LIAM MILBURN: To Want for Nothing: Reflections on Musonius Rufus

To Want for Nothing:

Reflections on Musonius Rufus

 

 

Liam Milburn

Introduction

 

We often speak of the “Big Three” in Roman Stoic philosophy: Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. Their writings are what most people interested in Stoicism will first come across, and there is certainly enough wisdom in their words to last someone for many lifetimes. 

 

There came a point where I realized I had somehow managed to read all of their writings, at least once, and in many cases far more than once, and I still felt I had barely scratched the surface. 

 

Still, it is always refreshing to find a new and different perspective. We sadly only have fragments of the earlier Greek Stoics, and there were many other writings from the later Roman period that are now lost to us. Time has a way of doing that. 

 

Yet we sometimes overlook another surviving Roman source, Gaius Musonius Rufus, the “Roman Socrates”, a gadfly to Nero, and a teacher of Epictetus. 

 

A few of his lectures survive, written down by his students, as well as a handful of fragments preserved by later authors, but what we lack in quantity here is more than made up for in quality. I am always happy to share his writings with people who have never heard of him, precisely because I still vividly remember the sense of comfort I felt when I first discovered what he had to say. 

 

I’m not exactly sure why, but Musonius Rufus has found a very special place in my heart over the years. It is perhaps just because his thinking and style speak to my particular temperament. His reasoning is profound, but always eminently practical. There is rigor and discipline in him, and a razor wit, combined with a warm decency and kindness. 

 

With apologies to Captain Kirk in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, I can only say that “of all the Stoic writings I have encountered in my travels, his were the most human.”

 

He touches on a range of topics here, from good habits of thinking to good habits of eating, from bearing suffering to forming an education, from marriage and family to growing old. There is even an essay here about how to cut one’s hair. Whatever he writes about is informed by a commitment to philosophy as a concrete way of living well, not just as a fancy display of abstractions.

 

The translation of the Lectures and Fragments used here is from Cora E. Lutz, now in the public domain. As has become my habit over many years, I added my own informal and personal reflections to these passages, not to improve them or reveal any deeper insight on them, but simply to help me understand their meaning for myself. I offer no scholarly wisdom here, only how Musonius Rufus affected my own thoughts and feelings. 

 

My purpose in finally sharing them is never to tell you what to think; I hope rather to encourage you to think the original writings through for yourself, in your own way. In this manner, each of us can make philosophy distinctly his own. 

 

 

Lecture 1: That there is no need of giving many proofs for one problem.

 

1.1

 

Once when discussion turned upon proofs or demonstrations, such as beginners must learn from their teachers of philosophy in gaining a mastery of whatever they are studying, Musonius said that there was no sense in seeking many proofs for each point, but rather cogent and lucid ones. 

 

Thus just as the physician who prescribes many drugs for his patients deserves less praise than the one who succeeds in helping them with a few, so the philosopher who teaches his pupils with the use of many proofs is less effective than the one who leads them to the desired goal with few. 

 

And the pupil too, the quicker his intelligence, the fewer proofs he will require, and the sooner he will assent to the conclusion of the argument in question, provided it be sound. But those who require proofs at every point, even where the matter is perfectly clear, or demand to have demonstrated at length things that could be explained briefly are completely inept and dull-witted.

 

I spent most of my time in academia studying the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, hardly a popular figure these days, unless you are a medievalist or traditional Catholic. So my ears perked up when I overheard a student in the hallway loudly proclaiming, “Aquinas is the best philosopher ever, and I’ll tell you why!” This was going to be interesting. 

 

“See, other philosophers may have one, or maybe two, proofs for the existence of God, but Aquinas has five!” 

 

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. I will always insist that Aquinas is one the greatest minds there ever was, but that is hardly the reason. More isn’t better, better is better. Quantity never trumps quality. Give me clarity and simplicity first and foremost, and let me not be tempted to think that verbosity and complexity are somehow praiseworthy in themselves. 

 

I immediately think of Ockham’s Razor. Principles should not be multiplied beyond necessity, or, in more common terms, keep it simple, and don’t make it more confusing than it has to be. You will recognize a sharp mind when it gets straight to the point, a dull mind when it gets caught up in complications and footnotes. 

 

Apparently, doctors haven’t changed that much, because I will still find myself leaving the specialist’s office with twenty prescriptions, all with long names and big price tags, and not a one seems to make me feel any better. Then I meet the old GP who tells me to go for a long walk every day, and suddenly the spring is back in my step. 

 

I did not need to give my wife twenty different reasons for why she should marry me, complete with a PowerPoint presentation and a projection of my future earning power. “I love you” was more than sufficient. 

 

Hire just as many men as are actually needed to do the job, not as many men as can possibly be paid to supervise, do more paperwork, and criticize everyone else’s productivity. Efficiency and bureaucracy stand in sharp contrast to one another. 

 

The truth of the matter is really what comes first, and everything else comes a distant second. More or less are only relevant when measured in the service of true or false, of right or wrong. Ask only enough for what is required. 

 

As a student I would grit my teeth in frustration when my peers would talk on and on, just to hear themselves talking. 

 

As a teacher, I became a bit more patient, and I would try to gently steer the conversation back on track, but I still sigh when I think of all the wasted hours, throwing around abstract complexities, just because they made us feel more important. 

 

They weren’t revealing how profound we were; they were hiding how confused we were. 

 

 

 

1.2

 

The gods, we may assume, need no proof of anything inasmuch as nothing to them lacks clearness or is obscure, and it is only in reference to obscurity that there is any need of proof. Man, however, must seek to find out that which is neither plain nor self-evident through the medium of the plain and obvious. That is the function of proof. 

 

Take for example the proposition that pleasure is not a good. At first sight we do not recognize it as true, since in fact pleasure appeals to us as a good. But starting from the generally accepted premise that every good is desirable and adding to it a second equally accepted premise that some pleasures are not desirable, we succeed in proving that pleasure is not a good: that is we prove the unknown or unrecognized by means of the known or recognized. 

 

Or again, that toil is not an evil is not on the face of it a persuasive proposition, while its opposite, that toil is an evil, seems much more persuasive. But starting from the known and accepted premise that every evil is a thing to be avoided, and adding to it another obvious one, namely that many forms of toil are not in the category of things to be avoided, we conclude that toil is not an evil. 

 

If we knew everything immediately and directly, as it surely must be for a divine mind, then we would hardly need proof for anything. But the human mind comes to understand gradually and progressively, by means of experience and reasoning. We need to proceed from what is known to what is unknown, from what is clear to what is unclear, from what is given to what we ourselves can conclude from what is given. 

 

Now I have often been told that I am overly reflective, or that I think too much for my own good, so take this with a truckload of salt, but I notice that most of us hardly choose to do much reasoning at all. We treat thinking as a largely passive state, where we “have” an idea, or assert an opinion, or agree with what we are told. We begin with a conclusion, instead of arriving at it from rightly arranging the premises. We insist that a proposition is obvious, when it is not obvious at all. 

 

If you find that to be critical, yes it is, at least in the narrow sense of the word, but I do not intend it to be mean-spirited. I will find myself as guilty of mental sloth as the next fellow, and I do not excuse myself from the criticism. I recognize that most every failure in my life has come from not thinking clearly. 

 

Consider how often we speak about the need for rigorously exercising our bodies, and then ask yourself when that very same rigor was applied to our minds. Now if the mind should rule the body, wouldn’t it require even more rigor?

 

Most of us, for example, will simply assume the conclusion that pleasure is always a good thing, and hence that happiness is about “having fun”. It sounds ridiculous to suggest otherwise, because people just seem to take it for granted. 

 

Yet we would say that all good things are desirable, by their very nature of being good. We would also say that not all pleasures are desirable, because some will do us harm. If we only bother to put together the pieces we already know, we have proven, therefore, that not all pleasures are good, the correct conclusion we at first didn’t know. 

 

The same is true of the claim that difficulty and struggle are bad things, that hardship is something to be avoided. Why suffer through more, if you could get by putting up with less? 

 

Yet we would say that bad things should be avoided, by their very nature of being bad. We would also say that there are times when toil should not be avoided, because it can be of advantage. If we only bother to put together the pieces we already know, we have proven, therefore, that not all toil is a bad thing, the correct conclusion we at first didn’t know. 

 

All P are M

Some S are not M

–––––––––––––––

Some S are not P

 

“Ow! That makes my head hurt!” At first maybe, yes, but it doesn’t hurt any more than going for a brisk run after sitting on the couch, eating chips, and watching television for a few months. The mind will take to clarity of reasoning through good habits, just as the body will take to health and strength through good habits. 

 

To work toward a conclusion, and not to start with one, to prove something, and not merely to assert it, isn’t just for fancy academics with their abstract concepts. It is for all of us, in our most basic and everyday needs. The worth of our every action depends upon it, because we can hardly choose something good without first knowing the reasons why it is good. 

 

 

 

1.3

 

Since this, then, is the nature of proof, when we consider that some men are quicker of wit and others duller, that some are reared in better environment, others in worse, those of the latter class being inferior in character and native disposition will require more proofs and more diligent attention to be led to master the teachings in question and to be molded by them; just as defective physiques, when the goal is to restore perfect health, require very diligent and prolonged treatment. 

 

On the other hand such pupils as are of a finer nature and have enjoyed better training will more easily and more quickly, and with few proofs, assent to sound reasoning and put it into practice. How true this is we may readily recognize if we chance to know two lads or young men, of whom one has been reared in luxury, his body effeminate, his spirit weakened by soft living, and having besides a dull and torpid disposition; the other reared somewhat in the Spartan manner, unaccustomed to luxury, practiced in self-restraint, and ready to listen to sound reasoning. 

 

If then we place these two young men in the position of pupils of a philosopher arguing that death, toil, poverty, and the like are not evils, or again that life, pleasure, wealth, and the like are not goods, do you imagine that both will give heed to the argument in the same fashion, and that one will be persuaded by it in the same degree as the other? 

 

Far from it.

 

I think the only compliment I have occasionally received, from people who don’t really know me well, is that I am somehow “smart”. The fact is, unfortunately, that I am not really “smart” at all, and I usually find myself far slower and dimmer than most people around me. I try my hardest to be deliberately thoughtful, but I am not naturally gifted with a profound intelligence, or a quick memory, or an aptitude for discerning patterns and solving problems. 

 

I think I know something of what Musonius Rufus is talking about, since what little I have managed to grasp in life did not come from an innate disposition. This means it will take me more time, and more attempts, and more explanations to help me understand. I need to look at it many times, from many different angles, and with many false starts. 

 

I may not have the nature, but I was at least blessed with some decent nurture, in that I was raised in an environment of character and learning. I often stubbornly rejected it, though enough managed to stick with me nonetheless. That made a big difference, for which I am always grateful. 

 

We are all born with different strengths and weaknesses, inclined to some abilities over others, and that is something that was given to us, not something we chose. We are all put in a certain place in this world, influenced by a certain environment, and that too is something that was given to us, not something we chose. Providence made us as we are, and placed us where we are. 

 

Yet that is not all that we are, or all that we can become. Stoicism teaches us that things happen to us, beyond our control, while who we ultimately are is determined by what we decide to make of all that, completely within our control. 

 

Yes, some can take the quicker path, because of what they have to work with, and others can take the slower path, because of what they have to work with. The trick lies in still sticking closely to the path, straight or winding, in either case. The path doesn’t need to be broadened; it needs to be more carefully marked. 

 

Both the genius and the dullard, whether from nature or from nurture, have within them the ability to intellectually, morally, and spiritually improve themselves. They can both rightly do this in their own way; one will simply require more effort, diligence, and discipline than the other in doing so. 

 

Did I readily comprehend that death, toil, and poverty were not evils? No. Did I readily comprehend that life, pleasure, and wealth were not goods? No. This was because it was not easy for me to wrap my head around one simple truth: the only highest and complete human good is the practice of wisdom and of virtue, to know and to love, and that everything else is entirely relative to that principle. 

 

For those of us who are not the sharpest tools in the shed, we might require some help with the sharpening. But it does need to be sharpening and not dulling. Help me to understand one truth well, instead of twenty half-truths poorly. Don’t just give me more reasons; lead me to one really good reason. 

 

It may take me a while, but with some patience I will get there. Point me in a single direction, however, and not in many. Both the tortoise and the hare need to be focus on one goal. 

 

 

 

1.4

 

The one reluctantly and slowly, and fairly pried loose by a thousand arguments, will perhaps in the end give sign of assent—I mean of course the dullard. The other quickly and readily will accept the argument as cogent and relevant to himself, and will not require many proofs nor a fuller treatment. 

 

Was not just such a lad that Spartan boy who asked Cleanthes the philosopher if toil was not a good? He made it plain that he was so well endowed by nature and by training for the practice of virtue as to consider toil closer to the nature of good than of evil, in that he asked whether toil was not perchance a good, as if it were conceded that it was not an evil. Thereupon Cleanthes in surprise and admiration of the boy replied,

 

"You are of noble blood, dear child, so noble the words you speak."

 

Can you doubt that such a lad would have been readily persuaded not to fear poverty nor death nor any of the things which seem terrible, and again, not to seek after wealth nor life nor pleasure? 

 

A rather long and gruesome stretch in the world of education has shown me how much people like to argue about which subjects should be taught, or in what order they should be presented, or whether this or that new fashionable curriculum is best. 

 

Yes indeed, let us ask what should be learned; yet what we sadly neglect is also asking what needs to precede any learning at all, the right conditions for the seeds to take root. There is no point to planting in untilled soil. There will very little learning if we have not already helped form better learners. 

 

We are also, I suspect, interested in producing obedient followers of this or that ideology, efficient producers and consumers, and young folks who will gladly do what they are told. I’m no longer sure if it is education or indoctrination, on all sides of the spectrum. 

 

There is a great interest in the results, what the education industry likes to call measurable outcomes, and very little interest in the cause of genuine understanding, in asking students to freely think for themselves. Only they can be the measure of that. 

 

Throw a textbook at someone, and then give him a multiple choice test, and you have taught him nothing. Ask him to merely repeat what you have told him, and he has learned nothing. You have groomed him only for conformity, not for being human. Without a foundation for building his own insight and character, you have made him an object, not a subject. 

 

Everyone has very different degrees of disposition for learning, and I would claim that so much of being a teacher is trying to work with what is already given. You will find some brilliantly prepared, and others grossly unprepared. With some, you may begin right away on the straight and narrow, while with others you will need to try undoing years of broadly bad habits. 

 

Some athletes show up for training in a state of ideal fitness, while others appear in a state of terrible neglect. Some recruits enter boot camp as sharp as a knife and full of commitment, while others can’t even manage to get out of bed or do a dozen push-ups. 

 

Building up a physical strength and stamina is quite important, but building up an intellectual and moral strength and stamina is ultimately so much more important. The greater part, the mind and will, should gracefully rule over the lesser part, the body and the passions. 

 

I can only nod when I read the story of Cleanthes and the young Spartan. The lazy, the entitled, and the spoiled will come to you with the assumption that they deserve the most profit with the least effort. I know full well that sense of joy and wonder when I have come across a student who actually wants to learn, who is willing to face difficulty, and who is eagerly in search of something better. 

 

He is ready. He has been well prepared. He will most likely advance in wisdom and character quickly. 

 

Should one then heartlessly cast aside those who are not ready or prepared? Not at all. One should rather help them to first become ready and prepared. Otherwise, no later rigorous and directed study will be of any use to them at all, a fault that will not be theirs, but our own. 

 

I need to remember, of course, that the young Spartan was, from a Stoic perspective, technically mistaken. Hardship is not in and of itself a good, but only when it is employed rightly. Yet his inclinations, whether from nature or from nurture, allowed him to see the very possibility that it could well be a good, and to see that gratification could well be an evil. 

 

He was halfway there. He was on his way to focusing in on the truth, instead of hunting and pecking over the whole field. 

 

 

 

1.5

 

To come back to the starting point of my discussion, I repeat that it is mistaken zeal for the teacher, if he is a true philosopher, to rehearse a multitude of arguments and proofs to his pupils. He should rather touch upon each one with just measure, seek to penetrate to the very intellect of his hearer, and present persuasive arguments and such as cannot easily be refuted. 

 

But most of all his treatment should consist in showing himself not only as one who utters words that are most helpful, but also as one who acts consistently with them. 

 

As for the pupil, it is his duty to attend diligently to what is said and to be on his guard lest he accept unwittingly something false. But of what he accepts as truth, his effort should not be directed toward learning numbers of proofs—far from it—but only such as are plain and lucid.

 

Finally whatever precepts enjoined upon him he is persuaded are true, these must he follow out in his daily life. For only in this way will philosophy be of profit to anyone, if to sound teaching he adds conduct in harmony with it. 

 

I have long been a follower of the classical liberal arts, a method of learning that stresses the power of any individual to become his own master, instead of being merely a slave. 

 

May someone else own his body, in one way or another? Of course. That happens as much nowadays as it always did. Yet no one else can own his soul, if he learns to think for himself, to decide for himself, to live in a way that he knows is true and good. No one can take that away from him. He is free within himself, even if his arms and legs are in chains. 

 

I once started teaching at a school that described itself as “classical” and “based on a liberal arts curriculum”. I was pleased as punch. It took only a moment to see that they were using these terms very differently. 

 

What they meant was skimming over as many old books as possible with students, and then bragging about the glorious achievement. “Have your children read Homer, Plato, Aristotle, Virgil, Ovid, Augustine, and Aquinas? No? Well, ours have. We know those texts.”

 

No, the children don’t know them. The teachers don’t even know them. They are given handouts with a few phrases to remember, and then they regurgitate those phrases for the test. At lunch they then stuff their faces with pizza dipped in ranch dressing, forgetting every last bit of it. 

 

I have spent too many hours in meetings, attended by men with bowties and scented beards, discussing what a list of “classic” texts should be. Should there be 138, or maybe just 132? Should we add Voltaire, and take off Hegel? Oh wait, we forgot to include Newton’s Principia Mathematica!

 

There is nothing classical about such an approach at all; it is, in fact, quite indicative of the current trend, to employ a shotgun method of learning, and to use education as a means to glorify a certain appearance. There is no focus or depth, and there is no real content. 

 

I turn to Musonius Rufus here for some sanity. Dedicate the time you have to understanding one argument well, instead of a vast collection of them poorly. Commit yourself to a learning that transforms the very core of your character, one that changes the way you live, instead of just putting on a show. Embrace clarity over complexity, insight over image. 

 

Both the teacher and the student are called to a rigor and discipline of reasoning that alone can offer certainty of conviction. Platitudes and catch phrases won’t cut it, and political posturing is no replacement for sound proof. 

 

Both the teacher and the student are then also called to practicing what they preach. What good are the finest sounding ideals, or the noblest words, if they do not inspire us to virtue in daily practice?

 

You will recognize the true teacher, and the true student, because neither will let go of a problem until they have looked at it from every side, and considered its every aspect. They are not easily satisfied, because they demand thoroughness. Do not be annoyed by their insistence, but be grateful for it. 

 

You will further recognize the true teacher, and the true student, because both will become kinder, more respectful, and more just as they grow more aware. The charlatans read or write many books, and they are just as petty and vindictive as they were before. The true philosophers may consider only a single argument, and it can seem as if they are born anew. 

 

 

 

Lecture 2: That man is born with an inclination towards virtue.

 

2.1

 

All of us, he used to say, are so fashioned by nature that we can live our lives free from error and nobly; not that one can and another cannot, but all. 

 

The clearest evidence of this is the fact that lawgivers lay down for all alike what may be done and forbid what may not be done, exempting from punishment no one who disobeys or does wrong, not the young nor the old, not the strong nor the weak, not anyone whomsoever. 

 

And yet if the whole notion of virtue were something that came to us from without, and we shared no part of it by birth, just as in activities pertaining to the other arts no one who has not learned the art is expected to be free from error, so in like manner in things pertaining to the conduct of life it would not be reasonable to expect anyone to be free from error who had not learned virtue, seeing that virtue is the only thing that saves us from error in daily living. 

 

Look at all the different abilities and skills certain people have, and you are right to be amazed by so many of them. Some of us are born with certain strengths and gifts, and others seem to lack them completely. This man appears to be able to do it with ease, another struggles to approximate the same, and yet another cannot master it at all. 

 

I would sit in my room practicing the bass for countless hours, and all that time spent made me barely competent. 

 

Then I would come across some fellow, for whom the bass wasn’t even his first instrument, and he would manage what I couldn’t, while simultaneously chatting up a girl and smoking a cigarette. I couldn’t even make sense of what his fingers were doing. My hands were awkward, sore, and blistered, while his moved with a complete lack of effort. 

 

I suspect natural talent has something to do with it, as does the true commitment of practice; there is both nature and nurture at work here. There must also be a certain acceptance of the fact that we all have talents, but that they are not evenly distributed. 

 

I would try to be smart, but there was always someone who made me look the fool. I would try to be witty and charming, but I always ended up like potted meat instead of steak. I would try to play music, to write fine words, to create something beautiful, but it was always like straw. 

 

So I assumed that since I was good at nothing that people thought mattered, I was good for nothing that mattered at all. That, my friends, is one of the biggest mistakes you can ever make. 

 

Do you have a knack for this or that skill? That is wonderful, and you should pursue it, if it brings you peace and you can do good with it. Do you feel like you have absolutely no knacks at all? You probably do, even if others don’t appreciate them, but even if you didn’t, you still have one power that is always yours. 

 

Whether you are big or small, tall or short, brilliant or a bit dim, you are still a human being. Everything else pales in comparison to the glory of that. Can you pass that ball all the way down the field? Can you run the most complex figures in your sleep? Can your smile make others melt in an instant? Wonderful.

 

Now can you be kind, generous, thoughtful, respectful, loving, and forgiving? All other talents aside, every singly one of us can do these things, if only we so decide. Not everyone can be an architect, or an astronaut, or a surgeon, but everyone can live in truth and love. The talent for virtue is indeed equally distributed. 

 

This is because humanity is universal, and therefore what is right and wrong for all of us is universal. No aptitude is required, beyond having reason and will. No fancy learning is required, beyond the most basic common sense. No clever skills are required, beyond an open mind and a willing heart. 

 

Anyone can do it, and everyone should. 

 

Musonius Rufus observes that the very idea of the moral law requires that we think of it as applying to all, allowing for no exceptions, and without any special treatment for some at the expense of others. This is why justice wears her blindfold, as she has no preference for one or another; she treats every one of us equally. It isn’t that she is uncaring, but that she cares without conditions. 

 

No one else will make me good, and nothing else will give me the gift of my character. I will make it, or break it, entirely through myself. Cleverness, or money, or influence will never make me a good man, just as dullness, or poverty, or insignificance will never make me a bad man. 

 

Can’t play the bass like Stanley Clarke? No fault in that. Won’t be a decent man, like anyone can? There is my fault. 

 

 

 

2.2

 

Now in the care of the sick we demand no one but the physician to be free from error, and in handling the lyre no one but the musician, and in managing the helm no one but the pilot, but in the conduct of life it is no longer only the philosopher whom we expect to be free from error, though he alone would seem to be the only one concerned with the study of virtue, but all men alike, including those who have never given any attention to virtue. 

 

Clearly, then, there is no explanation for this other than that the human being is born with an inclination toward virtue. And this indeed is strong evidence of the presence of goodness in our nature, that all speak of themselves as having virtue and being good. 

 

I recall being told as a young pup that we now lived in the age of the experts, where everyone was quite good at knowing about something, while no one could make sense of everything. 

 

Well, I’m fairly sure it’s always been that way; Musonius describes a world that is rather similar. If I want my car fixed, I go to a mechanic. If I want to resolve a lawsuit, I go to a lawyer. If I want to get some money, I go to a banker. 

 

Do I know that the mechanic isn’t making up fake problems? No, because I don’t know everything about how my car runs. Do I know that the lawyer isn’t playing games with me? No, because I don’t have all those rows of books in my office. Do I know that the banker isn’t sucking me dry? No, because he lends to me on terms I can never understand. 

 

Leave all of that aside. A nice car, or a clean legal record, or a perfect credit score never make the man. They tell me all the time that it does, but I now know that it doesn’t. At some point, through the whole smokescreen, I saw something important, that the measure of my worth was never about where I lived, or which people I knew, our how much money I was able to borrow. 

 

The measure of my worth is my own virtue. No one ever gives it to me, and no one ever takes it away from me, and it requires nothing more than what Nature has already provided for me. 

 

Wait, which expert do I go to find out more about this? Is there a special class? Do I need to earn a degree? Who is qualified to fix it my life?

 

Only I am qualified, just as every other human being on the face of the earth is equally qualified. No experts, no classes, no degrees, no further requirements.

 

There is no product to be bought, and no greater price to be paid. 

 

Do I have the power of reason? Yes, I am able to think for myself. 

 

Do I have the power of will? Yes, I am able to choose for myself. 

 

Am I faced with the most basic world of experience? Of course, I confront the reality of pleasure and pain, of riches and poverty, of ease and hardship, in each day of my life. 

 

And that is all I need to make a judgment, and to make a decision. 

 

“But what about the philosophers? Shouldn’t we listen to them? They are the experts, they are the professionals!”

 

Distinguo. Define your terms. Do you mean the man who spends his life writing books about the theory of the true and the false, the right and the wrong? Perhaps you can learn something wonderfully abstract from him, but look at what he cares most about. When you are in the dirt, will he personally help you up? Of course not; he needs to earn tenure. 

 

Do you mean the man who spends his life living with prudence, fortitude, temperance and justice, even as he earns little money, does his work quietly, and is treated like a freak? You can certainly learn something quite practical from him, and you can see quite clearly what he cares about. When you are in the dirt, he will personally help you up; he has nothing to care for but his own convictions. 

 

The first is the expert, while the second is the everyman. The real philosopher is a thinking man, and he is a good man. No letters after his name will ever make him better, and the only expertise he needs is an informed conscience. I can do that, you can do that, and there is no need for specialized training. 

 

By all means, look to your doctor to tell you what is wrong with your body. If he is a decent one, he will give you personal comfort along with your medicine. When it comes to the health of your soul, however, you need no doctors; you already have your cure, given to you, and to all of us, by Nature. You may choose to live through truth and love. 

 

Some are made for this or that trade, but all are made for virtue. 

 

 

 

2.3

 

For take the common man; when asked whether he is stupid or intelligent, not one will confess to being stupid; or again, when asked whether he is just or unjust, not one will say that he is unjust.

 

In the same way, if one asks him whether he is temperate or intemperate, he replies at once that he is temperate; and finally, if one asks whether he is good or bad, he would say that he is good, even though he can name no teacher of virtue or mention any study or practice of virtue he has ever made. 

 

Our instincts and inclinations can be fascinating things, playing themselves out in ways we are not always aware of. 

 

It took me some time to recognize that a certain sharpness was simply a sign that my wife was hungry, and that it was thoughtless of me to overlook this. It took her some time to recognize that a certain silence was simply a sign that I was frustrated with a problem, and that I was now prone to becoming angry. Learning about such quirks helped us to understand one another better, and so to improve ourselves. 

 

The passions are drawn to pleasure, and they shy away from pain. Just as the plant may turn to the sunlight, or the mouse may hide from the cat, or the dog may drool at the sight and smell of a steak, so I too will feel desire for some things and aversion to others. 

 

At the level of my body, I am not all that different from a plant or an animal, perhaps more refined in degree but quite the same in kind. But if my body is inclined to want food, and warmth, and comfort, toward what is my soul inclined? As with all things, I must only consider its nature. 

 

My reason is made to understand, and from this my will is made to choose. This is why the mind is the ruling principle, that which can judge the meaning and purpose in other things. Through it, I am not only moved to act, but I can decide to act, knowing why it is right for me to do so. 

 

And even when I am not thinking as clearly as I could, or not choosing to reflect on the merit of what I am doing, my very identity as a human being is disposed toward wisdom and virtue. It is precisely what I am here for, and every fiber of me longs for it, as much I might ignore that truth or turn away from that good. Like they say, fish gotta swim, and birds gotta fly . . . and every one of us can’t help but want virtue. 

 

While we may not know right then and there how to do it, or even precisely what it is we are longing for, that still remains the emptiness we wish to fill. The inclination is at work all of the time, whether waking or sleeping, whether we are looking right at it or stubbornly looking away. It isn’t something that comes from outside of us, but something that is from the inside of what we are.

 

The end is living well, not just living, and the biggest part of being on this earth is figuring out what that means. 

 

One way to grasp this is to observe how we genuinely wish to think of ourselves as being good. People will regularly say that they are not gifted at this or that ability, like having a knack for numbers, or possessing an ability for producing art, or being talented at football, yet they are far less likely to admit that they are morally flawed. This rubs us the wrong way, perhaps because we instinctively know that this is what ultimately defines us, what makes or breaks us. 

 

Though the cardinal virtues are currently not in common parlance, it still troubles us quite deeply to consider that we might lack them. Tell me that I would make a terrible lawyer, or doctor, or accountant, and I will gladly agree with you. Tell me, however, that I am ignorant instead of thoughtful, cowardly instead of brave, gluttonous instead of temperate, or selfish instead of fair, and I will be tempted to take offense. 

 

Why should this bother me? If I am brutally honest with myself, I know that I am often far from the mark when it comes to virtue. Still, I am also aware that it is not just a skill, one among many that I might have; it is the only skill that I need to have. Talents, or trades, or hobbies can come and go, particular to one man or another, while virtue is necessary, universal for all men. 

 

I know that my character is the fullest expression of my humanity, and I know that the value of anything else will depend on that. That inclination always remains within me, though I may never have bothered to become fully conscious of it. 

 

 

 

2.4

 

Of what, then, is this evidence if not of the existence of an innate inclination of the human soul toward goodness and nobleness, and of the presence of the seeds of virtue in each one of us?

 

Moreover, because it is entirely to our advantage to be good, some of us deceive ourselves into thinking that we are really good, while others of us are ashamed to admit that we are not. 

 

Why then pray, when one who has not learned letters or music or gymnastics never claims to have knowledge of these arts nor makes any pretense of knowing them, and is quite unable even to name a teacher to whom he went, why, I say, does everyone profess that he has virtue? 

 

It is because none of those other skills is natural to man, and no human being is born with a natural faculty for them, whereas an inclination toward virtue is inborn in each one of us.

 

Every sort of thing is made to fulfill its own nature, in its own distinct way. Every other condition is superfluous to that, perhaps preferable, yet hardly necessary.

 

We all know that we should be good, even as we are not always sure how to be good. We want this so much that we delude ourselves into believing that anything we do will make us good. 

 

No, it will not. 

 

We see certain things we desire, and we think that their acquisition will make us kind and decent folks.

 

No, they will not. 

 

This job, or that spouse, or some honor here or there is entirely beside the point. Regardless of the circumstances, where was the understanding, where was the conviction, where was the self-control, where was the love? I would like to assume I have all of that, since I take it for granted that success is good; but wait, what is the real measure of human success? Have I been selling my dignity and integrity for that supposed success?

 

If I have never carefully studied quantum physics, then I cannot claim to be a quantum physicist. So if I have never carefully studied virtue, why am I claiming to be virtuous? I don’t want to admit that I don’t know what I should know.

 

I make the claim, however false, because I know, however vaguely, that this is something I need to live up to. I become worried, because studying quantum physics is hard, and studying virtue is surely harder. 

 

No, it isn’t any harder at all; it should actually come much more easily. It flows from us with ease as soon as we get our priorities in order. Right thinking leads to right doing, and no training in complex equations or mind-twisting concepts is required of anyone here. The physicist may need years of formal education, while the good man only needs his own common sense and a humble heart. 

 

I ask this of myself in a much simpler way: Does my life hang on how good I am at calculus? That skill can be of great service to me in so many ways, but no, it does not. It is a means, not the end. 

 

Does my life hang on whether I can be concerned, respectful, and compassionate? Yes, it does. It is the very fulfillment of being human. It is the end, not a means. 

