Sayings of Publilius Syrus 189

Fortune is not satisfied with inflicting one calamity. 

James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 26

26. 

Τῇ πάντα διδούσῃ καὶ ἀπολαμβανούσῃ φύσει ὁ πεπαιδευμένος καὶ αἰδήμων λέγει: δὸς ὃ θέλεις: ἀπόλαβε ὃ θέλεις. λέγει δὲ τοῦτο οὐ καταθρασυνόμενος, ἀλλὰ πειθαρχῶν μόνον καὶ εὐνοῶν αὐτῇ. 

To Nature that gives all things we possess, and again takes them away and back to herself—to this Nature he who is schooled well and disciplined and reverential, speaks, and says: Give what you will, take back what you will. But this he says not in any boastful or emboldened way, but only in obedient spirit and good will to Nature. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.14 

26. 

Have thy soul reverent; then to Nature say: 

Out of thine ampleness give me what thou wilt. 

Certes ’tis large, replenishes the day, 

And wakes my soul to an unenvious lilt. 

Of all the pomps of stars, meteors and lights, 

Suns, moons and followers in th’ eternal span, 

Or here plains, meads, great waters, mountain heights, 

Partake I as all do—own them none can; 

And having given, take what thou wilt away, 

Be ’t health, or power, place, gold, or other pelf. 

Thy gifts’ be such the largest meeds must stay, 

Nor canst thou e’er withdraw from me thyself. 

I say not this, our Lord, defiantly, 

But with a glad content, obediently. 

IMAGE: El Greco, View of Toledo (c. 1600) 

Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 27

When the people were about to vote on the law, in favor of Metellus there were armed strangers and gladiators and servants drawn up in the forum, and that part of the people which longed for Pompey in their hope of a change was present in large numbers, and there was strong support also from Caesar, who was at that time praetor. 

In the case of Cato, however, the foremost citizens shared in his displeasure and sense of wrong more than they did in his struggle to resist, and great dejection and fear reigned in his household, so that some of his friends took no food and watched all night with one another in futile discussions on his behalf, while his wife and sisters wailed and wept. 

He himself, however, conversed fearlessly and confidently with all and comforted them, and after taking supper as usual and passing the night, was roused from a deep sleep by one of his colleagues, Minucius Thermus; and they went down into the forum, only few persons accompanying them, but many meeting them and exhorting them to be on their guard. 

Accordingly, when Cato paused in the forum and saw the temple of Castor and Pollux surrounded by armed men and its steps guarded by gladiators, and Metellus himself sitting at the top with Caesar, he turned to his friends and said: "What a bold man, and what a coward, to levy such an army against a single unarmed and defenseless person!" 

At the same time he walked straight on with Thermus. Those who were occupying the steps made way for them, but would allow no one else to pass, except that Cato with difficulty drew Munatius along by the hand and brought him up; and walking straight onwards he threw himself just as he was into a seat between Metellus and Caesar, thus cutting off their communication. 

Caesar and Metellus were disconcerted, but the better citizens, seeing and admiring the countenance, lofty bearing, and courage of Cato, came nearer, and with shouts urged one another to stay and band themselves together and not betray their liberty and the man who was striving to defend it. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 83.11

Mark Antony was a great man, a man of distinguished ability; but what ruined him and drove him into foreign habits and un-Roman vices, if it was not drunkenness and—no less potent than wine—love of Cleopatra? 
 
This it was that made him an enemy of the state; this it was that rendered him no match for his enemies; this it was that made him cruel, when as he sat at table the heads of the leaders of the state were brought in; when amid the most elaborate feasts and royal luxury he would identify the faces and hands of men whom he had proscribed; when, though heavy with wine, he yet thirsted for blood. 
 
It was intolerable that he was getting drunk while he did such things; how much more intolerable that he did these things while actually drunk!
 
