Jean Delville, The God-Man (1903)
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Sunday, May 3, 2026
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Saturday, May 2, 2026
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Friday, May 1, 2026
Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 3.3
You borrow, says one, these views from philosophers. I was afraid you would have told me that I borrowed it from panderers.
But Socrates reasoned in the manner you do—by Hercules, you say well; for it is recorded that he was a learned and a wise person.
Meanwhile as we are contending, not with blows, but with words, I ask you whether good men should inquire what was the opinion of porters and laborers, or that of the wisest of mankind? Especially too as no truer sentiment than this can be found, nor one more conducive to the interests of human life.
For what influence is there which can more deter men from the commission of every kind of evil, than if they become sensible that there are no degrees in sin? That the crime is the same, whether they offer violence to private persons or to magistrates. That in whatever families they have gratified their illicit desire, the turpitude of their lust is the same.
But Socrates reasoned in the manner you do—by Hercules, you say well; for it is recorded that he was a learned and a wise person.
Meanwhile as we are contending, not with blows, but with words, I ask you whether good men should inquire what was the opinion of porters and laborers, or that of the wisest of mankind? Especially too as no truer sentiment than this can be found, nor one more conducive to the interests of human life.
For what influence is there which can more deter men from the commission of every kind of evil, than if they become sensible that there are no degrees in sin? That the crime is the same, whether they offer violence to private persons or to magistrates. That in whatever families they have gratified their illicit desire, the turpitude of their lust is the same.
—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 3
The observant teacher quickly discovers all of the ways his students will try to escape from an argument that makes them feel uncomfortable, and one of them is what I like to call the “stigma of snobbery”, a sort of corollary to the informal fallacy of ad populum.
“Yeah, well only eggheads say things like that! Why should I listen to some snooty philosopher?”
Indeed, if you are merely referring to a professional scholar, he may have much to teach you about footnotes and etymologies, even as he may not have much to offer you on becoming a wiser and a better human being. But do you include a Socrates, or a Diogenes, or an Epictetus in such a category? Were their noses in books, or were they out on the streets?
If I want to get something done right, whose guidance should I seek? It is the carpenter who can show me how to craft a chair, not the banker. It is the farmer who can advise me on growing a crop, not the lawyer. And it is the philosopher, properly understood, who can teach me right from wrong, not the celebrity demagogue of the hour.
The power to master a trade is within all of us, though only a few will freely choose the self-discipline necessary for such an excellence. Do not confuse the pretension of elitism with the authenticity of merit.
The Stoic claim about all virtues and vices being equal in kind is far more than a theoretical notion. It does me a world of good to remember why there is no such thing as a little bit of theft, or a little bit of adultery, or a little bit of murder, and that whatever the degrees of circumstance, each and every instance is a violation of my nature. As much as I justified the trifling diversion as harmless, it was a surrender of character from the very beginning.
When I first began to take my Catholic faith seriously, I was taken aback by the stark simplicity of an old-school confession: “number and species”. I was not being asked to provide any elaborate narrative for my sins, as if this could somehow alleviate my responsibility, and I was just required to state what I had done, and how many times I had done it.
If it involved mortal sin—grave matter, full knowledge, and deliberate consent—then each and every instance was itself a deal-breaker, which completely separated me from sanctifying grace. Behind the formal language, it turned out to be a healthy dose of common sense.
The libertine will assume I am being priggish and repressed, but I have found that gently nurturing my conscience, without falling back on any cheap excuses, has allowed me to become far more compassionate and merciful: I know precisely what sort of a total jerk I have been, so I can hardly hold it against you. Beware the equivocation of the knave!
The observant teacher quickly discovers all of the ways his students will try to escape from an argument that makes them feel uncomfortable, and one of them is what I like to call the “stigma of snobbery”, a sort of corollary to the informal fallacy of ad populum.
“Yeah, well only eggheads say things like that! Why should I listen to some snooty philosopher?”
Indeed, if you are merely referring to a professional scholar, he may have much to teach you about footnotes and etymologies, even as he may not have much to offer you on becoming a wiser and a better human being. But do you include a Socrates, or a Diogenes, or an Epictetus in such a category? Were their noses in books, or were they out on the streets?
If I want to get something done right, whose guidance should I seek? It is the carpenter who can show me how to craft a chair, not the banker. It is the farmer who can advise me on growing a crop, not the lawyer. And it is the philosopher, properly understood, who can teach me right from wrong, not the celebrity demagogue of the hour.
The power to master a trade is within all of us, though only a few will freely choose the self-discipline necessary for such an excellence. Do not confuse the pretension of elitism with the authenticity of merit.
The Stoic claim about all virtues and vices being equal in kind is far more than a theoretical notion. It does me a world of good to remember why there is no such thing as a little bit of theft, or a little bit of adultery, or a little bit of murder, and that whatever the degrees of circumstance, each and every instance is a violation of my nature. As much as I justified the trifling diversion as harmless, it was a surrender of character from the very beginning.
When I first began to take my Catholic faith seriously, I was taken aback by the stark simplicity of an old-school confession: “number and species”. I was not being asked to provide any elaborate narrative for my sins, as if this could somehow alleviate my responsibility, and I was just required to state what I had done, and how many times I had done it.
If it involved mortal sin—grave matter, full knowledge, and deliberate consent—then each and every instance was itself a deal-breaker, which completely separated me from sanctifying grace. Behind the formal language, it turned out to be a healthy dose of common sense.
The libertine will assume I am being priggish and repressed, but I have found that gently nurturing my conscience, without falling back on any cheap excuses, has allowed me to become far more compassionate and merciful: I know precisely what sort of a total jerk I have been, so I can hardly hold it against you. Beware the equivocation of the knave!
—Reflection written in 5/1999
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