, yet still these things are not what we take them for, nor can we meet with that, which is proper our happiness in them. 

But besides, it is agreeable to all the reason in the world, to believe, that generally we must needs be disappointed of the things themselves. For how should it be otherwise, when a man sets his heart upon that which is another’s, as if it were his own; and when he must depend upon other persons and accidents, whether he shall ever obtain it or no? 

Now the natural consequences of such disappointments are, the being interrupted, and having all our measures broken, and a world of grief and remorse, when we find our pains have been employed to no purpose, and that we are engaged in wrongs courses. 

For, as pleasure and joy are the effects of good success, the accomplishing what we wish, and being delivered from what we dread; so, when we are overtaken by the mischiefs we feared, and defeated in our endeavors after that we desired, we presently fall into trouble and discontent, and complain of everyone that we think contributed to our misfortune, and spare neither men, nor sometimes providence, and God himself. 

Besides, there is another mischief comes of this. For by being so tenderly affected for things that are not in our power, we lose sometimes those that are; and he that deprives us of what he could take away, robs us of what he has no power to take from us; namely regular and moderate desire and aversions. 

But if we be disposed and affected as we ought, and make a true distinction between what is ours, and what is not; if we settle our affections, and bestow our care, not upon things which belong to another, but upon our own, our proper happiness, and what falls within the compass of our own power; that is, upon the entertaining such desires and aversions, as are agreeable to reason and nature; then we may rest secure, that we shall never be annoyed by any constraint or compulsion, any disappointment or hindrance; but shall have the sole government, and entire disposal, of such desires and aversion. 

And if so, then we shall have no occasion of grief or remorse: for that can happen but in two cases, either the missing of what we wished, or the falling into what we feared, and would fain have avoided. Now we can never be frustrated in our desires, nor ever be damaged by any inconvenience we fear, provided we will but make those things our care, which are in our own power. 

Consequently, we can never live in awe and dread of any man; for the reason, why we fear anybody, is because he may do us some prejudice, or some way obstruct our advantage. But no man alive has it in his power to offer violence to our desires and aversions; and these are the things, in which the man who lives according to the dictates of right reason, places his happiness. 

At this rate, we can have no enemy neither, for he is accounted our enemy, that does us mischief; but nobody can do this to a man who is out of the power of all mankind to hurt him: By the same reason, such a person will accuse no man, complain of nothing, nor ever do anything against his will. So that the life of this man is untainted with perturbation and sensual pleasure, must needs be above all grief, and all fear, absolutely free, and exquisitely happy.

And here we may observe farther, how excellently well he proves the life of a wise and good man, to be not only the best and most for ones advantage, but the pleasantest and most for one’s satisfaction too. For, as Plato tells us, every creature does, by natural instinct, endeavor after pleasure, and run away from pain. Now some pleasures attend those things, that are truly good and advantageous to us; and others, those that are prejudicial and hurtful. And this makes it necessary to take good heed what choice we make, that so we may embrace and pursue, and accustom ourselves to, the enjoyment of such pleasures only, as may be beneficial to us. 

Temperance, for example, is really more delightful to a virtuous man, than extravagance and licentiousness are to the dissolute. This needs no other proof than that many debauchees leave their loose way of living, and turn sober, when they consider, and come to a better sense of things. But there are no instances to be produced, of any temperate persons, who proceed upon wise and reasonable considerations, that ever abandoned themselves to debauchery and excess. 

Now if this way of living had not more than ordinary pleasure in it, men would never choose it with so much eagerness and satisfaction, And, that such a virtuous life as this, must needs be more easy and pleasant, Epictetus demonstrates, from its being free and uncontrolled, above checks and contradictions, above hindrances and disappointments, but depending and doing all upon the dictates of one’s own mind: and thus those happy men live, who place all their good and evil in their own actions, and the use of that liberty and power, which nature has given them. 

