Sayings of Ramakrishna 281

An angler was fishing in a pond. The Avadhûta, approaching him, asked, "Brother, which way leads to such and such a place?" 

The float of the rod at that time was indicating that the fish was nibbling the bait: so the man did not give any reply, but was all attention to his fishing rod. 

When the fish was caught, he turned round and said, "What is it you have been saying, sir?" 

The Avadhûta saluted him and said, "Sir, you are my Guru. When I sit in the contemplation of the Paramâtman, let me follow your example, and before finishing my devotions let me not attend to anything else." 

IMAGE: Robert Seldon Duncanson, Man Fishing (1848) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.10

“He who is brave is fearless; he who is fearless is free from sadness; he who is free from sadness is happy.” 
 
It is our own school which has framed this syllogism; they attempt to refute it by this answer, namely, that we Stoics are assuming as admitted a premise which is false and distinctly controverted—that the brave man is fearless. 
 
“What!” they say, “will the brave man have no fear of evils that threaten him? That would be the condition of a madman, a lunatic, rather than of a brave man. The brave man will, it is true, feel fear in only a very slight degree; but he is not absolutely free from fear.”
 
Now those who assert this are doubling back to their old argument, in that they regard vices of less degree as equivalent to virtues. For indeed the man who does feel fear, though he feels it rather seldom and to a slight degree, is not free from wickedness, but is merely troubled by it in a milder form. 
 
“Not so,” is the reply, “for I hold that a man is mad if he does not fear evils which hang over his head.” 
 
What you say is perfectly true, if the things which threaten are really evils; but if he knows that they are not evils and believes that the only evil is baseness, he will be bound to face dangers without anxiety and to despise things which other men cannot help fearing. 
 
Or, if it is the characteristic of a fool and a madman not to fear evils, then the wiser a man is the more he will fear such things! 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
We have come to a point where the distinctions must be subtle, and I fear that I lack the proper words to express them, but it remains critical to maintain the power of the virtues to rise above the passions, for otherwise we will all settle for being just a little less vicious than the next fellow. 
 
To be fearless must involve being free from fear, whether that means feeling no distress at all, or possessing a mastery over any passions that might be present. If I have no anxiety about my future, then my mind can truly be at peace, and so I can rightly say that I am happy; while the miserable man will always be consumed by worry, the blessed man can now face his hardships with confidence. 
 
The critic, doubting the influence of our judgments, will protest that it is impossible to remove fear from our lives, and that an absence of fear could therefore only be a symptom of ignorance, recklessness, or insanity. As someone who still regularly struggles with dread, I am quite sympathetic to such objections, wondering whether the Stoics have crossed the line into dismissing the essential place of our emotions. 
 
It is commonly said that courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the ability to conquer fear. Indeed, we are told that every soldier is terrified before he goes into battle, or even that every man has to tremble at the approach of his death, however ordinary. How can it be reasonable to expect a total lack of fear? How could we face any danger without feeling deeply disturbed? 
 
Yet I have heard some veterans speak of the horror leaving them completely upon making a valiant choice, and I have watched people die in a state of absolute acceptance. I will not question their integrity, or attribute this to derangement. To say that perfect serenity might be rare makes it neither unattainable nor undesirable. 
 
Some feelings come to us through the instincts of the body, and we must listen carefully to what they say, while never allowing them to decide for us. Other feelings come to us through the workings of the mind, and we must always be conscious of how our thinking informs the shape of those emotions. Slowly but surely, our feelings become ordered when they are in harmony with our understanding, since our estimation of good or bad is ultimately the measure of our desire or aversion. 
 
No, the Stoic is not asking us to repress our emotions; he is instead suggesting that we take responsibility for them, and to direct them according to our reason. A passion, in the particular Stoic sense of an unhealthy feeling, can always be transformed into a healthy sentiment that supports our nature. 
 
What was once gratification can now be joy. What was once lust can now be good will. What was once fear can now be caution. And there never needs to be any despair, because an attitude of acceptance always allows us to discover the opportunity within our own character. 
 
