Henry David Thoreau 13

One cannot too soon forget his errors and misdemeanors. To dwell long upon them is to add to the offense. Repentance and sorrow can only be displaced by something better, which is as free and original as if they had not been. 

—from Henry David Thoreau, Journals (9 January, 1842) 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 18

The Religion that is afraid of science dishonors God and commits suicide. It acknowledges that it is not equal to the whole of truth, that it legislates, tyrannizes over a village of God's empires but is not the immutable universal law. Every influx of atheism, of skepticism is thus made useful as a mercury pill assaulting and removing a diseased religion and making way for truth. 

—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals (4 March, 1831) 

Owls 14

Stoic Snippets 278

Consider that before long you will be nobody and nowhere, nor will any of the things exist which you now see, nor any of those who are now living. 

For all things are formed by nature to change and be turned and to perish, in order that other things in continuous succession may exist. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.21 

IMAGE: Piero del Pollaiuolo, Apollo and Daphne (c. 1480) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 83.12

Therefore, you should state why the wise man ought not to get drunk. Explain by facts, and not by mere words, the hideousness of the thing, and its haunting evils. 
 
Do that which is easiest of all—namely, demonstrate that what men call pleasures are punishments as soon as they have exceeded due bounds. 
 
For if you try to prove that the wise man can souse himself with much wine and yet keep his course straight, even though he be in his cups, you may go on to infer by syllogisms that he will not die if he swallows poison, that he will not sleep if he takes a sleeping potion, that he will not vomit and reject the matter which clogs his stomach when you give him hellebore. 
 
But, when a man’s feet totter and his tongue is unsteady, what reason have you for believing that he is half sober and half drunk? Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83 
 
A rousing sermon or a lofty treatise does have its proper place, but a man can only learn to practice sobriety if he can see right before him why intoxication will always make him worse, and this, in turn, is only possible if he can see right before him why virtue is all that can make him better. No amount of censure or study can take the place of making that connection in daily living. 
 
And another man cannot do this for you—you will have to do it for yourself. While Nature is there to point the way, you must commit to taking the necessary steps. 
 
In my own case, I long appreciated the nuances of the theory, yet I was ignoring a critical component: when push comes to shove, do not treat every immediate gratification as if it were a good, because the value of the pleasure is relative to the merit of the action. 
 
When the feelings are divorced from an understanding, we are fumbling about blindly, and we are far more likely to miss wildly than to hit the mark. It is judgment that provides the measure of too much or too little. 
 
As much as I can conceive of this through a formal syllogism, the self-loathing that follows from falling into excess is the best sort of proof. Though it may sound like a cheap parlor trick, there are few more effective methods for resisting a compulsion than carefully visualizing, in gory detail, my situation and state of mind in the next twenty-four hours. Even the most beastly of hedonists is then likely to think twice. 
 
Intellectuals have a knack for rationalizing most anything, because they are inclined to dwell upon the words in isolation from the deeds, with the misguided aim of being notably clever instead of just becoming quietly decent. 
 
I am suspicious, therefore, of any sort of zealot, whether he denounces or embraces all of the pleasures. Prudence, as distinct from prudishness or permissiveness, know why the limit has been reached when we have surrendered a mastery over ourselves. 
 
The answer is neither in running away nor in making excuses. It is in being fully accountable. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Albert Anker, The Drinker (1868) 

Owls 13

 

The Mother Road 11

IMAGES by Jay Farrell 

The Basel Dance of Death 15

Matthäus Merian, The Basel Dance of Death: The Councilman (1616) 

"Have you been a master of the city,
and had your seat at the council board? 
Have you ruled well?  It is good for you.
Still, I must now take your cap." 

"I've made my efforts, day and night,
that the common good was served.
I sought benefit and honor for rich and poor;
what I thought good, I increased." 

Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 60

LX. 

As the shoe's made to serve and fit the foot,
As the leg gives the measure to the boot;
So our possessions should be measur'd by
The body's use, and its necessity.
If here you stop, content with what you need,
With what will keep you warm, your body feed;
Within the bounds of temperance you live.
But if the reins you to your wishes give;
If nature's limits you but once transgress,
You tumble headlong down a precipice
Into a boundless gulph: this we may see
If we pursue our former simile:
For lets suppose your shoe made tight and fit,
Strong, warm, and easy, as 'tis requisite,
What more can be desired from a shoe?
'Tis all that hide, or thread, and wax can do.
But if you look for more, you're hurry'd on
Beyond your bounds, and then 'tis ten to one,
That it must be more modish, pink'd, and wrought,
Then set with pearls, from farthest Indies brought,
Then with embroidery and purple shine;
No matter if 'tis useless, so 'tis fine.
So there's no farther stay, no farther bound
By those, who exceed just measures, to be found.  

Dhammapada 413

Him I call indeed a Brahmana who is bright like the moon, pure, serene, undisturbed, and in whom all gaiety is extinct. 

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode 4

As indicated by the coronet over the bed and the mirror, our special couple have now inherited the titles of Earl and Countess Squanderfield. Recall that the social status came from the groom's side, though the new money came through the bride, and they hardly seem to have any worldly wants. 

While the high-class practice of the toilette as a social event, an imitation of the royal levee, will appear strange to us, we surely have our own elaborate customs that blur the line between culture and decadence. For my generation, well-to-do people would still show off by hosting dinner parties, which were in themselves painful enough, but the part I could never bear was the extended tour of the house, where the guest was expected to admire every private detail. 

There was the obligatory viewing of each bathroom in the home, and a fellow once proudly displayed a whole closet full of his wife's shoes and lingerie. I much preferred the more homey tradition of looking through old family photo albums. 

Another contemporary instance of flaunting the intimate is our confusion between the clothes we wear at home and the proper dress for going out. My students were already wearing pajamas and slippers to class during the 1990's, and I was barely surprised the other day when an entire family strolled through the grocery store while draped in their comforters. You may say this is only the behavior of the rabble, and yet they drove away in a Range Rover. 

In any case, the accidents of fashion do not make the man—what sort of motives lie behind the exterior? The Countess is ignoring her curious assembly of visitors, which includes an opera singer and a flutist. She only has eyes for the lawyer, Silvertongue, who has now clearly established himself as her lover. Has the Earl bothered to notice another man's portrait hanging in his wife's bedroom? 

The other paintings refer to uncomfortable sexual themes (Lot and his daughters, Jupiter and Io, the rape of Ganymede), reminding me of a creepy colleague whose entire living room wall was covered with artsy nude photographs. 

The African page boy laughs as he point to the horns on a figurine. It had to be pointed out to me that the Countess now has a child, as shown by the coral teether hanging over the back of her chair. The infant's absence speaks volumes about her priorities. 

Silvertongue proposes attending a masquerade ball, where the anonymity allows them to appear together in public, without the risk of scandal. I think of a cheating girlfriend who thought she was being clever by meeting her boys-on-the-side at a bar she assumed I would never frequent; my only excuse for being pathetic was that I somehow hoped she would change. 

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode IV: The Toilette (painting, 1743) 

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode IV: The Toilette (engraving, 1743) 

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)