Antidotes to Distraction

 

Michael Leunig 78

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 39

A conversation held with Pericles, the son of the great statesman, may here be introduced. Socrates began: 

"I am looking forward, I must tell you, Pericles, to a great improvement in our military affairs when you are minister of war. The prestige of Athens, I hope, will rise; we shall gain the mastery over our enemies." 

Pericles replied: "I devoutly wish your words might be fulfilled, but how this happy result is to be obtained, I am at a loss to discover." 

"Shall we," Socrates continued, "shall we balance the arguments for and against, and consider to what extent the possibility does exist?"  

"Pray let us do so," he answered. 

Socrates: "Well then, you know that in point of numbers the Athenians are not inferior to the Boeotians?" 

Pericles: "Yes, I am aware of that." 

Socrates: "And do you think the Boeotians could furnish a better pick of fine healthy men than the Athenians?" 

Pericles: "I think we should very well hold our own in that respect." 

Socrates: "And which of the two would you take to be the more united people—the friendlier among themselves?" 

Pericles: "The Athenians, I should say, for so many sections of the Boeotians, resenting the selfish policy of Thebes, are ill disposed to that power, but at Athens I see nothing of the sort." 

Socrates: "But perhaps you will say that there is no people more jealous of honor or haughtier in spirit. And these feelings are no weak spurs to quicken even a dull spirit to hazard all for glory's sake and fatherland." 

Pericles: "Nor is there much fault to find with Athenians in these respects." 

Socrates: "And if we turn to consider the fair deeds of ancestry, to no people besides ourselves belongs so rich a heritage of stimulating memories, whereby so many of us are stirred to pursue virtue with devotion and to show ourselves in our turn also men of valor like our sires." 

Pericles: "All that you say, Socrates, is most true, but do you observe that ever since the disaster of the thousand under Tolmides at Lebadeia, coupled with that under Hippocrates at Delium,  the prestige of Athens by comparison with the Boeotians has been lowered, whilst the spirit of Thebes as against Athens had been correspondingly exalted, so that those Boeotians who in old days did not venture to give battle to the Athenians even in their own territory unless they had the Lacedaemonians and the rest of the Peloponnesians to help them, do nowadays threaten to make an incursion into Attica single-handed; and the Athenians, who formerly, if they had to deal with the Boeotians only, made havoc of their territory, are now afraid the Boeotians may some day harry Attica." 

To which Socrates: "Yes, I perceive that this is so, but it seems to me that the state was never more tractably disposed, never so ripe for a really good leader, as today. For if boldness be the parent of carelessness, laxity, and insubordination, it is the part of fear to make people more disposed to application, obedience, and good order. 

"A proof of which you may discover in the behaviour of people on ship-board. It is in seasons of calm weather when there is nothing to fear that disorder may be said to reign, but as soon as there is apprehension of a storm, or an enemy in sight, the scene changes; not only is each word of command obeyed, but there is a hush of silent expectation; the mariners wait to catch the next signal like an orchestra with eyes upon the leader." 

Pericles: "But indeed, given that now is the opportunity to take obedience at the flood, it is high time also to explain by what means we are to rekindle in the hearts of our countrymen the old fires—the passionate longing for antique valor, for the glory and the wellbeing of the days of old." 

"Well," proceeded Socrates, "supposing we wished them to lay claim to certain material wealth now held by others, we could not better stimulate them to lay hands on the objects coveted than by showing them that these were ancestral possessions to which they had a natural right. But since our object is that they should set their hearts on virtuous pre-eminence, we must prove to them that such headship combined with virtue is an old time-honored heritage which pertains to them beyond all others, and that if they strive earnestly after it they will soon out-top the world." 

Pericles: "How are we to inculcate this lesson?" 

Socrates: "I think by reminding them of a fact already registered in their minds, that the oldest of our ancestors whose names are known to us were also the bravest of heroes." 

Pericles: "I suppose you refer to that judgment of the gods which, for their virtue's sake, Cecrops and his followers were called on to decide?" 