The critic may be confused about the definitions of benefit and harm, assuming that certain things are evils, when they can actually be occasions for good. Poverty, obscurity, and even death itself are not, in themselves, to be feared. The vices of avarice, vanity, and cowardice are far more pernicious. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

IMAGE: Francois Gerard, Gallic Courage (1832) 

Henry David Thoreau 14

And the cost of a thing, it will be remembered as the amount of life it requires to be exchanged for it. 

—from Henry David Thoreau, Journals (6 December, 1845) 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 19

A sect or party is an elegant incognito devised to save a man from the vexation of thinking. 

—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals (20 June, 1831) 

The Mother Road 13

The Basel Dance of Death 16

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

"So, Canon, you have been singing, 
many sweet songs in your choir. 
Now hear the sound of my fife, 
Announcing that your death is here." 

"I sang as a free canon, 
of many voices and melodies. 
Death's fife sounds so different; 
It has so deeply frightened me." 

Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 61

LXI. 

When women once their dear Fourteen attain,

They first our love and admiration gain;
They mistresses are call'd, and now they find,
That they for man's diversion are design'd,
To which they're not averse: perceiving then
That their preferment lies in pleasing men,
In being made companions of their beds,
They straight begin to curl, to adorn their heads,
To comb, perfume, and to consult the glass,
To study what attire commends a face,
To practice smiles, and a beguiling air;
Each thinks she is as happy as she's fair,
As she can please, as she can conquer hearts:
In these, and thousand other such like arts
They place their only hopes, on these depend,
And earnestly expect the wish'd for end.
Wherefore 'tis fit that they be taught to know,
That these respects, and honours, that we shew
To them, on this account are only due,
That as they're fair, so they are modest too;
That they are spotless, grave, reserv'd, and wise,
That these ingaging virtues are the tyes,
That more oblige, than arts, or amorous eyes.

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode 5

A "bagnio" is one of those wonderfully obscure and fascinating terms, though not necessarily the sort of place in which you would like to find yourself. Since I have only seen the word in print, it turns out that I have been mispronouncing it for years. 

Apparently, through the Italian, it could mean either a Turkish prison or bath, and for Londoners it also referred to an exotic coffee house, which quickly degraded into the kind of establishment that would rent rooms for illicit liaisons. A bill on the floor identifies this one as "The Turk's Head". 

After attending the masquerade, as they were planning during the previous installment, everything falls apart for our crafty couple. We can reconstruct the events by the tragic evidence of this scene. 

Silvertongue and the Countess were hoping for a night all to themselves, but it seems that the Earl decided to follow them, confronting the shifty lawyer after breaking down the door. The two men drew their swords, much like contemporary men at a bar might make the challenge to "take it outside", and the cuckolded husband was run through twice. 

Silvertongue now flees out the window in only his nightshirt, as the owner and the night watchman rush into the room. The countess is distraught. Is there actually some genuine love for the Earl in her heart, or is she just realizing that this is the end for her life of luxury? I would like to believe that the shock of loss can suddenly restore our sense of decency and loyalty, even if it has come too little and too late. 

As always, the art on the walls gives us food for thought. Over the door is a depiction of St. Luke, which I initially found odd, until I remembered how our local priest would have his way with women in the sacristy—it takes all kinds. Luke is the patron saint of artists, so it is fitting that Providence is keeping a record. 

The rear wall has a tapestry of the Judgment of Solomon, though I fear that the lesson of sticking to our priorities is sadly wasted on these folks. I am told that the picture on the right is a pastoral scene of a shepherdess, though it has been marred by the twisted face and the exaggerated bosom of a prostitute. A professor once implied that the squirrel on her hand was a dirty reference, yet I can't for the life of me make the connection. Perhaps I am far more prudish and naive than I had thought. 

Those darn mercury pills keep showing up on the floor! 

My many "progressive" friends speak of sex as a casual and liberating thing, even as they overlook how the abuse of love can only result in pain. Nature means for marriage to be an act of absolute and unconditional commitment, so is it any surprise when jealousy rears its ugly head? There is a good reason why your blessed polyamory will leave everyone betrayed, bitter, and alone. 

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode V: The Bagnio (painting, 1743) 

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode V: The Bagnio (engraving, 1743) 

Stoic Snippets 280

Cast away opinion: you are saved. 

Who then hinders you from casting it away? 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.25 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.9

I will tell you what is the source of this error: men do not understand that the happy life is a unit; for it is its essence, and not its extent, that establishes such a life on the noblest plane. 
 