 

There is one thing I was made for, the one thing that comes naturally to me, and that is the excellence of my own character. I must remember that I can take or leave the rest, since it is something added to my nature, not something grown out of my nature. 

 

“I was born to be a lawyer!”

 

No, you were born to be honest, whether you happen to be a lawyer or not. 

 

“I was born to be a rock star!”

 

No, you were born to be humble, whether you happen to be a rock star or not. 

 

“I was born to be a baron of industry!”

 

No, you were born to be fair, whatever business you happen to work in.

 

It’s funny how we get it all backwards, and we start with all the accidents, while neglecting the essence. Then we somehow foolishly think we can achieve the essence by spending all of our time on those accidents. 

 

To be a happy man you simply have to be a good man, first and foremost. That comes from within, from all the gifts Nature and Providence put right there in your lap. Everything else comes from the outside. 

 

 

 

Lecture 3: That women too should study philosophy.

 

3.1

 

When someone asked him if women too should study philosophy, he began to discourse on the theme that they should, in somewhat the following manner. 

 

Women as well as men, he said, have received from the gods the gift of reason, which we use in our dealings with one another and by which we judge whether a thing is good or bad, right or wrong. 

 

Likewise the female has the same senses as the male; namely sight, hearing, smell, and the others. 

 

Also both have the same parts of the body, and one has nothing more than the other. 

 

Moreover, not men alone, but women too, have a natural inclination toward virtue and the capacity for acquiring it, and it is the nature of women no less than men to be pleased by good and just acts and to reject the opposite of these.

 

I have become accustomed to thinking very differently than most others, for better or for worse. I do not expect to determine what someone else will think, and I try not to be offended when he expresses his disapproval. Some of this has to do with an eccentric disposition, but most of it comes from the sort of values I have chosen for myself. I am not content to merely follow the current trend, or to embrace the latest “—ism”. 

 

Some people seem quite surprised that Musonius Rufus held what they consider to be such “progressive” views on women, and I usually suggest that common sense is hardly old or new, but simply timeless. I believe it was Coco Chanel who said that “Fashion fades, only style remains the same.” 

 

The regular assumption, of course, is that those in the past were backward and bigoted, and only now, in our better age, have we become so enlightened and fair. I suspect, however, that human nature doesn’t change all that much. There have always been wisdom and ignorance, and there have always been virtue and vice, just mixed together in various ways. 

 

For as long as I can remember, people have been asking me if I am a feminist. I am not sure how to answer, because I am not even sure what the term means to everyone; I have heard so many differing definitions over the years that I can no longer keep track. 

 

Is it about finding what is common and shared to all human beings, regardless of their gender, or is it about continuing to insist on divisions? Does it involve finding ways for all of us to be better, or does it require that someone else remains worse?

 

Musonius is just pointing to a basic insight about humanity, that for the many variations between people, they still remain people, gifted with reason and will, and made for exactly the same end. Yes, I can consider the accidents, like gender, or race, or age, or preferences, or points of view, and they will only confuse me if I do not remember what is essential beneath them. It’s only justice when it’s universal, only dignity when it’s free from the conditions of circumstance.

 

Of course there are differences between men and women, at the levels of their minds and bodies, just as there are also differences between all individuals. It would be foolish of me to think that this is all that matters, or that it doesn’t matter at all, or not to see that how it matters depends upon first finding what is common. The degrees exist within the kind. 

 

Both a man and a woman are able to form their own judgments, and thereby to inform their own sense of moral worth. 

 

Both a man and a woman experience the same world, through the same powers of perception.

 

Both a man and woman possess the same sorts of bodies, each quite capable of meetings the demands of a good life. 

 

Most importantly, both a man and a woman are made for the same purpose, to know and to love, to seek virtue and to avoid vice, and the final merit of either will be completely identical.

 

Thoughtful and decent folks, men and women alike, from any walk of life, have always understood that the variations of the sexes complement one another, and are never intended to be in conflict with one another. This will only be possible if I first look at the person. Philosophy, as a means to becoming fully human, is everyone’s calling. 

 

 

 

3.2

 

If this is true, by what reasoning would it ever be appropriate for men to search out and consider how they may lead good lives, which is exactly the study of philosophy, but inappropriate for women? 

 

Could it be that it is fitting for men to be good, but not for women? Let us examine in detail the qualities which are suitable for a woman who would lead a good life, for it will appear that each one of them would accrue to her most readily from the study of philosophy.

 

The false opposition between male and female is only one of so many ways that we find to divide and separate the world. It is certainly right to distinguish the way things are different, though we do ourselves a great disservice when we forget how they are also the same. A contrast is confused with a conflict; a complement is confused with a contradiction. 

 

What Musonius says here about gender can apply just as easily to other false divisions we impose upon ourselves. Besides facing men against women, we are drawn to breeding discord between races, classes, nations, religions, or political ideologies. 

 

What all these instances share in common is how they insist that one side is right precisely because the other is wrong, that some people are better on account of other people being worse, and that this idea must be true through being at war with another idea that must be false. 

 

Why are we tempted to do this? I can only think that it reflects an attempt to discover our own value, but in a cheap and easy way that draws attention to the failings of the other. 

 

I know that whenever I have fallen into this trap, which I have done more often than I care to admit, I somehow feel more special when I oppose myself to someone or something else. I make myself bigger, taller, or stronger by making others smaller, shorter, or weaker. 

 

It becomes so effortless to cast blame, to diminish, or to dispose that I may hardly be aware that I am doing it. I have to admit that I am drawn to such a twisted solution because it diverts me from having to carefully consider myself. 

 

We see contradictions where logic demands none. We build walls to avoid facing the beautiful yet terrifying prospect that our neighbors are just the same as we are. Picking enemies we can hate requires far less soul-searching than embracing the friends we should love. 

 

Why do I think I should have the opportunity to study and practice philosophy? Well, I have reason, so it is necessary for me to learn to live well. Does a woman also have reason? Or that man who has a different color? Or that group over there that speak in words I can’t understand? Does my political opponent also possess a mind and a will?

 

“No! They are a lesser form of the species, barbarians, barely human!” We have all heard that, time and time again, both in the past and in the present. The opponents may change, while the ignorance remains the same.

 

My selfishness and narrow thinking do not want me to admit that if I have certain human needs, responsibilities, or rights, then every other human being also has those same needs, responsibilities or rights. 

 

I may prefer to ignore this, because it is more immediately gratifying for me to receive instead of give, to exclude instead of accept. Resentment becomes a sort of universal “get out of jail free” card. If I can blame others, I can cast aside my own sense of accountability for myself. False division is an excuse for my own failure. 

 

A truth is only universal when it applies too all instances, not just to some. If a man should be wise, brave, temperate, and just because of his humanity, then a woman should also be wise, brave, temperate and just because of her humanity. This will also be true if someone is rich or poor, young or old, or waving any color of flag. 

 

You don’t need to roll your eyes at me, and tell me that this is sentimental claptrap. The passions may appreciate it, but it is reason that demands it. 

 

 

 

3.3

 

In the first place, a woman must be a good housekeeper; that is a careful accountant of all that pertains to the welfare of her house and capable of directing the household slaves. It is my contention that these are the very qualities that would be present particularly in the woman who studies philosophy, since obviously each of them is a part of life, and philosophy is nothing other than knowledge about life, and the philosopher, as Socrates said, quoting Homer, is constantly engaged in investigating precisely this:

 

"Whatsoever of good and of evil is wrought in your halls.”

 

I will occasionally sneak in some Stoic texts when I teach, in between all the more popular ones I am expected to cover. Once, when we were reading the section on gender in Plato’s Republic, I took an unscheduled detour to discuss this brief essay by Musonius Rufus. 

 

When we came to this passage, I already had a hunch that there would be strong objections. I see texts as an opportunity not only to propose a certain position, but also, and in some ways more importantly, as a means for thinking through any problem, and coming to appreciate different points of view. After all, the conclusions we arrive at will only be as good as the reasoning we use to get there. 

 

The response was immediate. “See! I knew these guys were all fascists! Look, he says right here that a woman’s job is running the home, and then he talks about slaves!”

 

“First, we could try not to say that anything we don’t like is fascist; didn’t we have that conversation a few weeks ago? Second, for right or for wrong, slavery was a real part of ancient society, just as wage labor is in ours. But let’s put those two aside for the moment, and think about what Musonius might mean by a housekeeper.”

 

“What is there to talk about? He says woman should run the house.”

 

“Being a servant, who cooks, and cleans, and follows orders?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But he says she directs and manages the household, not that she is just a laborer, and that she does this through her own sound judgment, through her knowledge of what is right and good. Her authority and power follow from her ability to think for herself, which is why she needs philosophy.”

 

“But why does she have to be at home, while the men get to go out do whatever they want?”

 

“I’m not sure it means that women should only be at home, just as I’m not sure it means that men should stay away from the home. Different customs and traditions may express it in different ways, but Musonius’ whole argument is that both men and women are called choose good lives guided by reason, the ability to rule themselves.

 

“Here’s an example you may not agree with, but hopefully you can try to understand it. My wife and I were once at a fancy dinner party, and the conversation turned to careers. The hostess asked my wife what her biggest goal was. ‘To be a good wife and mother,’ she answered.

 

“The room suddenly went dead silent, and I think I heard some silverware drop. 

 

“The hostess turned to me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. ‘Well, I suppose that makes you happy, having such a subservient wife.’ This produced a good chuckle around the table.

 

“I had to think of what to say, because any answer I gave, even just laughing along, was going to bring me trouble. My Irish temper bubbled inside me, but I kept silent. Say nothing if you have nothing good to say. 

 

“I didn’t have to worry. In a calm and friendly manner, my wife replied to the hostess. ‘You don’t have to turn to him. I can think and speak for myself. My most important job in this life is to care for our family, and his most important job in this life is to care for our family. One reason we are married is precisely because we agreed on this. Whichever one of us might have a fancy job outside the home, we both know that it is only there to help us with what is inside the home. The home is the center. A worldly career is a means, but our real human calling to virtue is the end.’ 

 

“The balance of power at the table had suddenly shifted. Someone suggested refilling the wine glasses, and the conversation drifted back to pretty and shallow things. I’m sure they made fun of us later, but no one in that crowd ever called my wife subservient again.

 

“Consider the possibility that the home is not a chore or a burden, but a vocation and a blessing, and that it should be the priority for all of its members, husbands and wives, parents and children. Maybe, just maybe, we have it backwards when we put careers ahead of families, when families should actually be ahead of careers. What Musonius says will only make sense from that perspective.”

 

 

 

3.4

 

But above all a woman must be chaste and self-controlled; she must, I mean, be pure in respect of unlawful love, exercise restraint in other pleasures, not be a slave to desire, not be contentious, not lavish in expense, nor extravagant in dress. Such are the works of a virtuous woman, and to them I would add yet these: to control her temper, not to be overcome by grief, and to be superior to uncontrolled emotion of every kind.

 

Now these are the things that the teachings of philosophy transmit, and the person who has learned them and practices them would seem to me to have become a well-ordered and seemly character, whether man or woman. 

 

Back in our last year of high school, a fellow seemed quite keen to “set me up” with a girl he knew. I have no idea why he was so motivated in this task, or how he thought this could possibly be a successful match. 

 

I did my best to be as polite as I could, but it was clear to me that no good could ever come from this. “I’m sure she’s very nice,” I said, “but we would hardly get along. She’s never given me the time of day, and she seems to have quite a few other boyfriends already.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so sexist! So you somehow think it’s okay for guys to sleep around all they want, but girls need to be all proper? That’s such a double standard!”

 

“No, you know that I don’t live that way, and so there’s no hypocrisy if I choose not to share my life with people who live that way.”

 

“Hey, you’d hardly have to share your life with her. You could just have a good time with her.”

 

“See? There is precisely where we will have to agree to disagree.”

 

Should a woman practice self-control in her passions? Yes, she will gladly do just that if she judges virtue as the greatest human good. And before all those accusing fingers get pointed, this would be just as true of a good man as of a good woman, or of any person who is of good character. It isn’t a feminine virtue or a masculine virtue—it is a human virtue. 

 

There is, furthermore, no need to assume that temperance, or any of the virtues, is somehow restrictive or repressive. Quite the contrary, it can be something that is truly liberating, because it allowed us to rule ourselves, not to be ruled by our desires. If I look at other people only as objects of gratification, and not as subjects worthy of respect, I have already degraded them, and I have also degraded myself. 

 

I know it seems like such a hopelessly outdated and romantic ideal, especially at a time when we so openly buy and sell sex, but I once took it deeply to heart when someone told me that chastity was never about self-denial, but about self-mastery. Nature made me to give with love, not merely to take with lust. 

 

A passion without wisdom to guide it will always bring out the worst in us. I began to learn that the hard way, by bitter experience, only a few months after that attempted set-up. I suddenly found myself drawn to someone who was so very smart, charming, and sophisticated. I now had the chance to put my principles into real practice, but I ended up bending them so hard that I downright broke them.

 

I discovered fairly quickly that she was also dishonest and disloyal, and that her conscience was the last place she looked for inspiration. But surely that would change, if only I stuck with her? I felt so loudly for her that it drowned out my thinking. 

 

My friends frowned and shook their heads. “She will break your heart, just wait! How many more men in her bed will it take before you stop looking the other way? When will you have had enough of her laughing at you behind your back?” 

 

It was too easy to eventually be angry with her, many years later, but that was attention entirely misdirected. She was going to be who she was going to be, but I could decide who I was going to be. Chaste, self-controlled, not a slave to desire? Let me master those virtues myself, instead of worrying about them so much in others. My intemperance, my feeling without thinking, was my problem, not hers. My own weakness, and no one else’s, was the cause of my downfall here. 

 

By all means, I can choose to trust another for being good, but it will make no difference if I can’t first trust myself to be good. 

 

 

 

3.5

 

Well then, so much for self-control. As for justice, would not the woman who studies philosophy be just, would she not be a blameless life-partner, would she not be a sympathetic helpmate, would she not be an untiring defender of husband and children, and would she not be entirely free of greed and arrogance? 

 

And who better than the woman trained in philosophy— and she certainly of necessity if she has really acquired philosophy —would be disposed to look upon doing a wrong as worse than suffering one (as much worse as it is the baser), and to regard being worsted as better than gaining an unjust advantage? Moreover, who better than she would love her children more than life itself? What woman would be more just than such a one?

 

Neither men nor women can be temperate without being guided by wisdom, and this will in turn be true of all the virtues. Philosophy, then, as the very means by which we can understand the true from the false and the right from the wrong, will be a foundation for the life well lived. 

 

It is not to be reserved only for some, but it is made for everyone. It is not the privilege of the few, but it is the responsibility of the many. It is not just a luxury, but it is a necessity. Rich and poor, young and old, men and women are all called to philosophy, simply by being human. 

 

Justice is as universal a virtue as temperance, and as the virtue that must inform all social relations, it will determine the very structure of the family and the community. 

 

How should husbands and wives, parents and children, friends and neighbors, show the proper respect for one another? Scholars can write as many profound books about justice as they wish, though they will be of little use if none of us can actually practice any of it. 

 

We often like to speak of justice in terms of getting what we believe is rightfully ours, as a defense of what is owed to us, but I am pleased to see how Musonius Rufus follows a slightly different path. 

 

As he describes the woman who is just, he says that she is blameless, sympathetic, and a defender of her family. This becomes possible because she is neither greedy nor arrogant, because she does not first think of what she deserves from others, but of what others deserve from her. Justice grows out of the giving, not out of the receiving. Our job is to rule our own actions, not those of others. 

 

And so I cannot help but think immediately of the women I have known in my own life who lived in precisely this way, firm and confident in their own character, regardless of all the posing and posturing of other people around them. 

 

Like any of us, they were grateful to be appreciated and praised, but that was never why they did what they did. They did what they did because they loved others, and they found their own worth in the fullest expression of that love. 

 

Better to suffer a wrong than to ever commit a wrong, better to bear unfairness from others than to ever be unfair oneself. Those who build their lives around a sense of entitlement will not understand this, even as the women who raised me understood it completely, and tried their best to instill those same values in me. Their example proved that they weren’t just mouthing fancy words. 

 

I was still fairly young, but I do remember asking my grandmother once why women sometimes seemed so much stronger than men. “Motherhood will do that to you,” she laughed, “and there are quite a few men who could learn something from it.”

 

I can make more sense of her words now than I could back then. The toughness wasn’t some sort of exhibition of prowess, intended to impress or to prove some point, but it came from the sharp focus of dedication to the good of others, to the level where there was never any hesitation about sacrificing anything and everything else. 

 

In this way, a woman’s justice can be an example of the most perfect justice, of complete and total self-giving for what is right. Just look at what she will do out of love for her child. We would have no humanity at all, and hence no philosophy at all, without it. 

 

 

 

3.6

 

Now as for courage, certainly it is to be expected that the educated woman will be more courageous than the uneducated, and one who has studied philosophy than one who has not; and she will not therefore submit to anything shameful because of fear of death or unwillingness to face hardship, and she will not be intimidated by anyone because he is of noble birth, or powerful, or wealthy, no, not even if he be the tyrant of her city. 

 

For in fact she has schooled herself to be high-minded and to think of death not as an evil and life not as a good, and likewise not to shun hardship and never for a moment to seek ease and indolence. 

 

So it is that such a woman is likely to be energetic, strong to endure pain, prepared to nourish her children at her own breast, and to serve her husband with her own hands, and willing to do things which some would consider no better than slaves' work.

 

I have sometimes heard people describe courage as a distinctly masculine virtue, though I wonder if these people understand either the true nature of courage, or the true nature of masculinity. 

 

In such a case, both bravery and manhood are reduced merely to a sense of being stronger, tougher, or more aggressive than someone else. Certain sorts of men, of course, like to strut about, and show off, and intimidate others, and they insist that this is brave. To be fair, I see certain sorts of women behave this way as well. Is it still a virtue, however, if an animal could do it just as well as a man or a woman? 

 

We are twice removed from the truth if we assume that courage is a matter of any sort of brutality, by way of any sort of confusion about manliness. Once again, consider the humanity first, and what is shared in common by all of humanity. 

 

For the Ancients, courage was the commitment to doing what was right and good, in the face of danger, and most specifically in the face of death. It was not just the exercise of powerful emotion, of aggression in the face of fear, but the judgment of an informed conscience, where hardship was accepted as a means to character. The strength that was to be found in fortitude came from the mind, not merely from the gut. 

 

Scowl and growl all you want, flex your muscles, and assume an imposing stance, and you are still no closer to courage. Look to the guidance of your moral compass, and get your priorities in order about what is greater and lesser in this life, and you will now find yourself on the path to being brave. 

 

All people need this virtue to live well, both men and women, and it is only possible through first forming an understanding of what is good. It will seem ridiculous to the bully to say that true courage comes from the power of philosophy instead of the power of his fists, but this is only because he chooses not to reflect on who he is, and why he is here.

 

Musonius sees quite clearly how the brave woman will live out her life just as fully as the brave man. She would rather die before she surrenders to vice. She will bear pain in order to develop her moral worth. She will not be frightened or impressed by money and influence, because she knows that these are not the standards by which she should judge herself. She will bear whatever is necessary, even what other people may think is far beneath them, in order to show a respect for human dignity. 

 

I have known many people who liked to draw attention to how brave they were, and how their boldness in taking risks was bringing them success in life. Yet I couldn’t help but ask, “What are you actually putting on the line? What is it going to bring you?”

 

“I’m standing up for myself, and taking what I want from people, so I can live my life the way I choose to live it! I’ll never get that by being weak!”

 

“You will fight to gain power over others, and insist on satisfying your desires?”

 

“Sure. That’s what life’s all about.”

 

Whenever I hear words like that, I am reminded why men and women so desperately need philosophy. It’s the only way we won’t confuse courage with conquest, or virtue with gratification. It is what helps us to see that anything is worth sacrificing for character, but character is never worth sacrificing for anything. That is the conviction of courage. 

 

 

 

3.7

 

Would not such a woman be a great help to the man who married her, an ornament to her relatives, and a good example for all who know her? 

 

Yes, but I assure you, some will say, that women who associate with philosophers are bound to be arrogant for the most part and presumptuous, in that abandoning their own households and turning to the company of men they practice speeches, talk like sophists, and analyze syllogisms, when they ought to be sitting at home spinning. 

 

I should not expect the women who study philosophy to shirk their appointed tasks for mere talk any more than men, but I maintain that their discussions should be conducted for the sake of their practical application.

 

Couldn’t we argue that women should avoid philosophy, not because they are somehow unworthy of a great privilege, but because philosophy will only encourage them to become insufferable snobs? 

 

In other words, we should look at how much time men already waste with their posing and posturing about obscure ideas, and we should hesitate to have women follow suit. Sitting at home and spinning at least produces something useful, while intellectual musings have no practical application at all.

 

Well, the issue will then no longer be about men and women, but about the worth of philosophy itself. If by philosophy we mean simply spouting empty words in order to hear ourselves speak, then yes, women should surely avoid it, and so should men. 

 

The world does not need more talking heads and hot air; the world does need more people who actually get things done. 

 

That is not, however, the sort of philosophy Musonius holds dear. We have sadly come to think of philosophy only through the ways we have abused it, retaining the word but not the task.  Yes, if theory is separated from practice, if ideas are divorced from actions, and if thinking is removed from living, then we are indeed wasting our time. 

 

The Stoic, however, like any genuine philosopher, will insist that the exercise of the mind must always be in service to the excellence of our character. 

 

Don’t “do” philosophy because you like to ponder grand abstractions, or to impress your friends with how clever you are, or to wallow in leisure instead of committing to labor; we already have plenty of professional academics to do that, the sophists of our modern age. 

 

Rather, “live” philosophy so you can learn to live well, to practice virtue in all of your affairs, to inform every one of your thoughts, words, and deeds with meaning and purpose. Know the true from the false, the right from the wrong, in order to be happy, and to help others be happy. Contemplate justice for the sake of treating your neighbor with justice. 

 

Philosophy, in this proper sense, is not one trade among many, but the universal human calling that stands behind all trades. All human beings require it, because creatures endowed with reason and choice can only do what is good if they first understand what is good. The question is not whether we will think about our actions, but rather whether we will think about them clearly. We will make countless judgments in our lives about what we believe to be right, so it will only benefit us if we actually know what is right. 

 

Some people, men and women alike, will be powerful rulers, and others will wash the dishes. Some will heal the sick, and others will fight in wars. Some will teach the young, and others will bury the dead. It matters far less what our particular place in this world may be, and far more if we fulfill our particular calling with integrity, with decency, and with kindness. 

 

Pursue philosophy not merely by reading fancy books, but by engaging in life. What will it help us if we know in which texts Aristotle discusses the nature of friendship, if we do not learn to love our friends? By all means, let us study as much as we like, and let us have engaging conversations about the difference between virtue and vice; more importantly, however, let us actually practice virtue instead of vice. 

 

 

 

3.8

 

For as there is no merit in the science of medicine unless it conduces to the healing of man's body, so if a philosopher has or teaches reason, it is of no use if it does not contribute to the virtue of man's soul. 

 

Above all, we ought to examine the doctrine which we think women who study philosophy ought to follow; we ought to see if the study which presents modesty as the greatest good can make them presumptuous, if the study which is a guide to the greatest self-restraint accustoms them to live heedlessly, if what sets forth intemperance as the greatest evil does not teach self-control, if what represents the management of a household as a virtue does not impel them to manage well their homes. 

 

Finally, the teachings of philosophy exhort the woman to be content with her lot and to work with her own hands.

 

I once listened to an academic administrator explain that we were all being too naïve about the purpose of higher education. We were grooming future lawyers, not to work for justice, but to “legitimize power.” The next generation of bankers wasn’t going to protect their depositors’ savings, but would rather “increase corporate profitability.” Some of our students would become doctors, and their critical role was not going to be the healing of the sick, but the “maximizing of social efficiency.”

 

I couldn’t resist impishly asking him later what role philosophers were supposed to play in this new world order. Would attending our professional conferences “facilitate the marketability of value systems?”

 

I should not have been surprised, but he took my question quite seriously. “That’s an excellent point, because we can’t underestimate the benefit that kind of exposure has for promoting the university’s brand.” 

 

My apologies for seeming so naïve, but we don’t need lawyers, bankers, or doctors who are merely buying and selling a product. If they are not defending our rights, or preserving the fruits of our labors, or curing our diseases, they aren’t doing their jobs. 

 

The same is true of philosophers. If they aren’t inspiring us to fall in love with the truth, and moving us to live with a sense of right and wrong, then we might be better off without them.

 

Long before we consider the roles of men and women, or the functions of different professions, or who should be richer and who should be poorer, we should surely ask a much more important question, a question that only philosophy can properly address. What is it that will make any life worth living? What steps can be taken by anyone to achieve this end? 

 

A Stoic, like Musonius, offers an answer that looks to human nature itself. Look first to the content of character, to the merit of understanding and love, to the virtue in thoughts and deeds. All the rest can only fall into place after that.

 

Is it helping me to love wisdom, to be inspired with courage, to have mastery over my desires, to treat my neighbor with justice? If the answer is yes, I should by all means proceed. If the answer is no, I need to follow a different path. 

 

Should I worry about all the fame and fortune the world keeps talking about? What about the pleasure, the profit, the power? In and of themselves they are nothing for me, and I can take them or leave them, finding value only in whether or not they benefit the health of my soul. 

 

“Well, an attitude like that won’t make you a partner, or get you a job on Wall Street, or win you that research grant!” Perhaps it won’t, but that isn’t what matters, is it? Set the priorities right, whatever others choose to think. Happiness doesn’t come from those things. 

 

Turning back now to the original question, is it right for women to study philosophy? More fundamentally, is it right for any of us at all, men or women, young or old, rich or poor, to study philosophy? Yes, if it teaches us human decency. 

 

Will it encourage us to modesty, self-control, and temperance? Will it strengthen us in fairness, friendship, and compassion? Will it commit us to gladly take responsibility for what is ours? Will it allow us to be at peace the world as it comes to us, and to be content with our own work? 

 

If philosophy can do that, it will form the best of women, and the best of men. 

 

 

 

Lecture 4: Should daughters receive the same training as sons?

 

4.1

 

Once when the question arose as to whether or not sons and daughters ought to be given the same education, he remarked that trainers of horses and dogs make no distinction in the training of the male and the female; for female dogs are taught to hunt just as the males are, and one can see no difference in the training of mares, if they are expected to do a horse's work, and the training of stallions. 

 

In the case of man, however, it would seem to be felt necessary to employ some special and exceptional training and education for males over females, as if it were not essential that the same virtues should be present in both alike, in man and woman, or as if it were possible to arrive at the same virtues, not through the same, but through different instruction.

 

By the time I was sent to school, the powers that be just took it for granted that one should mix boys and girls together in the classroom, and go about treating them in much the same way. This was not necessarily the case in my parents’ time, however, and certainly not in the days of my grandparents and great-grandparents. We quickly forget that through much of history sons and daughters might be raised very differently, and receive quite varying degrees of schooling. 

 

I was always an odd fellow, and cut from a rather different cloth, so my own experiences will hardly reflect the mood of the times, but it never occurred to me that boys and girls were somehow members of separate species, or that either one was any better than the other. 

 

Nevertheless, I did notice that their temperaments could be quite contrasting, and I observed that, whether by nature or by custom, they still grew up to often keep their own company. In kindergarten, they at first played together, but by middle school, most of the boys would gather at one end of the schoolyard, and most of the girls at the other. In high school the division became a bit less obvious, and they flirted, showed off to one another, or sat together at lunch, but you could still cut the tension with a knife. 

 

How important was this? Was it just a matter of preference, or was their some deeper principle behind it all? Were most of us just blindly following the herd, or were we expressing some basic human distinction? Did someone tell us to do it, or was it something we desperately needed to do?

 

Again, I was rarely a part of either of those big crowds at opposite ends of the playground, and I usually ran around with another small group, composed of boys and girls alike, who explored in the woods, collected interesting rocks, and told fantastical stories. Most every day the teacher would blow her whistle to keep us from straying too far. Those are quite honestly the friends I now miss the most, the ones I wish I still knew, in the hope that we might still be kindred spirits like we once were. 

 

One of the usual bruisers, a fellow I now imagine works as a successful corporate lawyer, would tease me constantly about one of my companions being my girlfriend.

 

“No,” I stuttered. “She’s just my good friend.”

 

“Don’t be so stupid! You can’t be friends with a girl! There’s only one reason to like a girl, and she’s way too ugly for that!” It would not surprise me at all if he still thinks that way. 

 

It seemed telling to me that the folks filled with the most malice and spite, even at such an early age, were the first to build walls between the sexes, just as they also do between races and classes. Yes, of course, boys and girls were different, and we were sometimes quite confused by our respective instincts, but what was any of that compared to having someone to talk to, to share your ideas with, to simply enjoy the company of another soul?

 

Years later, when I got pulled kicking and screaming into the life of being a teacher, I started hearing all sorts of grand theories about how it might be best to keep boys and girls separated at school, and to teach them in radically different ways. For a brief time, it was quite trendy to be reactionary in this regard. Such suggestions could come from all parts of the ideological spectrum, but they were usually grounded on the assumption that the divide between men and women was just too great to overcome. 

 

“They think differently, they feel differently, they have completely distinct needs. They aren’t going to live their lives in the same way, so we shouldn’t teach them the same things.”

 

This confused me. I can express it all a bit more abstractly now, of course, but I thought back to the experience of my own childhood. Where was I to draw the line between a shared humanity and these distinctions between male and female? Some people seemed to offer only all-or-nothing options, the whole at the expense of the parts, or the parts at the expense of the whole.

 

Weren’t the parts supposed to exist within the whole?

 

 

 

4.2

 

And yet that there is not one set of virtues for a man and another for a woman is easy to perceive. In the first place, a man must have understanding and so must a woman, or what pray would be the use of a foolish man or woman? 

 

Then it is essential for one no less than the other to live justly, since the man who is not just would not be a good citizen, and the woman would not manage her household well if she did not do it justly; but if she is unjust she will wrong her husband like Eriphyle in the story. 

 

Again, it is recognized as right for a woman in wedlock to be chaste, and so is it likewise for a man; the law, at all events, decrees the same punishment for committing adultery as for being taken in adultery. 

 

Gluttony, drunkenness, and other related vices, which are vices of excess and bring disgrace upon those guilty of them, show that self-control is most necessary for every human being, male and female alike; for the only way of escape from wantonness is through self-control; there is no other. 

 

Let us get beyond the illusion that either men or women need to be smart, or tough, or in control, or powerful. This is the language of those who define themselves by what they think they possess outside of themselves, not by who they actually are within themselves. I will, in stark contrast to the fashion of our times, insist that none of that really matters.

 

Be wise, not merely smart. To understand the difference is to finally grow up. Not all of us are gifted enough to be clever, but all of us are granted the opportunity to understand. The mere presence of mind, to whatever degree, is sufficient. 

 

Be brave, not merely tough. To distinguish between the two is a true measure of character. Not all of us are born with a set of brass ones, but all of us possess the power of choice about what is worth fighting for. The mere presence of a good will, to whatever degree, is sufficient. 

 

Be temperate, not merely in control. To rule our own desires is very different from imposing our desires upon others. Not all of us have the knack for disciplining someone else, but all of us have the ability to discipline ourselves. The mere presence of true conviction, to whatever degree, is sufficient. 

 

Be just, not merely powerful. To decide to do what we should is far better than trying to do what we want. Not all of us are born as bullies, but all of us are born with the power of compassion. The mere presence of love, to whatever degree, is sufficient. 

 

I will boldly maintain that one of the greatest harms inflicted on human nature in my own lifetime is the popular insistence that being strong comes first. No, my friends, being good comes first. If we can’t see the difference, we are a very part of the problem. 