Socrates: "Yes, I refer to that and to the birth and rearing of Erectheus, and also to the war which in his days was waged to stay the tide of invasion from the whole adjoining continent; and that other war in the days of the Heraclidae against the men of Peloponnese; and that series of battles fought in the days of Theseus—in all which the virtuous pre-eminence of our ancestry above the men of their own times was made manifest. 

"Or, if you please, we may come down to things of a later date, which their descendants and the heroes of days not so long anterior to our own wrought in the struggle with the lords of Asia, nay of Europe also, as far as Macedonia: a people possessing a power and means of attack far exceeding any who had gone before—who, moreover, had accomplished the doughtiest deeds. These things the men of Athens wrought partly single-handed, and partly as sharers with the Peloponnesians in laurels won by land and sea. Heroes were these men also, far outshining, as tradition tells us, the peoples of their time." 

Pericles: "Yes, so runs the story of their heroism." 

Socrates: "Therefore it is that, amidst the many changes of inhabitants, and the migrations which have, wave after wave, swept over Hellas, these maintained themselves in their own land, unmoved; so that it was a common thing for others to turn to them as to a court of appeal on points of right, or to flee to Athens as a harbor of refuge from the hand of the oppressor." 

Then Pericles: "And the wonder to me, Socrates, is how our city ever came to decline." 

Socrates: "I think we are victims of our own success. Like some athlete, whose facile preponderance in the arena has betrayed him into laxity until he eventually succumbs to punier antagonists, so we Athenians, in the plenitude of our superiority, have neglected ourselves and are become degenerate." 

Pericles: "What then ought we to do now to recover our former virtue?" 

Socrates: "There need be no mystery about that, I think. We can rediscover the institutions of our forefathers—applying them to the regulation of our lives with something of their precision, and not improbably with like success; or we can imitate those who stand at the front of affairs to-day, adapting to ourselves their rule of life, in which case, if we live up to the standard of our models, we may hope at least to rival their excellence, or, by a more conscientious adherence to what they aim at, rise superior." 

"You would seem to suggest," he answered, "that the spirit of beautiful and brave manhood has taken wings and left our city; as, for instance, when will Athenians, like the Lacedaemonians, reverence old age—the Athenian, who takes his own father as a starting-point for the contempt he pours upon grey hairs? When will he pay as strict an attention to the body, who is not content with neglecting a good habit, but laughs to scorn those who are careful in this matter? When shall we Athenians so obey our magistrates—we who take a pride, as it were, in despising authority? When, once more, shall we be united as a people—we who, instead of combining to promote common interests, delight in blackening each other's characters, envying one another more than we envy all the world besides; and—which is our worst failing—who, in private and public intercourse alike, are torn by dissension and are caught in a maze of litigation, and prefer to make capital out of our neighbor's difficulties rather than to render natural assistance? 

"To make our conduct consistent, indeed, we treat our national interests no better than if they were the concerns of some foreign state; we make them bones of contention to wrangle over, and rejoice in nothing so much as in possessing means and ability to indulge these tastes. From this hotbed is engendered in the state a spirit of blind folly and cowardice, and in the hearts of the citizens spreads a tangle of hatred and mutual hostility which, as I often shudder to think, will some day cause some disaster to befall the state greater than it can bear." 

"Do not," replied Socrates, "do not, I pray you, permit yourself to believe that Athenians are smitten with so incurable a depravity. Do you not observe their discipline in all naval matters? Look at their prompt and orderly obedience to the superintendents at the gymnastic contests, their quite unrivaled subservience to their teachers in the training of our choruses." 

"Yes," he answered, "there's the wonder of it; to think that all those good people should so obey their leaders, but that our hoplites and our cavalry, who may be supposed to rank before the rest of the citizens in excellence of manhood, should be so entirely unamenable to discipline." 

Then Socrates: "Well, but the council which sits on Areopagos is composed of citizens of approved character, is it not?" 