Cruelty usually follows wine-bibbing; for a man’s soundness of mind is corrupted and made savage. Just as a lingering illness makes men querulous and irritable and drives them wild at the least crossing of their desires, so continued bouts of drunkenness bestialize the soul. 
 
For when people are often beside themselves, the habit of madness lasts on, and the vices which liquor generated retain their power even when the liquor is gone. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83 
 
Instead of just saying that drunkenness will keep others from trusting us with their secrets, it might be far better to say that drunkenness will keep us from respecting our own dignity. Sometimes the addict may live in a grand house, surrounded by beautiful women, and flattered by a crowd of retainers, but his soul is rotting from the inside, and no extravagant diversions can ever save him from destroying himself. 
 
I have long been baffled by the reverence offered to so many of the supposedly “great men” in history, when what I really saw was a series of object lessons about the dangers of avarice and pride. To Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon I can also add the example of Mark Antony. While I have no doubt that they possessed great abilities, I can’t overlook how they were consumed by their desires, always longing for more and more. Even though I have never been a big fish, such urges sound oddly familiar. 
 
Again, it was not his fixations on drink and sex that made Mark Antony a deeply flawed man, but rather that these weaknesses reflected a deeper confusion in his thinking, and they only served to further amplify his vices. I have many neighbors who are perfectly well-mannered during the day, and yet they start brawling after a line of shots at the pub. Despite my shy temperament, I once threw an ashtray at the bartender after binging on St. Patrick’s Day, for reasons I still do not entirely understand. 
 
Intoxication feeds our resentments, and even when we are once again sober, those habits of bitterness and blame will continue to distort our judgments. In my own case, I’m not sure if I’m worse while blitzed or worse on the next day, because the shame merely compounds the despair and the rage. Those who have helped me to tame my demons will warn me about becoming a “dry drunk”, the fellow who hasn’t picked up in ages, but remains tied up in his “stinking thinking”. 
 
Mark Antony and Cleopatra make me think of a couple from the old watering hole, who always started the night gazing into each other’s eyes, and always ended the night damning each other to hell. Nothing was ever good enough for them, because they had forgotten who they were meant to be. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Jacob Jordaens, Cleopatra's Feast (1653) 

Fear Nothing

Philosophy Illustrated

IMAGES by Edward Steed 

Storm on the Sea 29

Chester Harding, Ship in a Storm (1823) 

Ruins 19

Carl Gustav Carus, View of the Colosseum by Night (c. 1830) 

Justus Lipsius, On Constancy 1.14

That nothing is done but by the beck of this Providence. That by it desolations come upon men and cities; therefore we do not the parts of good and godly men to murmur or mourn for them. Finally, an exhortation to obey God against whom we strive unadvisedly and in vain. 

"If you conceive this rightly, and do believe heartily that this governing faculty insinuates itself, and, as the poet speaks, passes through every path of sea and eke of shore, I see not what further place can be left for your grief and grudging. For even the selfsame foreseeing intelligence which turns about the heaven daily, which causes the sun to rise and set, which brings forth and shuts up the fruits of the earth, produces all these calamities and changes which you so much marvel and mutter at. 

"Do you think that God gives us only pleasing and profitable things? No, he sends likewise noisome and hurtful; neither is anything contrived, tossed or turned, sin only excepted, in this huge theater of the world, the cause and fountain whereof proceeds not from that first cause of causes: for as Pindar says well, the dispensers and doers of all things are in heaven. And there is let down from thence a golden chain, as Homer expresses by a figment, whereto all these inferior things are fast linked. 

"That the earth has opened her mouth and swallowed up some towns, came of God's Providence. That elsewhere the plague has consumed many thousands of people, proceeds of the same cause. That slaughters, war, and tyranny rage in the Low Countries, there hence also comes it to pass. 