Hence there is complete equality between the life that is long and the life that is short, between that which is spread out and that which is confined, between that whose influence is felt in many places and in many directions, and that which is restricted to one interest. 
 
Those who reckon life by number, or by measure, or by parts, rob it of its distinctive quality. Now, in the happy life, what is the distinctive quality? It is its fullness. 
 
Satiety, I think, is the limit to our eating or drinking. A eats more and B eats less; what difference does it make? Each is now sated. Or A drinks more and B drinks less; what difference does it make? Each is no longer thirsty. Again, A lives for many years and B for fewer; no matter, if only A’s many years have brought as much happiness as B’s few years. 
 
He whom you maintain to be “less happy” is not happy; the word admits of no diminution. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
Happiness is not an accumulation of bits and pieces, but rather a purity of presence. One of my most important moments of insight came when I finally saw how my peace of mind had nothing to do with having more or less, and indeed, had nothing to do with possessing anything at all. 
 
The quality of contentment is never determined by the quantity of the components; it is the integrity of the act itself, whatever the circumstances, that leaves nothing else to be desired. 
 
The Stoic Turn will seem nonsensical until such a fundamental awareness is reached. Only then can I say that, beyond my preferences, it will make no difference how many years I might live, or in what place I happen to find myself, or in which occupation I strive to do my best. 
 
While the people around me are worried about living longer, and collecting new trinkets, and building a reputation, I should concern myself first and foremost with the content of my character. 
 
The satisfaction comes from finding the good in any conditions, such that the happiness lies in the perfecting of our own attitudes. I appreciate Seneca’s image of feeling satiated after a meal, because there is really nothing quite like that sense of knowing that you have now had enough. 
 
How much is enough? If there is an elaborate feast set before me, the amount that I eat is measured by my appetite. Perhaps I will heap my plate with steak and lobster, or perhaps I will be delighted with merely a single grape. The most effective way to be satisfied is to moderate our desires. 
 
One of my many eccentricities is a love of Chinese buffets, and I will often travel well off the beaten path to find some hidden gem. As I have grown older, however, I can no longer eat nearly as much as I once did, and so I feared that my glorious road trips would soon be over: where’s the fun in just sampling one or two dishes? I had somehow convinced myself that the adventure was only worthwhile when I consumed those heroic portions. 
 
What a pleasant surprise it was to learn that I didn’t need to compete with the fellow at the next table over how many chicken wings we could devour, and that there was no point in calculating the value of the meal by ounces per dollar. The other day, I was perfectly happy with a bowl of hot and sour soup and a small plate of dumplings, which ended up being far more rewarding than any marathon gorging. 
 
One of my many weaknesses is a love of the pint and the dram, and I had far too many nights where I didn’t have the sense to say, “no more”. The beer and the whiskey were not themselves the problem—my own intemperance, an unwillingness to establish a limit, was always the problem. I now deeply admire the man who finds his joy while sipping from one drink for the entire evening. 
 
When it comes to happiness, there is no more or less, no “kind of” or “sort of”. If anyone asks me if I am happy, I won’t pretend to be the sage. I can see it around the bend, but for right now, I am very much a work in progress. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

IMAGE: Adriaen van Utrecht, Banquet Still Life (1644) 

Poise

IMAGE by Peggy Marco 

Dhammapada 415

Him I call indeed a Brahmana who in this world, leaving all desires, travels about without a home, and in whom all concupiscence is extinct. 

James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 27

27. 

Κλάδος τοῦ προσεχοῦς κλάδου ἀποκοπεὶς οὐ δύναται μὴ καὶ τοῦ ὅλου φυτοῦ ἀποκεκόφθαι. οὕτω δὴ καὶ ἄνθρωπος ἑνὸς ἀνθρώπου ἀποσχισθεὶς ὅλης τῆς κοινωνίας ἀποπέπτωκε. κλάδον μὲν οὖν ἄλλος ἀποκόπτει: ἄνθρωπος δὲ αὐτὸς ἑαυτὸν τοῦ πλησίον χωρίζει μισήσας καὶ ἀποστραφείς, ἀγνοεῖ δὲ ὅτι καὶ τοῦ ὅλου πολιτεύματος ἅμα ἀποτέτμηκεν ἑαυτόν. 