"Certainly," he answered.

Socrates: "Then can you name any similar body, judicial or executive, trying cases or transacting other business with greater honor, stricter legality, higher dignity, or more impartial justice?" 

"No, I have no fault to find on that score," he answered. 

Socrates: "Then we ought not to despair as though all sense of orderliness and good discipline had died out of our countrymen." 

"Still," he answered, "if it is not to harp upon one string, I maintain that in military service, where, if anywhere, sobriety and temperance, orderliness and good discipline are needed, none of these essentials receives any attention." 

"May it not perhaps be," asked Socrates, "that in this department they are officered by those who have the least knowledge? Do you not notice, to take the case of harp-players, choric performers, dancers, and the like, that no one would ever dream of leading if he lacked the requisite knowledge? and the same holds of wrestlers or pancratiasts.  

"Moreover, while in these cases any one in command can tell you where he got the elementary knowledge of what he presides over, most generals are amateurs and improvisers. I do not at all suppose that you are one of that sort. I believe you could give as clear an account of your schooling in strategy as you could in the matter of wrestling. No doubt you have got at first hand many of your father's "rules for generalship," which you carefully preserve, besides having collected many others from every quarter whence it was possible to pick up any knowledge which would be of use to a future general. 

"Again, I feel sure you are deeply concerned to escape even unconscious ignorance of anything which will be serviceable to you in so high an office; and if you detect in yourself any ignorance, you turn to those who have knowledge in these matters (sparing neither gifts nor gratitude) to supplement your ignorance by their knowledge and to secure their help." 

To which Pericles: "I am not so blind, Socrates, as to imagine you say these words under the idea that I am truly so careful in these matters; but rather your object is to teach me that the would-be general must make such things his care. I admit in any case all you say." 

Socrates proceeded: "Has it ever caught your observation, Pericles, that a high mountain barrier stretches like a bulwark in front of our country down towards Boeotia—cleft, moreover, by narrow and precipitous passes, the only avenues into the heart of Attica, which lies engirdled by a ring of natural fortresses?" 

Pericles: "Certainly I have." 

Socrates: "Well, and have you ever heard tell of the Mysians and Pisidians living within the territory of the great king, who, inside their mountain fortresses, lightly armed, are able to rush down and inflict much injury on the king's territory by their raids, while preserving their own freedom?" 

Pericles: "Yes, the circumstance is not new to me." 

"And do you not think," added Socrates, "that a corps of young able-bodied Athenians, accoutered with lighter arms, and holding our natural mountain rampart in possession, would prove at once a thorn in the enemy's side offensively, whilst defensively they would form a splendid bulwark to protect the country?" 

To which Pericles: "I think, Socrates, these would be all useful measures, decidedly." 

"If, then," replied Socrates, "these suggestions meet your approbation, try, O best of men, to realize them—if you can carry out a portion of them, it will be an honor to yourself and a blessing to the state; while, if you fail in any point, there will be no damage done to the city nor discredit to yourself." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 3.5 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.18

M. What hinders Critolaus, then, or that gravest of philosophers, Xenocrates (who raises virtue so high, and who lessens and depreciates everything else), from not only placing a happy life, but the happiest possible life, in virtue? 
 
And, indeed, if this were not the case, virtue would be absolutely lost. For whoever is subject to grief must necessarily be subject to fear too, for fear is an uneasy apprehension of future grief; and whoever is subject to fear is liable to dread, timidity, consternation, cowardice. Therefore, such a person may, some time or other, be defeated, and not think himself concerned with that precept of Atreus,
 
“And let men so conduct themselves in life,
As to be always strangers to defeat.” 
 
But such a man, as I have said, will be defeated; and not only defeated, but made a slave of. But we would have virtue always free, always invincible; and were it not so, there would be an end of virtue. 
 