 

Musonius here isn’t concerned about whether men or women have power. He is rather concerned about whether men or women possess virtue. He is not interested in a fight between men and women, but rather in a complementarity between men and women. He is doing what most of us don’t seem capable of doing, finding what unites us instead of dwelling on what divides us.

 

To be good, a man needs understanding, and a woman needs understanding. There is no way of doing anything well without the knowledge of right and wrong. 

 

To be good, a man needs to be fair, and a woman needs to be fair. Love your neighbor as yourself, whoever that neighbor might be. 

 

To be good, a man needs to be chaste, and a woman needs to be chaste. If you can’t be loyal and committed in love, you are nothing but a scoundrel. 

 

To be good, a man needs to be a master of his passions, and a woman needs to be a mistress of her passions. If you let your gut rule your head, you are then completely upside down. 

 

The shared human needs remain completely the same, even if the inclinations or circumstances may be different. 

 

 

 

4.3

 

Perhaps someone may say that courage is a virtue appropriate to men only. That is not so. For a woman too of the right sort must have courage and be wholly free of cowardice, so that she will neither be swayed by hardships nor by fear; otherwise, how will she be said to have self-control, if by threat or force she can be constrained to yield to shame? 

 

Even more, it is necessary for women to be able to repel attack, unless indeed they are willing to appear more cowardly than hens and other female birds that fight with creatures much larger than themselves to defend their young. 

 

How then should women not need courage? That women have some prowess in arms the race of the Amazons demonstrated when they defeated many tribes in war. If, therefore, something of this courage is lacking in other women, it is due to lack of use and practice rather than because they were not endowed with it. 

 

Or as my mother might have put it, any man who doesn’t think a woman needs to be brave has never met a real woman. And he’s probably a sorry excuse for a man himself.

 

I think I may have inherited a certain cynical toughness from her, a woman who would describe herself as a “kind and gentle creature”, while still being able to take you out with a stare at twenty paces. 

 

I still have a vivid memory of her laughing uncontrollably when a trendy singer on TV shook her little fist in the air and proclaimed, “I am strong! I am invincible! I am woman!” 

 

A girlfriend of mine once made the mistake of asking her why she still wore dresses and skirts, instead of pants like all the other women. “Because I’m not all the other women. You should try that some time.”

 

My own stubborn claim that fortitude is quite different from rage or indignation surely owes much to her. I saw her quite angry a few times, but I never saw her lose her temper. Even when she raised her voice, she still seemed to be in control. She slapped me once, only once, but I deserved it, and I still tell everyone that I have a loose tooth from it. 

 

We would often take walks together, and I recall her advice on all sorts of things, but her constant insistence on the need for moral courage was what stuck with me the most. It depended first and foremost on being committed to what was true and good, and not just on throwing your weight around. 

 

English was not her first language, but she loved the phrase, “Don’t let the bastards get you down!”

 

 She would tell me that constantly complaining, and loudly protesting, and being deeply offended were never marks of character, but actually signs of profound weakness. “Only cowards need to look brave.”

 

“The real people, the ones who matter, change the world with their love, in the smallest of ways. They don’t show off, they do the work.”

 

“Burning your bra won’t liberate you. Practicing kindness will liberate you.”

 

“Don’t be that kind of man who tries to manipulate a woman. Tell her straight out what you want, but be then be prepared to be told exactly what she wants. If she’s a good one, be smart enough to do what she tells you, because she knows better.”

 

“Be fair to others, but never be surprised if they aren’t fair to you. The Good Lord will see the difference.”

 

“Strength is in your conscience, not in your fists.”

 

“Speak your mind calmly and do your own thing in your own way. Outrage never got anything done.”

 

Bravery, for her, was about sticking to what was right, whatever the world might say or do. Notice how this is different from the mock courage of the vain and pompous types, who only like to perform for the crowd. 

 

Roosters get all the credit for strutting about, and too many of us forget the noble hens. 

 

 

 

4.4

 

If then men and women are born with the same virtues, the same type of training and education must, of necessity, befit both men and women. For with every animal and plant whatsoever, proper care must be bestowed upon it to produce the excellence appropriate to it. 

 

Is it not true that, if it were necessary under like circumstances for a man and a woman to be able to play the flute, and if, furthermore, both had to do so in order to earn a living, we should give them both exactly the same thorough training in flute playing; and similarly if it were necessary for either to play the harp? 

 

Well then, if it is necessary for both to be proficient in the virtue which is appropriate to a human being, that is for both to be able to have understanding, and self-control, and courage, and justice, the one no less than the other, shall we not teach them both alike the art by which a human being becomes good? Yes, certainly we must do that and nothing else.

 

I was once told that there was no more need for an argument like Musonius’ on gender and education, since social trends have now left behind most beliefs that men and women do not share the same basic human needs, or that their educations should therefore be ordered toward different ends. 

 

“It’s all sort of old hat now, isn’t it? Shouldn’t we move on to more relevant things?”

 

I am, however, quite wary of taking anything for granted just because it is fashionable at the moment. I am also hardly convinced that we dig deep enough to rightly understand those shared human needs, or how any education can best serve our nature. 

 

It won’t be enough to say that men and women are somehow equal in dignity, if we can’t first define the very meaning of that dignity. We can speak all we want about equal opportunities, but it will be of no use to us if we don’t know which ones are the most fruitful opportunities. 

 

We may readily agree that all people, regardless of their circumstances, have a right to become happy and successful. Now what is it that brings us happiness and success? 

 

This is not an obscure or unanswerable question, the pursuit of some pie in the sky. If you tell me I deserve a piece of the pie, I also deserve to know why it is so good, and what makes it worth having. To comprehend the end is a necessity, not a luxury, for its worth is what will give purpose to all the means. 

 

Here is where a classical and Stoic model will still challenge all of our usual assumptions about being human, and by extension all of our usual assumptions about gender, or class, or race, or creed. Here is the deeper relevance in what Musonius has to say for our times.  

 

Most people will tell us that happiness comes from getting bigger and better things, or that success is about winning greater status with others. Education, by extension, in order to help us be happy and successful, would then be merely a tool to make us richer and more influential. 

 

Musonius, in contrast, tells us that virtue is the common human end, not money or power, and so education exists to make us wiser, braver, more temperate, and more just. We may prefer this or that condition, but we should not define ourselves by such outside conditions. We must learn to face them all in the same way, asking ourselves only how they can be of use to improve our character. 

 

Following such a path will send us in a very different direction than those who pursue only fortune and fame. It will make for a rather different breed of men and women. It will demand that we measure the value of education by the currency of conscience, not by the balance of our bank accounts. It is a commitment that will meet with resistance from the powers that be, but it is the only commitment that promises fulfillment. 

 

Teach men and women the same things? By all means, but teach them about the right things, because that is all that can bind them together in a common human identity. Should we teach them certain trades? Certainly, but put those particular skills within the context of our universal calling to virtue, because otherwise they will all be wasted. 

 

To continue with Musonius’ analogy, is it worthwhile learning to play the flute or the harp? Yes, but not to make money, or to show off your skills on stage, or to win anyone’s praises. Play your music instead to bring joy to your friends, or to honor what is beautiful in this life, or to reveal something of what is true and good in the world. 

 

Men and women will learn to play the flute or the harp in much the same way, though they may do so with very different goals in mind. There is still one greater goal here, one that will color our estimation of everything beneath it. 

 

 

 

4.5

 

"Come now," I suppose someone will say, "do you expect that men should learn spinning the same as women, and that women should take part in gymnastic exercises the same as men? " 

 

No, that I should not demand. But I do say that, since in the human race man's constitution is stronger and woman's weaker, tasks should be assigned which are suited to the nature of each; that is the heavier tasks should be given to the stronger and lighter ones to the weaker. Thus spinning and indoor work would be more fitting for women than for men, while gymnastics and outdoor work would be more suitable for men. 

 

Occasionally, however, some men might more fittingly handle certain of the lighter tasks and what is generally considered women's work, and again, women might do heavier tasks which seem more appropriate for men whenever conditions of strength, need, or circumstance warranted.

 

I have listened to much debate about the corresponding strengths and weaknesses of men and women, and what I often find is that such differences are considered as if they were all that matters, as if they were even all that exists. 

 

“Men are physically tougher, and they can better focus on working through a problem!”

 

“Yes, but women can put up with more hardship, and they have better instincts!”

 

Now even if this is true, if each has access to a distinct set of tools, it changes nothing about the far more fundamental humanity behind all of it. There is reason, and there is will. There is the power to know what is true, and the power to choose what is good. By all means, insist that I cannot understand if I am a dog or a potted plant, but do not tell me I cannot understand if I am tall or short, or have blonde or black hair, or am a man or a woman. 

 

I appreciate how Musonius thinks this question through, because he sees both the forest and the trees, the whole and the parts, the universal and the particular. If men and women have distinct physical or mental attributes, then surely they will be better suited for the practice of certain skills, even as they share in a common nature. 

 

But such differences can just as well exist from any one individual to another, and there will always be exceptions. I have known a good number of women who can wipe the floor with most men, and a good number of men who can be sensible and grounded far better than most women. I have found that it saves me much trouble if I don’t blindly make such assumptions to begin with. Let me see a person first, and then learn what particular gifts that person may possess. 

 

I was recently fascinated when a flight surgeon explained how women, on the whole, might possibly make better combat pilots. I have no way of knowing whether there is any truth to it, but the very idea was interesting in itself. 

 

He referred to all sorts of recent studies, suggesting that the female body can better handle the physical stresses of flying, and that the way a woman’s brain is wired can make it easier for her to track multiple targets in her head. 

 

When I mentioned this to my wife, who had been raised in a military family, she saw it right away. “We can handle giving birth, and you suffer over a hangnail. We do twenty things at once, while you just focus on one.” 

 

I will bow to her wisdom in the matter!

 

When my wife and I first met, we immediately had a profound sense that we were made to work together, though we would need to learn what part each of us had to play in that shared work. We also discovered the writings of Edith Stein together, and her words have stuck with us over the years:

 

I am convinced that the species humanity embraces the double species man and woman; that the essence of the complete human being is characterized by this duality; and that the entire structure of the essence demonstrates the specific character. There is a difference, not only in body structure and in particular physiological functions, but also in the entire corporeal life. . . . 

 

The relationship of soul and body is different in man and woman; the relationship of soul to body differs in their psychic life as well as that of the spiritual faculties to each other. The feminine species expresses a unity and wholeness of the total psychosomatic personality and a harmonious development of faculties. The masculine species strives to enhance individual abilities in order that they may attain their highest achievements.

 

Not stronger or weaker, not better or worse, not more or less, just two different ways of coming at one and the same thing. We are made for the same end, even as we might go about it in rather different ways. That interplay of the parts is necessary for the fullness of the whole. 

 

 

 

4.6

 

For all human tasks, I am inclined to believe, are a common obligation and are common for men and women, and none is necessarily appointed for either one exclusively, but some pursuits are more suited to the nature of one, some to the other, and for this reason some are called men's work and some women's. 

 

But whatever things have reference to virtue, these one would properly say are equally appropriate to the nature of both, inasmuch as we agree that virtues are in no respect more fitting for the one than the other. 

 

The social trend in my own lifetime seems to have been one of an increased fracturing, a breaking of the bonds that we all share in common. Perhaps I spend too much time with too many people who wallow in too much division, but that has been my unfortunate experience. 

 

A few years back, there was a story going around that one of our esteemed politicians had, during a passionate speech, mistranslated “e pluribus unum” as “out of one, many”. I laughed along with the rest, and I thought no more of it. I don’t even know if the story was true, and it hardly matters. 

 

If that was the worst linguistic blunder the poor fellow had committed, he is a far better man than I am. There are moments when I am trying to write a rather simple word on the blackboard, and I suddenly have no idea how to spell it. I won’t even begin with my regular butchering of the Latin language, or my many failed attempts to manage Greek. 

 

Yet then something odd started happening, something rather surreal, almost Kafkaesque: my students began using that old Latin phrase in that same confused way.

 

“Why can’t we understand that this country was made for the very idea of diversity? There was one at first, but now we are many! America’s about becoming different!”

 

“They used to have one way of doing things, over in Europe, but then Americans realized that anyone could do it his own way. Everyone does his own thing.”

 

“E Pluribus Unum, right? Doesn’t it say that on our money? We opened the floodgates, man, because there’s not one of us, just many of us!”

 

Where am I too even start with this? It isn’t about the Latin; it’s about principles behind the darn Latin. I’m worried I may wake up tomorrow morning as a beetle. 

 

Don’t tell me it’s just foolish young folks who say such things. I once had to sit through a faculty enrichment seminar, provided by an esteemed law professor, entitled “Enforcing Diversity: What You Need to Learn”. 

 

What is going on here? I was always taught that people from many races, cultures, and creeds could come together, recognizing, for all the differences in their backgrounds, that they all shared a common humanity. I was told that this was something approaching the sacred, to be revered. Human diversity only makes sense within the context of human unity, or otherwise we abandon the actual human part of it. 

 

Yes, we do indeed lose the human part of it. We are so caught up in the particulars that we neglect the universal. We dwell only upon the narrow differences. 

 

This is why I regularly hear those on the left calling those on the right “fascists”, and those on the right calling those on the left “mentally retarded”. 

 

This is why I hear rich people saying that we need to get rid of the useless poor, and poor people saying we need to get rid of the greedy rich. 

 

This is why I see the people of one tribe constantly fighting with the people of the other tribe. Each demands justice for itself, and refuses it to another. 

 

This is why I see the proud worshiping themselves as gods, and not worshiping God. 

 

And, for the purpose of this text, this is why I see men who hate women, just because they are women, and I see women who hate men, just because they are men. 

 

If we’re going to play it that way, then there is no virtue on either side. Then we all stop being human entirely, and we just fight it out like beasts. Then we deserve all the grief we get. 

 

There is a certain moral relativism that can cloud our minds, and an unwillingness to accept the balance and complementarity of the sexes is just another instance of it all. As soon as we remove a common moral purpose, we will remove all purpose. As soon as we define a person by the accidents, we will lose all of the essence. 

 

We will never know who a man is, or who a woman is, without first knowing what a person is. A sense of right and wrong, a sense of truth as measured by the unity of Nature, is our only cure for this insanity. 

 

“Virtues are in no respect more fitting for the one than the other.”

 

 

 

4.7

 

Hence I hold it reasonable that the things which have reference to virtue ought to be taught to male and female alike; and furthermore that straight from infancy they ought to be taught that this is right and that is wrong, and that it is the same for both alike; that this is helpful, that is harmful, that one must do this, one must not do that. 

 

From this training understanding is developed in those who learn, boys and girls alike, with no difference. Then they must be inspired with a feeling of shame toward all that is base. When these two qualities have been created within them, man and woman are of necessity self-controlled

 

And most of all the child who is trained properly, whether boy or girl, must be accustomed to endure hardship, not to fear death, not to be disheartened in the face of any misfortune; he must in short be accustomed to every situation which calls for courage. Now courage, it was demonstrated above, should be present in women too. 

 

Furthermore to shun selfishness and to have high regard for fairness and, being a human being, to wish to help and to be unwilling to harm one's fellow men is the noblest lesson, and it makes those who learn it just.

 

We pride ourselves on our efforts to provide the same quality of education to women as we do to men, in treating them equally and offering them the same opportunities. In that this proceeds from a respect for the dignity of the human person, and not merely from an attitude of conflict between the sexes, this is surely a noble thing. 

 

Consider, however, what Musonius proposes as the proper end of education, and how this may differ from what we pursue over the many years we now send our young people to school. 

 

Stoicism, working from our very identity as creatures of mind and will, establishes virtue as the highest human good, by which all other conditions should be measured. What makes any man or woman a success in this life? Whatever else they may do, they live well when they first pursue excellence of character. 

 

Education, in turn, of whatever sort, fulfills its role when it works toward this goal. 

 

Far too often, our attitudes diverge from such a respect for our true nature. We may see people not as having moral worth, but as having worth from what they consume and produce, from what they are capable of buying and selling. We replace a concern for what is inside of us with a concern for what is outside of us. According to this view, what makes any man or women a success in this life? It is sadly only the power of wealth and the prestige of honor. 

 

Education, in turn, is then what makes us the most efficient managers, or the most obedient workers. 

 

Do we pay lip service to the formation of character? Yes, of course, because such sentiments sell, but we usually don’t invite someone to give a commencement address because he is honest and caring; we ask him because he is rich and famous. We don’t usually publicize graduates who went on to practice small acts of kindness; we praise those who have ended up winning great positions of influence, who have learned the skill of impressing others. 

 

Mouthing the words won’t be enough. Certainly, teach the best professional skills, but none of them will be of any use without a moral compass. 

 

It is far more important to build a conscience, to be proud of doing right and ashamed of doing wrong, to discover meaning in life from the merit our own deeds instead of relying on our circumstances, to find the deepest satisfaction from loving our neighbors as ourselves. 

 

No, we can’t use fancy statistics, or columns of financial profits and losses, to quantify a wise and loving soul. I would suggest that is precisely the point, since the qualities that make us noble and good are not determined by who dies with the most toys. 

 

Giving women and men equal access to the best careers is all nice and well, but that isn’t the sort of shared education Musonius has in mind. He is rather concerned with something deeper, with women and men having a common calling to prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice. 

 

 

 

4.8

 

What reason is there why it is more appropriate for a man to learn this? Certainly if it is fitting for women to be just, it is necessary for both to learn the same lessons which are in the highest degree appropriate to the character of each and supremely important. 

 

If it happens that a man knows a little something about a certain skill and a woman not, or again she knows something and he not, that suggests no difference in the education of either. But about the all-important things let not one know and the other not, but let them know the same things. 

 

If you ask me what doctrine produces such an education, I shall reply that as without philosophy no man would be properly educated, so no woman would be. I do not mean that women should possess technical skill and acuteness in argument. It would be quite superfluous, since they will use philosophy for the ends of their life as women. Even in men I do not prize this accomplishment too highly. 

 

I only urge that they should acquire from philosophy goodness in conduct and nobility of character. Now in very truth philosophy is training in nobility of character, and nothing else.

 

Different people may have many particular gifts, and needs, and vocations, and so they may accordingly learn many different things, in many different ways. Men and women can find themselves following a variety of paths, though they are all ultimately in search of the same destination. 

 

Whatever they may do, they are called to do so with a shared humanity, all made to be equally inspired by an awareness of what is true, good, and beautiful. A common education in virtue is what must bind all their differences together. 

 

So of all the things we should learn, what would be the most important? I have heard it said that reading and writing are most necessary, or math and science, or the skill of what they currently call “critical thinking”. Yes, any man or woman can put these to good use, though they will produce nothing of worth without first knowing right from wrong. This is what will give everything else direction. 

 

Philosophy, properly understood, is what we all need. But so that there is no confusion here, Musonius tells us that he does not merely mean the power of persuasion, the ability to craft convincing arguments, or a mastery of clever and profound words. 

 

A woman doesn’t really need that in life, though before we immediately assume that Musonius is being just another sexist, he reminds us that a man doesn’t really that in life either. It may be quite helpful for a politician, or a lawyer, or an academic, but it will make little difference when it comes to living well as a human being. 

 

No, the philosophy we all need will go far deeper than that, in the sense that it will determine the very content of our character. It will not exist to impress others, or to win worldly profit, or to humiliate our enemies. The philosophy we all need is about building habits of good character. How wonderful it would be if more of the politicians, lawyers, and academics could have that!

 

Consider all the qualities we like to say are essential for a happy life, but then look again more carefully, informed by the needs of Nature, and most of those qualities will suddenly seem rather shallow and meaningless. 

 

We tell our children they can be doctors, and astronauts, and CEO’s, and one or two might even be elected as Presidents of the United States, if they really want to, if they work at it hard enough. Some may indeed be called to those roles, though that isn’t what will make them happy, and that isn’t what will make their lives worth living. Look beyond the preference to the principle, look past the particular to the universal. First and foremost, possess a soul that is able to understand and to love. 

 

When men and women equally become philosophers, ones who actually live up to that first human vocation, who will seek to practice it in all they do, we are teaching what needs to be taught. 

 

 

 

Lecture 5: Which is more effective, theory or practice?

 

5.1

 

At another time the problem arose among us whether for the acquisition of virtue practice or theory is more effective, understanding that theory teaches what is right conduct, while practice represents the habit of those accustomed to act in accordance with such theory. 

 

To Musonius, practice seemed to be more effective, and speaking in support of his opinion, he asked one of those present the following question: "Suppose that there are two physicians, one able to discourse very brilliantly about the art of medicine but having no experience in taking care of the sick, and the other quite incapable of speaking but experienced in treating his patients according to correct medical theory. Which one," he asked, "would you choose to attend you if you were ill?" He replied that he would choose the doctor who had experience in healing.

 

We have an unfortunate tendency to get caught up in false dichotomies, in finding contradictions where none need to be present. As my father always liked to joke, “Did you walk to school, or did you bring your lunch?” 

 

Some differences may indeed involve opposites, but other differences may serve as complements. A man might not be able to be virtuous and dishonest, but there is nothing stopping him from being virtuous and eccentric. 

 

I have faced the unfortunate tension between theory and practice for most of my life, having seen the supposed followers of one quite ready to dismiss the supposed followers of the other. I have been at cocktail parties where academics berate the ignorance of the unwashed masses, and I have been at local bars where tradesmen curse the arrogance of the bookworms. 

 

I eventually learned to smile instead of gritting my teeth, recognizing that the world needs them both, that thinking and doing have to go hand in hand. There can be no action without awareness, and no awareness without action. 

 

But which comes first, and which is more important? Yes, I can hardly do what is good without understanding what is good, but what point could there be to understanding what is good without actually doing what is good? 

 

They seem to require one another, in different senses. Theory should inform practice, while practice should also be the completion of theory. Theory is primary in one way, in that everything begins with judgment, and practice is also primary in another, in that judgment exists for the end of action. 

 

I recall once telling a class that practice without theory is blind, and that theory without practice is toothless. They looked at me funny, however, so I didn’t belabor the point. 

 

I think of The Breakfast Club, one of those movies that shaped my younger years far more than I am willing to admit. Brian, the brain, is in despair because he is failing shop class. Bender, the criminal, calls him out on it:

 

Brian: . . . 'Cause I thought, I'll take shop, it'll be such an easy way to maintain my grade point average.

Bender: Why'd you think it'd be easy?

Brian: Have you seen some of the dopes that take shop?

Bender: I take shop. You must be a ****in' idiot!

Brian: I'm a ****in' idiot because I can't make a lamp?

Bender: No, you're a genius because you can't make a lamp.

Brian: What do you know about Trigonometry?

Bender: I could care less about Trigonometry.

Brian: Bender, did you know without Trigonometry there'd be no engineering?

Bender: Without lamps, there'd be no light.

 

Through all of the twists and turns that come with philosophy, however, Stoicism reminds me that my feet must be firmly planted on the ground, or otherwise my head will float away. We are made to live well, certainly not at the expense of thinking well, but with the latter finding its full expression in the former. 

 

So, with all other things being equal, keeping in mind that just pondering about the job doesn’t actually get the job done, what kind of doctor would I prefer if I am sick? For the sake of argument, let me assume these are my only two choices:

 

The one might have gone to the best schools, and everyone tells me how brilliant he is, and he offers me lengthy explanations of what ails me, using mightily impressive big words I have never heard before. But I am still sick. 

 

The other has a questionable pedigree, and he talks more like a plumber than a physician, and he simply tells me to shut up, stop wasting his time with my fancy questions, and to take my medicine. And now I am no longer sick. 

 

Give me the support and comfort of both the theory and the practice if you can, but given the choice, I’d rather have my health without the bells and whistles, than the bells and whistles without my health. And after all the talking about it, so would you. 

 

 

 

5.2

 

Musonius then continued, "Well, then, let us take another example of two men. One has sailed a great deal and served as pilot on many boats, the other one has sailed very little and has never acted as pilot. If the one who had never piloted a ship should speak most ably on the methods of navigation, and the other very poorly and ineffectively, which one would you employ as pilot if you were going on a voyage?" The man said he would take the experienced pilot. 

 

We have all surely experienced the difference here, between those who can only talk the talk and those who can actually walk the walk. We may well be guilty of it ourselves, thinking that an eloquence in theory is far more impressive, and therefore far more profitable, than an experience in practice. 

 

This only works on the level of impressions, however, and as soon as our need is real, when the rubber meets the road, our common sense will hopefully kick in once again. There is nothing like the urgency of living to rid us of the illusion of abstract musings. Why have confidence in the man who says he can do it over the man who is actually doing it?

 

If I want to feel assured that I understand the ideal of justice in an academic sense, for example, I will be tempted by the fine words of the scholar. He has studied the concept for so many years, read all of the relevant sources, and has even written a whole slew of articles and books himself. He is what they call an “authority” in the eyes of his peers.

 

But if I find myself embroiled in all the daily struggles of life, bickering with my neighbor over the spoils we both believe we deserve, will the scholarly text, complete with extensive citations and footnotes, genuinely help me to become the better man? Or might I be better served by looking to the example of someone who is actually at peace with himself and those around him, who has learned to practice respect, decency, and kindness from the school of hard knocks? 

 

It will then make little difference how learned and profound he is, because his character will be the only necessary qualification. His breeding, his schooling, and his formal profession are neither here nor there, as long as his insight, however ungainly and rough around the edges, is expressed in action. It may seem folksy and primitive, but it gets the job done. 

 

Can I find the teacher who has both a fluency in theory and in practice? Certainly, and once again, I must be wary of seeing an opposition where there should only be a harmony. I rarely meet such people, however, and when I do, they never seem to draw attention to their mastery of abstractions. I suspect this is because they understand that theory is in and of itself of no use to us at all, and that it must always be in the service of practice; they reveal what they know only in the merit of doing something well, and they care little for the rest. 

 

I am surely straying from Musonius’ original intent here, but I notice how all the examples he uses in this lecture speak of those who possess theory alone in terms of their eloquence, their ability to discuss, and their power of speaking well. This may reveal a certain ambiguity about what we mean by theory, since we easily assume that wisdom and artful expression go hand in hand.

 

But I suggest that something deeper may be going on here. Wherever reflection is divorced from deeds, and principles are separated from application, mere words are all we really have left. Thought fractured from things has no more content, only the appearance of content. It isn’t that theory is just about the appeal of empty expressions, but rather that theory without commitment to practice retains only a veneer of meaning. Without a direction of purpose, it floats away like so much hot air. 

 

There is an old military phrase I have now heard many times over, in many variations: “There’s no one smarter than an officer straight out of the academy, and there’s no one more useless than an officer straight out of the academy.” Memorizing all the maps is not enough to get me where I need to be going.

 

 

 

5.3

 

Again Musonius said, "Take the case of two musicians. One knows the theory of music and discourses on it most convincingly, but is unable to sing or play the harp or the lyre; the other is inferior in theory, but is proficient in playing the harp and the lyre and in singing as well. To which one would you give a position as musician, or which one would you like to have as teacher for a child who does not know music?" The man answered that he would choose the one who was skilled in practice.  

 

You may choose any field in the broad range of human endeavors, and you will find countless instances of this contrast between those who merely pontificate and those who actually carry the weight. 

 

I still recall the conductors who would either lecture us like mathematicians on complex musical structures, or wax eloquently like poets on how the tone of a single note needed to express the deep despair of an unrequited love during a cold winter. I was always confused, and ready to throw in the towel. 

 

Then there were the performers, many of whom had been in the pit for years, who showed me how to play the actual music. It was a bit of a pause with the bow here, or a different position on the fingerboard there. 

 

There were so many of my peers who went on to study at prestigious law schools, and within a few years they all considered themselves experts in jurisprudence, taking every opportunity to tell anyone what the Constitution really meant, or why the world needed them to understand the real difference between right and wrong. 

 

Then I met some lawyers of a very different breed, who were actually interested in helping their clients. It was law in the service of people, instead of people in the service of law. 

 

There were the directors, and the deans, and the provosts, who had not even studied how to teach, but had rather studied how to tell other people how to teach. They organized seminars, and workshops, and conferences, where we all had to wear little nametags, and we watched endless PowerPoint presentations on the latest concepts in education. 

 

Then there were the folks who had been doing the teaching all along, who already understood all the tricks of inspiring curiosity, of making ideas relevant, of helping people along the path of thinking for themselves. 

 

There were certain types of priests and bishops, followed by an endless stream of lay ministers with their theology degrees, who loudly insisted they knew exactly how to light the fire of faith in the people, and revive the Church for the next century. They had many slogans, banners, t-shirts, and catchy songs to go along with it. 

 

Then there were those who quietly took the Sacrament to the housebound, or fed the hungry, or got housing and jobs for the poor, or found support for the addicts, or personally sat and prayed for hours with someone who was in abject despair. 

 

Whatever path of life you have followed, you will see the difference between the players and the makers. Perhaps you are discouraged by the preening and the posturing of the experts, but let them have their reward. Find encouragement instead in the example of those who take what they know, however simple it may be, and put it to work. 

 

Yes, you might think that emptying a bedpan is not as dignified as standing at a podium, but you would be mistaken. The real dignity, the one that leads to fulfillment instead of mere gratification, is in action, in the giving of oneself. It is only wisdom when it expresses itself in love. 

 

 

 

5.4

 

"Well, then," said Musonius, "that being the case, in the matter of temperance and self-control, is it not much better to be self-controlled and temperate in all one's actions than to be able to say what one ought to do?" Here too the young man agreed that it is of less significance and importance to speak well about self-control than to practice self-control. 

 

Thereupon Musonius, drawing together what had been said, asked, "How, now, in view of these conclusions, could knowledge of the theory of anything be better than becoming accustomed to act according to the principles of the theory, if we understand that application enables one to act, but theory makes one capable of speaking about it? 

 

“Theory that teaches how one should act is related to application, and comes first, since it is not possible to do anything really well unless its practical execution is in harmony with theory. In effectiveness, however, practice takes precedence over theory as being more influential in leading men to action."

 

I have had the quite unpleasant experience, in certain types of philosophical and theological circles, of working with those who are terribly good at preaching morality to others, while not bothering to do any real practicing themselves. They can be especially fiery in their principles when it comes to chastity, and it becomes quite clear that they are well versed in mouthing all the right words to praise propriety and clean living. 

 

And at first I was shocked when I learned that they were cheating on their wives, or having affairs with their students, or gratifying themselves with all sorts of naughty fetishes. But why was I so surprised? Shouldn’t I have been able to see that their specific brand of pontificating was all about appearances, and that the man who lives for appearances usually has something to hide? He doesn’t want to do the right things, but rather want to be seen as believing the right things. 

 

I ought to be able to recognize when prudence has been twisted into prudishness, because the actual human element has been lost. There may be a love of universal rules, though there is no love for particular people. There may be a respect for the law, though there is no respect for our neighbors. There may be a reverence for the idea of God, though there is no reverence for the presence of God. A concern for what is academic neglects a commitment to what is personal.

 

By all means, I can learn to speak well about what is good, as long as I remember that all the thinking and the saying alone will mean nothing. It will only mean something when it is lived, and it will only be lived when I have started doing the work. 

 

How often have I pondered cleaning the house, and yet the house is still a mess? How often have I offered “thoughts and prayers” for someone in need, and yet he is still sitting there, lonely, despondent, and unloved?

 

Start with a proper understanding, but do not end there; the principle in theory only becomes actual when it is exercised in practice. A better life begins with awareness, and then finds its fulfillment when the labor of my hands expresses what is in my head and heart. I come back to one of Mark Twain’s many wise sayings:

 

Thunder is good, thunder is impressive; but it is lightning that does the work.

 

I would suggest that knowledge without action is hardly a thorough sort of knowledge to begin with; there may be some sort of general idea, a vague apprehension of meaning and value, and still it remains totally hypothetical, as if the world inside my head has nothing to do with the world I live in. 