"From heaven, Lipsius, from heaven are all these miseries sent. Therefore Euripides said it well and wisely, that all calamities are from God. The ebbing and flowing of all human affairs depends upon that moon. The rising and fall of kingdoms comes from this sun. You therefore in losing the reins thus to your sorrow, and grudging that the country is so turned and overturned, do not consider what you are, and against whom you complain. What are you? A man, a shadow, dust? Against whom do you fret? I fear to speak it, even against God. 

"The ancients have fained that giants advanced themselves against God, to pull him out of his throne. Let us omit these fables: in very truth you querulous and murmuring men are these giants. For if it be so that God does not only suffer but send all these things, then you who thus strive and struggle, what do you else but, as much as in you lies, take the scepter and sway of government from him? 

"O blind mortality: the sun, the moon, stars, elements, and all creatures else in the world, do willingly obey that supreme law: only man, the most excellent of all God's works, lifts up his heel, and spurns against his maker. 

"If you hoist your sails to the winds, you must follow whither they will force you, not whither you will lead them. And in this great ocean sea of our life will you refuse to follow that breathing spirit which governs the whole world? Yet you strive in vain. For if you follow not freely, you shall be drawn after forcibly. 

"We may laugh at him who, having tied his boat to a rock, afterwards hauls the rope as though the rock should come to him, when he himself goes nearer to it. But our foolishness is far greater, who being fast bound to the rock of God's eternal Providence, by our hailing and pulling would have the same to obey us, and not we it. 

"Let us forsake this fondness, and if we are wise, let us follow that power which from above draws us, and let us think it good reason that man should be pleased with that which pleases God. 

"The soldier in camp, having a sign of marching forward given to him, takes up all his trinkets, but hearing the note of battle lays them down, preparing and making himself ready with heart, eyes, and ears, to execute whatsoever shall be commanded. So let us in this our warfare follow cheerfully and with courage wherever our general calls us. We are hereunto adjured by oath, says Seneca, even to endure mortality, nor to be troubled with those things which it is not in our power to avoid. We are born in a kingdom, and to obey God is liberty."  

Seneca, Moral Letters 83.10

Besides, we forget who we are, we utter words that are halting and poorly enunciated, the glance is unsteady, the step falters, the head is dizzy, the very ceiling moves about as if a cyclone were whirling the whole house, and the stomach suffers torture when the wine generates gas and causes our very bowels to swell.
 
However, at the time, these troubles can be endured, so long as the man retains his natural strength; but what can he do when sleep impairs his powers, and when that which was drunkenness becomes indigestion?
 
Think of the calamities caused by drunkenness in a nation! This evil has betrayed to their enemies the most spirited and warlike races; this evil has made breaches in walls defended by the stubborn warfare of many years; this evil has forced under alien sway peoples who were utterly unyielding and defiant of the yoke; this evil has conquered by the wine cup those who in the field were invincible.
 
Alexander, whom I have just mentioned, passed through his many marches, his many battles, his many winter campaigns (through which he worked his way by overcoming disadvantages of time or place), the many rivers which flowed from unknown sources, and the many seas, all in safety; it was intemperance in drinking that laid him low, and the famous death-dealing bowl of Hercules.
 
What glory is there in carrying much liquor? When you have won the prize, and the other banqueters, sprawling asleep or vomiting, have declined your challenge to still other toasts; when you are the last survivor of the revels; when you have vanquished every one by your magnificent show of prowess and there is no man who has proved himself of so great capacity as you—you are vanquished by the cask. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83 
 
I suspect that this sort of talk comes across as bitter and self-righteous preaching to those who have never struggled with an addiction, and only those who have come back from the edge can appreciate its wisdom. 
 
It reminds of the old Twelve-Step saying, that religion is for the folks who are afraid of going to hell, and spirituality is for the folks who have already been there. We are quick to mock and to dismiss, until that one day, when we must cling to the lesson for dear life. 
 
I should add a third category here, of those who know full well that they have a problem, but they aren’t prepared to admit it to others, let alone to themselves. They don’t just roll their eyes, they become outraged, and they cast blame at everyone and everything else. 
 