But if virtue has in herself all that is necessary for a good life, she is certainly sufficient for happiness: virtue is certainly sufficient, too, for our living with courage; if with courage, then with a magnanimous spirit, and indeed so as never to be under any fear, and thus to be always invincible. 
 
Hence it follows that there can be nothing to be repented of, no wants, no lets or hinderances. Thus all things will be prosperous, perfect, and as you would have them, and, consequently, happy; but virtue is sufficient for living with courage, and therefore virtue is able by herself to make life happy. 
 
For as folly, even when possessed of what it desires, never thinks it has acquired enough, so wisdom is always satisfied with the present, and never repents on her own account. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.18 
 
I get tripped up on the theory when I forget why virtue is the pinnacle of human nature, and I get worn down in the practice when I allow myself to become a victim of sorrow. The first bit is usually resolved by a moment of calm reflection, though the second bit is a more stubborn obstacle, because the intensity of the feeling can muddle the clarity of the thinking. Following Epictetus, I must stand my ground: “You are but an impression, and not at all what you seem to be.” 
 
Behind the immediate appearance, I can understand how my character is not at the mercy of either pleasure or pain, that I am a creature of free judgment who can decide to be the master of his passions. This requires modifying my notions of victory and defeat, from being intimidated by the events to being composed in my convictions. While I will inevitably lose control of external things, I need never abandon myself. 
 
As much as I may doubt the Stoic claim that the soul is invincible, if it only so chooses, I must sheepishly admit how any despair on my part has always followed from permitting a disordered emotion to enter. It did not force its way into my mind, and however much my body might be enfeebled, I had to welcome it over the threshold. I think of how vampires apparently need to ask permission, and of how my mother scolded me for treating the pressure from my peers as if it were a command. 
 
I simply have to say “no”. This can be done calmly, and it not does not require a tantrum, which would itself be a surrender of my composure. The hurt can stay on the outside, while the serenity can remain on the inside. As Cicero has argued so forcibly throughout the text, the grief, the fear, the gratification, and the lust are derived from my estimation, not somehow imposed by its objects.
 
I am mistaken to view courage as some violent outburst, by which I can effortlessly sweep aside my enemies. I have been around the block often enough to know full well who counts as the real enemy; when my own house in order, why do I fret over the state of another man’s home? Let him be consumed by his longing and his rage, but there is a portion of me, the only one that counts, outside of his power, and to maintain this in harmony and constancy is everything I need to be good, and so to be happy. 
 
A life can never become “perfect” by arranging all the circumstances in precisely the most satisfying way, just as a life will never be “fair” if I measure it by the vagaries of fortune. A life can, however, be complete in the exercise of wisdom and virtue, just as it can be just through the integrity of my own thoughts, words, and deeds. 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

IMAGE: Jean-Jacques-Francois Le Barbier, The Courage of the Women of Sparta (1787) 

The Continence of Scipio 8

Anthony van Dyck, The Continence of Scipio (1621) 

Maxims of Goethe 72

Hatred is active displeasure, envy passive. We need not wonder that envy turns so soon to hatred. 

IMAGE: François-Guillaume Ménageot, Envy Plucking the Wings of Fame (1806) 

Man's Search for Meaning 15

I mentioned above how unavoidable were the thoughts about food and favorite dishes which forced themselves into the consciousness of the prisoner, whenever he had a moment to spare. 

Perhaps it can be understood, then, that even the strongest of us was longing for the time when he would have fairly good food again, not for the sake of good food itself, but for the sake of knowing that the sub-human existence, which had made us unable to think of anything other than food, would at last cease.

Those who have not gone through a similar experience can hardly conceive of the soul-destroying mental conflict and clashes of willpower which a famished man experiences. 

They can hardly grasp what it means to stand digging in a trench, listening only for the siren to announce 9:30 or 10:00 A.M.—the half-hour lunch interval—when bread would be rationed out (as long as it was still available); repeatedly asking the foreman—if he wasn't a disagreeable fellow—what the time was; and tenderly touching a piece of bread in one's coat pocket, first stroking it with frozen gloveless fingers, then breaking off a crumb and putting it in one's mouth and finally, with the last bit of will power, pocketing it again, having promised oneself that morning to hold out till afternoon. 