A branch cut off from the adjoining branch can not but be lopped from the entire plant. In like manner also a man severed from any one man has fallen off from the whole commonalty of men. Now a branch suffers the ill without doing it, because an alien hand severs it, while it is a man’s own doing if he parts himself from his neighbor by hating him and turning away from him; but he little understands that at the same time he has sundered himself from the whole body and citizenship of mankind.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.8 

27. 

“What a thought of God when he conceived a tree!” 

The trunk, behold, twice spreads, that one end grips 

The earth, the other playeth wild and free 

On lyric winds with countless finger-tips. 

Rend bough from bough, you part the rended end 

From the tree’s self, and leave it disbodied, void; 

So is a man, if he one man unfriend, 

Cut from mankind, unlodged, unkinned, destroyed. 

O if, I say, one breaks the natural band 

Of all to all, and doth his fellow hate, 

He little dreams nor can not understand 

How he from life is disincorporate. 

All ’s One, One ’s all—this is “the strength of laws” 

From which a tree or man his welfare draws. 

IMAGE by Peggy Marco 

Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 28

And now the clerk produced the law, but Cato would not suffer him to read it; and when Metellus took it and began to read it, Cato snatched the document away from him. 

Then Metellus, who knew the law by heart, began to recite it, but Thermus clapped a hand upon his mouth and shut off his speech. At last, seeing that the men were making a struggle which he could not resist, and that the people were giving way and turning towards the better course, Metellus ordered men-at‑arms, who were standing at a distance, to come running up with terrifying shouts. 

This was done, and all the people dispersed, leaving Cato standing his ground alone and pelted with sticks and stones from above. 

Here Murena, who had been denounced and brought to trial by him,⁠ came to his relief, and holding his toga before him, crying to those who were pelting him to stop, and finally persuading Cato himself and folding him in his arms, he led him away into the temple of Castor and Pollux.

When, however, Metellus saw the space about the tribunal empty and his opponents in flight through the forum, being altogether persuaded that he had won the day, he ordered his armed men to go away again, and coming forward himself in orderly fashion attempted to have the law enacted. 

But his opponents, quickly recovering from their rout, advanced again upon him with loud and confident shouts, so that his partisans were overwhelmed with confusion and terror. They supposed that their enemies had provided themselves with arms from some place or other in order to assail them, and not a man stood his ground, but all fled away from the tribunal. 

So, then, when these had dispersed, and when Cato had come forward with commendation and encouragement for the people, the majority of them stood prepared to put down Metellus by any and every means, and the senate in full session announced anew that it would assist Cato and fight to the end against the law, convinced that it would introduce sedition and civil war into Rome. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.8

Now if the life of the gods contains nothing greater or better, and the happy life is divine, then there is no further height to which a man can be raised. 
 
Also, if the happy life is in want of nothing, then every happy life is perfect; it is happy and at the same time most happy. Have you any doubt that the happy life is the Supreme Good? 
 
Accordingly, if it possesses the Supreme Good, it is supremely happy. Just as the Supreme Good does not admit of increase (for what will be superior to that which is supreme?), exactly so the happy life cannot be increased either; for it is not without the Supreme Good. 
 
If then you bring in one man who is “happier” than another, you will also bring in one who is “much happier”; you will then be making countless distinctions in the Supreme Good; although I understand the Supreme Good to be that good which admits of no degree above itself. 
 
If one person is less happy than another, it follows that he eagerly desires the life of that other and happier man in preference to his own. But the happy man prefers no other man’s life to his own. 
 
Either of these two things is incredible: that there should be anything left for a happy man to wish for in preference to what is, or that he should not prefer the thing which is better than what he already has. 
 
For certainly, the more prudent he is, the more he will strive after the best, and he will desire to attain it by every possible means. But how can one be happy who is still able, or rather who is still bound, to crave something else? 

—from Seneca Moral Letters 85 
 
If it is already the best, then it can’t get any better. Among all those who have lived happy, there is no special award for claiming to be the happiest. 
 
Once a good life is truly attained, it will leave nothing more to be desired. Yet observe how the grasping men, the ones who are the first to boast about how blessed they are, are never content with what they already have, and they are constantly looking over their shoulders, as if happiness were a competition. 
 