 

However much I refine the terms I use to discuss such a theory, it becomes no clearer from being spoken of with greater complexity. If I really knew it to be true, it would immediately change everything about how I behave, and yet it only sits there in my mind, to be mulled over from time to time, to be brought out for display whenever it will help me to appear wise. 

 

My own intemperance never improved much at all when I read certain books, or memorized certain phrases, or even when I concentrated on it really hard. I rather had to hit bottom, to perceive all too vividly how the way I was living was destroying me, not just my body but also my soul, and only then could I join the theory and the practice together. 

 

I understood when I saw the concrete reality of it, and then there was suddenly no question that I had to change what I was doing. Then following the good example of others, and not playing with words, could become an imperative. I will continue to doubt a truth until I can no longer find ways to avoid looking it straight in the face. 

 

Perhaps I have grown too rough around the edges over the years, but I find that the best lessons in life are those that slap me around. That is what it often takes for me to put theory into practice, and thereby to finally turn the thinking into doing. 

 

 

 

Lecture 6: On training

 

6.1

 

He was always earnestly urging those who were associated with him to make practical application of his teachings, using some such arguments as the following:

 

Virtue, he said, is not simply theoretical knowledge, but it is practical application as well, just like the arts of medicine and music. Therefore, as the physician and the musician not only must master the theoretical side of their respective arts, but must also train themselves to act according to their principles, so a man who wishes to become good not only must be thoroughly familiar with the precepts which are conducive to virtue but must also be earnest and zealous in applying these principles. 

 

Yes, yes, of course, we will all say that we understand this. And yet we still won’t bother doing it. As long as no one catches us out, we are quite content with the nobility of the idea, never expecting to do what we say. 

 

I do sometimes wonder if Stoicism, as a way of living and not merely as a way of thinking, might require a certain moment of gritty epiphany, where all of those fancy thoughts are pushed right into the dirt, where the paths of reflection and action must finally cross in a messy sort of way. 

 

Perhaps that is only the path I have ended up taking, but I do know that the Stoic must begin with altering his own judgments, and then he must completely rebuild the way he manages his life. 

 

If it doesn’t hurt like hell, at least for a bit, and if it doesn’t make me look the fool in the eyes of the folks who like to run things, and if it doesn’t challenge me to give up everything I used to care for, then I’m probably not doing it right. 

 

Some people will tell me that my morality must be a private affair, between me and myself, and perhaps with whatever God I may worship, and it must always stay in my own head, never intruding on the desires of others. Through it all, I must act in conformity with what is expected of me, and I must play the game everyone else tells me to play. 

 

But then it isn’t really morality at all, is it? Where is the merit if it is only thought, believed, or admired in abstraction? If it is right, then it is worth doing. If it is inconvenient for my preferences, that will still be no barrier, precisely because it is right, a completion of what makes me human to begin with. How is this not clear?

 

It is only unclear when there is a division between thought and action, when the comfort of contemplation is trumped by the pleasure of gratification. I know when I am doing this, just as well as you do; the difficulty is in learning to admit that we are fractured within ourselves, that we are living an enormous lie. 

 

“But if I followed my conscience, I’d lose my job! Where would that leave me?”

 

Perhaps, but for the first time in my life I would be my own master, and not a puppet. That would be my reward for finally being human, and, if I understood it with any depth, I would care very little for any of the rest. Of course that troubles me, but if it troubles me that much, my mind and heart may not be in the right place yet. Go back to square one; the Stoic Turn is still around the corner. 

 

“But if I applied what I really know inside, everyone would laugh at me!”

 

Quite likely, but if I am certain in my convictions, why do I care what others think? They don’t own me; why fear what cannot hurt me? They have chosen their paths, and I have chosen mine. If I know that I have chosen the truth, I will then live in that truth. Or do I still doubt my own values? Go back to square one; the Stoic Turn is still around the corner.

 

“But if I do it, it won’t change the world one bit. Everyone else will still continue lying, cheating, and stealing!”

 

Yes, they probably will. The world will do what it does, and I will do what I do. But a terribly important change will have taken place: one part, however small, is back on track. And am I so sure I’m not also changing the rest of the world, in my own way, in a time and manner I may not at first comprehend? My own love affects other things in subtle ways. Am I still wavering? Go back to square one; the Stoic Turn is still around the corner.

 

If it matters the most in theory, then it will also apply the most in practice. Otherwise it is just a pipe dream. It will mean as much as I make it mean.

 

 

 

6.2

 

How, indeed, could a person immediately become temperate if he only knew that one must not be overcome by pleasures, but was quite unpracticed in withstanding pleasures? 

 

How could one become just when he had learned that one must love fairness but had never exercised himself in avoidance of selfishness and greed? 

 

How could we acquire courage if we had merely learned that the things that seem dreadful to the average person are not to be feared, but had no experience in showing courage in the face of such things? 

 

How could we become prudent if we had come to recognize what things are truly good and what evil, but had never had practice in despising things that only seem good? 

 

I become a little wary when I hear people using one of the popular phrases of the moment, that the key to fixing a problem is about “raising awareness”. Yes, we can hardly do anything if we don’t first understand the right and the wrong of it, but being aware alone won’t cut it. It begins with reflection, and it is then only completed in action.

 

How easily I might be drawn to pondering and pontificating about the big things, precisely because it requires so little effort to do so.  How much more I should commit to practicing the little things, precisely because the effort required is what produces the reward of character. What is merely hypothetical becomes actual once I break a sweat. 

 

Musonius here shares a principle in common with Aristotle, that we become virtuous by doing the good, not by just thinking about the good. As parents like to tell their children, “Wishing won’t make it so!” An act is the exercise of an intention, and the repetition of acts leads to the building of habits. Right habits improve moral strength, and are the true sign of the virtuous man. 

 

My own greatest failings have come when there is something decent in my head, or in my heart, or even on my lips, but I don’t do anything about it with my hands. I have been in possession of things I have not used, and I have then foolishly wondered why a noble ideal or sentiment wasn’t making me any better or happier.

 

Nor has it helped me when I am impressed by others who do much the same, who tell me much, while not showing me much at all. I have wondered why people are always letting me down, but of course they aren’t doing that all; they are exactly what they appear to be, smoke without fire, and I am only deceiving myself. 

 

Just as the law will only be binding when it is enforced, so a sense of right and wrong will only help me when I bother to live it out. 

 

Temperance? Give me the man who fights fiercely against his own worst desires, not the man who only preaches fine words about moderation from his pulpit. 

 

Justice? I will listen to the politician lecture me on the need for a fair society, but I will only start paying attention when I see him sharing his own winnings. 

 

Courage? How easy it is for the armchair hero to tell others to be strong, when all his entitlements mean that he has never faced hardship, and so he has never had anything to fear. 

 

Prudence? The number of books a scholar may have read, or referenced, or written are hardly as important as his ability to distinguish between decency and chicanery. 

 

 

 

6.3

 

Therefore upon the learning of the lessons appropriate to each and every excellence, practical training must follow invariably, if indeed from the lessons we have learned we hope to derive any benefit. 

 

And moreover such practical exercise is the more important for the student of philosophy than for the student of medicine or any similar art, the more philosophy claims to be a greater and more difficult discipline than any other study. 

 

The reason for this is that men who enter the other professions have not had their souls corrupted beforehand and have not learned the opposite of what they are going to be taught, but the ones who start out to study philosophy have been born and reared in an environment filled with corruption and evil, and therefore turn to virtue in such a state that they need a longer and more thorough training. 

 

Like everything else in life, the trends in the world of education will move in cycles. Every few years, a different model of formation will spring forth, and almost everyone will eagerly cling to it, insisting that it is so fresh and progressive. Yet there is nothing new about it at all, though it did have a slightly modified trim the last time I saw it; it has simply come around again.

 

One such recurring scheme is the love of “hands on” learning. Thank God, there is at least some common sense in it, that the thinking should be applied to the doing. What can so easily happen, however, is that the doing is stressed at the complete expense of the thinking, and then the theoreticians will eventually take over once more. It all comes around again. 

 

Yet this passage suggests something far more radical, perhaps even far more subversive, than any of the reformers could possibly have imagined. If you are studying to be a doctor, or a nurse, or an engineer, or a teacher, or a lawyer, it would do you well to get your feet wet in the field, to apply what you are learning. Then, and only then, will you understand it in all its depth, and be able to make good use of it. 

 

Then why do philosophers, and all other sorts of academic thinkers, never go into the trenches? They read, they write, they study, and they attend many important classes. When they are done doing this, they are given a pretty piece of paper, and they go on to tell other people how to read, write, study, and attend important classes. 

 

In the meantime, they have never been required to practice their art, not for a single moment. They have been asked to talk about it, but never to do it. 

 

And we wonder why philosophy has such a bad reputation! It is because most philosophers do nothing at all, but read, write, study, and attend important classes. Yes, by that standard they are quite useless. 

 

They don’t even teach, once they have made their names. They have their graduate assistants teach for them, while they write articles that a few dozen of their peers may read. Then they bicker with one another, and, if they are very clever, turn their ideas into a profitable brand. It is bought and sold, like so much oil, or gold, or shares in soybean futures.

 

And it is all because we do not even grasp who the true philosopher is. Any person, in any condition, can be the philosopher. It asks only that he love the truth, and then proceeds to live it. All of us are made for this vocation, not just the few. 

 

What a beautiful world it might be, if philosophers were asked to do all the things they talk about: 

 

Go out in the streets, and have an honest conversation with someone in pain, seeing the life that he must lead. That will apply prudence far better than any advanced degree ever will. 

 

Enlist as a grunt in an army, and earn you way up to fighting in an actual battle. Then you will learn something about courage, at the very moment you are soiling your trousers from crippling fear, begging for your mother’s love. 

 

Spend some time with drunks, or addicts, or sex workers, and you will suddenly have a very different conception of temperance. You will see the actual struggle for human decency, not the bookish posturing. 

 

Become poor, not by circumstance but by your own choice, and feel how it is to be rejected, discarded, and unloved by others. When you can do nothing profitable for another, you will now know what justice entails. 

 

Here’s the clincher: People in any other profession just need to learn their jobs, but philosophers need to unlearn everything else, absolutely everything they have ever been raised in, to even think about doing their jobs. 

 

We have been taught that pleasure, and money, and power are what we need, but we need to unlearn that to be philosophers. We have been taught that sex, and profit, and image make us big, but we need to unlearn that to be philosophers. 

 

It’s actually quite easy to become a good lawyer, because you just need to learn the lawyering. It’s actually quite hard to become a true philosopher, the definition of a good man, because you need to learn about being virtuous. You will have to take very many steps back before you can ever inch your way forward. 

 

 

 

6.4

 

How, then, and in what manner should they receive such training? Since it so happens that the human being is not soul alone, nor body alone, but a kind of synthesis of the two, the person in training must take care of both, the better part, the soul, more zealously; as is fitting, but also of the other, if he shall not be found lacking in any part that constitutes man. 

 

For obviously the philosopher's body should be well prepared for physical activity, because often the virtues make use of this as a necessary instrument for the affairs of life. 

 

I won’t become a philosopher just by pondering some intriguing ideas, but I will need to change my whole way of living, and this will make real demands of me. Whatever else I may find myself doing in this life, it will now be altered to the core, because it will now be driven by conscience, not by convenience. 

 

Furthermore, I won’t become a philosopher just by acquiring some new skills, but I will need to rid myself of all the old skills, the ones that strengthened those habits of greed and entitlement. It requires tearing everything down so that it can be properly rebuilt, working from a new plan. 

 

Finally, I won’t become a philosopher just by attending to one aspect of myself, but I will need to reform the whole of my person, all parts together within the whole. This involves the mind ruling over and attending to the body, the higher with a mastery over the lower, working as one. 

 

Many people look only to their bodies, and they assume that they will be happy if they are physically strong, or attractive, or gratified. Some people look only to their minds, and they assume that they will be happy if they are mentally sharp, or learned, or clever. In either extreme, one component of humanity is starved at the expense of the other; the whole person suffers when only some pieces are nourished. 

 

The philosopher will recognize that his own nature is perfected in the same manner that all of Nature is perfected: by order, balance, and complementarity. He will not neglect any component of his health, even as he will understand the priority among these components. 

 

He will care for his body, since it is through his body that he senses, and feels, and acts, and he will care for his soul, since it is through his soul that he conceives, and judges, and chooses. He will, however, remain aware that the value of his exterior self is in service to the value of his interior self, and so he measures what must be given, and what must be taken away, through a constant awareness of the means and ends. 

 

Accordingly, if he must choose between them, he will give up his health, his wealth, and his pleasures for the sake of his wisdom, virtue, and character. But he will never ignore what is right and good in any of his powers, and he will never consider them to be unimportant. 

 

The virtues must spread themselves out through the whole person, and so the training required to be virtuous must be spread out through the whole person; a strong body offers the best support to a strong soul. 

 

To have prudence, I will be assisted by the greatest possible acuity of my senses and liveliness of my concentration. A tired body hinders a careful mind. 

 

To have fortitude, I will be assisted by the greatest possible control over my instincts of fear and anger. A quivering or enraged body will not be able to stand up to danger. 

 

To have temperance, I will be assisted by the greatest possible taming of my instincts of longing and desire. A lazy or lustful body will fold in the face of temptation. 

 

To have justice, I will be assisted by the greatest possible strength in my bones, and sinews, and muscles. This is not so that I may do violence to my enemies, but so that I may protect those who are abused however I can, and build for those in need however I can. 

 

A craftsman does his best work with the right tools, and a good man does his best work with a healthy body. However it is within my power, I must train the whole as best I can, from top to bottom. 

 

 

 

6.5

 

Now there are two kinds of training, one which is appropriate for the soul alone, and the other which is common to both soul and body. We use the training common to both when we discipline ourselves to cold, heat, thirst, hunger, meager rations, hard beds, avoidance of pleasures, and patience under suffering.

 

For by these things and others like them the body is strengthened and becomes capable of enduring hardship, sturdy and ready for any task; the soul too is strengthened since it is trained for courage by patience under hardship and for self-control by abstinence from pleasures.

 

Far too often they tell my to fix my head, or to fix my body, but they will rarely tell me to improve both together. 

 

I once had a coach who told me that the way to run my best mile was just to constantly run; he never once suggested how my thinking could help me to do that. 

 

I once had a confessor who told that the way to avoid lust was just to think about pure thoughts; he never once suggested how taming my own passions could help me to do that. 

 

I have also had doctors of both sorts. Some insist that I must eat well, or take a brisk walk every day, or consume my pills as prescribed, and then everything will be fine. Others insist that I will be cured by having a better attitude, or by looking at the bright side, or by wishing wellness for myself. Both are right broadly, while both are also wrong narrowly. I will rarely find anyone telling me to do both. 

 

For all the ways we publicly preach a holistic sense of the person, we are still remarkably dualist in our attitudes. Put the mind over here, and put the body over there. It took me many years to bring them together, having somehow forgotten that they were made to be as one. 

 

When working in social services, I have seen two major school of how to deal with addicts. One crowd says they are ready for further treatment only when they have an awareness of hitting rock bottom, of knowing the waste in their lives. The other crowd says they are ready for further treatment only when they have gone through a sufficient detox, when the drugs have been flushed from their systems. 

 

I found myself confused. “Don’t they need both before they can get better?”

 

“Don’t be an idiot. We get them into rehab however we can. We fill the beds.”

 

“Do we help them in rehab if they aren’t ready?”

 

“Shut up and process the files.”

 

The virtue of temperance, of a mastery over my desires, is a perfect example of this struggle. I can make all sorts of decisions about putting my life back into my own control, but that alone doesn’t work. I can also physically steel myself to temptations, but that alone doesn’t work. No, the former must rule the latter. The change comes from all of it, not from a part of it. 

 

A discipline of both mind and body are necessary to tame the beast. Stop thinking filthy thoughts, and at the same time stop being affected by filthy things. Mental habits are joined to physical habits. 

 

The virtue of fortitude, of a mastery over my own fear, is a very close second. I can be quite brave in my intentions, but that alone doesn’t work. I can also physically make myself strong, but that alone doesn’t work. No, the former must rule the latter. The change comes from all of it, not from a part of it. 

 

A discipline of both mind and body are necessary to no longer be a coward. Stop thinking about the weight of the hurt, and at the same time stop feeling the hurt to begin with. Mental habits are joined to physical habits. 

 

Even the virtues of prudence and justice require the value of action to go with the value of principle. There will no understanding without a discipline of the senses. There will be no fairness without a discipline of the hands. Mental habits require physical habits. 

 

Our family regularly jokes about our “First World problems”, yet it is hardly a joke. How often has my mind given way to a hardship, simply because my body is not accustomed to the suffering? How often have the habits of my soul been weakened by the habits of my flesh?

 

“I’m starving!” No, I am not starving at all. I may feel hunger, but I am not starving. 

 

“I’m dying of thirst!” No, I am not dying of thirst. I may feel thirsty, but I am not dying. 

 

“I can’t resist her!” Of course I can resist her. I may feel longing, but I still have my judgment. 

 

Train the body to bear something, and this will help the mind and the will to bear something. Is it hot? Is it cold? First accustom the hands to both fire and ice, and the soul will find it so much easier.

 

 

 

6.6

 

Training that is peculiar to the soul consists first of all in seeing that the proofs pertaining to apparent goods as not being real goods are always ready at hand, and likewise those pertaining to apparent evils as not being real evils, and in learning to recognize the things that are truly good and in becoming accustomed to distinguish them from what are not truly good. 

 

In the next place it consists of practice in not avoiding any of the things that only seem evil, and in not pursuing any of the things that only seem good; in shunning by every means those that are truly evil and in pursuing by every means those that are truly good.

 

In that the soul should have rule over the body, it must also improve its own distinct powers, shaped by its own distinct habits. In this, its judgment can rise above the bewildering stream of impressions and circumstances, discerning the way things truly are, in the confusion of merely how they might seem. 

 

If what is superior has no mastery over itself, it can hardly have any mastery over what is inferior. Consider all the managers who tell you to do what they cannot do, or all the teachers who preach to you what they cannot practice. 

 

It will be no different when we ask people to go into the world, and to take responsibility for themselves, yet we have never really encouraged them to carefully distinguish between right and wrong. Neglect such a training of the mind, and no other skill or habit will be of any use at all. 

 

And we wonder why we have so many headless producers and consumers running about, guided by nothing, satisfied by anything.

 

Wisdom requires first understanding what the difference is between good and evil, as well as then also understanding by which means to go about pursuing one and avoiding the other. This may not come as easily as I anticipate, because I will always want what I see as beneficial and I will always fly from what I see as harmful, but I will not always be seeing it clearly. Even a fool seeks a good life, though only a wise man knows the good life. 

 

Desires can get it all muddied, fears can get it all tangled up. How I feel at one moment may make it appear bigger than it is, and how I feel at another moment may make it appear smaller than it is. 

 

As Epictetus said, I should demand that the impression stand back for a moment, and not let myself be overpowered by its force. It is not always as beautiful or as ugly as it first seems; I must look within it to know what it truly is in itself, and I must look within myself to know what I am truly called to make of it. 

 

Let me consider all the things I mistakenly took to be good, and let me consider all the things I mistakenly took to be bad. The list could easily fill a big book. That I wanted to do what was right was never in question, yet I got quite befuddled and turned around about the meaning of what was right, or how to get it. 

 

Did I want love? Isn’t love a good thing? Not when I confuse it with lust. 

 

Did I want justice? Isn’t justice a good thing? Not when I confuse it with vengeance.

 

Did I want happiness? Isn’t happiness a good thing? Not when I confuse it with pleasure, or power, or wealth. 

 

It may sound so simple, and to the cynical or jaded it may sound quite silly, but there is often no better solution to a problem than patiently thinking it through. This isn’t just about aimlessly pondering and scratching my chin; it demands getting to the source of what is good, and this means going back quite a few steps in isolating the most important goal. 

 

I should for example, never assume that whatever feels pleasant is good, or that whatever is convenient is good, or that whatever saves face is good. Before deciding and acting, might I ask myself what I ultimately need in this life, and then if doing this or that will bring me closer to such an end? No calculus, or particle physics, or advanced philosophy is required; only sincerity and humility are required. 

 

If I had done that, I would not have fallen in love with a player. Without question, I would not have looked the other way while my friends suffered. Immediately, I would have been willing to give more than I was given. 

 

I have now seen it dozens and dozens of times, when I sit down with an addict, and I plead with him not to use, just for today:

 

“Think of what you will gain, and what you will lose, and balance that in your head. That means coming to terms with what is worth gaining, and what is worth losing, because our old habits have a way of messing with our priorities. None of us can recover from what ails us, whatever it may be, without being brutally honest about what matters the most.”

 

On some days, a person saves himself for that day. On a few other days, a person has a deeper insight about a greater sense of direction. Rarely, but quite joyfully, one will see a person turning his entire life around. 

 

The proximate only falls into place through an awareness of the ultimate. What seems only makes sense through what is real. I can’t just say, “This is good!” without staring the good straight in the face, without returning to the beginning. 

 

 

 

6.7

 

In summary, then, I have tried to tell what the nature of each type of training is. I shall not, however, endeavor to discuss how the training should be carried out in detail, by analyzing and distinguishing what is appropriate for the soul and the body in common and what is appropriate for the soul alone, but by presenting without fixed order what is proper for each. 

 

It is true that all of us who have participated in philosophical discussion have heard and apprehended that neither pain, nor death, nor poverty, nor anything else that is free from wrong is an evil, and again that wealth, life, pleasure, or anything else that does not partake of virtue is not a good. 

 

There can be all sorts of routes to get there, many different paths winding their way up the same hill, but the goal needs to remain the same, to reach the summit. Often, of course, we worry so much about the specifics of the means that we forget to focus on the glory of the end. 

 

It is even worse when we simply run around the base of the hill, insisting that all the paths are either too steep or too slight, too narrow or too broad, too direct or too winding, too difficult or too easy. The movement is without direction and purpose. 

 

I will regularly hear about the particulars of a sound education, about the canon of texts, and the order of disciplines, and the purity of methods. Let us indeed attend to these, but let us first remember that they must all be in service to our very human nature. Will they help us to train the soul and the body to be strong in character? Do they look to moral worth above all over worth? Are they encouraging us to measure all other benefits by the standard of virtue alone? 

 

If they can do that, then the job is getting done, whatever else our preferences may be. As they say, don’t lose the forest for the trees. We can dress people in whatever fashions we like, but behind the finery there must be ladies and gentlemen. 

 

When Musonius speaks of those familiar with philosophy, he must surely mean those more specifically acquainted with the Stoic arguments of his time; I know many esteemed philosophers of our time who would be quite confused by the basic principles he presents. 

 

Still, the goal must be to look beyond this or that school, whether it be narrowly Stoic or not, and embrace a shared humanity. If human nature is defined by the power of the soul to rule the body through sound judgment, then the good life will first and foremost be informed by conscience. Virtue will then be the highest human good. 

 

It is only from this starting point that I can recognize how pleasure and pain, wealth and poverty, or even life and death are never good or bad in themselves, but only in how they are joined to virtue or vice. 

 

It will be easier to say than to do, of course, because in the doing I will learn how confused I have been, how far I have strayed off of the path. But if it is genuinely true in theory, it will also work in practice, however unfamiliar it will at first seem to me. 

 

I am tempted to follow whatever gratifies, and oppose whatever hurts, but whatever may feel preferable, neither is intrinsically worthy of choice. Which one will make me better? That is the one to help me be happy. 

 

I am tempted to make myself rich, and to frown upon being poor, but whatever may feel preferable, neither is intrinsically worthy of choice. Which one will make me better? That is the one to help me be happy. 

 

I am tempted to want a long life, and to fear a short one, but whatever may feel preferable, neither is intrinsically worthy of choice. Which one will make me better? That is the one to help me be happy. 

 

To know this, to live like this, is the goal of all training. Whatever the path may be, there is the summit. 

 

 

 

6.8

 

And yet, in spite of understanding this, because of the depravity which has become implanted in us straight from childhood and because of evil habits engendered by this depravity, when hardship comes we think an evil has come upon us, and when pleasure comes our way we think that a good has befallen us; we dread death as the most extreme misfortune; we cling to life as the greatest blessing, and when we give away money we grieve as if we were injured, but upon receiving it we rejoice as if a benefit had been conferred. 

 

Similarly with the majority of other things, we do not meet circumstances in accordance with right principles, but rather we follow wretched habit. Since, then, I repeat, all this is the case, the person who is in training must strive to habituate himself not to love pleasure, not to avoid hardship, not to be infatuated with living, not to fear death, and in the case of goods or money not to place receiving above giving. 

 

“Oh, it’s not so bad! I just need to make a little alteration here, and adjust a bit of something over there, and it will all be fine. Maybe I should rethink the charities I contribute to? Or will that be too much? Let me ask my wife first, we don’t want to get our bosses and friends upset, after all!”

 

No, that won’t be enough, I’m sorry to say. Reforming a life is bigger than going to a new yoga class, or using paper instead of plastic. Driving a hybrid Toyota is really no different than driving that diesel Volkswagen. Sending your children to a politically correct private school is ultimately no better than sending them to that run down public school down the street. 

 

Will volunteering for the annual pro-life supper at the Catholic parish be better than running in that diversity love-a-thon for the Unitarians? No. 

 

Don’t you see it? You’ve been duped, played with, lied to. You have been told that you must play a game, that you must appear to others as glorious, that you must strike a pose. Yet you don’t need to do any of that. 

 

I had the blessing of a family that taught me to care for virtue first, but from the earliest age other people told me that virtue wasn’t nearly enough. The question was always about what my future job might be, not what my future character might be. 

 

Imagine if, in the second or third grade, I had said that I wanted to be a janitor. How I would have been ridiculed, both by my peers and by my teachers! They would never have thought about whether I was going to be a kind, a committed, or an honest janitor, and would only have cared about what a lowly status that would be. 

 

How funny, I suppose, that Bruno, a janitor at my own school back then, was one of the few people to pay attention to me, to encourage me, to even give me the time of day. He’s long gone now, but he sticks in my memory more than any of the progressive teachers, who told me I needed to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a congressman. 

 

The bad habits were deeply ingrained from the beginning. Grades mattered. Why? To get into a good college. Sucking up mattered. Why? To get a good job. Getting an even better job mattered. Why? So I could finally be someone. 

 

Who is that someone now?

 

It has been beaten into me for so long, and I must struggle to think otherwise. You can also see it within yourself. You were raised to win by taking things. You were actually bred, just like an animal, to produce more for your masters.

 

Yes, that offends you. I understand. It offends me too, because I somehow fell for it. 

 

Look at all the assumptions we make. A rich man is a success, so he must have done the right things. A poor man is a failure, so he must have done the wrong things. They drilled that into our heads from the beginning, and it’s hard to get it out of our heads.

 

“I really like that Stoic thing you do, it’s really great, but I have a mortgage to pay.”

 

There you have the priorities. 

 

Watch any show on television, and observe the values you see. Our characters win when they defeat someone, or have sex with someone. Power and lust. Then watch the advertisements during the show, which now take up a third of the hour. We are all supposedly happier when we own more and when we have greater luxuries. 

 

We think of pain as a bad thing, and of pleasure as a good thing. We think of dying as a curse, and we do anything we can to extend our lives. We will scramble to make money, and we will shun those who have little or no money at all. 

 

And we are completely mistaken. The very fact that the drones think this claim to be insane is the very proof of how deeply we are stuck to those depraved habits. 

 

Train to be a human being, not a machine made to produce and consume this or that product. 

 

Train to think, not to conform to anyone else’s thinking. 

 

Train to decide, not to have everything determined for you. 

 

Train to bear suffering, to accept death, to embrace poverty. 

 

Train to give first, and to care nothing about what you receive. 

 

Old habits will die hard. 

 

 

 

Lecture 7: That one should disdain hardships.

 

7.1

 

In order to support more easily and more cheerfully those hardships that we may expect to suffer in behalf of virtue and goodness, it is useful to recall what hardships people will endure for unworthy ends. 

 

Thus for example consider what intemperate lovers undergo for the sake of evil desires, and how much exertion others expend for the sake of making profit, and how much suffering those who are pursuing fame endure, and bear in mind that all of these people submit to all kinds of toil and hardship voluntarily. 

 

Is it not then monstrous that they for no honorable reward endure such things, while we for the sake of the ideal good—that is not only the avoidance of evil such as wrecks our lives, but also the acquisition of virtue, which we may call the provider of all goods—are not ready to bear every hardship? 

 

If I don’t much care for it, I may take it or leave it. But if I love it enough, I will go through hell or high water for the sake of it. If I actually love it the most, I will gladly die for it, and I will then be truly happy, even in death. 

 

“But I hate my school!” Yes, of course I do, because I don’t really love learning, do I? What is it I want? I desire immediate gratification. No one can make me love anything, but if I just looked inside myself, I could decide that seeking wisdom is not half as bad as I think it is, and that it is worth at least as much effort as I put into feeding my appetites. 

 

“But I hate my job!” Is it work itself that is troubling me, or is it about working for the right things? Yes, they don’t pay me enough to make ends meet, and they don’t give me an ounce of respect, whatever it is I do for them. Might I, however, consider loving the merit of my actions for their own sake, and worrying less about my bank account and my vanity?

 

“But I hate my life!” Yes, I have said it, and I have actually meant it. Why did I say it? Perhaps it was the burden of my circumstances, but then I can still decide to make something out of them for myself, whatever they might be. Perhaps it was the burden of my own judgments and actions, but then I always have the option of changing them. If I reconsider what I love, and how I love, I won’t need to hate my life. 

 

If I choose to learn, if I choose to work, if I choose to serve others, if I choose to commit to myself, I will find that no obstacle can stand in my way. The depth of my love will be motive enough. I will then disdain any hardship. 

 

“But how can I love anything, or anyone, that much? It seems impossible!”

 

It is only impossible because I make it impossible for myself. No one else decides what I love the most. I will decide. In those immortal words of George Clinton and Funkadelic: “Free your mind, and your ass will follow. The Kingdom of Heaven is within.”

 

Do I think I have chosen correctly? Then I should pursue it, since I know it to be best. Am I still hesitating? Then I didn’t know it fully at all, and I don’t truly love it, and I only chose it halfheartedly. Go back to square one. 

 

I should think of all the energy I put into the worst things I ever did, because I foolishly considered them to be good at the time, and redirect all of that energy to doing something better, because I know it to be so now. 

 

Do I remember that girl I was obsessed with, the one who could just smile, or roll her eyes, or cross her legs, and I would do absolutely anything she said? There was no limit to my obedience. Now I can take that same dedication to become a good man, by not being a slave to my desires. 

 

Do I remember when she lied to me, and cheated on me, and she still had me wrapped around her finger? My denial reigned supreme. Now I can take that same devotion to become a good man, by being honest, faithful, and loyal. 

 

Do I remember how heartbroken I was when she finally walked away, and I made those extraordinary efforts to feel sorry for myself? That melancholy was really hard work. Now I can take that same commitment to become a good man, by learning to love with sincerity. 

 

Look how much I have done in the service of vice. Look how much I was willing to sacrifice for the sake of my lusts. If my values have indeed changed, I will also be willing to give anything and everything for true love, just like I did earlier for all my sins.

 

There will be one big difference: I will now be informed by my conscience, not just by my passions. I can take all the blood, sweat, and tears I expended back then, and commit them to something new, something better, something worthy. 

 

Does it hurt? That shows that I am pushing myself. Seeking the worst things in life did indeed hurt, and look what I was willing to sacrifice for what would destroy me. Now I can consider the best things in life—are they not worth an even greater sacrifice?

 

 

 

7.2

 

And yet would not anyone admit how much better it is, in place of exerting oneself to win someone else's wife, to exert oneself to discipline one's desires.

 

In place of enduring hardships for the sake of money, to train oneself to want little.