We could hold endless debates on the sense or nonsense of certain methods of dealing with the small bread ration, which was given out only once daily during the latter part of our confinement. 

There were two schools of thought. One was in favour of eating up the ration immediately. This had the twofold advantage of satisfying the worst hunger pangs for a very short time at least once a day and of safeguarding against possible theft or loss of the ration. The second group, which held with dividing the ration up, used different arguments. I finally joined their ranks. 

The most ghastly moment of the twenty-four hours of camp life was the awakening, when, at a still nocturnal hour, the three shrill blows of a whistle tore us pitilessly from our exhausted sleep and from the longings in our dreams. 

We then began the tussle with our wet shoes, into which we could scarcely force our feet, which were sore and swollen with oedema. And there were the usual moans and groans about petty troubles, such as the snapping of wires which replaced shoelaces. 

One morning I heard someone, whom I knew to be brave and dignified, cry like a child because he finally had to go to the snowy marching grounds in his bare feet, as his shoes were too shrunken for him to wear. 

In those ghastly minutes, I found a little bit of comfort; a small piece of bread which I drew out of my pocket and munched with absorbed delight. 

—from Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning 

Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 15

Again, the Stoics say that every base man is mad, being ignorant of himself and his own concerns; and that is madness. 

And ignorance is the vice opposite to prudence; and a certain relative disposition of this, which makes one’s impulses unstable and fluttery, is madness. That is why they give an outline of madness as follows: a fluttery ignorance.  

Again, of good things, some are attributes of all prudent men all the time, and some are not. 

Every virtue and prudent sense-perception and prudent impulse and the like are attributes of all prudent men on every occasion; but joy and good spirits and prudent walking are not attributes of all prudent men and not all the time. 

Analogously, of bad things too, some are attributes of all imprudent men all the time, and some are not. 

Every vice and imprudent sense-perception and imprudent impulse and the like are attributes of all imprudent men all the time; but pain and fear and imprudent answering are not attributes of all imprudent men and not on every occasion. 

Epiphany

Delphic Maxims 81

Ὄνειδος ἔχθαιρε 

Detest disgrace 

IMAGE: Camillo Procaccini, The Drunkenness of Noah (c. 1600) 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.17

M. A wicked life has nothing which we ought to speak of or glory in; nor has that life which is neither happy nor miserable. But there is a kind of life that admits of being spoken of, and gloried in, and boasted of, as Epaminondas saith,
 
“The wings of Sparta’s pride my counsels clipp’d.”
 
And Africanus boasts, 
 
“Who, from beyond Maeotis to the place 
Where the sun rises, deeds like mine can trace?”
 
If, then, there is such a thing as a happy life, it is to be gloried in, spoken of, and commended by the person who enjoys it; for there is nothing excepting that which can be spoken of or gloried in; and when that is once admitted, you know what follows. 
 
Now, unless an honorable life is a happy life, there must, of course, be something preferable to a happy life; for that which is honorable all men will certainly grant to be preferable to anything else. And thus there will be something better than a happy life: but what can be more absurd than such an assertion? What! When they grant vice to be effectual to the rendering life miserable, must they not admit that there is a corresponding power in virtue to make life happy? For contraries follow from contraries. 
 
And here I ask what weight they think there is in the balance of Critolaus, who having put the goods of the mind into one scale, and the goods of the body and other external advantages into the other, thought the goods of the mind outweighed the others so far that they would require the whole earth and sea to equalize the scale. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.17 
 
I know some folks who demand that their moral propriety be without any evidence of pleasure, for they view enthusiastic enjoyment as an obstacle to righteousness. In my circles, it’s a certain brand of religious zealots, though I’m sure they can be found in many walks of life. What they all share in common is the belief that our duties have nothing to do with our happiness. 
 