They would be relieved of their burdens if only they recognized why contentment is about the quality of our thoughts, and not about the quantity of our playthings. They would abandon their envy if they just realized how each instance of virtue is complete within itself, and there is no limit on how much of it there is to go around. 
 
After many disappointments with chasing worldly prizes, I sought to reconsider the faith of my fathers, and I was encouraged to find some people who still kept their priorities pure and simple—the love of God and the love of neighbor. But I then let myself get waylaid by the impostors, the ones who were gifted at talking the talk, but never seemed to actually walk the walk. 
 
I was confused when they preached about character, even as they simultaneously schemed for greater power and plotted against their enemies. I asked them why the pursuit of virtue apparently required getting my hands dirty with all sorts of nasty little deeds. 
 
“Well, it’s never that simple, is it? How can you do anything good without acquiring the money to back it up? How can you serve God when the other guy has an advantage over you? You won’t get anywhere in life if you don’t play by the rules of the game.”
 
I now understood completely, but not in the way that they had hoped. In my own set of rules, a man cannot serve two masters, and the ends do not justify the means. Just as some of the ancient philosophers were tempted to dilute the virtues, so some of the modern evangelists wanted to have their cake and eat it too. Whether we happen to be rich or poor, revered or reviled, robust or feeble, there can be nothing greater than some basic human decency. 
 
If the businessman is honored to provide his services, he won’t need to have the college name a building after him. If the lawyer is content to protect the innocent, he will gladly forgo the mansion and the trophy wife. If the bishop is at peace with his piety, he can easily do without the limousine to the airport. Once they insist upon supplementing their virtues, they never had those virtues to begin with. 
 
Have you practiced prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice in everything that you do? Then you can be supremely happy, and no man can ever take that away from you. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

The Peasant Poet

"The Peasant Poet" 

John Clare (1793-1864) 

He loved the brook's soft sound,
  The swallow swimming by.
He loved the daisy-covered ground,
  The cloud-bedappled sky.
To him the dismal storm appeared
  The very voice of God;
And when the evening rack was reared
  Stood Moses with his rod.
And everything his eyes surveyed,
  The insects in the brake,
Were creatures God Almighty made,
  He loved them for His sake—
A silent man in life's affairs,
  A thinker from a boy,
A peasant in his daily cares,
  The poet in his joy. 

Owls 15

Melancholy

Edmund Joseph Sullivan, Melancholy (1885) 

I Joy Not in No Earthly Bliss

"I Joy Not in No Earthly Bliss" (1588)

William Byrd (1540-1623) 

I joy not in no earthly bliss, 

I force not Croesus’ wealth a straw: 

For care, I know not what it is, 

I fear not Fortune’s fatal law. 

My mind is such as may not move,  

For beauty bright nor force of love. 

I wish but what I have at will, 

I wander not to seek for more. 

I like the plain, I climb no hill, 

In greatest storms I sit on shore 

And laugh at them that toil in vain, 

To get what must be lost again. 

I kiss not where I wish to kill, 

I feign not love where most I hate: 

I break no sleep to win my will, 

I wait not at the mighty’s gate: 

I scorn no poor, nor fear no rich; 

I feel no want, nor have too much. 

The court and cart I like nor loath, 

Extremes are counted worst of all; 

The golden mean between them both, 

Doth surest sit and fears no fall. 

This is my choice: for why? I find 

No wealth is like the quiet mind. 

Justus Lipsius, On Constancy 1.15

A passage to the second argument for constancy, which is taken from necessity. The force and violence thereof, this necessity is considered two ways, and first in the things themselves.

"This is a sure brazen target against all outward accidents. This is that gold armor wherewith being fenced, Plato wills us to fight against chance and fortune, to be subject to God, and in all events to cast our mind upon that great mind of the world. I mean Providence, whose holy and happy troops having orderly trained forth. 

"I will now bring out another band under the banner of necessity. A band valiant, strong, and hard as iron, which I may fitly term the thundering legion. The power of this is stern and invincible, which tames and subdues all things. Wherefore, Lipsius, I marvel if you withstand it. 