I think of the many times I interpreted some innocent remark as an unforgivable critique of my character, merely because I was already so busy making cheap excuses for myself. 
 
It won’t do to brush aside all the drunks and the junkies into some corner, well out of sight, since so very many of us, far more than anyone is willing to accept, are bound by destructive habits of dependence, a longing for those diversions that help us to avoid facing our bare essence. 
 
Some fall into the drink or the drugs, while others turn to the pursuit of fame, or power, or sex, and we then find ourselves enslaved by those very things that we naively believed could set us free. 
 
This is why I can now be grateful for a good rant about the dangers of the booze, or any sort of disordered attachment, for I regularly need to recall why my true happiness can only lie within. 
 
There is the dramatic appeal of a raucous bender, or the seductive allure of a pretty face, or the bloated vanity of basking in attention, and yet these impressions are instantly scattered to the winds, if I can just be bothered to focus on what is genuinely true, good, and beautiful. 
 
Describe the reality instead of being led about by the appearance. What became of me that last time I downed a fifth? How did it end when I tried to manipulate her affections? Did people notice me for doing something great, or was it actually for making an ass of myself? 
 
Alexander performed some remarkable deeds, which makes it all the more pathetic that he managed to throw his life away on account of his unbridled passions. Though historians will debate endlessly about the details of his death, Seneca understood quite well why a life of debauchery is doomed to end poorly. If you insist that he was poisoned, consider how those who keep company with the wicked will find themselves at the mercy of the wicked. 
 
Whether they drink from a bottle or gaze adoringly into a mirror, the boasting is soon replaced by weeping. Over here are the drunks in the gutter, and over there are the Caesars and the Napoleons, and all of them are in the clutches of their compulsions. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Karl von Piloty, Dying Alexander the Great Bids Farewell to His Army (c. 1886) 

Maxims of Goethe 81

No one should desire to live in irregular circumstances; but if by chance a man falls into them, they test his character and show of how much determination he is capable. 

IMAGE: George Marston, The Endurance Crushed in the Ice of the Weddell Sea, October 1915 (c. 1920) 

Memento Mori 12

Hendrik Hondius, Memento Mori (1626) 

Vanitas 97

Evert Collier, Self-portrait (c. 1680) 

Delphic Maxims 90

Ἀλύπως βίου 

Live without sorrow 

IMAGE: Frans Floris, Allegory of Peace and Justice (1555) 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 278

What is the relation between Gîvâtman and Paramâtman, between the personal and the Highest Self? 

As when a plank of wood is stretched across a current of water, the water seems to be divided into two, so the indivisible appears divided into two by limitations, the Upâdhi of Mâyâ. 

In truth they are one and the same. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 83.9

We shall investigate later the question whether the mind of the sage is upset by too much wine and commits follies like those of the toper; but meanwhile, if you wish to prove that a good man ought not to get drunk, why work it out by logic? 
 
Show how base it is to pour down more liquor than one can carry, and not to know the capacity of one’s own stomach; show how often the drunkard does things which make him blush when he is sober; state that drunkenness is nothing but a condition of insanity purposely assumed. 
 
Prolong the drunkard’s condition to several days; will you have any doubt about his madness? Even as it is, the madness is no less; it merely lasts a shorter time. 
 
Think of Alexander of Macedon, who stabbed Clitus, his dearest and most loyal friend, at a banquet; after Alexander understood what he had done, he wished to die, and assuredly he ought to have died. 
 
Drunkenness kindles and discloses every kind of vice, and removes the sense of shame that veils our evil undertakings. For more men abstain from forbidden actions because they are ashamed of sinning than because their inclinations are good. When the strength of wine has become too great and has gained control over the mind, every lurking evil comes forth from its hiding-place. 
 