Similarly, there are those who frown upon expressions of praise, or discourage taking pride in an achievement, because they confuse a healthy confidence with a harmful vanity. They are correct in avoiding the extreme and mistaken in dismissing the moderation; there should be both delight and glory in this life, not sought for their own sake, but as the fitting results of choosing to live with excellence.
 
Once again, it was Aristotle who taught me why the end of happiness is in the virtue of our actions, from which we can further speak of joys and honors as natural consequences of fulfilling that noble purpose. While we commonly assume that any pleasures will bring us happiness, it is rather that happiness brings us a pleasure of the best sort, and while not everything we praise is good, everything good is worthy of the highest praise. I could have spared myself much grief if I had recognized this earlier! 
 
As a proper Roman, Cicero had a special place for honor, and rightly so. If the deed is virtuous, there is no shame in savoring it, and it is only fair to give credit where credit is due. Even as it is not my place to demand it, it will inspire me to know that people of character are offering their acclaim, and if I find myself surrounded by scoundrels, I will at least have the comfort of commending myself. And in the worst of times, deprived of any other support, I might add that I can always rely on God’s approval. 
 
If you act with integrity, be assured of your merits. Allow your family and friends to show pride in you. Be grateful to earn Divine blessings. It is in this sense that virtue and honor are bound together, the latter being a suitable mark of the former, as an effect follows from a cause. 
 
The naysayers will exaggerate the power of the vices to do us harm, while forgetting how the virtues remain the source of all benefits. Once we understand the strength of our nature, the circumstances cease to be so terrifying; on the scales of Critolaus, the slightest exercise of constancy has far more weight than all the villainy and misfortunes of the world put together. 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

Proverbs 3:1-4

[1] My son, do not forget my teaching,
but let your heart keep my commandments;
[2] for length of days and years of life
and abundant welfare will they give you.
[3] Let not loyalty and faithfulness forsake you;
bind them about your neck,
write them on the tablet of your heart.
[4] So you will find favor and good repute
in the sight of God and man. 

IMAGE: Anonymous English, Piety (c. 1620) 

The Art of Peace 114

The Divine beauty 

Of heaven and earth!
All creation,
Members of
One family. 

IMAGE: Eitaku Kobayashi, Izanagi and Izanami (c. 1885) 

Sayings of Heraclitus 87

It is better to conceal ignorance than to expose it.  

IMAGE: Andries Cornelis Lens, Hercules Protects Painting from Ignorance and Envy (1763) 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.16

M. I forbear to mention riches, which, as anyone, let him be ever so unworthy, may have them, I do not reckon among goods; for what is good is not attainable by all. I pass over notoriety and popular fame, raised by the united voice of knaves and fools. 
 
Even things which are absolute nothings may be called goods; such as white teeth, handsome eyes, a good complexion, and what was commended by Euryclea, when she was washing Ulysses’s feet, the softness of his skin and the mildness of his discourse. 
 
If you look on these as goods, what greater encomiums can the gravity of a philosopher be entitled to than the wild opinion of the vulgar and the thoughtless crowd? The Stoics give the name of excellent and choice to what the others call good: they call them so, indeed; but they do not allow them to complete a happy life. But these others think that there is no life happy without them; or, admitting it to be happy, they deny it to be the most happy. 
 
But our opinion is, that it is the most happy; and we prove it from that conclusion of Socrates. For thus that author of philosophy argued: that as the disposition of a man’s mind is, so is the man; such as the man is, such will be his discourse; his actions will correspond with his discourse, and his life with his actions. 
 
But the disposition of a good man’s mind is laudable; the life, therefore, of a good man is laudable; it is honorable, therefore, because it is laudable; the unavoidable conclusion from which is that the life of good men is happy. 
 