"Thales being asked what was strongest of all things, answered, 'necessity', for it overcomes all things. And to that purpose there is an old saying, though not so warily spoken of, that the gods cannot constrain necessity. This necessity I join next unto Providence, because it is near kin to it, or rather born of it. For from God and his decrees necessity springs: and it is nothing else, as the Greek philosopher defines it, but a firm ordinance and immutable power of Providence. 

"That it has a stroke in all public evils that befall, I will prove two ways: from the nature of things themselves and from destiny. And first from the things, in that it is a natural property to all things created, to fall into mutability and alteration: as unto iron cleaves naturally a consuming rust, to wood a gnawing worm, and so a wasting rottenness. Even so to living creatures, cities, and kingdoms, there be certain inward causes of their own decay. 

"Look upon all things high and low, great and small, made with hand, or composed by the mind, they always have decayed, and ever shall. And as the rivers with a continual swift course run into the sea, so all human things through this conduit of wastings and calamities slide to the mark of their desolation. Death and destruction is this mark, and the means to come thither are plague, war, and slaughters. 

"So that if death be necessary, then the means in that respect are as necessary. Which to the end you may the better perceive by examples, I will not refuse in conceit and imagination to wander a whiles with you through the great university of the world." 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.7

Then, again, we should see to it that two principles which ought to be tested separately should not be confused. For the conclusion is reached independently that that alone is good which is honorable, and again independently the conclusion that virtue is sufficient for the happy life. 
 
If that alone is good which is honorable, everyone agrees that virtue is sufficient for the purpose of living happily; but, on the contrary, if virtue alone makes men happy, it will not be conceded that that alone is good which is honorable.
 
Xenocrates and Speusippus hold that a man can become happy even by virtue alone, not, however, that that which is honorable is the only good. Epicurus also decides that one who possesses virtue is happy, but that virtue of itself is not sufficient for the happy life, because the pleasure that results from virtue, and not virtue itself, makes one happy. 
 
This is a futile distinction. For the same philosopher declares that virtue never exists without pleasure; and therefore, if virtue is always connected with pleasure and always inseparable therefrom, virtue is of itself sufficient. For virtue keeps pleasure in its company, and does not exist without it, even when alone.
 
But it is absurd to say that a man will be happy by virtue alone, and yet not absolutely happy. I cannot discover how that may be, since the happy life contains in itself a good that is perfect and cannot be excelled, If a man has this good, life is completely happy. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
In different corners of our lives, we will sometimes assert conflicting values, sometimes out of hypocrisy, because we believe we can pull a fast one, and sometimes out of ignorance, because we aren’t yet making the necessary connections. How often I assured myself that a good conscience would be more than enough, and yet I then found myself obsessed with acquiring some further comfort, as if I were stepping back and forth between two different worlds. 
 
But it is always one and the same world, and we are always called to the excellence of one and the same nature, however much we may object. My attempts at trying to have it both ways are usually a sign that I remain deeply confused about who I am meant to be, unwilling to commit by trying to play it safe. If an integrity of character leaves me short, can I still fall back on chasing after the fortune and the fame? 
 
Do I understand what I mean by this “good” that I seek? We are constantly using the term, and yet we rarely bother to examine what it means. “You know—the sort of things that I want.” And what sort of things should I want? “You know—the ones that are good for me.” Ah, yes, I’m glad we had this chat. 
 
Will there be a list of many things, or will it reduce down to a single thing? For the Stoics, in their admittedly irritating manner, the human good will solely be the excellence of our nature, and such a rational nature is defined by the quality of our judgments. 
 
Hence the virtues become the deciding factor, through which any other circumstances can become beneficial for us, and the absence of which brings us nothing but harm. If it is sufficient for a creature to be what it was made to be, then our moral worth stands as absolute, and everything else is relative. 
 
There remains the temptation, however, to squeeze in some other goods, as if a righteous soul still needs a few accessories. Perhaps we also require a certain amount of money, or some approval from our fellows, or a fairly healthy body? Before we know it, we have muddied the waters, and we have added so many conditions that virtue now seems to depend upon everything except itself. 
 
And so certain Academics and Peripatetics spoke of the most favorable conditions, forgetting how any situation at all can become an occasion to do what is right, and the Epicureans claimed the primacy of pleasure, as if an effect can swap places with its cause. I wonder if they were so fixated on their preferences that they began to compromise on their principles? If we grant that virtue is indeed the greatest human good, as is evident from our very identity, then any other considerations will fade in comparison. 
 