Drunkenness does not create vice, it merely brings it into view; at such times the lustful man does not wait even for the privacy of a bedroom, but without postponement gives free play to the demands of his passions; at such times the unchaste man proclaims and publishes his malady; at such times your cross-grained fellow does not restrain his tongue or his hand. 
 
The haughty man increases his arrogance, the ruthless man his cruelty, the slanderer his spitefulness. Every vice is given free play and comes to the front. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83 

I do not know if the ideal sage would abstain from drink, or if it would have no effect upon him, or if he could take it or leave it. I do know that a fool like me, who can barely stumble through the day, has no need of any book learning to teach him about the benefits of staying clean and sober. I wish I could say that no one ever warned me, but they most certainly did. 
 
When the old-timers at the Twelve-Step meetings talk about an addiction being physical, mental, and spiritual, they are not asking you to engage in some refined metaphysics. It simply points to the fact that a disorder in one part will express itself in every other part, and we are kidding ourselves when we claim to have confined the problem to just one corner of our lives. 
 
In my own case, a chemical reaction would feed my appetites, because a distortion had entered into my thinking, which ultimately turned my values upside-down. The desire for immediate gratification, which for me was for a sort of numbness, arose from the false judgment that I could not cope with pain; before too long, my body was in distress, my mind was clouded, and my soul could no longer stand on a moral foundation. 
 
Seneca understood the harsh reality of what too many of us wish to ignore: the liquor and the drugs are just going to make us sicker and sicker, at every level of who we are. Intoxication, of any sort, weakens the flesh as an instrument of the spirit, and it cripples the spirit by distorting the power of reason. It is unfortunate if a man cannot lift his hand, but it is disastrous if a man cannot clearly order his thoughts, the power upon which all his other goods depend. 
 
Here is the phrase that sticks in my head: “drunkenness is nothing but a condition of insanity purposely assumed.” Though it is not itself a state that creates the vices, it rather enables and magnifies all of our worst tendencies, divorcing our impulses from the guidance of a conscience. Where the mind is confused, there can be no understanding, and where the will is blinded, there can be no love. It is no exaggeration to say that I have thereby abandoned my very humanity. 
 
It ceases to be a “bit of fun” when letting down my guard only brings out the worst in me. Without trying to sound like a killjoy, I think it fair to say that drunkenness has never improved my character, and so it has never made me any happier, oftentimes making me far more miserable than I was before. The appeal of an instant escape is an illusion, since neglect can never take the place of nurture. 
 
Would Alexander have taken that first drink if he had known where it would lead him? Would I have so readily surrendered to my passions, or so swiftly spoken in anger, or so pathetically succumbed to despair, if I had merely made the effort to reflect upon my true nature? The monster can only pass over the threshold if I have first invited him to enter. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

Fellowship

Stoic Snippets 277

First, do nothing inconsiderately, nor without a purpose. 

Second, make your acts refer to nothing else than to a social end. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.20 

IMAGE: Rembrandt, The Night Watch (1642) 

Chuang Tzu 6.9

Tsze-sze, Tsze-yü, Tsze-lì, and Tsze-lâi, these four men, were talking together, when someone said, "Who can suppose the head to be made from nothing, the spine from life, and the rump-bone from death? Who knows how death and birth, living on and disappearing, compose the one body? I would be friends with him." 

The four men looked at one another and laughed, but no one seized with his mind the drift of the questions. All, however, were friends together. 

Not long after Tsze-yü fell ill, and Tsze-sze went to inquire for him. "How great," said the sufferer, "is the Creator! That He should have made me the deformed object that I am!" 

He was a crooked hunchback; his five viscera were squeezed into the upper part of his body; his chin bent over his navel; his shoulder was higher than his crown; on his crown was an ulcer pointing to the sky; his breath came and went in gasps—yet he was easy in his mind, and made no trouble of his condition. 

He limped to a well, looked at himself in it, and said, "Alas that the Creator should have made me the deformed object that I am!" 