 

Instead of giving oneself trouble about getting notoriety, to give oneself trouble how not to thirst for notoriety. 

 

Instead of trying to find a way to injure an envied person, to inquire how not to envy anyone.

 

And instead of slaving, as sycophants do, to win false friends, to undergo suffering in order to possess true friends? 

 

I relate immediately to all these examples of the vices we work so very hard to pursue, since they remind me that not only have people always been good in the same ways, but also that people have always been bad in the same ways. What Musonius saw then is exactly what I see now, whenever I look around me and, most tellingly, whenever I look into myself. The trappings may be different, but human nature, with all of its highs and lows, remains constant. 

 

That we will go to such extremes for the sake of the things that hurt us shows quite clearly that our failures are not simply about laziness. The will is there, though it is sadly misdirected. The work is done eagerly, yet we are confused about the goals. What won’t we do if we really want something? How remarkable our perseverance can be! The trick is, however, in knowing what to want, and in knowing why it is worth wanting, and redirecting all that energy rightly. 

 

Look at the lengths we will go to for lust. I think of all the time I wasted to simply get a girl I fancied to look my way, though there was never any rhyme or reason for my attachment. I think of all the men and women I knew who hatched elaborate schemes of seduction, only to win a few moments of animal gratification. 

 

Now imagine if that force had all been channeled into a selfless love, the sort that asks for no other satisfaction than the love itself. Imagine if it had all been used to acquire temperance, a rule over oneself!

 

Look at the lengths we will go to for wealth. I think of all the time I wasted trying to have more stuff, though it was never entirely clear how the act of possessing anything would make me any better or happier. I think of the get-rich-quick schemes I have seen people run after, while nothing about them was ever quick, or easy. 

 

Now imagine if that force had all been channeled into a focus upon the goods of the soul, not just the goods of the body. Imagine if it had all been used to be happy with less, instead of wanting more! 

 

Look at the lengths we will go to for fame. I think of all the time I wasted wanting to be recognized, praised, or admired, though it never had anything to do with who I truly was. I think of all the clever tricks I have watched people use to create an image for themselves, covering nothing but a personal mediocrity underneath. 

 

Now imagine if that force had all been channeled into the improvement of character over appearance. Imagine if it had all been used to build a respect for oneself over a reliance upon the respect of others! 

 

Look at the lengths we will go to for resentment. I think of all the time I wasted being angry and jealous, how deeply I stewed and simmered when others had something I did not. I think of the most horrific plots I have endured, where people find ways to do their worst to those they hate, from the schoolrooms of youth to the boardrooms of adulthood. 

 

Now imagine if that force had all been channeled into helping rather than hurting. Imagine if it had all been used for cooperation rather than conflict!

 

Look at the lengths we will go to for winning friends. I think of all the time I wasted wanting to receive, wanting to be liked, wanting to be the center of a circle. I think of the games people played to widen their hold over others, thinking that having more acquaintances in their lives was somehow the same as having friends. 

 

Now imagine if that force had all been channeled into giving over receiving, in liking instead of being liked, in closing the circle rather than being at the center of the circle. Imagine if it had all been used for offering a hand, not for being handed anything!

 

The effort I must exert will be the same for lust or for love, for opulence or for frugality, for fame or for dignity, for hatred or for compassion, for receiving or for giving. Which reward will truly be worth it?

 

 

 

7.3

 

Now, since, in general, toil and hardship are a necessity for all men, both for those who seek the better ends and for those who seek the worse, it is preposterous that those who are pursuing the better are not much more eager in their efforts than those for whom there is small hope of reward for all their pains. 

 

Yet when we see acrobats face without concern their difficult tasks and risk their very lives in performing them, turning somersaults over up-turned swords or walking ropes set at a great height or flying through the air like birds, where one misstep means death, all of which they do for a miserably small recompense, shall we not be ready to endure hardship for the sake of complete happiness? For surely there is no other end in becoming good than to become happy and to live happily for the remainder of our lives. 

 

It may indeed seem odd that I will work harder, and be willing to suffer more, for the wrong things instead of the right things, or for what is less important over what is more important. All those years struggling for the perfect career, the finest home, or the best reputation, and barely a moment spent on becoming kinder, more sincere, or strong enough to love those who may treat me with contempt. 

 

But perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me at all, because the degree of my efforts, and of what I can bear, will be in direct proportion to how much something means to me. How much it means to me will, in turn, follow from my own judgment. As a creature made with reason and choice, it is necessary that I am free to choose error instead of truth, ignorance instead of knowledge. 

 

One thing may seem better than another only because I have decided that it is more immediate or gratifying, when all I have really done is to trade the ultimate for the proximate, or the end for the means. Yes, I will cross over mighty rivers, and climb up the highest mountains, even for the worst possible goals, having foolishly considered them to be the best. 

 

The fact that ignorance is fairly easy and that knowledge already requires its own effort, combined with the force of bad habits and the pressures of conformity, will make it all the easier for me to get myself all mixed up inside. 

 

And so, as with all things Stoic, I must attend to the quality of my own understanding first, and recognize that the circumstances will only be of any worth through the quality of my understanding. I will begin to live well, and be willing to sacrifice anything for it, when I begin to think well. 

 

I should notice how so many of my twisted judgments are joined to the assumption that adding this pleasure, or that possession, or increasing my standing with such and such people, will make me happy. There is already an example of lazy thinking, because it replaces what I do with what is done to me. 

 

The best circus acrobat may receive very little for pursuing his art, yet look at the hard practice that must go into his training, and the dangers he is willing to face. If he will do so much for his profession, I can surely put up with a bit more for my happiness. 

 

 

 

7.4

 

One might reasonably reflect upon characteristics even of certain animals that are very well calculated to shame us into endurance of hardships. 

 

At all events, cocks and quails, although they have no understanding of virtue as man has and know neither the good nor the just and strive for none of these things, nevertheless fight against each other and even when maimed stand up and endure until death so as not to submit the one to the other. 

 

I never cease to be amazed at the perseverance and resilience to be found in other living creatures. 

 

I have seen a cat torn and bloodied while fighting off a group of dogs to protect her kittens. I have seen tiny birds dive-bombing the toughest cats to keep their nests safe. I have seen plodding turtles crossing busy traffic to make it back to their ponds. I have seen a mangy old dog refuse to leave the body of his homeless master, who had died of cold on the streets of Boston. 

 

I have seen columns of ants piling up and pushing through to overcome most any physical barrier. I have seen people ripping up, cutting down, burning, or poisoning the plants they call weeds, and then another round of those determined plants slowly but surely growing right back in the same place.  

 

I understand quite well that animals and plants do not act from abstract judgment as humans do, but this does not make the power of their instincts any less remarkable. 

 

There are some people who try to convince me that the universe is just a mindless mechanism, and that the action of all life is merely a function of pleasure and survival. Yet so many things I see in the world around me, if I only look with open eyes, reveal another sort of design. 

 

Watch an animal acting on its nature, and you will recognize that it will often be moved to suffer pain rather than receive gratification, or face death over clinging to life. It may not have a mind to understand this, but it is still ordered by Mind, as all things in Nature must be. 

 

It is joined to something greater than the immediacy of its own comfort or existence; it acts as a part within a whole, and it fights for more than feeding and fornicating. 

 

Now give a man the freedom of his own judgment, and he will not merely be ruled by his impressions. He may choose to understand his nature and embrace it, or to be ignorant of his nature and reject it. 

 

Still, what can be best in a man who thinks will share something in common with a beast that doesn’t need to think at all: that what it means to be itself is about more than just to be for itself. 

 

It is precisely because I am rational that I can follow my own path, and it is precisely because I have a will that I can pick wisely or poorly. Depending on my choices, my humanity will become either a blessing or a curse to me. An animal does not share in that responsibility; otherwise it would be other than an animal. 

 

Still, when I see an animal endure suffering, or charge headlong toward its own extinction, I can find the deepest inspiration. It may not be a human sort of bravery, but it is a model for human bravery nonetheless. It may not be a conscious sacrifice, but it is an encouragement for conscious sacrifice nonetheless. 

 

What man and beast can share together is that each, in a distinct way, to whatever degree of awareness, expresses a purpose of giving, and not simply of receiving. The animal may have the instinct to save its young, and the man may make the promise to love his neighbor as himself. 

 

The animal will give life and limb to achieve this, and the good man should also give life and limb to achieve this. The hardship is an opportunity, since by the struggle Nature is served. The one is always fulfilled through the many, never in separation from the many.  

 

So some men commit to wisdom and love; they know what it means to bear hardship to achieve what is good. 

 

Other men settle for feeding and fornicating; they know only how to consume what tickles their fancies. 

 

 

 

7.5

 

How much more fitting, then, it is that we stand firm and endure, when we know that we are suffering for some good purpose, either to help our friends or to benefit our city, or to defend our wives and children, or, best and most imperative, to become good and just and self-controlled, a state which no man achieves without hardships. 

 

And so it remains for me to say that the man who is unwilling to exert himself almost always convicts himself as unworthy of good, since "we gain every good by toil." These words and others like them he then spoke, exhorting and urging his listeners to look upon hardship with disdain.

 

It has nothing to do with being the strongest fellow on the block, or showing how tough I am, or proving that pain won’t make me cry. 

 

In order to be as strong as Nature intended me to be, I must master no one but myself. My character improves not by fighting against ever-bigger opponents, but by making something good out of any opposition I might face. I do indeed cry, even when it is only on the inside, and I know that there is no shame in crying; there is only shame in no longer caring. 

 

I suppose Stoicism gets some of its bad reputation when people see talk like this, involving hardship, and struggle, and endurance, and then they assume it must all be about a cold and heartless fight to the death, where the first man to wince or grimace must necessarily lose. This will only happen, however, if I misunderstand the nature of circumstances on the one hand, and the nature of courage on the other. 

 

I always remind myself that Stoic indifference does not mean that I shouldn’t care, but it rather means that I should learn what is most important to care for, and how to then go about caring for it. 

 

Things will happen to me in life, many of them totally unexpected, most of them quite beyond my power to control. They have come to pass for a reason, under the order of Providence, even when that order is not immediately apparent to me. 

 

Sometimes they will bring me pleasure, and sometimes they will bring me pain, yet behind all of my preferences, I must ask only one thing: how should these circumstances be put to the best use? They will only become good or bad for me by how I respond to them, whether with virtue or with vice. That is the standard by which all human actions must be judged. 

 

An obstacle, therefore, is not something I am fighting against, but actually something I should be working with. The effort is not in conquering the world, or hating anyone or anything, but is only in bringing myself into harmony with the world. I will venture to say that courage is actually about transforming suffering into joy, not just begrudgingly putting up with suffering. 

 

So I train myself to understand that only a loving man can be brave, and that every brave man must first be consumed by his love. It is precisely because he knows what to care for the most, both in himself and in others, and because he sees what is noble and good in every human spirit, that he is willing to dedicate all his actions, however difficult they may seem, toward this highest human good. 

 

Hardship stops feeling so unbearable when I think of it in this way, just as any work can become a blessing when I recognize the worth of what I am working for. Suffering is now an opportunity, just as work is now deeply satisfying. I will gladly give my best for the best, and I will not need to complain; I can show gratitude for the chance to do something right. 

 

“But I have lost so much!” No, I have lost nothing at all, if I know what is properly mine. I have only been given the possibility to improve what is mine. 

 

“But the effort is more than I can bear!” No, the degree of my effort is in proportion to the degree of my commitment. Let me change what I love, and then I will change how much I am willing to give for love. 

 

“We gain every good by toil.” I believe Musonius is here quoting Epicharmus of Kos. These words may seem discouraging, since toil sounds like such a terrible thing. Let me reconsider what it means to toil, and it will not seem so harsh. I can then only be encouraged. 

 

All life is action, and the value of life is found in the end toward which that action is directed. Some actions feel easier, and some action feel harder, and I will tie myself in knots if I focus on the degree of work required. I could, rather, focus on the dignity of the goal, and then the work is a privilege. 

 

 

 

Lecture 8: That kings should also study philosophy.

 

8.1

 

When one of the kings from Syria once came to him (for at that time there were still kings in Syria, vassals of the Romans), amongst many other things he had to say to the man were the following words in particular. Do not imagine, he said, that it is more appropriate for anyone to study philosophy than for you, nor for any other reason than because you are a king. 

 

For the first duty of a king is to be able to protect and benefit his people, and a protector and benefactor must know what is good for a man and what is bad, what is helpful and what harmful, what advantageous and what disadvantageous, inasmuch as it is plain that those who ally themselves with evil come to harm, while those who cleave to good enjoy protection, and those who are deemed worthy of help and advantage enjoy benefits, while those who involve themselves in things disadvantageous and harmful suffer punishment.

 

When I listen to people describing the qualities they admire in their political leaders, I will often hear them praise a determined will, the ability to negotiate a deal, experience in the workings of government, or a commitment to this or that popular ideology. 

 

There is much talk about finally getting the job done, about pursuing a glorious vision, about helping people find better jobs to make more money, or about defending the country from vicious aggressors, whether foreign or domestic. 

 

We are assured that our dreams will be fulfilled, that there will be a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage, and that whatever we need to be comfortable and safe will be provided for us. 

 

Yet how often will I hear our leaders considered by a far more fundamental standard, whether they actually know the difference between right and wrong? 

 

No, I do not mean simply repeating certain catchphrases, or appealing to vague sentiments. If you tell me that you support decency, I will ask how you define virtue. If you insist that you are committed to honesty, I will question what you mean by the truth. If you praise democracy, I will wonder if you think a majority can become a mob. If you proclaim that you pray to God, I will enquire about what worldly glory you would surrender for your love of Him. 

 

Most importantly, I will only believe what you say when you prove it through your actions, not with photo opportunities, but when I see you break a sweat and take some punches, day after day. Then I will begin to pay attention to you. 

 

There are skills and attributes, such as intelligence, eloquence, or charm, that will surely be of great assistance to any leader, but none of them will be of any benefit at all without being informed by a conscience. I am quite wary when someone promises comfort ahead of justice, or sells a prosperity of the body at the expense of a prosperity of the soul. Please explain to me what you mean by making my life “better”. 

 

I am not cynical about politics at all, because man is by nature social animal. I am, however, quite dubious of those who play with shared human needs to feed their own wealth, power, and vanity. 

 

“Oh, don’t be so silly! Most people can’t be bothered to ask, let alone answer, questions like that, and politicians certainly can’t be expected to become philosophers!”

 

Thank you, I’m glad we’ve come to the meat of the matter. These questions are not obscure academic exercises, but concern the most immediate sense of meaning and purpose. If I don’t know what I am living for, what is the point of living? If a man can learn to file his taxes, he can surely be bothered to reflect on the difference between good and evil.

 

And no, I would certainly not expect politicians to become philosophers. I would rather hope that they already were philosophers, well before they decided to guide the rest of us in how we should live. 

 

I will not fight with you over which brand of party you support, or which “—ism” you embrace, but I will ask you to explain why you think it is best, right down to your measure of right and wrong. 

 

To do this, you will need to argue carefully and soundly from first principles about human nature; you will need to be a philosopher before anything else. A degree is hardly necessary, but an open and critical mind is a prerequisite. 

 

 

 

8.2

 

But to distinguish between good and bad, advantageous and disadvantageous, helpful and harmful is the part of none other than the philosopher, who constantly occupies himself with this very question, how not to be ignorant of any of these things, and has made it his art to understand what conduces to a man's happiness or unhappiness. 

 

Therefore it appears that the king should study philosophy.

 

I often notice how the things we should attend to the most are precisely the things we end up thinking about the least. 

 

If I ask a real professional, whether he be a welder or a neurosurgeon, to tell me something about his trade, I will be amazed at the depth and complexity of what he knows. He should rightly be proud, and I should rightly be impressed. He is not a trained animal, but rather a mind willing and able to understand the meaning of what he does, how he does it, and why he does it. 

 

I can only ask myself how much of that commitment, and all the years of hard work that go along with it, I might be willing to put into the greatest calling of all, of being human first and foremost, of doing the job I was made for, not just the job that pays the bills. 

 

The accountant is the master of his figures, and the carpenter can craft any sort of wood. The lawyer will argue the minutiae of any case, and the gardener will make most anything grow. Now why am I not the man who can properly form himself into a decent man?

 

To do this, to turn myself into something worthy, I would need to know something about my own nature within the order of all of Nature. This would require dedicating my entire body and soul, all of who I am, to learning about what is true and good in this life. I would need to plunge into the depth and complexity of what it means to be happy. 

 

Well, this is what the philosopher does, whether or not they pay him for it. It is the ultimate profession, the only one that matters. 

 

“Yeah, I was a philosophy major in college, and I learned so much!”

 

“Ah, What did you learn?”

 

“I read about Plato, and Nietzsche, and Kant . . .”

 

“Sorry, I didn’t ask what you read. What did you learn?”

 

“See, it really helped me to focus on the things that matter in my career . . . “

 

“Of course! What are those things?”

 

Rarely will the conversation progress beyond this point. I am then usually introduced to some acquaintance standing around, or asked to try a tasty hors d’oeuvre.  

 

The practice of philosophy, and notice I do not merely say the academic study of philosophy, is the very core of life, for the simple reason that it allows us to charge everything we do with meaning and value. Whatever the skills we may use to buy nice things, we need the art of living well to inform it all.

 

I still wait for the day when I ask that pesky question, and that Very Important Person looks me straight in the eye, with absolutely no dissimulation or hidden agenda, and says something like this:

 

“I learned that I should know right from wrong before I do anything else. I learned that I should stick to my guns if I am following my conscience. I learned that my feelings shouldn’t rule me, but that I should rule my feelings. I learned that I should love my neighbor as myself, because we’re all in this together.”

 

I have heard words similar to these from many fine people, but never have I heard them, to this very day, from someone who brags about having “studied” philosophy. 

 

If you ask the people you meet what they care for the most, they will tell you that they wish to be happy. What does that entail? 

 

They may say they want good things in their lives. They may tell you about the comfort of wealth, or the security of power, or the ecstasy of pleasure. They will likely give you a list of things, and things are all they are, that they must be given in order to be happy.

 

“Will being happy always be something good?”

 

“Of course!”

 

“Are wealth, or power, or pleasure always good for you?”

 

“No, I guess they could be bad.”

 

“Then they aren’t the essence of happiness, are they?”

 

I have found that kind of questioning annoying, and you have also found it annoying, not because it is just some clever Jedi mind trick, but because it gets to our weakest spot. It makes us recognize that we are quite clueless about why we are alive. 

 

What will guide us to happiness instead of misery? What will help us rather than harm us? Have we thought it through, or are we just living on empty assumptions? That is the human vocation, the most important job there ever was.

 

If all of us should take up the challenge, shouldn’t our leaders be doing so with bells on?

 

 

 

8.3

 

Furthermore it is fitting for a king, or rather it is an absolute necessity for him, to arbitrate justice as between subjects so that no one may have more or less than his just deserts, but may receive honor or punishment as he deserves. 

 

But how would anyone who was not just ever be able to manage this? And how would anyone ever be just if he did not understand the nature of justice?

 

Here again is a reason the king should study philosophy, for without such study it would not be plain that he knew justice and the just. For one cannot deny either that the one who has learned it will understand justice better than the one who has not learned it, or that all who have not studied philosophy are ignorant of its nature. 

 

How could I possibly do it when I don’t even understand it? How could I possibly enforce it when I can’t even practice it for myself?

 

I have had the opportunity to follow some truly fine leaders, but you will not find them among the usual suspects. Instead of putting on a show, they are concerned with making sure that everyone is treated fairly, and they will go well out of their way to see that this happens. In this they are quite different than the wheelers and dealers, who are interested in utility instead of justice. 

 

In the simplest of terms, the difference is between those who will give to other people what is rightly their due, and those who will give to other people only when they receive something else in return. One acts for the sake of his fellows, while the other acts for the sake of his own profit. We see righteousness in this corner, and a business transaction in that corner. 

 

Whether it be in the hallowed halls of government or the cubicles of the office workers, only philosophy can inform those who are in a place of authority. This seems quite ridiculous to the bureaucrat, because he assumes that philosophy is far too theoretical, and management needs to be ever so practical. Yet philosophy, as the very measure of right and wrong, is itself necessary for all human practices, however mundane. 

 

Do not tell me you are a good leader if you do not know what it means to be good, or that you treat people well when you cannot express what it means to live well. 

 

If justice is “whatever works”, then this requires an awareness of what one is working toward. Where is the benefit? What aspects of a man should be improved? Will it be helpful for all, or only for some? Look behind any conflict in politics, or law, or business, and you will find that a confusion about these questions is at the root of the problem. 

 

Some people claim that no one can ever be selfless, that everyone has a personal agenda. What this fails to recognize is that human judgment is quite capable of rising above mere desire, that some do indeed look to the whole instead of only the part, and that cooperation is as much of an option as conflict. 

 

Beyond the “me” and the “you”, there could always be an “us”. Behind my good and your good, there is a shared good.  The philosopher understands this, because he knows that justice is always of mutual benefit, based upon merit and not upon privilege, and can only be practiced when it respects all human dignity without preference. 

 

Even if you say that you can’t possibly do this, though I do wonder what is holding you back, do not assume that others are incapable of what you have rejected. The philosopher will still try to treat you well, even when you treat him poorly. 

 

The true king, whatever sort of crown he wears, is a servant and not a tyrant. He will only bring peace instead of war as long as he remains a philosopher. 

 

 

 

8.4

 

The truth of this statement appears from the fact that men disagree and contend with one another about justice, some saying that it is here, others that it is there.

 

Yet about things of which men have knowledge there is no difference of opinion, as for example about white and black, or hot and cold, or soft and hard, but all think the same about them and use the same words. 

 

In just the same way they would agree about justice if they knew what it was, but in their very lack of agreement they reveal their ignorance. 

 

Indeed I am inclined to think that you are not far from such ignorance yourself, and you ought therefore more than anyone else to concern yourself with this knowledge, the more disgraceful it is for a king than for a private citizen to be ignorant about justice. 

 

The claim of skepticism, that nothing can really be known, and the claim of relativism, that all opinions are equally true, seem to be quite prevalent among my generation, and so I find that I can hardly have a conversation about any matter of importance without having to confront these bugbears. 

 

I leave aside, for the moment, the fact that these can hardly be consistent statements, as they reduce to the contradictions that it is certain that nothing is certain, and that everything both is and is not the case. No, I wonder what motivation could stand behind the embrace of a model that denies any shared meaning, and thereby removes the possibility of a greater accountability. 

 

Perhaps I have already answered my own question?

 

If nothing can be known, then there will be no objective foundation for judgments of truth and falsehood, of right and wrong. If anything goes, sound principles will be replaced by mere subjective preferences. I may insist that something is good because I desire it, and I no longer consider that I should desire it because it is good. 

 

It isn’t necessarily that I wish to be unreasonable, but that I do not wish to be responsible to anyone or anything else. It becomes an excuse for convenience over character. When I deny any facts, I no longer have any duties. Now it’s all about me, going on the ultimate ego trip. 

 

I may think this is some sort of freedom, but it is rather a prison of the self. By closing myself to what is real, I have made myself a slave to my passions, to how it feels for only me. 

 

It is ignorance that stands behind the fracturing of the true and the good, and it is wisdom that can restore the unity of things. The philosopher strives to see things are they are, and not simply as he wishes to see them. He then learns that he shares his own nature with all of his fellows, and that we all live in the same world, ordered by a single Nature. 

 

When someone tells me that there is no such thing as virtue, or that justice cannot be defined, it will do me no good to become dismissive or angry. He says this because he has not looked beyond his own impressions, and I can hardly claim to know any better if I do not look beyond my own impressions. What might I do to show him what we have in common, instead of harping on all the differences? If he sees me only demanding what I desire, will it be any wonder that he then thinks of justice only by demanding what he desires?

 

It is tragic when we see someone deny a standard of giving people their proper due, because he does not distinguish between what is good and bad for all of human nature. It is even more tragic when we see a leader deny such a standard, since his very calling should be to guide us in living together. 

 

Did I just notice Musonius calling out the Syrian king for being a bit confused about what it means to be fair? I do believe I did! Well, we would hardly want a king who is ignorant of justice, who confuses opinion with knowledge, now would we?

 

 

 

8.5

 

In the next place it is essential for the king to exercise self-control over himself and demand self-control of his subjects, to the end that with sober rule and seemly submission there shall be no wantonness on the part of either. 

 

For the ruin of the ruler and the citizen alike is wantonness. But how would anyone achieve self-control if he did not make an effort to curb his desires, or how could one who was undisciplined make others temperate? 

 

One can mention no study except philosophy that develops self-control. Certainly it teaches one to be above pleasure and greed, to admire thrift and to avoid extravagance; it trains one to have a sense of shame, and to control one's tongue, and it produces discipline, order, and courtesy, and in general what is fitting in action and in bearing. 

 

In an ordinary man when these qualities are present they give him dignity and self-command, but if they are present in a king they make him preeminently godlike and worthy of reverence. 

 

I will sometimes hear people claim that there doesn’t need to be any conformity between the private and the public, between the moral and the political. Such thinking, whatever party or school it may come from, is grounded on the premise that efficiency matters more than character, that profit is more important than principle. 

 

“What difference does it really make if he cheats on his wife, or neglects his children, or treats the people around him like garbage? He’s getting the job done, right? I don’t care what kind of man he is, as long as he gives us results.”

 

Surely this depends on what sort of job we want done, on what kind of results we are expecting. If we want a society that is ordered toward power and influence, then it makes sense to entrust it to powerful and influential people. But if we want a society that is ordered toward virtue, wouldn’t it make more sense to entrust it to virtuous people?

 

Performance and competence are about the means, and will be pointless if they are not directed toward the proper ends. For there to be a just community, those who build it need to both know and practice justice. For all of us to live with temperance, we need to follow the sort of folks who know and practice temperance. 

 

“But he’s a go-getter!” 

 

Where is he going? What is he getting? We ask entirely the wrong questions. 

 

“Yes, but everyone makes mistakes, right? Give him a break.”

 

Human nature, because it is built on the act of free judgment, is prone to error, and wisdom always asks us to be compassionate and forgiving. There is a difference, however, between making a mistake and insisting on a mistake. The good man corrects his errors, while the bad man justifies them and compounds them. It takes a good man to inspire others, while a bad man tells us to do what he says, not what he does. 

 

Temperance or self-control, the mastery of our own passions, is one of the four cardinal virtues, and as such is a necessary component of any aspect of human life, whether private or public. 

 

It is also, I suggest, the virtue that requires the most immediate and rigorous commitment of them all. If I cannot tame my lust, or my anger, or my fear right here and now, at this very moment when I am faced by the force of my feelings, then I am of no use to myself at all. 

 

And I will also be of no use to anyone else, for a man who will not rule himself has no authority in helping others to rule themselves. 

 

I could learn all sorts of things about politics, and law, and banking, either from my schooling or on the job, and I would still be ignorant of self-control. It won’t just appear automatically, or somehow seep in from my parents, or follow as a by-product from rubbing shoulders with the successful people around me. It would be a great mistake to assume that decency will manage to grow up in me eventually. 

 

No, I will need to nurture my virtues, and I can begin with the simple exercise of taking the reins of my desires. This will require philosophy, not in an academic sense but in a deeply personal sense, where my appetites will be guided by my reason. Decisions, sometimes very hard ones, will have to made, and then I will have to follow that long road of practice, the one that leads to good habits. 

 

This is absolutely essential for me live up my human calling. Such a human calling is then absolutely essential for any man who wishes to be a king. 

 

 

 

8.6

 

Now, since fearlessness and intrepidity and boldness are the product of courage, how else would a man acquire them than by having a firm conviction that death and hardships are not evils? 

 

For these are the things, death and hardships, I repeat, which unbalance and frighten men when they believe that they are evils; that they are not evils philosophy is the only teacher. 

 

Consequently if kings ought to possess courage, and they more than anyone else should possess it, they must set themselves to the study of philosophy, since they cannot become courageous by any other means. 

 

Once I have begun to tame my passions, in however small a way, I will find myself facing circumstances I do not anticipate, situations that frighten me. The fear does not come from the object I dread, but from within me. 

 

Fortitude, another one of those pesky cardinal virtues, is what I now need. I must be willing to accept the possibility of losing some lesser things in order to attain the greater things in life. 

 

That has always been the key for me, to always remember that my fear is of my own making, and that what I may have to surrender is as nothing compared to what I will gain. With that in my mind, I may still flinch, and I may still cry out, but I can now walk into the fire. 

 

What do I ultimately fear the most? It all boils down to what I perceive as threats to my deepest feelings and threats to my very existence. I fear pain, and I fear death. 

 

Genuine philosophy, which can only come from an understanding of human nature, will tell me something that goes against the grain of my habits: pain is not an evil, and death is not an evil. 

 

This is not what they have told me all of my life, but it is true nonetheless. I have been given the power of reason, which means I am made to know. I have been given the power of a will, which means I am made to choose. The rest is all secondary. 

 

The merit of my choices will proceed from the depth of my understanding. The worth of my emotions can only be measured by the quality of my judgment; how it feels must be viewed through my estimation of the good. 

 

Does it hurt? Yes, it pains me mightily. Don’t stop there. What can I make of this hurt, how may I transform it into a blessing? That is all I must think of, and that requires courage. 

 

May it end me? Yes, this bag of flesh and bones may soon have no life in it. Don’t stop there. I will end in any event, and the only question is whether I will go out of this world with virtue or with vice. More of life won’t necessarily make for a better life, and that requires courage. 

 

Now when was the last time a leader told you that? He may ask you to suffer for him, but when has he asked you to suffer for your own happiness, not for his?

 

Now when was the last time a politician told you that? He may ask you to die for him, but when has he told you he would die for you? 

 

Courage requires going against the stream, not just floating along with it. Show me a king who is willing to do that, and I will follow him. I will gladly suffer with him, and I will gladly die with him. 

 

 

 

8.7

 

It is also the prerogative of kings (if they enjoy any whatever) to be invincible in reason and to be able to prevail over disputants by their arguments, just as over their enemies by their arms. Thus when kings are weak in this, it stands to reason that often they are misled and forced to accept the false as the true, which is the price of folly and dense ignorance. 

 

Now philosophy by its nature confers upon its devotees perhaps more than anything else the ability to remain superior to others in debate, to distinguish the false from the true, and to refute the one and to confirm the other. 

 

Professional speakers, at any rate, whenever they enter into the give and take of argument with philosophers, one can see confused and confounded and obliged to contradict themselves. And yet if such speakers, whose business it is to practice debate, are caught because they are inferior to the philosophers in argument, what is bound to happen to other men? 

 

Therefore if it is the ambition of anyone who is a king to be powerful in debate, he should study philosophy in order that he may not have to fear that anyone will prevail over him in this, for a king should be completely fearless and courageous and invincible. 

 

The human good expresses itself through the virtues, not as rules imposed from without, but as principles springing from within. Every person is called to be just, to be temperate, and to be brave, because every person must learn to have respect for others, to bring order to his passions, and to find the strength to face his fears. 

 

A leader is a person like any other, but he will require these virtues to the highest degree, since he has taken it upon himself to carry others along with him. 

 

Wisdom is the last of the cardinal virtues treated here, even as it must be at the root of all the others. Once again, there can be no doing without an awareness of the doing, no action without the measure of purpose—the what must be preceded by a why.

 

A leader is still a person like any other, but he will require understanding to the highest degree, since he has taken it upon himself to guide others in forming good judgments. 

 

Any sort of rule, whether it is a dominion over an entire country or just a dominion over one’s own soul, demands the knowledge of true from false, of right from wrong. We may struggle with the grave difficulties, with the seeming ambiguities, with the grueling oppositions, but that is the cornerstone of a good life. It is only a very real and practical engagement with philosophy that can make this possible. 

 

“Yes, I think you’re right. I like my leaders to be smart!”