When we face our hardships with dignity, virtue remains as complete and self-sufficient. When we find that we have been granted the deepest joy, it is only the perfection of virtue that made this possible. A man properly feels good because he knows that he does good. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

Storm on the Sea 30

Henri Adolphe Schaep, Shipwreck (1857) 

Ruins 20

Charles-Caius Renoux, Pilgrims Praying at the Ruins of an Abbey (1825) 

Memento Mori 13

Tobias Stimmer, Old Man Taunted by Death (1580) 

Vanitas 98

Evert Collier, Self-portrait (1684) 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 191

Fortune has more power over a man than his own forethought. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 85.6

Some men have made a distinction as follows, saying: “If a man has self-control and wisdom, he is indeed at peace as regards the attitude and habit of his mind, but not as regards the outcome. For, as far as his habit of mind is concerned, he is not perturbed, or saddened, or afraid; but there are many extraneous causes which strike him and bring perturbation upon him.”
 
What they mean to say is this: “So-and-so is indeed not a man of an angry disposition, but still he sometimes gives way to anger,” and “He is not, indeed, inclined to fear, but still he sometimes experiences fear”; in other words, he is free from the fault, but is not free from the passion of fear. 
 
If, however, fear is once given an entrance, it will by frequent use pass over into a vice; and anger, once admitted into the mind, will alter the earlier habit of a mind that was formerly free from anger.
 
Besides, if the wise man, instead of despising all causes that come from without, ever fears anything, when the time arrives for him to go bravely to meet the spear, or the flames, on behalf of his country, his laws, and his liberty, he will go forth reluctantly and with flagging spirit. Such inconsistency of mind, however, does not suit the character of a wise man. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85 
 
Stoicism is hardly opposed to feelings, and not even to intense feelings, but it does warn us against being at the mercy of unbridled feelings, where we are swept along instead of deciding upon our own path. That so many of us choose to be consumed by anger, or fear, or lust does not mean that such agitations somehow ought to become our natural state. 
 
The common assumption is that since our emotions just “happen” to us, we are therefore obliged to obey them, much like we believe our happiness to be determined by the arrangement of our circumstances. So, we might praise a man for being ordered in his thinking, but we then excuse his rage, or his dread, or his cravings on account of events that are beyond his control. 
 
Indeed, I often hear people insisting that wrath and hatred are righteous responses to whatever we find to be unpleasant, as if indiscipline were somehow a mark of excellence. I recently asked a student why she felt obliged to insult her peers whenever they proposed a different point of view, and she stared at me with confusion. “Well what else am I supposed to do? I was offended!” 
 
Heaven knows, I don’t wish to add up the number of times I have lost my temper, and fallen into despair, and burned with longing, and yet all of my blunders have taught me why there is nothing worthy in the act of losing myself. My courage can be without malice, my suffering does not call for self-pity, and my love need never demand gratification. If the understanding is sound, and the intentions are sincere, my feelings do not have to become bitter and twisted. 
 
I’m not saying much if I claim to be untroubled on the inside, though I might lose my composure as soon as the world frustrates my preferences. If my priorities are in order, I will recognize how the rise and fall of fortune has absolutely no power over my character, and why a confusion in my values is the only obstacle to my serenity. The Stoic Turn, as I call it, asks me to place a far greater importance on my own judgments than on any external conditions, treating any variations in the latter as a means to the stability of the former. 
 
Once I can justify slandering my neighbor because he voted for the wrong party, or giving up all hope because the odds were stacked against me, or cheating on my wife because the other woman was simply irresistible, what could possibly be left of my so-called virtue? At least it would be more honest of me to openly admit that I care more for convenience than I do for character, rather than pursuing the one under the appearance of the other. 
 
Yes, the Stoic is asking for much when he proposes keeping the passions at bay, but he is not asking for too much, because he trusts in the great capacities of human nature, and he knows why a compromise on the minor flaws will inevitably weaken us in the face of the major vices. Do not rely on a man who overlooks the lesser things, for he will lack the conviction to conquer the greater things. 

—Reflection written in 1/2014 

IMAGE: Dosso Dossi, Anger (c. 1515)