Tsze said, "Do you dislike your condition?" 

He replied, "No, why should I dislike it? If He were to transform my left arm into a cock, I should be watching with it the time of the night; if He were to transform my right arm into a crossbow, I should then be looking for a hsiâo to bring down and roast; if He were to transform my rump-bone into a wheel, and my spirit into a horse, I should then be mounting it, and would not change it for another steed. 

"Moreover, when we have got what we are to do, there is the time of life in which to do it; when we lose that at death, submission is what is required. When we rest in what the time requires, and manifest that submission, neither joy nor sorrow can find entrance to the mind. 

"This would be what the ancients called loosing the cord by which the life is suspended. But one hung up cannot loose himself—he is held fast by his bonds. And that creatures cannot overcome Heaven, the inevitable, is a long-acknowledged fact—why should I hate my condition?" 

IMAGE: Jacques Callot, The Flageolet Player (c. 1622) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 83.8

So let us abolish all such harangues as this: “No man in the bonds of drunkenness has power over his soul. As the very vats are burst by new wine, and as the dregs at the bottom are raised to the surface by the strength of the fermentation; so, when the wine effervesces, whatever lies hidden below is brought up and made visible. As a man overcome by liquor cannot keep down his food when he has over-indulged in wine, so he cannot keep back a secret either. He pours forth impartially both his own secrets and those of other persons.”
 
This, of course, is what commonly happens, but so does this—that we take counsel on serious subjects with those whom we know to be in the habit of drinking freely. Therefore, this proposition, which is laid down in the guise of a defense of Zeno’s syllogism, is false—that secrets are not entrusted to the habitual drunkard. 
 
How much better it is to arraign drunkenness frankly and to expose its vices! For even the middling good man avoids them, not to mention the perfect sage, who is satisfied with slaking his thirst; the sage, even if now and then he is led on by good cheer which, for a friend’s sake, is carried somewhat too far, yet always stops short of drunkenness. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83 
 
Every age will have its moral busybodies, and while the targets of their wrath will shift with the current fashions, they will always insist upon ostracizing the offender for the slightest offense. It is so easy to dehumanize your neighbor by simply labeling him as a nasty racist, or as a capitalist pig, or as a miserable addict; the absolute villain is more convenient than the nuanced individual. 
 
I think of a former student, who once thoughtlessly relieved himself behind a tree in the woods. A concerned citizen reported him, and so he found himself listed as a sex offender, since he had been within a certain distance of a school building. 
 
I further think of a colleague who demanded that a secretary be fired, because she had confused a theological term in a letter she wrote on his behalf. 
 
Once we have marked someone as “perverted” or “lazy”, we feel justified in ignoring any of their merits—and branding someone as a “drunk” is the cheapest rebuke of all.
 
I am completely aware of the nasty things that are likely to befall a man if he indulges too deeply, but, like Seneca, I refuse to engage in the histrionics of the slanderers. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes folks will turn out for the better by raising their glasses in fellowship. As someone who works in academia, I can unfortunately confirm a nasty pattern, where most of us drink far too much, and most of us also point fingers far too often; I do not necessarily assume a connection between these two failings. 
 
I am still old enough to remember when cocktails at work were socially acceptable, yet smoking a joint during lunch was the worst sort of depravity. Now the roles are reversed, and a speech about the evils of pot will be laughed down, while a lecture about booze has all the heads bobbing in agreement. I won’t even start with tobacco, which is currently about as dirty and wicked as it can get. Like that lady in the 1990’s used to yell, “Stop the insanity!” 
 
There are perfectly good reasons to avoid addictions, of any sort, but conflating different vices is not one of them, especially when we merely reduce the matter to a fear of being thought untrustworthy. I am relieved to next find Seneca getting straight to the point. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Nathaniel Currier, The Drunkard's Progress (c. 1846) 

Vivekachudamani 41-71

THE BEGINNING OF THE TEACHING 

To him, making this appeal and seeking help, scorched by the flame of the world's fire, the Great Soul beholding him with eyes most pitiful brings speedy comfort. 