 

It doesn’t hurt to be intelligent, quick-witted, or possess a good memory, but I would suggest that wisdom is more than just being clever. Prudence is deeper than these skills, because it involves a deliberate commitment to discerning how ultimate questions of meaning apply to immediate concerns. 

 

A smart man might quickly solve an equation, while a wise man will consider how that can assist us in being happy. If intelligence helps us to come up with solutions, prudence is what sets the goal for the ends we seek. 

 

We will recognize the wise man when he clearly, calmly, and confidently explains his reasoning, from premises to conclusions. 

 

“Sure, our leaders should be able to win in political debates.”

 

We must be certain what we mean by “winning” here. Most of what we consider debating is sadly about conflict over comprehension, about appearance over reality, about personality over principle. 

 

If victory only means making another look the fool, then we are all fools for buying into such standards. If success only means laughing at the opposition, then the joke’s on us. If coming in first is only determined by an impressive display, then everyone comes in last. 

 

Rhetoric, the art of convincing speech, is a wasted effort when it is divorced from a love of truth. The philosopher can also be eloquent, but he doesn’t play games.

 

“Right, leaders need to really convince people to follow them.”

 

By what means should they do so? Will it be enough to depend on the weight of their own authority, or appeal to the emotions of their listeners? What good will those do without the truth of what is actually being said? 

 

“Follow me, because I am a great man, who has done marvelous things!” I’ve seen that path get us into loads of trouble. 

 

“Follow me, because you know in your hearts that this great country can once again live up to the noble legacy of our forefathers!” Lots of cheering follows, without terribly much thinking. 

 

“Follow love over greed, because no man ever found happiness divided from his neighbors.” That could be a beginning; those could be the words of a philosopher, and of a wise king. 

 

 

 

8.8

 

In general it is of the greatest importance for the good king to be faultless and perfect in word and action, if, indeed, he is to be a "living law" as he seemed to the ancients, effecting good government and harmony, suppressing lawlessness and dissension, a true imitator of Zeus and, like him, the father of his people. 

 

But how could anyone be such a king if he were not endowed with a superior nature, given the best possible education, and possessed of all the virtues that befit a man? 

 

If, then, there is any other knowledge which guides man's nature to virtue and teaches him to practice and associate with the good, it should be placed beside philosophy and compared with it to see whether it or philosophy is better and more capable of producing a good king. Then the man who wished to become a good king would be wise to use the better one. 

 

I know full well that I am completely out of the popular loop, and I have known it for some time. For example, I don’t want efficient bureaucrats as leaders; I want people of character to show me the way. 

 

I have to be very careful, however, not to succumb to my own romanticism. I was raised with a strong sense of monarchism, with a love for the old Habsburg emperors on my Austrian side, and a love for the old Stuart kings on my Irish side. 

 

It didn’t take me long to figure out that the heroes of legend were not always the best of men in reality, but there was still something about it all that stuck with me. Was it just the weight of sentimental habit?

 

I think there is a bit more to it than that, and I would dare to suggest that what makes a king different from an administrator is the nature of the bond he shares with those he rules. 

 

All weepy nostalgia for the noble past aside, the bond between a monarch and his subjects can still be one of personal loyalty, while the bond between a politician and his voters can rarely rise above an impersonal conformity to the balance of popular power. 

 

I believe I first read Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings when I was about ten years old, and the things I loved about it then are very different than the things I love about it now. I have now read the series of books every year, just around Christmas, for more years than I care to mention, and something slowly crept up on me over those years: the story of Aragorn really stands at the center of it all. 

 

Here was a man who had royal blood, who had a hereditary right to rule over Gondor, but that alone did not make him a king. No, he had to prove himself, not just as a mighty warrior, or as some wise sage, but as a man who was willing to offer all of himself, every little bit, to save his people. 

 

Once he did that, he deserved to be the heir of Elendil. Aragorn was entitled to nothing by default, but he had to win respect by the merit of his actions. As a dear old friend of mine once put it, the blood in his own veins was not as important as how much of his own blood he was willing to spill. 

 

Yes, yes, my fellow Tolkien geeks will argue with me about this, and the other sane folks will simply roll their eyes. Yes, it is all fantasy and myth. But fantasy and myth are reality made large, and if you asked me to follow an entitled technocrat with all his credentials, or a grubby wild man with a noble soul, I would not hesitate in my answer. 

 

Why would I say such a silly thing? Because I trust a commitment to virtue, and I question a dependence on expediency. Give me the lover of truth over the lover of profit. Give me a philosopher, not a player. 

 

“Oh you’re such a silly dreamer! When did Aragorn ever study philosophy? Do you somehow think that a silver spoon will produce a golden character?”

 

No, Aragorn never received an academic degree, and no, his heritage did not make him who he was. His wisdom came from living his life well, and his qualifications came from putting that life on the line. 

 

None of this is about statistics, or the class struggle, or building up the most lucrative industries. It is about caring for people, for the sake of being people, not for their productivity or utility. 

 

“Well, you’ll never make the world work that way! No one cares about philosophy!”

 

No, perhaps I won’t change the world, but it isn’t my place to make the whole world work this way or that; it is my place to make myself work this way or that. 

 

You are mistaken, though, in claiming that no one cares about philosophy. I care about philosophy. I assure you that there are many others who do as well, even as they aren’t interested in making a scene about it. 

 

They go about their business, and they are the stuff of kings. 

 

 

 

8.9

 

If, however, no other art professes the teaching and transmission of virtue, though there are some which are concerned solely with man's body and what is useful for it, while others which touch the mind aim at everything else but making it self-controlled, yet philosophy alone makes this its aim and occupies itself with this, how a man may avoid evil and acquire virtue, if this I say is so, what else would be more serviceable to a king who wished to be good than the study of philosophy? 

 

How better or how otherwise could a man be a good ruler or live a good life than by studying philosophy? For my part, I believe that the good king is straightway and of necessity a philosopher, and the philosopher a kingly person. 

 

If the Stoics are indeed correct that virtue is the highest human good, then it will surely also follow that the ability to lead in virtue is the most suitable quality of those who are called to guide other men. 

 

Now what sort of insight, what type of skill, what kind of gifts will be necessary to achieve this end? We may think too little of people, and assume that they will instantly and selfishly pick the tricks of their own particular trades as being the most important, but let us try to leave the door wide open for whatever might be best. 

 

What sort of discipline is required to improve our moral worth? 

 

Perhaps the businessman may say it is the ability to make money, or the lawyer may say it is the expertise to win in a courtroom, or the doctor may say it is the power to extend our lives. 

 

Don’t forget the professional academic, who may say it involves getting published and earning tenure. 

 

These can all be wonderful things, but whether they are of benefit or harm to us will depend upon more fundamental values. Money, power, long life, or honor are never good or bad in themselves; they become good or bad by how they are used. 

 

That is, I would argue, the very point of the whole Stoic argument: nothing in life is a gift without the direction of character. 

 

And there can never be character without wisdom, since doing well requires knowing well. The love of truth is the calling of the philosopher.

 

“Wait, only philosophers know how to live, and only philosophers know how to lead? That doesn’t seem right at all!”

 

It will seem that way only if we think of philosophy as a rather narrow trade, not as a universal human calling. Not every man can be a businessman, or a lawyer, or a doctor, or an academic; yet every man can be a philosopher. 

 

Philosophy, you see, stands behind every career, every manner of making money, every other occupation. It provides the very meaning to anything and everything else we do.

 

By all means, fight this all you like, but please understand that the reason you may fight it comes down to the very first principles we use to define a worthy life. Even if you think it is all about money, or power, or fame, or pleasure, you will still need to give an account of your reasons why, and an account of the reasons why is already the realm of philosophy. 

 

“But studying philosophy? How does that help?”

 

Perhaps too many years of soaking up Stoicism have numbed my sense of the popular definition of what it means to “study”. Read about it, go to classes, earn a degree? Quite nice. Grapple with it, go into the world, earn merit through action? That hits the nail on the head. Study is complete commitment, the application of principle to practice. 

 

“I am qualified to run for office, because I earned a law degree from Harvard, and I made lots of money on Wall Street, and I wrote a New York Times best-selling book about how important it is to support the community.”

 

No, that qualifies you as a worldly achiever, and really says very little about your deeper philosophy. Without platitudes and soundbites, tell me what truly matters in all our lives. 

 

I’m still here, and I’m listening. . . 

 

 

 

8.10

 

Of these two propositions let us examine the former: Is it possible for anyone to be a good king unless he is a good man? No, it is not possible. But given a good man, would he not be entitled to be called a philosopher? Most certainly, since philosophy is the pursuit of ideal good. Therefore, a good king is found to be forthwith and of necessity a philosopher also.

 

Now again that the philosopher is entirely kingly you may understand from this. The attribute of a kingly person is obviously the ability to rule peoples and cities well and to be worthy to govern men. 

 

Well, then, who would be a more capable head of a city or more worthy to govern men than the philosopher? For it behooves him (if he is truly a philosopher) to be intelligent, disciplined, noble-minded, a good judge of what is just and of what is seemly, efficient in putting his plans into effect, patient under hardship. 

 

In addition to this, he should be courageous, fearless, resolute in the face of things apparently disastrous, and besides beneficent, helpful, and humane. Could anyone be found more fit or better able to govern than such a man? No one. Even if he does not have many subjects obedient to him, he is not for that reason less kingly, for it is enough to rule one's friends or one's wife and children or, for that matter, only oneself. 

 

I will sometimes find myself doubting the wisdom of Stoicism, at precisely those times when I am most entranced by a culture of appearances. Inquiring into Nature will increase my knowledge, while settling for impressions will leave me only with opinion. 

 

I get all confused when I neglect the most basic principles, when I forget who I am and what I am made for in favor of shiny trinkets. I then need to remind myself of the foundation for what is good and bad. 

 

If I am not sure what sort of leader to trust, I ask myself what sort of man is deserving of such trust. Whether he has charm, or cleverness, or riches, or power will make no difference, but whether he has understanding, or self-control, or integrity, or compassion will make all the difference. The good leader will, first and foremost, possess a good character. 

 

If I am not sure what good character is, I ask myself what it ultimately means to be human, and I can work from there. What makes me distinct from other living things is my powers of reason and choice, which are perfected by wisdom and virtue. It is philosophy that nurtures such excellence. 

 

If I am not sure what makes for a philosophical life, I ask myself what qualities of the mind and the will can most encourage me to live well. To be a philosopher has nothing to do with any external trappings, but with an attitude, both deeply profound and eminently practical, that seeks to improve the soul. 

 

A kingly man is a virtuous man, and a virtuous man is a philosopher. The breadth of his rule will not be nearly as important as the depth of his rule, even if he only has an authority over himself. 

 

The best people may not necessarily own much, but they will necessarily love much. The best leaders will not necessarily have the greatest power, but they will necessarily have the greatest wisdom. The best philosophers will not necessarily be the most esteemed, but they will necessarily be the most thoughtful. 

 

Years ago, I recall a smug fellow, perhaps suffering from a bit of jealousy, putting down one of our neighbors for getting elected to city council. 

 

“I mean really, it’s not like he got elected to Congress or anything. He’s nothing special, and the stuff he’s going to do won’t really change the world, will it? So he gets to pass laws about dog licenses and trash pickups! Big deal!”

 

“I suppose, but he’s always seemed a truly decent fellow over all the years I’ve known him. You couldn’t wish for a more stand-up guy living on your street.”

 

“Oh, just wait, give him time. He’s bound to get all high and mighty!”

 

“Well, he still stops to say hello when he walks or drives by, doesn’t he? He never hesitates to help us out when we need something, without any complaining or asking for anything in return. Give me a good neighbor, and a good friend, over a Congressman any day.”

 

“Okay, but a good politician needs to be so much more than that.”

 

“Let us agree to disagree, because I think that is exactly what a good politician ought to be.”

 

 

 

8.11

 

For, indeed, a physician who attends few patients is no less a physician than the one who attends many if, to be sure, he has skill and experience in healing. 

 

In the same way the musician who teaches only a few pupils is no less a musician than the one who teaches many, provided he knows the art of music. 

 

Likewise, the horseman who trains only one or two horses is just as much a horseman as the one who trains many if he is skilled in horsemanship. 

 

And so, the title of a kingly person belongs to the one who has only one or two subjects just as well as to the one who has many, only let him have the skill and ability to rule, so that he may deserve the name of king.

 

For this reason, it seems to me that Socrates too called philosophy the statesmanlike and royal discipline, because one who masters it immediately becomes a statesman. 

 

The popular assumption I will usually face is that doing more, having more, and getting more are what matter in life. I have heard it so often now that it can quietly take a hold of me while I’m not looking. Surely, I am a success when my power over the world increases, and surely, I am a failure when my power over the world decreases?

 

Instead, I have the choice to take a very different path. Instead of doing more, let me do something well. Instead of having more, let me posses myself well. Instead of getting more, let me be content with how well I can give. 

 

Nature really offers me authority over only one thing, and that is myself. This need not be seen as some sort of a prison, but can be embraced as the fullest liberation. Increasing what is good within me does not depend upon adding more of anything external to me, and is within my own power, under any circumstances, whether or not they happen to be preferred. 

 

Now I can be free to live according to my own conscience, not as a slave to whatever others might say and do. The Stoic Turn changes the center of gravity, helping me to be at peace with my own living as measured by a harmony with Nature, not the rat race of appearances and conventions. 

 

The quality of a soul is superior to the quantity of any fame or riches. More isn’t better. Better is better. 

 

Because a doctor has the most patients, or a teacher has the most students, or a leader has the most followers will in itself not make them any better. Whether they follow their calling well, acting with virtue in whatever way they can, is what will make them better. 

 

Or, as my grandmother would have put it, a bigger home isn’t the same thing as a happy home. 

 

To be a leader, to be a king, to be royal is ultimately nothing more than having the ability to rule oneself. This is the kingdom that comes first, the dominion upon which all others depend. Anything else that is given, or anything else that is taken away, will matter only in reference to the power of self-mastery.

 

Some might say that anyone can rule himself, that this is hardly any sort of achievement at all. I would beg to differ. I have known only a very few who have ever come close to this sort of discipline, and I am sure it is no accident that these are the very same people I would follow without hesitation.

 

I have gradually developed a personal dedication to the example of Marcus Aurelius, and whenever people learn of it, they assume I am inspired by his political leadership as a Roman Emperor. Yes, there is much there that impresses me, but there is also much there that I don’t know about at all. 

 

Rather, what moves me so deeply is the content of his private character, as expressed so beautifully in his Meditations. I will read, reflect, and briefly write on one passage a day, without fail, and I have now done so for many years. I have come to learn that any of the ways he managed to be a great leader of others could only come from the ways he managed to be a great leader of himself. 

 

Show me the inside of a man’s soul, and I will show you how he will go about ruling others. If he has virtue, he will inspire others to become better, and if he has vice, he will seduce others to become worse. 

 

 

 

8.12

 

When Musonius said these things, the king was glad at his words and told him that he was grateful for what he said and added, "In return for this, ask of me whatever you wish for I shall refuse you nothing." 

 

Then Musonius said, "The only favor I ask of you is to remain faithful to this teaching, since you find it commendable, for in this way and no other will you best please me and benefit yourself." 

 

See, here’s the thing: they think it’s about a balance sheet of one product traded for another product. The players always expect that they have to give something whenever they have received something. They will then ask you for a further favors later, of course, and then the game is in full play. 

 

If a rich and powerful man told you he would provide you with anything you wanted in return for your advice, what would you say?

 

“Yeah, man, give me a million dollars! No wait, ten million dollars! Dude, make it a hundred million dollars! You said whatever I wanted, right?”

 

Yes, whatever you want. Are you sure that is what you want?

 

“With that kind of money, I could buy anything!”

 

No. You couldn’t buy your virtue.

 

“Who gives a fuck about that?”

 

Exactly.

 

Musonius isn’t just being polite here; I think that crazy fellow actually means it. What does your usual bigwig have to give? Money. What does a real philosopher have to give? Wisdom. 

 

Here, once again, is Stoicism at its best. The king assumes he owes something, but the philosopher asks only for the king to be a good king. Where’s the trick?

 

There is no trick. The model of the wicked man is that he gives so that he might receive; the model of the decent man is that his act of giving is its own receiving. 

 

Some will tell you that there is only self-interest in this world, and that everything is about deals made for profit. 

 

Indeed, every fellow wants what is best for him. Yes, every fellow wants to come out ahead.

 

Now define the terms of what it means to be the best, and what it means to be coming out ahead. 

 

I’m sorry, was that too much to ask, while you were busy making money and buying your fame? Did you somehow forget the essentials? Did you put the cart before the horse?

 

Does it offend you when I question your values of making yourself more important, instead of making yourself better?

 

Good. That can be of use. It can serve as a wake-up call. 

 

Any person, of any background, becomes better by living well, filled with love, in even the smallest ways. Those who choose to love will understand that love expects nothing in return beyond itself, that a loving person gives to make himself better through helping others to be better. 

 

There is no either/or in what is right for you and me; there is only a both/and. 

 

King, whoever you may be, the best thing you can give me is to recognize that we are all made for one another. Give love, and then ask for nothing more. 

 

 

 

Lecture 9: That exile is not an evil. 

 

9.1

 

Hearing an exile lament because he was living in banishment, Musonius consoled him in somewhat the following way. 

 

Why, he asked, should anyone who was not devoid of understanding be oppressed by exile? It does not in any way deprive us of water, earth, air, or the sun and the other planets, or indeed, even of the society of men, for everywhere and in every way, there is opportunity for association with them. 

 

What if we are kept from a certain part of the earth and from association with certain men, what is so dreadful about that? 

 

Why, when we were at home, we did not enjoy the whole earth, nor did we have contact with all men; but even now in exile we may associate with our friends, that is to say the true ones and those deserving of the name, for they would never betray or abandon us; but if some prove to be sham and not true friends, we are better off separated from them than being with them.

 

Over the years, I managed to scribble down a number of different reflections on this lecture, their content differing based upon my changing thoughts and feelings at different times. 

 

The earlier ones tended more toward theoretical musings, while the later ones were loaded with rather practical concerns. There was a noble calm at first, and more of an austere urgency further down the line. What made the difference was my own experience of leaving behind a home, of feeling like something of an exile myself. 

 

I am now getting long in the tooth, so I suppose this will be the last run at making some sense of losing a place, and how that doesn’t mean I need to lose myself. 

 

How it all occurred hardly matters anymore, except that my initial desire to blame others slowly evolved into an acceptance of the way the world was going to work itself out, and that I was being called to become accountable for my own happiness. 

 

I would hardly prefer to go through all the torture again, but I have to admit that it played a necessary role in taking a Stoic Turn. By being challenged to rise above a dependence on the things that happen, it helped me to make just a bit more of myself. 

 

My initial confusion came from a naïve assumption that a Stoic mastery of thinking would automatically translate into a mastery of feelings, and that I would somehow be able to turn emotions on and off as I saw fit. Now that might be true for the Stoic sage, but it has never been true for me. As much as I might direct them and give them order, some passions don’t just go away. 

 

So many circumstances in life will remain as they are, even as I can change my estimation of them. Certain feelings can well be the same, so that it not within my power to remove them, while it is within my power to manage them well, or to transform them into something of benefit. 

 

I have found this especially true of suffering. Perhaps it is my own condition, the one I call the Black Dog, that has made pain stick to me like glue, but I imagine many people know what it means to face emotions that won’t leave you be. They seem to take on a sort of life of their own, precariously subject to some patient and careful taming, as long as I am always taking care to keep a watchful eye on them. 

 

I think of a physical wound that may have healed over on the outside, while it is still causing agony on the inside. I didn’t ask for it, but there it is, and what remains for me is to find a way to turn it to good use. What can it teach me? How can it make me stronger? How can I employ it to increase my sense of compassion for others? 

 

The loss of trust I felt, and the eventual loss of a home that came with it, have played that role for me. Trying to come back home is like trying to force my hand into a fire. Could I do it if I had to? Perhaps. But what good could come from just torturing myself? It is better to embrace the exile. 

 

How can I accept this, without doing so begrudgingly, without resentment, without a constant sense of loss? Here is where the Stoics offer advice that is both profound and effective: if I modify my judgements, I will also modify what things mean to me, and the ways in which I allow them to affect me. 

 

If I rightly understand that only my virtues will be to my benefit, and that only my vices will do me harm, I can then begin to reconsider all the external things I once looked at as somehow being good or bad in themselves. 

 

Am I really losing anything when they are gone? Might their absence even offer the opportunity to gain something new?

 

Wherever I may live, am I being denied the necessities of life? I should leave aside any preference for receiving privileges and luxuries, and remember that all I need in life is whatever can help me to think and act with character. 

 

Is it that I am being kept from good company? I will find people most anywhere I go, and whether or not they are good company will depend on how I respect and value their worth, not on where I may find them. 

 

But won’t I lose my friends? If they were my true friends to begin with, then the circumstances of place will not alter our commitment and affection, and if circumstances of place do alter our commitment and affection, then they were not my true friends to begin with. 

 

Happiness does not require having everything, or possessing only a certain selection of things; it can be found in any of the circumstances life may give us, as long as we keep our priorities in order. 

 

It is never the place; it is what one does with the place. If my outlook is about what can be done for me, I will be unhappy either at home or in exile. If my outlook is about what I can do, it will hardly matter where I find myself. 

 

 

 

9.2

 

Tell me, is not the Universe the common fatherland of all men, as Socrates held? Well, then, you must not consider it really being banished from your fatherland if you go from where you were born and reared, but only being exiled from a certain city, that is if you claim to be a reasonable person. 

 

For such a man does not value or despise any place as the cause of his happiness or unhappiness, but he makes the whole matter depend upon himself and considers himself a citizen of the city of God which is made up of men and gods. Euripides speaks in harmony with this thought when he says:

 

"As all the heavens are open to the eagle's flight

So all the earth is for a noble man his fatherland."

 

Therefore, just as a man who was living in his own country but in a different house from the one where he was born would be thought silly and an object of laughter if he should weep and wail because of this, so whoever considers it a misfortune because he is living in another city, and not the one where he happens to have been born, would rightly be considered foolish and stupid. 

 

I am disposed to having a vivid memory, to becoming attached to certain places, and to a romantic sense of nostalgia. Once this is combined with a brooding melancholy, I will find myself longing for exactly the places where I am not, surrounded by the people who are absent, at a time that can most certainly not be right now. 

 

You can see why Stoicism has been so helpful to me, always reminding me that the whole world is my home, that all people are my brothers and sisters, and that the only time to live is in this very moment. 

 

Such lessons may once have sounded rather grand and abstract to me, until I actually fell into the trap of defining myself by everything and everywhere that I wasn’t. This was one of the primary ways I began to see that my feelings and actions will fall into place, however slowly and painfully, with the good habits of thinking I manage to develop. 

 

What I now understand to be more important, and what I now understand to be less important, will allow me to face obstacles in new ways. They may, in fact, cease to obstacles entirely, and take on the form of opportunities. 

 

Where is home? Not just where I was born, or where I was raised, or where all my memories come from, but simply wherever I am. This is not some empty sentiment, because it derives from the judgment that anywhere in the Universe is where I was meant to be. I was made for all things, not just for some things, for all places, not just for some places, for all people, not just for some people. 

 

Politicians, whatever their platforms, like to draw maps defining their borders, and tribes, whatever their ideologies, like to distinguish themselves from those who are different. The Stoic, however, will always view Nature as one whole, ruled by one Providence, and so he will look to unity instead of division in everything he does. 

 

Who are my friends? By extension, my friends are not just the people I prefer, or the people who are most similar to me, or the people who are most convenient, but simply those for whom I have the chance to do some good. That means anyone and everyone can be a friend. Love is universal, and it ceases to be love when it attaches terms and conditions. 

 

I no longer believe those who tell me that I must only associate with my own creed, with my own race, with my own class. Humanity, in its full breadth and depth, is the company I was made for, since our shared human nature is what binds us all together within all of Nature. 

 

What do I need to be at peace? I must stop thinking that who I am depends upon what happens to come my way, and instead start thinking in terms of making my own way. No, that doesn’t mean making the world conform to my will, but rather making my will come into harmony with the world.

 

Where, when, who, or what are all relative to the content of character. Saying the words will not be enough, however often I repeat them, though deeply reordering my whole priority of values will indeed make it real for me. 

 

Why will I care for a place, if I know that a place is not what brings me happiness? Why will I cry for the past, if I know that what has been is only completed in what I do now? Why will I mourn the friends who are lost, while there are so many friends to be found? Why will I worry about what I do, when I only need to do anything at all with understanding and love?

 

If I think of it that way, my problems suddenly seem quite foolish. 

 

 

 

9.3

 

Furthermore, how should exile be an obstacle to the cultivation of the things that are one's own and to the acquisition of virtue, when no one was ever hindered from the knowledge and practice of what is needful because of exile? 

 

May it not even be true that exile contributes to that end, since it furnishes men leisure and a greater opportunity for learning the good and practicing it than formerly, in that they are not forced by what only seems to be their fatherland into performing political duties, and they are not annoyed by their kinsmen nor by men who only seem to be their friends, who are skillful in fettering them and dragging them away from the pursuit of better things?

 

Sometimes a change of situation is by choice, and sometimes it is by necessity. In either case, it helps me to ask myself what it is that I may gain from it, and what it is that I may lose from it. An answer to this question is only possible by discerning what makes for the fullest human gains, and what other things I might be willing to lose for their sake. 

 

I can imagine Socrates telling me to build up the goods of my soul, the very core of who I am, and to put the goods of my body, the conditions under which I must act, in the service of the soul. As argued in Plato’s Meno, this is because all the qualities that are external to my character, such as wealth, or strength, or pleasure, are never good in themselves, but only become good when joined to the wisdom and virtue that should be internal to me. 

 

What is relative must be measured by what is absolute. What is conditional depends upon what is unconditional. What is incomplete follows from what is complete. 

 

The sublime beauty of Stoicism is that it gets right to the heart of human nature, and that it reveals a surprising truth: if I only so choose, I am completely invincible. Everything else can come and go, but my own dignity can always remain intact. 

 

Move me from one place to another, and that does not need to change how I choose to live. Take away all of my trinkets and my toys, and that does not need to determine my choices. Isolate me from all of my friends, and that does not mean I cannot continue to offer concern and kindness. 

 

The worst I have to lose is my comfort and convenience. The most I can gain is the happiness of having lived with conviction, with integrity, with love. It’s hardly a dilemma when it is put in such terms. It only requires a proper sense of priorities. 

 

A new set of surroundings can well be seen as a blessing. It can remove me from the burden of what has become too familiar, and it can free from the many unnecessary obligations I have somehow convinced myself to be necessary. A new place won’t change me, but a new place can help me to better change myself. 

 

Absence can reveal my true friends, and absence can reveal my real duties. It can become a means to rid myself of the chains of stale habits. 

 

Imagine what people would do with the need to pack a few things in a small bag and leave everything else behind. 

 

Some would fret about what to eat, or where to sleep, or the status of their careers. 

 

Others might set off on that road with a sense of relief, that however few days they may have left, they now have another chance to make something decent of themselves, even if it means that all of the old values are replaced by completely new ones. 

 

I don’t need to be here, or to do that, or to rub shoulders with them. I need to grow up, to grow beyond the pleasantries and platitudes. Let me, for once, worry about who I am, not where I am. 

 

 

 

9.4

 

In fact, there have been cases where exile was an absolute blessing as it was to Diogenes, who by his exile was transformed from an ordinary citizen into a philosopher, and instead of sitting idly in Sinope, he busied himself in Greece, and in the pursuit of virtue came to surpass the philosophers. 

 

My first impressions of Diogenes were that he seemed a bit of a clown, and some of his more outrageous antics could easily offend my tame Catholic sensibilities. 

 

As the years passed, however, I was drawn to this odd character more and more. I came to recognize that his eccentricity was intended to wake us from our slumber, and that I only found him crude because I had been more interested in appearing refined than actually being virtuous. 

 

The Cynics, like Antisthenes, Diogenes, and Crates, had much in common with the Stoics, and I often think of the two traditions as being sister philosophies. The Socratic mission inspired them both, and they shared a commitment to the life of virtue, in harmony with Nature, and free from any attachment to circumstances. 

 

The Cynics, however, pulled out all the stops, and their mockery of institutions and customs had a radical and iconoclastic component; the rich, fashionable, and powerful considered them especially impudent and shameless. 

 

When I found myself slowly becoming ever more out of the loop, the Cynics, the “dog-like” philosophers, started becoming more like my friends. 

 

Exile did not make Diogenes a philosopher, but it offered Diogenes an ideal opportunity to make himself into a philosopher. After his father was involved in a scandal in Sinope, Diogenes was cast out from the city, losing both his citizenship and his property. Starting again in Athens, he now pursued a simple life, and dedicated himself to seeking virtue above all other things. 

 

It is also said that Diogenes was later captured by pirates during a journey, and then sold as a slave. The story has it that this was when Xeniades of Corinth purchased Diogenes, impressed by his insistence that he would be best suited for a household that needed a master. 

 

Those who love Stoicism and Cynicism will know exactly what Diogenes meant by this, that to govern men is really nothing else than helping them to learn right from wrong. This Diogenes certainly did, by educating the children of the family in character. 

 

I can only imagine what may have gone through the man’s mind, facing such a complete upheaval of his life, not once but twice. First, he lost his home, and then he lost his home again, along with the very ownership of his body. His response never ceases to amaze me. 

 

What did Diogenes do in these situations? He used them both to gain a greater mastery of his own soul, to practice decency, temperance, and honesty in everything he faced, never hesitating to demand that others should aspire to the same. He cared very little for where he was, or what he had, and stood only on who he was. 

 

Diogenes was surely the sort of fellow we would now call difficult, inappropriate, and scandalous. The offense and outrage, however, will only come from our own recognition that he has called us out, that he was able to live in practice what we will only pretend to honor in theory. He hits us where it hurts. He wasn’t about writing books and scratching his chin, he was about getting his hands dirty and doing the job. 

 

This is the sort of opportunity that can come from exile!

 

 

 

9.5

 

To others who were in poor health as the result of overindulgence and high living, exile has been a source of strength because they were forced to live a more manly life. 

 

We even know of some who were cured of chronic ailments in exile, as for instance, in our day Spartiacus, the Lacedaemonian, who suffered long from a weak chest and for this reason was often ill from high living, but when he stopped living a life of luxury, he ceased to be ill. 

 

They say that others addicted to high living have got rid of gout, although they were previously completely bed-ridden by the disease—people whom exile compelled to become accustomed to living more simply and by this very thing were brought back to health. 

 

Thus it appears that by treating them better than they treat themselves, exile helps rather than hinders health both of body and of spirit. 

 

The Stoic will never claim that the health of the body is an end in itself, though when guided by virtue it may certainly be a means for happiness, and it can be a mark of character when it proceeds from the health of the soul. 

 

Sometimes a change of surroundings, so jarring in other ways, can breathe new life into tired and worn flesh and bones, not just because the air might be crisper or the sun brighter, but because right thinking will encourage right living. 

 

Removed from the ritual of bad habits, torn away from all the old temptations, and given an opportunity to build new routines, the heart and mind have a chance to reset themselves. It can be quite amazing how deeply the body can heal along with the soul. 

 

I would regularly scoff at all that advice about health flowing from the inside out, or what the self-help gurus call the power of positive thinking, until I saw it at work within myself. 

 

Clinging in my mind to certain places and certain faces, I would focus only on the dark and painful aspects of my world. I was shutting down my capacity to judge soundly or to love joyfully, and my physical health would shut down right along with it. 

 

Now people might scold you about eating poorly, or drinking to excess, or laying around in bed all day, but they sometimes forget that such behavior reflects a sickness in the soul. It will only change for good with a radical change in attitude, by building up a new sense of meaning and value. 