For, good Gods! Did I not make it appear, by my former arguments—or was I only amusing myself and killing time in what I then said?—that the mind of a wise man was always free from every hasty motion which I call a perturbation, and that the most undisturbed peace always reigned in his breast? 
 
A man, then, who is temperate and consistent, free from fear or grief, and uninfluenced by any immoderate joy or desire, cannot be otherwise than happy; but a wise man is always so, therefore he is always happy. 
 
Moreover, how can a good man avoid referring all his actions and all his feelings to the one standard of whether or not it is laudable? But he does refer everything to the object of living happily: it follows, then, that a happy life is laudable; but nothing is laudable without virtue: a happy life, then, is the consequence of virtue. And this is the unavoidable conclusion to be drawn from these arguments. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.16 
 
We do ourselves no favors with a “shotgun” approach to the good, pursuing countless accidents at the expense of the single essence. What at first appears to be generous and inclusive turns out to be muddled and lazy, where the jack of all trades finds himself to be the master of none, and a reliance upon everything except our own virtues leaves us frazzled and adrift. 
 
I do not wish to deny how birds or dogs have their particular goodness, only to clarify why a man is not defined by how far he can fly or how fast he can run. That gold will glitter is a fine feature for a metal, though hoarding bars of it in a vault will bring absolutely no benefit to the state of my soul. The tree will fall in the woods, whether anyone hears it or not, just as my happiness will follow from my character, whether I live in a palace or in a shack. 
 
I do hear people insisting that money, fame, or looks aren’t so terribly important, yet I fear they are merely mouthing the words, because their deeds reveal how they think otherwise. An old Jesuit once put me in my place by asking me to consider spending as much time forming my conscience as I did worrying about my image, and his advice continues to knock some sense into me every day. 
 
With the Stoics, could I choose to prefer one circumstance over another? Certainly, but only if I do not think it will somehow upgrade my happiness, and if I approach either its presence or its absence by the measure of my nature. As much as I enjoy playing my music, or smoking my pipe, or wearing silly hats, I understand why they do not complete me, and I would be glad to dispose of them if they became occasions for vice. 
 
So you must forgive me when I am suspicious of the fellow who says he would be miserable without his fancy car, or even if he lost his rewarding job, for he perceives them as absolute ends, rather than as relative means. As much as I wish him the greatest joy, I would encourage him to expect more for himself by digging a little deeper, to have more reverence for what is truly within him than for what happens to be around him. 
 
I recently had to control my temper when the charismatic founder of a rising tech company told an audience of eager college students how he was “doing the work of Socrates” by “breaking all the rules about running a business”. While I am sure Socrates would never begrudge a man the pleasures of his trade, I am also sure he would never confuse selling a product with improving the soul. 
 
Our actions will be worthy when they conform to a sound awareness of right and wrong, the only sort of integrity that matters. With that kind of honor to our names, the very fulfillment of our humanity, why would we continue to fret over the balance sheets or the pecking order? If the excellence of understanding and of love are not enough for the happiness of the rational animal, what else could possibly take its place? 
 
It is, of course, easier to nod our heads to the theory than to take a plunge into the practice, since we remain attached to hasty assumptions, and the old habits die hard. Carefully observe the qualities people will regularly praise, and you then have a peephole into their priorities. You will learn if their notion of honor proceeds from the inside out or from the outside in. 
 
Though Euryclea may have eventually recognized Odysseus by the scar on his leg, she remained loyal to him out of a respect for the dignity within the man. 

—Reflection written in 2/1999 

IMAGE: Gustave Boulanger, Odysseus Recognized by Euryclea (1849) 

 

Angst

Meh . . .

Waterloo

J.M.W. Turner, The Field of Waterloo (1818) 

Immortality

"Immortality" 

Clare Harner (1909-1977) 

Do not stand
          By my grave, and weep.
     I am not there,
          I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning's hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
     Do not stand
          By my grave, and cry—
     I am not there,
          I did not die. 

IMAGE: Jozef Israëls, Passing Mother's Grave (1856)