The Wise One instils the truth in him who has approached him longing for Freedom, who is following the true path, calming the tumult of his mind and bringing Restfulness. 

"Fear not, wise one, there is no danger for you. There is a way to cross over the ocean of the world, and by this path the sages have reached the shore. 

"This same path I point out to you, for it is the way to destroy the world's fear. Crossing the ocean of the world by this path, you shall win the perfect joy." 

By discerning the aim of the wisdom-teaching, Vedanta, is born that most excellent knowledge. Then comes the final ending of the world's pain. The voice of the teaching. plainly declares that faith, devotion, meditation, and the search for union are the means of Freedom for him who would be free. He who is perfect in these wins Freedom from the bodily bondage woven by unwisdom. 

When the Self is veiled by unwisdom there arises a binding to the not-Self, and from this comes the pain of world-life. The fire of wisdom lit by discernment between these two—Self and not-Self—will wither up the source of unwisdom, root and all. 

THE PUPIL ASKS 

"Hear with selfless kindness, Master. I ask this question: receiving the answer from your lips I shall gain my end.

"What is, then, a bond? And how has this bond come? What cause has it? And how can one be free? 

"What is not-Self and what the Higher Self? And how can one discern between them?" 

THE MASTER ANSWERS 

"Happy are you. You shalt attain your end. Your kin is blessed in you. For you seek to become the Eternal by freeing yourself from the bond of unwisdom. 

"Sons and kin can pay a father's debts, but none but a man's self can set him free. 

"If a heavy burden presses on the head others can remove it, but none but a man's self can quench his hunger and thirst. 

"Health is gained by the sick who follow the path of healing: health does not come through the acts of others. 

"The knowledge of the real by the eye of clear insight is to be gained by one's own sight and not by the teacher's. 

"The moon's form must be seen by one's own eyes; it can never be known through the eyes of another. 

"None but a man's self is able to untie the knots of unwisdom, desire, and former acts, even in a myriad of ages. 

"Freedom is won by a perception of the Self's oneness with the Eternal, and not by the doctrines of Union or of Numbers, nor by rites and sciences. 

"The form and beauty of the lyre and excellent skill upon its strings may give delight to the people, but will never found an empire. 

"An eloquent voice, a stream of words, skill in explaining the teaching, and the learning of the learned; these bring enjoyment but not freedom. 

"When the Great Reality is not known the study of the scriptures is fruitless; when the Great Reality is known the study of the scriptures is also fruitless. 

"A net of words is a great forest where the fancy wanders; therefore the reality of the Self is to be strenuously learned from the knower of that reality. 

"How can the hymns, theVedas, and the scriptures profit him who is bitten by the serpent of unwisdom? How can charms or medicine help him without the medicine of the knowledge of the Eternal? 

"Sickness is not cured by saying 'Medicine,' but by drinking it. So a man is not set free by the name of the Eternal without discerning the Eternal. 

"Without piercing through the visible, without knowing the reality of the Self, how can men gain Freedom by mere outward words that end with utterances? 

"Can a man be king by saying, 'I am king,' without destroying his enemies, without gaining power over the whole land? 

"Through information, digging, and casting aside the stones, a treasure may be found, but not by calling it to come forth. 

"So by steady effort is gained the knowledge of those who know the Eternal, the lonely, stainless reality above all illusion; but not by desultory study. 

"Hence with all earnest effort to be free from the bondage of the world, the wise must strive themselves, as they would to be free from sickness. 

"And this question put by you today must be solved by those who seek Freedom; this question that breathes the spirit of the teaching, that is like a clue with hidden meaning. 

"Hear, then, earnestly, you wise one, the answer given by me; for understanding it you shall be free from the bondage of the world." 