 

Hiding my bottle of whiskey won’t make me sober, but it just might wake me up long enough to make me rethink the trouble of finding it again. 

 

So too, a break from all the ordinary things may well reveal something quite extraordinary, something I had never really considered before. The place doesn’t make the man, of course, though the man can certainly make use of a new place to make something new of himself. 

 

Like the examples Musonius offers, the challenge to live in a new situation might just wipe the slate clean, allowing the seemingly impossible to suddenly become possible. 

 

The need for hard work might awaken a spark of fortitude in me, a willingness to make an effort to get something done in the face of all my worries. It might then also toughen up my atrophied muscles, or make my lungs breathe freely again, or finally give some color to that pasty skin. 

 

Give me the urgency of making my way, and my new priorities might awaken a bit of prudence in me, a commitment to the simple over the complex. It might then also clear away all the poisons I have been consuming, put a sparkle back in my eyes, and rid me of the crippling distractions that have made my head pound. 

 

Remove the convenience of luxuries, and it might awaken a sense of temperance in me, a willingness to master my gluttony and laziness. It might then also free me from that quite unnecessary paunch, the constant exhaustion, and those nagging aches and pains. 

 

It will do me good, for both soul and body, if only I take it as a friendly push forward, not as a slap in the face. 

 

 

 

9.6

 

It is not true, moreover, that exiles lack the very necessities of life. 

 

To be sure men who are idle and unresourceful and unable to play the part of a man are generally in want and without resources even when they are in their own country, but energetic and hardworking and intelligent men, no matter where they go, fare well and live without want. 

 

We do not feel the lack of many things unless we wish to live luxuriously:

 

"For what do mortals need beside two things only,

The bread of Demeter and a drink of the Water-carrier,

Which are at hand and have been made to nourish us?"

 

I am immediately suspicious when people tell me that if I am just smart enough, dedicated enough, and work hard enough, life will give me everything I could ever want. 

 

I question this not because I am lazy, or because I don’t think Nature provides in full, but because I wish to make certain that what I choose to want is actually in harmony with what I truly need. 

 

It is an all-too-familiar image, the fellow who says that he started a company from his mother’s garage, and now his logo sits on top of a New York skyscraper. He wishes to assure his disciples that success is within their grasp, that diligence and innovation will produce riches, respect, and power. The forces of the marketplace gave him what he wanted, he insists, because he wanted it badly enough. 

 

I also notice an oddly equivalent spiritual version of this claim, where a supposed purity of faith will surely express itself in a worldly prosperity. God will make us happy if we love Him enough, the preacher says, and that is why God will shower us with good fortune. The preacher’s own comforts and luxuries must be the proof of it all. 

 

I do not wish to diminish the commitment and achievements of either the businessman or the preacherman, and life may well have unfolded with such concurrences for them, but hard experience will tell us that it will not always work out that way for everyone else. 

 

You know as well as I do that Fortune does not follow from merit, and that the richest of people are not necessarily the best of people, just as the poorest of people are not necessarily the worst of people. 

 

The problems all arise when we misunderstand the measure of life’s rewards, because we misunderstand the very calling of human nature. Musonius isn’t saying that we will be swimming in money as soon as we put our minds to it, but that Nature gives us all we require if we are rightly resourceful. These are not the same things at all, despite what popular opinion might say. 

 

Everything here depends on what we would consider to be necessary for a good life. I will tend to want far more than I need, and I will tend to look to what I have received over what I have done. The Stoic Turn makes it possible to be happy with fewer things, since I can find peace and contentment in what comes from inside of me. 

 

Success is in human excellence, not in accumulating luxuries. My sense of entitlement will resist, but bread and water are enough for the body. For all of my complaining, I have never been without them for too long. 

 

What is sufficient for the soul? My vanity will resist, but understanding and love are enough for the soul. 

 

“Well, what if, despite all of your resourcefulness, they deny you your bread and water in exile? Then you will go thirsty and starve! Where will your success be then?”

 

I would not prefer it, and I imagine I would be quite insufferable for a time because of it, but dying, when the time must come, can also offer the opportunity for understanding and love, just as much as living can. 

 

Nature always gives me what I need, as long as I know to pursue the right wants. 

 

 

 

9.7

 

Let me add that men who are worth anything not only easily manage well so far as the necessities of life are concerned, when they are in exile, but often acquire great fortunes. 

 

At any rate Odysseus, in worse plight than any exile one may say, since he was alone and naked and shipwrecked, when he arrived among strangers, the Phaeacians, was nevertheless able to enrich himself abundantly. 

 

And when Themistocles was banished from home, going to people who were not only not friendly, but actual enemies and barbarians, the Persians, he received a gift of three cities, Myus, Magnesia, and Lampsacus, as a source of livelihood. 

 

Dio of Syracuse too, deprived by Dionysius the tyrant of all his possessions, when he was banished from his country waxed so rich in exile that he raised a mercenary army, went with it to Sicily, and freed the island of the tyrant. 

 

Who, then, if he were in his right mind, looking at these cases would still maintain that banishment is the cause of want for all exiles? 

 

Even if I understand that exile can never deny me what I need, I should not assume that it must then deny me what I might prefer. My self-reliance will always provide me peace of mind, and it may also provide me with other opportunities I did not expect.

 

When Odysseus, shipwrecked and literally without a stitch, met Nausicaa, did he expect to find such hospitality and generosity, to be given great treasures and a fine ship to finally return him home to Ithaca? New places and new faces, however strange and frightening, can sometimes bring wealth and friendship, just as easily as they can bring poverty and loneliness.

 

Exile won’t necessarily make me rich, but it won’t necessarily make me poor, either. A Stoic realism about the ways of Fortune is swayed by neither a naïve optimism nor a morbid pessimism about circumstances, and is prepared to gladly accept both more or less. It is, ultimately, only my state of mind that will turn those circumstances into blessings or curses. 

 

The Black Dog often tries to convince me that everything will be lost, and that transformation is always characterized by pain. An honest estimation of my experiences, however, tells me that this is hardly the case; sometimes my situation will indeed fall, and yet sometimes it will also rise. Whether I stayed safely at home or was cast among strangers never changed the odds. What always seemed to matter more was whether I kept my wits about me, and managed to put my values in order. 

 

I am extremely careful about not claiming to understand precisely how Providence will unfold, yet I can’t help but notice in hindsight that whatever happened to me always seemed to have been put there for a perfectly good reason. Things only ended poorly when I made poor judgments, and even then, those very poor judgments became building blocks for future improvement. 

 

Yes, there have been moments where I received far less than I wanted, but there were also moments where I received for more than I wanted. In the big picture, I’m not sure Fortune has either smiled or frowned on me; she has been indifferent, as I should also be when it comes to anything beyond the content of my own character. 

 

The greater lesson for me has always been to first work on what I need, to improve the state of my soul and my virtues, and then to be completely open about getting what I might want, the state of my body and my possessions. 

 

There is no place for demanding a worldly profit or loss, and there is no cause for expecting circumstances to be better or worse. They are not “good” or “bad” by themselves in any event, as their worth comes from their proper use. A state of exile does not alter the pattern of what I should suppose will happen. 

 

 

 

9.8

 

Furthermore, it is not at all necessary for exiles to suffer ill repute because of their banishment, since everyone knows that many trials are badly judged and many people are unjustly banished from their country, and that in the past there have been cases of good men who have been exiled by their countrymen, as for example from Athens Aristides the Just, and from Ephesus Hermodorus, because of whose banishment Heraclitus bade the Ephesians, every grown man of them, to go hang themselves. 

 

In fact some exiles even became very famous, as Diogenes of Sinope and Clearchus, the Lacedaemonian, who with Cyrus marched against Artaxerxes, not to mention more. 

 

How, pray, could this condition in which some people have become more renowned than before be responsible for ill-repute? 

 

Reputation can be a tricky thing, sometimes far more so than money. I see that fame can follow from character, but also that it often accompanies iniquity. It feels like character and esteem should go together, and yet some who receive it don’t deserve it, and some who deserve it don’t receive it. It really all depends on who is giving it, and why it is given. 

 

I may become confused about what is truly good and what is merely indifferent, about how the lower must in the service of the higher, about how all other conditions only become beneficial through wisdom and virtue. I will foolishly flip around the necessary with the preferred. 

 

Attempting to correct myself, recognizing that no further external reward is required for an internal merit, I can go too far in the other direction. I am then tempted to disregard honor entirely, along with wealth, power, or pleasure, as being closed to me. Instead of thinking of fame as morally neutral, I might begin to view it as something bad in itself, or at the very least as something that will never come my way. 

 

Yet this does not need to be the case. Being a good man does not mean I might not also be admired, and being an exile does not mean I might not also be respected. Put in its proper context, life will continually provide me with opportunities to win praise. As long as I don’t pursue them for their own sake, I should neither reject them, nor should I assume that they are going to be withheld from me. 

 

I suggest that much of what Musonius is doing in this lecture is trying to deter us from what we would now call a “victim mentality”. A change of circumstance or place does not need to make me fail as a human being, and it does not even need to make me fail in the eyes of my fellows. 

 

Whatever may happen, good people will still recognize and respect the good they find in others. What the wicked think should not move us in any event. 

 

Aristides of Athens may have found himself ostracized because of his conflicts with Themistocles, but he still maintained the integrity of his character. I have always liked the story that Aristides helped an illiterate citizen by writing down his own name on the ballot in favor of his exile. He later ended up returning to Athens, winning even greater glory in the war against the Persians. 

 

For the followers of philosophy, Diogenes is once again an ideal example of the sort of fellow who still won the admiration of others, even when what he said and did was hardly intended to win any favor. Being ripped from his home two times, once from Sinope and once from Athens, couldn’t keep him from making his name. 

 

In the simplest of terms, I should never assume that everything is lost, just because everything is different. I will still always have myself, and in the process of living up to myself, I may even manage to be recognized for who I am. If I am ever thought of well, let me hope it is by a few decent folks, and not by the scoundrels. 

 

 

 

9.9

 

But, you insist, Euripides says that exiles lose their personal liberty when they are deprived of their freedom of speech. For he represents Jocasta asking Polynices her son what misfortunes an exile has to bear. He answers, 

 

"One greatest of all, that he has not freedom of speech."

 

She replies, 

 

"You name the plight of a slave, not to be able to say what one thinks."

 

But I should say in rejoinder: "You are right, Euripides, when you say that it is the condition of a slave not to say what one thinks when one ought to speak, for it is not always, nor everywhere, nor before everyone that we should say what we think. 

 

“But that one point, it seems to me, is not well-taken, that exiles do not have freedom of speech, if to you freedom of speech means not suppressing whatever one chances to think. For it is not as exiles that men fear to say what they think, but as men afraid lest from speaking pain or death or punishment or some such other thing shall befall them. Fear is the cause of this, not exile. 

 

“For to many people, no to most, even though dwelling safely in their native city, fear of what seem to them dire consequences of free speech is present. 

 

“However, the courageous man, in exile no less than at home, is dauntless in the face of all such fears; for that reason, also, he has the courage to say what he thinks equally at home or in exile." 

 

Such are the things one might reply to Euripides.

 

We understandably become frustrated when we are denied the things we feel we deserve, such as a fair wage, or the security of a home, or the recognition of our peers. Nature may have rightly intended them for us, but there are still those who would forcibly keep them from us, and this is never an easy obstacle to face. 

 

I remind myself that while I cannot always determine what is done to me, I can always determine what I will do. If another acts unjustly, it is then my place to respond justly, whatever the external conditions might be, I still retain the freedom of my own judgment.

 

A practical rule I keep for myself is that I should indeed fight to be treated fairly, except where my demands would force me to compromise my own virtue, or discourage the exercise of virtue in others. It may sound too simple, but it has saved me from quite a few pointless conflicts, by placing the superior and the inferior in a proper context.

 

Nevertheless, I will still struggle with limitations placed on my freedom of expression. It is one thing to steal my property, but quite another to muzzle my voice. As a result, I can easily grow angry, and become quite indignant, and be tempted to stomp about in protest. 

 

Here is one way where alien forces seem to intrude on something deeply personal, and at first it feels as if it crosses that boundary between the outside and the inside of me. It makes me quite anxious, in an almost claustrophobic sense. “Stand back!” I wish to say. “You’ve gone too far this time!”

 

Exile, of any sort, will be like so many other changes of circumstance, where I must learn a whole new set of customs and rules, where a behavior I am accustomed to is suddenly considered quite unacceptable, where censorship can be a harsh irritant. But let me ask myself honestly if anything has really been lost, and if the limitation on my freedoms is ultimately of my own making, not made by others at all. 

 

“But they won’t let me speak my mind or say what I truly think! I’ve been put in a place where I can’t be myself!”

 

Let me be very careful. Have I been denied the power to think as I would choose to think? Not in any way; no one has reached into my head to change my judgments. Have I been denied the power to speak as I would I choose to speak, or to act as I would choose to act? Again, let me be very careful. Are all of the modes of my communication and expression closed off to me? 

 

Back in grammar school, during one of those regular moments where a set of bullies enjoyed throwing their weight around, I was held down by two fellows, while a third covered my mouth with his hand so that I wouldn’t yell out. I was then slowly told by the fourth that I would be required to literally kiss his bare ass, or I would be “hurt like I’d never hurt before!” 

 

In hindsight, such a demand tells me quite a bit about such people. I later came across many variations over the years, more refined in form but identical in content. 

 

What could I do? I winked at him, twisting my face in the most exaggerated and ridiculous way I could manage. He didn’t like this at all, and slapped me across the face a few times. They finally grew tired of their plan, departing on their way after planting a few kicks. 

 

Sometimes the smallest gesture, the slightest glance, the tiniest expression can take on the greatest significance. That is still freedom. 

 

Why will I not act as I should? Barring incapacitation or death, it is only my own fear that stands in the way. As overwhelming as it may seem, I can master my fear, just as I can master my anger or my lust, with patient and caring attention. It may not happen overnight, but it can happen with conviction and fortitude. 

 

Exile has never done me any wrong. Neither being at home nor being abroad will change the fact that my choices are only as good as my priorities. How much does it hurt? Does it hurt enough to violate my values? My values are only as good as they are important to me. 

 

I can express myself at most any time, in most any place. Just two things matter: do I know that I am living the truth, and am I willing to surrender everything else for its sake? It is my decision, and that decision belongs to no one else. 

 

 

 

9.10

 

But tell me, my friend, when Diogenes was in exile at Athens, or when he was sold by pirates and came to Corinth, did anyone, Athenian or Corinthian, ever exhibit greater freedom of speech than he? And again, were any of his contemporaries freer than Diogenes? Why, even Xeniades, who bought him, he ruled as a master rules a slave. 

 

But why should I employ examples of long ago? Are you not aware that I am an exile? Well, then, have I been deprived of freedom of speech? Have I been bereft of the privilege of saying what I think? Have you or anyone else ever seen me cringing before anyone just because I am an exile, or thinking that my lot is worse now than formerly? 

 

No, I'll wager that you would say that you have never seen me complaining or disheartened because of my banishment, for if I have been deprived of my country, I have not been deprived of my ability to endure exile. 

 

I am always pleased to see Diogenes offered as an example, because I have a special attachment to his unconventional manner of thinking and living, much to the frustration of those who know me. I heartily nod in agreement when Musonius repeatedly refers to Diogenes in this lecture, knowing how powerful an inspiration that bewildering man can be, having made so much of himself out of so little, and willing to see every obstacle as an opportunity. 

 

But why only look to the lives of strangers from the past, when we can also look to our own situations, right here and now, to strengthen our commitments? Musonius finally reminds us that he is also an exile, and that this has hindered him no more than it did Diogenes. 

 

I am not certain exactly when the Lectures were originally presented or written down, but Musonius, following in the footsteps of Diogenes, was exiled twice from Rome, once under Nero, and then later under Vespasian. I suppose the best philosophers, those who truly embrace the task, have a knack for making themselves quite unwelcome by those who wish to maintain their power. 

 

Our own personal experiences might not be as dramatic as those of Diogenes, or even of Musonius, yet they can still support exactly the same lessons in life. Most anyone will know something of how it feels to be left out, to be cast aside, to be considered unworthy of attention. 

 

I have never been kicked out of a city or a country, not for want of trying, though I have been fired from a job for speaking my mind, and I have found myself socially shunned by all the members of a local church for bringing up things that were considered unmentionable. Though the scale was obviously not as grand, it still taught me that who I am is not determined by where I am, and that character is not measured by circumstance. 

 

There was never any formal proclamation to it, and only my immediate family know anything of how it all happened, but there also came a moment when I realized I could never go back to my old neighborhood without causing myself terrible harm. It has been one of the most unpleasant events of my life, and at the same time one of the most formative events of my life. There is nothing like losing the familiar and beloved to help you cling all the more tightly to what is truly your own. 

 

I once got to know a fellow, a fiery and impassioned journalist, who was forced to flee his home country with his family in the middle of the night, and then spent the next two decades in the United States. 

 

He would occasionally have me over for tea, and though he had a flair for the melodramatic, I couldn’t help but be moved when he would point to his head and his heart, slowly saying, “Home is here . . . and here.” 

 

He never returned, even after the government that had harassed him was overthrown, because he insisted that “changing the color of the flags doesn’t change the nature of the tyrants.” I like to imagine him, Diogenes, and Musonius now having a good laugh together. 

 

Barely a day passes when I am not also deeply impressed by some of the people I meet in the most unassuming of situations, who had to leave their homes on account of poverty or oppression, and who will still find a way to live in peace and joy. I am not so much interested in the angry politics of it, as I am in the genuine humanity of it. I see myself complaining about the pettiest of things, and they show me what a spoiled brat I can be. 

 

Exile, deprivation, and hardship are unable to stop me from understanding and loving, and so they are unable to stop me from living well. 

 

 

 

9.11

 

The reflections that I employ for my own benefit so as not to be irked by exile, I should like to repeat to you. 

 

It seems to me that exile does not strip a man entirely, not even of the things which the average man calls goods, as I have just shown. But if he is deprived of some or all of them, he is still not deprived of the things which are truly goods. 

 

Certainly the exile is not prevented from possessing courage and justice simply because he is banished, nor self-control, nor understanding, nor any of the other virtues which when present serve to bring honor and benefit to a man and show him to be praiseworthy and of good repute, but when absent, serve to cause him harm and dishonor and show him to be wicked and of ill-repute. 

 

Since this is true, if you are that good man and have his virtues, exile will not harm or degrade you, because the virtues are present in you which are most able to help and to sustain you. But if you are bad, it is the evil that harms you and not exile; and the misery you feel in exile is the product of evil, not of exile. It is from this you must hasten to secure release rather than from exile.

 

On my bad days, I am tempted to feel a resentment toward those who are so proud to offer empty advice. Sometimes they insist that they can provide the rules of success and happiness, even as they speak nothing about Nature, and offer no measure of right and wrong. At other times they tell me all about how the world really works, though they are quite oblivious to the immediate circumstances that most people must face. 

 

But why grow angry at them for what they don’t know? I recall that whenever I am terribly mistaken, no amount of condemnation has ever helped me. Encouragement has helped me, compassion has helped me, being taught by example has helped me. 

 

I am accordingly grateful for the advice of Musonius, so different from most any of the advice I have heard before. I obviously never met the man, but from what he tells me, I suspect that I can trust him. 

 

He shows me that he has a moral compass, that he views the worth or our lives through the characteristics that define us as human, the powers of reason and choice. He also shows me that he is grounded in the real world, that he is acutely aware of the struggles of everyday living. His theory and his practice fit together, and he points straight to the simple essence of human happiness. 

 

So concerned that my contentment must rely upon the things that happen to me, I will worry that any sort of hardship, like poverty, or disease, or the exile discussed in this lecture, will make it impossible for me to live a good life. It may seem so obvious, but I will still neglect to address the critical questions: what really is good for me, and what place do my circumstances play in that good? 

 

Musonius first reminds me that some changes in my situation might be drastic, but this does not mean that they will necessarily reduce my fortune. I may lose some worldly possessions, but I may also gain others, and my own resourcefulness and self-reliance will make the biggest difference. Events are never good and bad in themselves, but become good or bad by how I learn to use them as an opportunity. 

 

Yet given that so many of my conditions are ultimately beyond my power, what am I to do when they stubbornly refuse to conform to my preferences? Here is where Musonius offers his second, and more fundamental, point: it will hardly matter if I lose what I prefer, because that is not what will make or break me. 

 

Nothing can stop me from practicing the virtues, from being understanding, brave, temperate, and just, and so nothing can infringe on what defines my very humanity. Whether the externals come or go, their value depends entirely on the content of my character. Wealth will not make a wicked man good, just as poverty will not make a good man wicked. 

 

What is lower becomes worthy through its conformity to the higher, and so my circumstances do not make something of me, but I make something of my circumstances. 

 

I have a vivid memory from childhood of seeing a painting of Napoleon, on board a ship taking him into final exile on St. Helena. I was only a pup, but I gazed at it for quite some time, and I wondered what that man was thinking, and whether the British officers behind him were being curious or contemptuous. 

 

How must it have felt for Napoleon to lose everything he had worked for? You may think of him as a hero or as a villain, or as someone in between, but the entire scene just screams of loss. 

 

I have faced my own losses as the years passed by, and while I have never been sent to a rock in the middle of the Atlantic, I have seen people I love turn away, and things I desire kept from me. There were many times I thought I could no longer bear it. And then some basic insights about life started to turn it all around for me. 

 

Losing persons, places, or things wasn’t the issue at all, since they were not mine to lose. Losing myself was the issue, and that was entirely up to me. 

 

How would Napoleon have taken to such advice? Could he still have learned to revere the beauty of his own soul, instead of the glory of an empire? 

 

 

 

9.12

 

These things I used to repeat to myself and I say them to you now. If you are wise, you will not consider that exile is a thing to be dreaded, since others bear it easily, but that evil is to be dreaded. It makes wretched every man in whom it is present. 

 

And neither of the two necessary alternatives is a just cause for repining. For either you were banished justly or unjustly. 

 

If justly, how can it be right or fitting to feel aggrieved at just punishment? 

 

If unjustly, the evil involved is not ours, but falls upon those who banished us—if in fact you agree that doing a wrong (as they have done) is the most hateful thing in the world, while suffering a wrong (as has been our fate) in the eyes of the gods and of just men is held a ground not for hate but for help. 

 

What I have come to call “making a Stoic turn” is a fundamental shift of priorities, far more transformative than changing a career, or finding new friends, or moving to a new town. It involves a complete rebuilding of the self, from the bottom up, based upon living with Nature instead of following mere convention, caring for what I do more than what is done to me, and defining myself by the goods of the soul over the goods of the body. 

 

I will only understand what Musonius tells me if I look at my life from this perspective. Others will surely find me ridiculous, but I will have found for myself a source of unassailable happiness, confident that while anything around me can change or be taken away, I will still possess power over my own character. 

 

Musonius would remind himself that he should fear evil within his own soul far more than any form of exile, and I hope I am in good company when I cling to this same principle, each and every day. 

 

Another rule I keep ready to hand, one that has helped me more often than I can count, is to directly confront my eagerness to complain. When I do not enjoy a situation, I will feel frustration, and when I am angry, I am inclined to cast blame. 

 

“If only this had not happened, or if only that person had acted differently, my life would be so much better!” Careful. If I am brutally honest with myself, I will remember that I am the only one who determines how I choose to live, and so I am the only one who is responsible for my happiness. 

 

Keeping this in mind, all the incrimination can pass away. Either it is something I can fix for myself, so I should get down to it, or it is something I can do nothing about, so my resentment affects only my own serenity. 

 

Say that I have been exiled or cast aside, and I am tempted to point the finger for my perceived loss. There are really only two options for the situation I find myself in, and neither one justifies anxiety or despair. I can’t help but smile at how Stoicism always puts me in win-win situations, if only I take the time and effort to understand myself correctly. 

 

First, I may have done wrong myself, in which case I should rightly pay a just retribution for my errors, and take up the opportunity to redeem myself. If it is a punishment for my sins, let me use exile as a means for undoing what I have done. A penalty is only unbearable when I do not embrace my need to return what I owe. 

 

Second, another may have done wrong to me, in which case the weight does not rest upon me. I can still find in my struggle the chance to become more just myself, even as someone else may have treated me unjustly, and so I may transform his vice into my own virtue. Who is truly hurt? I have lost my fortune, but he has lost his character. 

 

I admittedly have obscure and eccentric interests when it comes to narratives, but I am drawn to them not because they are unknown, but because I think they contain wisdom that should be more widely known. 

 

One of these is the legend of Bladud, a prince in ancient Britain who was set to inherit the crown from his father. He contracted leprosy, however, and was exiled from the kingdom, reduced to becoming a swineherd in the wilderness, separated from all he had previously known. 

 

He noticed that his pigs would roll about in the mud by some hot springs, and that this seemed to cure any ailments they had. He bathed in the water himself, only to find that that his leprosy had disappeared. Later, after assuming the throne, he established the city of Bath on the site of the springs, in gratitude for his healing, and for the health of his people. 

 

Yes, it has the happy ending, where the hero’s rights are in this case restored, but what always struck me about the story is the way exile gave the young Bladud not only the opportunity to heal his body, but also to improve his soul, to use his experience to be of service to others. 

 

If Bladud could become a better man by spending some time with pigs in the mud, so can any one of us. Blessings and curses are not in events themselves, but in our estimation of events. 

 

 

 

Lecture 10: Will the philosopher prosecute anyone for personal injury?

 

10.1

 

He said that he himself would never prosecute anyone for personal injury nor recommend it to anyone else who claimed to be a philosopher. For actually none of the things which people fancy they suffer as personal injuries are an injury or a disgrace to those who experience them, such as being reviled or struck or spit upon.

 

Children can do both truly wonderful and truly horrible things, and in this they are only little instances of all of human nature. When I was five years old, our family moved to a new home in a new neighborhood, and I had before me the exciting but frightening prospect of seeing if I could come across some new friends. 

 

It would be an early lesson about the good and the bad in people, about discovering kindness in some and malice in others, though I don’t really know if it was a relief or a frustration to see that folks, both young and old alike, were really all made of the same stuff. I could already discern something about the same patterns, popping up over and over from place to place and from time to time. 

 

My new little corner of the world had an odd quirk, however, one that has vividly stuck in my memory now for many years. If children, in quite the range of ages, started arguing with too much gusto, the whole conversation would break down. The aggrieved parties would retreat back to the confines of their own yards and continue to yell loudly at one another from a distance.

 

“Don’t you dare come onto my property! If you do, I’ll sue you! I’ll sue you!” This was often accompanied by wild gestures, indicating the limits of said domains. When I asked my parents about this ritual, they rolled their eyes and mumbled something about how we had become a “litigious society”. I didn’t understand what they meant then, but I most certainly do now. 

 

Whether it be the children bickering around the neighborhood, or the adults fighting it out in the office buildings downtown, the tendency is all too familiar. It may begin with whispered gossip, continue with insults and raised voices, and perhaps even proceed to the trading of blows. The grown-ups, of course, tend to frown upon physical force, so they may appeal to other more subtle, but equally violent, means of doing harm. Instead of punching you in the face, they can make sure you never find work again. 

 

When all these avenues have been exhausted, and the anger is still not satisfied, people are tempted to appeal to a higher judgment. They complain to a superior, or report it to the authorities, or bring it to the law courts. God tends to advise forgiveness, so He will not be of much use here, though a misguided clergyman can certainly help you exact your revenge, if you are so inclined. 

 

And revenge is really what it all too easily ends up being about, inflicting hurt when we feel that we have been hurt. We may call it justice, or the rule of law, or righting a wrong, but I wonder if what we often really intend is retaliation, the imposition of force, or outdoing one wrong with another wrong. 

 

We can indeed debate the specifics of the terms, but we can know the real difference by looking into our own hearts and minds, by asking ourselves what we really wish to achieve: is it to find a benefit for all, or is to seek a benefit for some through a harm to others? 

 

Instead of an accusation, or a lawsuit, or a condemnation being an absolute last resort, it becomes a casual routine. Instead of a punishment being a form of restoring balance, it becomes an expression of contempt. Instead of seeking to reform the offender, we take satisfaction in destroying him. 

 

The Stoic avoidance of vengeance begins with the realization that, as social creatures, we are all made for one another, not to stand in opposition to one another. Yet it goes even further than that, by reminding us that so many of the things we perceive as insults, offenses, or injuries need not really do us any deeper harm at all. Why should we feel resentment for what only hurts us if we ourselves allow it to do so? 

 

Yes, a man may damage my property, or weaken my reputation, or bring pain on my body, and he himself indeed commits a wrong by doing so, but he only affects what is on the outside of me, not what is on the inside of me. He has gravely damaged his own soul, even as mine can remain intact. Where is the greater hurt? His vice does not need to become mine, as long as I do not respond with hatred. 

 

Once again, the Stoic Turn involves far more than just tweaking or rearranging our usual customs; it asks us to rebuild all our judgments from the bottom up, to never meet evil with evil, and to always take control over whether or not we decide to take offense. 

 

 

 

10.2

 

Of these the hardest to bear are blows. That there is nothing shameful or insulting about them however is clear from the fact that Lacedaemonian boys are whipped publicly, and they exult in it. 

 

My attempts at following Stoicism have greatly helped me in seeking after first principles. For every problem I must face, the temptation is to look only to the particular situation, without ever going back to the deeper causes. I obsess about the immediate what, and give no attention to the ultimate why. I must dig deeper than this or that instance, and consider how it relates to my own nature within the whole of Nature. 

 

I was recently given the chance to teach a course on Classical notions of justice, and in between the texts I was expected to cover, I managed to slip in this brief lecture from Musonius. The discussion fell apart as soon as we got to this passage. 

 

“What a jerk this guy is! He’s telling me that doing physical harm is just fine? And then he goes on about the Spartans, those fascists, and how it is good that they beat their children, as if that makes his case. Doesn’t he know that it’s never okay to be physically abusive? I think there may be some kind of repressed sadomasochism going on here.”

 

I am always more than happy to talk about the strengths and weaknesses of Spartan society, or the morality of corporal punishment, or even speculations about the inner psychological workings of authors. 

 

Yet as I encouraged them to work it through, I couldn’t help but think that we were missing the point. We were mucking about with individual issues, informed by wherever the prevailing political winds might blow, and not asking about the more fundamental truth that Musonius was trying to address. 

 

I assume that Musonius is here referring to the Diamastigosis, a formal ritual at the temple of Artemis where young men were flogged until the blood flowed, supposedly intended by Lycurgus as a means to build up courage and resistance to pain. It was not a punishment, but a sort of rite of passage, and it is said that the youths would take pride in their accomplishment, eagerly looking forward to proving their resilience. 

 

Perhaps I might find such a custom cruel, or such a society barbaric, or such means deeply disordered, but Musonius is not concerned here with whether the Spartans were right or wrong in doing what they did. 

 

He simply points out that some people are quite capable of choosing to freely accept physical suffering, and are willing to consider it as something good. They did not feel diminished, abused, or become offended; no, they thought it an honor. 

 

If this is indeed the case, then hardship is not something evil in itself, but rather becomes good or evil by our estimation of it. 

 

I’m afraid I failed to steer our conversation to that one critical point, and so I failed to get to the first principles. 

 

 

 

10.3

 

If, then, the philosopher cannot despise blows and insults, when he ought obviously to despise even death, what good would he be? 

 

Well and good, you say, but the spirit of the man who does such things is monstrous, executing his purpose to insult by jeering and a slap in the face, or by abusive language or by some other such action. 

 

People have regularly told me to be tough, to get over it, to move on, to not let it get to me. I try to take such guidance in the best possible way, but I fear that I am often thinking of what is at stake from a very different place. 

 

I am certainly not interested in being thoughtless and heartless, because however resilient that might make me, it would also be a denial of exactly what makes me human; ceasing to have concern would mean ceasing to live with any worth. 