SELF, POTENCIES, VESTURES 

The first cause of Freedom is declared to be an utter turning back from lust after unenduring things. Thereafter Restfulness, Control, Endurance; a perfect Renouncing of all acts that cling and stain. 

Thereafter, the divine Word, a turning of the mind to it, a constant thinking on it by the pure one, long and uninterrupted. 

Then ridding himself altogether of doubt, and reaching wisdom, even here he enjoys the bliss of Nirvana. 

Then the discerning between Self and not-Self that you must now awaken to, that I now declare, hearing it, lay hold on it within yourself. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 83.7

Lucius Piso, the Director of Public Safety at Rome, was drunk from the very time of his appointment. He used to spend the greater part of the night at banquets, and would sleep until noon. That was the way he spent his morning hours. 
 
Nevertheless, he applied himself most diligently to his official duties, which included the guardianship of the city. Even the sainted Augustus trusted him with secret orders when he placed him in command of Thrace. Piso conquered that country. 
 
Tiberius, too, trusted him when he took his holiday in Campania, leaving behind him in the city many a critical matter that aroused both suspicion and hatred.
 
I fancy that it was because Piso’s drunkenness turned out well for the Emperor that he appointed to the office of city prefect Cossus, a man of authority and balance, but so soaked and steeped in drink that once, at a meeting of the Senate, whither he had come after banqueting, he was overcome by a slumber from which he could not be roused, and had to be carried home. 
 
It was to this man that Tiberius sent many orders, written in his own hand—orders which he believed he ought not to trust even to the officials of his household. Cossus never let a single secret slip out, whether personal or public. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83 
 
I have a huge supply of shocking stories about drinking, some from my own time as a boozer, and others from my later attempts at helping others to kick the habit. The vast majority of them will remain locked in the vault, because I have never found much use in embarrassing anyone, but a very few, made suitably anonymous, can serve as cautionary tales, which have an uncanny way of reminding us how easy it is to go over the edge. 
 
Every year or so, an old bar companion will call me to reminisce about our inane attempts at making it to an exclusive house party, where we knew the top-shelf liquor would flow freely and there would be a mountain of cocaine on the coffee table. His car ended up abandoned in a field, while I somehow walked across six lanes of the interstate, and when we finally stared at each other in the fancy kitchen, we suddenly knew we had both hit rock bottom. 
 
And why do we go through this annual ritual of digging up the past? It actually restores our shared commitment to self-restraint, because there are times when being scared straight is the best remedy. Sarcastically saying “Yeah, good times!” is a way of restoring our supply of fortitude; I oddly find myself looking forward to the next recounting. 
 
The accounts of Piso and Cossus as “functional alcoholics” leave me with mixed feelings. On the one hand, their exploits appear harmless enough, perhaps even eccentric and charming, while on the other hand, I am all too aware that these can never be the ways of decent men. I do not think that Seneca is trying to absolve them of their sins, but he is rather cautioning us against the hysteria of the pearl-clutchers, who find it so easy to cast someone aside by attaching a cheap stigma. 
 
That fellow who accompanied me on the ridiculous quest to fry our brains? He was already someone of importance back then, and he holds a position of even greater responsibility now. There is no evasion in saying that he was extremely good in some ways, though also extremely bad in others. 
 
Don’t always believe the moral caricatures painted by the prigs and the prudes, who will gladly throw out the baby with the bathwater. For there to be something wrong does not mean that there can be nothing right; if they were correct, it would be impossible for any of us to ever improve. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Peter Paul Rubens, Drunken Hercules (c. 1616) 

Campo Vaccino

J.M.W. Turner, Modern Rome—Campo Vaccino (1839) 

For Whom the Bell Tolls

"For Whom the Bell Tolls" 

John Donne (1571-1631) 

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's 

Or of thine own were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee. 

IMAGE: Arnold Böcklin, Plague (1898)