 

I also notice that many people are quick to demand, sometimes rather rudely, that the other fellow “grow a pair”, and yet they themselves become quite enraged and vindictive when they find themselves offended. 

 

Is it perhaps aggressiveness they are actually preaching, not tolerance? It seems odd that we love to care so much about insisting that we don’t care. 

 

I am hardly being indifferent, in the Stoic sense, or rising above my circumstances if I am consumed by rage and obsessed with payback. I have not mastered my passions, but I have allowed my passions to master me. 

 

I will only be able to forgive and forget, as they say, when I recognize that all the terrible wrongs I think I suffer are not so terrible at all, that there are things far more valuable and important to cling to in this life. 

 

There is nothing courageous, or principled, or philosophical in my thinking when I speak nobly about facing death, or I praise the merits of great sacrifice, and yet I still simmer with resentment when my neighbor rubs me the wrong way. All the big things will be meaningless without a willingness to manage the little things. 

 

The temptation, of course, is to cast the greatest possible blame on the offender, to argue that the gravity of the transgression is too great. The wrongdoing is unbearable, the villain is unforgivable; look at how hateful and disgusting he is by degrading my name, stealing my goods, and stepping on my pride! 

 

Yes, he causes me pain. Perhaps he is indeed consumed by ignorance and vice. Is it now my place to cause him pain? Shall I join him in his ignorance and vice? 

 

You say he lives like a beast. It is still possible, then, for me to live like a human being. 

 

 

 

10.4

 

You know, of course, that Demosthenes holds that people can insult even by a glance, and that such things are intolerable, and that men in one way or another are driven mad by them. 

 

So it is that men who do not know what is really good and what is shameful, having regard only for common opinion, think they are insulted if someone gives them a malignant glance or laughs or strikes them or reviles them. 

 

But the wise and sensible man, such as the philosopher ought to be, is not disturbed by any of these things. He does not think that disgrace lies in enduring them, but rather in doing them.

 

I hear it almost every day now, that our age of “political correctness” has made everyone so on edge, so easily offended, so quick to condemn anyone else’s judgment. The world has fundamentally changed, they say, so different from a better time when we could be confident in ourselves without having to go on the attack against whatever we happened to dislike. 

 

I will respectfully suggest, however, that human nature has always been subject to this weakness, and that the only things to change are the trends and fads that become the center of this or that tribe’s loyalties. Opinions come and go like the flavor of the week, but the same small-mindedness gives a bad taste to it all. 

 

I am old enough to remember when a good number of people would be shocked and scandalized by a hemline that was too high, or a neckline that was too low. There was no use in saying that fashions changed with the wind, and that character was in what we thought and how we lived. “Oh no! Mark my words, that girl is a whore, and she will burn in hell!”

 

Soon enough, you would see short shorts and spaghetti straps everywhere, and the woman who even knew what a hemline was had become a rarity. 

 

And I slowly but surely observed the tables turn. There would now be protests and outrage at women who covered their heads or faces out of their own understanding of modesty. Once again, it was pointless to appeal to the content of character. “Oh no! We can’t have restrictive behavior like that in a modern and democratic society! They need to be proud of their bodies. It needs to be made illegal!” 

 

It happened back in the time of Demosthenes, just as it happens now. Virtue is confused with what is popular, and principles are replaced with preferences. Notice that Musonius doesn’t just describe that this happens, but he also explains why it happens: we hastily respond from a conformity to passion and politics instead of a harmony with reason and Nature. 

 

If I feel hurt by anyone or anything, I should first ask which of my own judgments produced that aversion. If my reaction is one of disgust, then it is clearly following from my own estimation of what is right and wrong. Am I working from a sound moral measure to begin with? 

 

Even if I am, which is certainly not always the case, why am I assuming that it is my place to determine the actions of others? In Stoicism, where virtue is the highest human good, it is my first responsibility to manage my own character, to change what I can change about myself. I am not helping myself or helping others if my demands for justice reveal an injustice within me, if my cries of disgust only reflect my own inner rot, if I appeal to love while acting out of hatred. 

 

So many of the things I find to be unacceptable or deplorable stem from my own ignorance about the deeper human good, the dignity of the soul. 

 

Your words may be nasty, but they need not hurt me, and so I should not feel wronged. 

 

You may look scandalous to me, but that says more about my own vices than it does about yours. 

 

Your ridicule and rejection may come from your own malice, but they do not have to trigger my own malice. 

 

You may assault my body, but you have absolutely no power over my conscience. 

 

I should desire what is good for you, and I am not working toward that goal if I cast you out; I cannot be a friend to you if I treat you as an enemy. My acts of condemnation and violence don’t help you, and they certainly don’t help me. 

 

Let me be careful not to trade one evil for another. There is no merit in merely diminishing your merit; I should worry more about working on my own vices than criticizing yours. 

 

 

 

10.5

 

For what does the man who submits to insult do that is wrong? 

 

It is the doer of wrong who forthwith puts himself to shame, while the sufferer, who does nothing but submit, has no reason whatever to feel shame or disgrace. 

 

Therefore, the sensible man would not go to the law nor bring indictments, since he would not even consider that he had been insulted. 

 

Besides, to be annoyed or racked about such things would be petty. Rather he will easily and silently bear what has happened, since this befits one whose purpose is to be noble-minded. 

 

Someone has slapped you in the face. Now you must decide what you will do. 

 

You may think I am exaggerating for effect, but I assure you that in the neighborhood where I grew up, the routine would be to fall down on the ground dramatically, then call your lawyer, and then show up at court wearing a neck brace. 

 

When I later moved to my wife’s corner of America, things would play themselves out a bit differently. A slap, however timid it may have been, would be met with the swing of a fist, and then a second, and then a third, and finally a kick to the gut for good measure. Your job was considered done when the fool who touched was no longer trying to stand up. 

 

One of the reasons I have never felt quite at home anywhere is that I have never felt comfortable with either sort of response. 

 

When I was very young, I read about Jesus telling me to turn the other cheek, and in an odd sort of way that immediately made sense to me. There were sadly a few shameful occasions where I allowed myself to be consumed by my own rage, but that has remained my ideal ever since. 

 

I don’t think anyone I have met, not even my sensible wife, quite understands my way of thinking. The Stoics were able to put it into words far better than I ever could. 

 

It begins with the recognition that nothing of benefit is ever achieved, not one tiny bit, by inflicting harm for harm, insult for insult, injury for injury. There is no nobility in vengeance, no glory in crushing an enemy, no peace of mind in meeting hatred with more hatred. Instead of transforming an evil into a good, it compounds and multiplies the evil. When I live this way, I become exactly what I despise in another. 

 

To make this possible in my own thinking, another step is necessary. I am always tempted to respond in kind when I am harmed, but if I can realize that I have not really been harmed at all to begin with, then I will no longer take such great offense. You have insulted my name? That isn’t me. You have taken away my property? That doesn’t define me. You have injured my body? Who I am is deeper than that, and you can’t touch it. 

 

I will only feel hurt when I lose something that I think is important. Once I embrace a Stoic attitude, one that sees moral worth as the fulfillment of my nature, I can walk away from any conflict without a scratch. My own priorities will determine what I think is worth fighting for. 

 

Do I have the right to defend my reputation, my possessions, my own life and limb? Of course I do, insofar as I would prefer to retain such things. If it within my power to keep them, let me do so, but once I compromise my own virtue for their sake, I have turned everything on its head. I have traded what is greater for what is lesser. 

 

The person who tells you he will do anything to be respected, to be wealthy, or even simply to survive has already revealed to you where his true interests lie. He cares for these things more than living well. Let him have his satisfaction, and you can have yours. 

 

“I’m going to kick the shit out of you!”

 

I’d prefer that you didn’t, but if stopping you requires becoming like you, then do what you must do. I will do what I must do.

 

I know it sounds insane to most anyone I know, yet it makes perfect sense when I work from the inside out, not from the outside in. 

 

But I say to you that hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To him who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from him who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and of him who takes away your goods do not ask for them again. And as you wish that men would do to you, do so to them.

 

 

 

10.6

 

Socrates, you remember, was clearly of this frame of mind who, though publicly ridiculed by Aristophanes, was not angry, but when he happened to meet him, asked him if he would like to use him for some other role.

 

 Can't you imagine how quickly he would have flared up in anger at some petty abuse, this man who showed no concern even when abused in the public theater? 

 

And the good Phocion, when his wife had been reviled by someone, so far from prosecuting the fellow when he came in fear and asked forgiveness of Phocion, saying that he did not know it was his wife whom he had offended, merely replied, "But my wife has suffered nothing at your hands, though perhaps some other woman has, so you have no need to apologize to me." 

 

I immediately think of Epictetus, who said that if someone spoke poorly of him, the fellow clearly did not know him well enough, because otherwise he would also have pointed out all of his other flaws. 

 

Thinking like that does not come easy, but it can certainly be achieved, and once the habit has been formed it serves as a truly powerful liberation. 

 

Some people tell me that Stoicism means not caring about what other people think, but I feel the need to qualify that claim. I do indeed care what other people think, simply because I care about them as people. But I do not choose to define myself by what they think of me, as much I may respect them. 

 

There is, I would argue, a great danger in turning self-reliance into a sort of arrogant dismissiveness. I try desperately to avoid swinging from one extreme to another, from being enslaved to the opinions of others to completely ignoring the opinions of others. 

 

I suppose one of the few things that I have really learned, through all blunders and the frustrations, is that I’m not as great as I think I am. Following from this, I have learned that I can also laugh at myself. 

 

I have recently gotten to know some new friends from our local VFW, and my old Boston friends snicker and tell me that I have become a redneck. I have no problem with that, though I do feel a bit of a sting when they throw around terms like “white trash”.

 

But you know what? Even when they say such things, they are mistaken. Their assumptions about my character are on them, not on me. I prefer the company of people who are kind, thoughtful, and genuine. I care nothing for the color of your skin, or your politics, or your bank account. I care about who you are, not what you are. 

 

Providence recently gave me a small chance to be myself, and to have no need of proving it to anyone else. A fellow I know brought his new girlfriend to an event, and for some reason she latched on to me. Not at all in a good way.

 

“Do you know how weird you are? Man, you read all those crazy, useless books. You’re just weird.”

 

“Yes, you’re right. I know.”

 

“You’re pretty ugly looking too. I’d never do you.”

 

“Yes, totally. I could never deserve to win a girl like you.”

 

This confused her deeply. It also required me to control my temper in a way I have not had to for many years. If I could treat her with decency after what she’d said, I could still be my own man. 

 

She was right, of course. I am weird, and I am ugly.

 

She clearly did not know all of my many other faults. 

 

 

 

10.7

 

And I might mention many other men who have experienced insult, some wronged by word, others by violence and bodily harm, who do not appear to have defended their rights against their assailants nor to have proceeded against them in any other way, but very meekly bore their wrong. 

 

If you are interested in hearing about those who have only made a grand show of not being offended, I certainly can’t provide you with that; that sort of display would defeat the whole purpose of bearing wrong, and would instead turn it into an exercise of seeming the victim. 

 

As much as I might try to lie to myself, I know my own worst motives all too well. Why am I drawing attention to myself? Is it really about being better, or even about being a witness to what is better, or is it just about appearing better to everyone else? 

 

The intention makes so much of a difference. 

 

I could, however, tell you about a boy I knew in Cub Scouts, who liked collecting and drying flowers, and accordingly found himself ridiculed at every turn. He never complained or cursed back. He would also offer kind words to people, precisely when no one else was looking. 

 

I sadly do not know what became of him, and I have even forgotten his name. 

 

I could tell you about another fellow I taught with in the early years, who was committed to having his middle school students learn about Euclid’s Elements. Some of the children did not like the difficulty involved in these lessons, especially the loud and spoiled ones, and before I knew it all the complaints from irate parents had gotten him demoted to a desk job. 

 

I eventually told him that I felt guilty for not supporting him more, and I will never forget the generous way he shook his head and smiled. “Hey, I did what I thought was right, and they did what they thought was right.”

 

I could finally tell you about one of the janitors at a local church, a burly and jovial man who made it a point to bring a cup of hot coffee and a fresh donut to absolutely anyone who walked up to the rectory door. The parish council did not approve, since they claimed it attracted that undesirable element of poor and homeless folks. 

 

After having worked there for a decade, the pastor fired him. The last time I saw him, he winked at me. “I’ve never known a man to be worse from a good cup of coffee!”

 

I often think of something my father told me long ago, that “tolerating” doesn’t mean stubbornly or begrudgingly putting up with something we don’t like, but that it means taking the weight of others upon ourselves, to literally bear or carry them. He knew his Latin, so I could hardly object. 

 

“He ain’t heavy. He’s my brother.”

 

Your own mileage may certainly vary, but my father also reminded me that this was exactly what Christ did when he was burdened by hauling his own Cross. 

 

Some would insist that turning the other cheek is a sign of weakness, of not standing up for what we want. 

 

Perhaps it could also be a sign of strength, of caring with such depth that we can find meaning in how we accept the wrongs of others for ourselves, of finding a way to transform that hatred into love. 

 

Perhaps by trying to be the best that we can be, we can also inspire others to be the best that they can be. 

 

Dictionaries may define Stoicism as being unemotional, and they may define meekness as being submissive. That is unfortunate. 

 

 

 

10.8

 

And in this they were quite right. For to scheme how to bite back the biter and to return evil for evil is the act not of a human being but of a wild beast, which is incapable of reasoning that the majority of wrongs are done to men through ignorance and misunderstanding, from which man will cease as soon as he has been taught.

 

But to accept injury not in a spirit of savage resentment and to show ourselves not implacable toward those who wrong us, but rather to be a source of good hope to them is characteristic of a benevolent and civilized way of life. 

 

It is certainly a part of our human nature to feel, but we too easily make the mistake of assuming that the passions should be the measure of our actions. We allow our judgments to be ruled by our passions, instead of insisting that our passions be ruled by our judgments. 

 

I may receive something that I take to be good, and so I feel pleasure. I may receive something that I take to be bad, and so I feel pain. I may expect that something will be good, and so I feel desire. I may expect that something will be bad, and I so feel fear. 

 

Yet I am also endowed with reason, by which I am not merely moved about by an impression, but by which I can freely choose according to my understanding of what things truly are. What any passion means to me, how I will make something of it, and whether I encourage it or discourage it follows from my estimation. 

 

In the simplest of terms, how I will feel proceeds directly from how I will judge about what is good or bad in my world of experience. Though it is hardly a popular thing to say in the current fashion, our passions become disordered when they are informed by false judgments. 

 

I may feel joy when I see virtue, and that comes from my correct thinking that virtue is to my benefit. I may feel rage when I am insulted, and that comes from my mistaken thinking that being defamed does me harm. 

 

An emotion is only as good for us as the awareness that stands behind it. It may seem too powerful, so terribly overwhelming, but a key to finding peace of mind is recognizing that my own decisions are what have made it so. If I work on changing the habits of my mind, however slow and arduous the progress may be, I will also be changing the habits of my feelings.

 

Anger seems an especially potent force, in my own experience equaled only in its fierceness by the consumption of sexual lust. I suppose this is because they are both a form of excessive desire, a fiery longing to cause harm to someone in the first case, a fiery longing to possess someone in the second. 

 

I can dress up my anger in fancy clothes, and make all sorts of excuses for it, just as I can so easily do with any kind of lust, for blood, or flesh, or gold. In the end, however, it is nothing but passion divorced from reason. 

 

There is a good reason we say that the enraged man or the lustful man have turned themselves into something more like an animal. They have thrown away a mastery of their own understanding, the power that makes them distinctly human. 

 

Has another acted poorly? This stems from the harm he has done to his own soul, and it need not do any harm to my soul. Why has he done this? Because he does not understand right from wrong. Is there anything I can do to make this better? I could help him to understand. 

 

How will inflicting pain improve him? It will certainly not improve me. What benefit comes from seeing him suffer? I will only have turned into the very thing that so offended me to begin with. 

 

“But we have such different views of right and wrong!”

 

Indeed, but the battle is already half won when such measures are actually being considered. Our reactions are now informed by the head, not by the gut. 

 

All of this stems from understanding that only virtue is good for us, and only vice is bad for us, and all other things are indifferent. 

 

From this perspective, civilization is not about big granite banks, or cocktail parties, or summer holidays in Maine. Being civilized means being fully human, and that comes from a respect for others, which in turn comes from understanding others. My resentment and rage are not just bad manners, they are the symptoms of a twisted soul. 

 

 

 

10.9

 

How much better a figure does the philosopher make so conducting himself as to deem worthy of forgiveness anyone who wrongs him, than to behave as if ready to defend himself with legal procedure and indictments, while in reality he is behaving in an unseemly manner and acting quite contrary to his own teaching. 

 

To be sure he says that a good man can never be wronged by a bad man; but nevertheless, he draws up an indictment as having been wronged by bad men, while claiming to be accounted a good man himself. 

 

A thoughtful fellow I once knew suggested that I could get a good sense of what most people cared for by what they were willing to pay for it. 

 

It wasn’t the noble speeches of the politicians, or the sentimental soundbites in the advertising, or the impassioned stories in the media that told us all about the world’s priorities: in which direction was the cash flowing?

 

I remember rolling my eyes, asking if this meant that medicine and law were what we all wanted the most.

 

“Exactly! People want to live forever, and people want to get back at the other people who rub them the wrong way.”

 

I may not have shared his intense social outrage about it all, but he made a good point. There I was, earning less than minimum wage for my time as a teacher, in all of my salaried glory, and my classmates who had gone to law school were charging for every minute they thought about a case while sitting on the can. 

 

And how we enjoy going to court. We have a disagreement, and we get stubborn, and so we file a lawsuit. 

 

We look down with disgust at the fellow who made a critically bad choice at exactly the wrong time, and we wish for the state to lock him up for life, or maybe even kill him, while we wave signs of our own hatred outside of his prison. 

 

I know full well that I must pay for my mistakes, in all sorts of ways; I am doing so right now, and I will do so for as long as I live. 

 

If I can recognize that within myself, why would I still insist on hurting those who have hurt me? Is justice about my own lust for satisfaction, or might it be about offering others a chance for redemption?

 

Love, mercy, and forgiveness are deeply wonderful things, because they look to the good of the whole, not just to the profit of one part. They are not outside of justice, but they are rather what perfects all of justice. 

 

It will be pointless, however, if I only speak such fine words from my mouth, while my hands are busy writing a check for my lawyer. 

 

If I really believe that the content of character is the goal, then I will not waste my time with the pursuit of vengeance. 

 

If I am really committed to the Socratic principle that no better man can be harmed by any worse man, then I will learn to not take offense where there is no offense, to reach out a hand instead of a fist. 

 

 

 

Lecture 11: What means of livelihood are appropriate for a philosopher?

 

11.1

 

There is also another means of livelihood in no way inferior to this, indeed, perhaps it would not be unreasonable to consider it even better for a strong person, namely earning a living from the soil, whether one owns his own land or not. 

 

For many who are farming land owned either by the state or by other private individuals are yet able to support not only themselves but their wives and children as well; and some in fact attain even a high degree of prosperity by hard work with their own hands.

 

This may seem an odd sort of question, because most of us would assume that being a “philosopher” is itself already a profession, one for which you go to certain schools, receive certain accreditations, and then make a living writing articles and teaching other people about becoming philosophers. 

 

In this sense, philosophers are seen as making their way by not doing much of anything, but rather by telling other people how to go about doing things. This is often sadly true, though only for those who understand philosophy in the shallowest sense. 

 

The standing joke, of course, is that philosophy majors will never make any money from their useless trade, but that is not necessarily the case. I know a good number who have turned their studies into lucrative careers, either by putting on an academic puppet show, or by using their credentials to move on into fields like law or business. 

 

Those who aren’t cut out for that sort of self-promotion, however, will likely give up philosophy entirely, and find other ways to produce and consume. 

 

Fully aware that my own thinking goes quite against the grain, I will nevertheless suggest that philosophy is not really a profession at all; it is a vocation. 

 

The genuine philosopher seeks meaning first and foremost, and so looks behind all those concerns about making money or building status. When he must ask how to feed, clothe, or house himself, he will not think that these things alone constitute living well, but rather that they must be informed by living well. 

 

Accordingly, anyone, regardless of how he tries to pay the bills, is able to be a philosopher, as long as his most important calling is to be human above all else. 

 

Most of the wisest and best people I have known were never formally trained in philosophy, and they never pontificated in any lecture hall. They followed the urges of their minds and hearts to know and to love, to be brave enough to distinguish between the true and the false, the right and the wrong, before they pursued any action. 

 

Given that philosophy is a universal mission, might there be certain jobs or lifestyles most conducive to a good life? Musonius will here suggest that the life of a farmer, living close to the land that Nature provides, is quite clearly ideal for the man who wishes to live in accord with Nature. 

 

What Musonius has to say makes me reconsider my own choices in life, and it inspires me to challenge my own children about the choices that they will make. Perhaps it is wiser to be a Wendell Berry instead of a Bertrand Russell. 

 

 

 

11.2

 

For the earth repays most justly and well those who cultivate her, returning many times as much as she received and furnishing an abundance of all the necessities of life to anyone who is willing to work; and this she does without violating one's dignity or self-respect. 

 

You may be sure that no one who was not demoralized by soft living would say that the labor of the farmer was degrading or unfit for a good man. 

 

How, I ask, could planting trees or plowing or pruning vines not be honorable? Are not sowing seed and harvesting and threshing all occupations for free men and befitting good men? Even keeping flocks, as it did not disgrace Hesiod nor prevent him from being a poet and beloved of the gods, so it would not prevent anyone else. 

 

I must be very careful not to succumb to any sort of romanticism here, of holding to some idyllic image where a rural or pastoral life magically removes all troubles and fears. It may look so refined on paper, while it ends up being quite gritty in practice. 

 

Whenever I have done any sort of farm work, such as clearing a field, or feeding livestock, or baling hay, I have hardly found it to be easy. In whatever way I may have prepared myself, my skin ended up burned, my bones and muscles ached in ways I did not think were possible, and I simply accepted that the dirt and stink would not come off, that they were now a part of me. 

 

At the end of the day, however, the extreme sense of tiredness was profoundly good. 

 

Quite unlike the hours spent filling out paperwork, or babbling at meetings, or inching along in traffic on the highway, something essential and productive was getting done. 

 

Quite unlike the labyrinth of modern bureaucracy, it was beautiful in its simplicity. There was no waste, and there was no confusion of purpose. 

 

Most importantly, it could all be practiced, however much it asked of my body, without demanding that I compromise anything within my conscience. It could be pursued with pride, precisely because it was both useful and moral. 

 

Deception or dodging your responsibilities might serve you well at a law firm or in the boardroom, but they are of absolutely no help at all in a barn or on a field. If I make excuses or point fingers, the job simply doesn’t get done, and then no one eats. 

 

Smug, spoiled, and self-satisfied people might look down their noses at you, but that is entirely on them. Nature is always immediately present, right in your face, with no artificial barriers or distractions. Sometimes she is deeply kind and sometimes she is terrifyingly violent, but she is always completely honest. 

 

In the words of that earthy heretic, John Ball:

 

When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?

 

 

 

11.3

 

In fact, to me this is the most agreeable of all aspects of farming, because it gives the spirit more leisure to reflect on and to investigate the things that have to do with our own development and training. 

 

For while, to be sure, the occupations which strain and tire the whole body compel the mind to share in concentration upon them, or at all events, upon the body, yet the occupations which require not too much physical exertion do not hinder the mind from reflecting on some of the higher things and by such reasoning from increasing its own wisdom—a goal toward which every philosopher earnestly strives. 

 

Hesiod could be both a shepherd and a great poet, and Wendell Berry assures us that farmers often make for the best philosophers. As with all things in Stoicism, the central question will always be about what can best help us to become more virtuous, and so to be happy. Is there really something especially noble about the agrarian life? 

 

I would have probably been dubious of any such claim when I was younger, when the call of the city and of industry was so seductive, but as I grow older and just a bit more experienced, I think I begin to understand. 

 

Though I once had many opportunities to live closer to the land, I sadly never made a habit of it. I regret this now. Perhaps if I had managed to do so, I would not think that farming was such a burden, and I would also not be such a terrible gardener. I will still cringe at the labor involved, at the toil and the sweat, and it seems a bit strange to me when Musonius says that the physical effort of farming is hardly so bad. 

 

What I find interesting, however, is that when I eventually moved away from the city and into the country, the people I did meet who still worked in farming, now sadly a dying breed, never complained about the hours or the heaviness of the work. 

 

Yes, they got up early, and yes, they were constantly active, and yes, they didn’t stop until it was dark, but this did not seem to trouble them at all. What troubled them was the slow creep of suburbia, the restrictions on selling their produce, and the threat of total mechanization. They feared losing their livelihoods, and they did not want to see a way of life disappear. 

 

Through it all, I must also admit that they came across as some of the most human people I had ever met. They often had a hard edge, but, on the whole, they thought more, they discussed more, and they laughed more than the other pale souls I knew. I started to see that it was hard to win their trust, but once it was won it was absolutely assured. 

 

How did they find the time and the energy to be this way? There may not have been refinement in the usual bourgeois sense, but there were brilliant rays of character that outshone all the glorified office managers I was so familiar with. 

 

Perhaps this was because their work actually encouraged them to find meaning, the opportunity to reflect. 

 

I do not mean a leisure of the sort championed by stuffy college professors, who think it rustic to smoke corncob pipes while sipping expensive whiskey on their patios. 

 

No, I mean that sense of dignity I could get from doing the most primitive manual work. At exactly the same time I could use my mind in one worthwhile way, while my hands were doing something else in another worthwhile way. Is this what Musonius meant?

 

Soon after my wife and I moved to Texas, we bit off a bit more than we could chew by renting a house with what I thought of as a massive plot of land, but what any decent Texan saw as a quaint back yard. As spring came around, I neglected to do any weeding or mowing. Before too long, there was a jungle back there. 

 

My neighbors had a good laugh at my expense. “That’ll now be a full day’s work to clear it, though for a Yankee it’ll probably be two or three days. Unless he’s a yuppie and pays someone else to do it for him.”

 

And that is exactly how long it took me, as I stubbornly refused to hire anyone to do what I should have done many weeks earlier. It was already hot as hell, and there I was, chopping and hacking away, craving a cold beer but knowing that I wouldn’t come back out once I had gone to the comfort of indoors. 

 

I still have a powerful memory of all the reflecting I did during those few days, and it wasn’t just about complaining and resentment. I credit those few days with two things: the ability to write almost my entire doctoral dissertation in three weeks after I was done, and the gift of learning a deep sense of humility from my own shame. 

 

It was the first time that I truly saw how the right kind of work of the body could do wonders for the right kind of work of the soul. 

 

 

 

11.4

 

For these reasons I recommend particularly the life of a shepherd. But, speaking generally, if one devotes himself to the life of philosophy and tills the land at the same time, I should not compare any other way of life to his nor prefer any other means of livelihood. 

 

For is it not "living more in accord with Nature" to draw one's sustenance directly from the earth, which is the nurse and mother of us all, rather than from some other source? 

 

Is it not more like the life of a man to live in the country than to sit idly in the city, like the Sophists? Who will say that it is not healthier to live out of doors than to shun the open air and the heat of the sun? 

 

I have always had an affection for sheep and goats, but especially for sheep, and that hopeless Romantic in me still imagines that if I had lived a different life, then it might have involved watching over a flock of Herdwicks on the slopes of the Pennines. This would, of course, have also come with writing poems about longing. 

 

My dream is only half in jest, because there is actually something deadly serious behind the desire to be closer to Nature. Yes, it speaks to the passions, and yet it is also completely in agreement with the calling of reason. I have found that the best things in life will fulfill not just one aspect of me, but everything about me in proper order. 

 

What could be better than going straight to the source, instead of mucking about with all sorts of substitutes and diversions? A painting of a tree can be quite beautiful, but it is as nothing compared to sitting under a tree. Let me by all means read about love, and it will still tell me very little about the glory of actually being in love. 

 

The drones crawling about inside the office blocks in their business suits will bicker about who gets the room with the biggest window, forgetting the whole time that they could be out in the sun and the fresh air, if only they had chosen a natural over an artificial life. 

 

Nature already provides everything we need for the benefit of the body, and yet Nature does far more than that by further offering everything we need for the benefit of the soul. Her order reveals the design of Providence, and so points us directly to knowing the truth. Her harmony reveals the balance and complementarity in all things, and so points us directly to loving what is good. 

 

Sophists of any time or place will try to convince us that life requires all sorts of manufactured trinkets to make it worthwhile, and they are quite ready to sell them to us. So we are told that the trappings of money, property, and status are the measure of happiness. 

 

Don’t let them take you for a ride, because everything they are offering is a pale imitation of life’s blessings. The life well lived requires virtue above all else, and Nature has already given us the power to know and to love, while she then shows us how to use that power by the example of all her works. 

 

 

 

11.5

 

Tell me, do you think it is more fitting for a free man by his own labor to procure for himself the necessities of life or to receive them from others? But surely it is plain that not to require another's help for one's need is more dignified than asking for it. 

 

If all this profound talk about a unity with Nature is still too strange for me, then I can also look to another benefit that comes from living close to the land: where else might I find such a great degree of self-reliance and freedom? 

 

Stoicism argues that we become better and happier the more we take responsibility for ourselves, and the less we depend upon those things that are beyond our power. We can all find our own ways to best achieve this, of course, yet I can’t help but recognize that I am hardly as independent as I would like to think I am. 

 

I wish to rule myself, even as I remain attached to so many unnecessary complexities and luxuries, am bound by conditions that infringe on the free exercise of my conscience, and am for too ready to let someone else do for me what I should be doing for myself. 

 

If I could produce the food I eat, or make the clothes I wear, or craft more of the tools I use in daily life, or provide my own shelter and comfort from what is immediately around me, I would be in a better place to practice a Stoic self-sufficiency. 

 

This hardly requires withdrawing into isolation or reducing life to some bestial state. To support oneself does not exclude helping others to support themselves, and simplicity should not be confused with denying ourselves what is necessary. 

 

As creatures of reason and choice, we are made to cooperate with one another. My wife and I will often joke that being codependent is not as the same as being interdependent, but I would suggest that there is indeed a real difference between living someone’s life for him and assisting someone in living his own life on his own terms. 

 

I never cease to be amazed at how I end up wanting less whenever I have to make anything for myself. Perhaps I have discovered a deeper value in my conditions when I must toil for them, and so I appreciate them more, or perhaps I simply no longer have the time to wallow in trivialities, but whatever the case, I find myself happier with a very few things that I have crafted. 

 

It can be as simple as a meal prepared with food you have grown or raised, or brewing your own beer instead of buying it in bottles from a store, or building your own table rather than having it dropped off by a truck. It means more, precisely because it came from you. 

 

Some people are proud of the things they are able to buy, and some people are proud of what they produce with their own hands. I really do think the difference speaks volumes, and I don’t think it is overly sentimental to say that this is what Musonius means by the contrast between the city man and the country man. 

 

 

 

11.6

 

How very good and happy and blessed of heaven is the life of the soil, when along with it the goods of the spirit are not neglected, the example of Myson of Chenae may show, whom the god called "wise", and Aglaus of Psophis whom he hailed as "happy”,  both of whom lived on the land and tilled the soil with their own hands, and held aloof from the life of the town.

 

Is not their example worthy of emulation and an incentive to follow in their footsteps and to embrace the life of husbandry with a zeal like theirs? 

 

Even if there is good money to be made, there are still the sort of people who will have absolutely nothing to do with farming. It would be too crude, too unrefined for their sensibilities, as wealth is of little use to them unless it is mingled with honor and glory. 

 

The best kind of man, they believe, rises above such common things. Where is the nobility in getting your hands dirty, in making do with less, in not being seen as extraordinary by the crowd? The good life, after all, must surely be extreme and ostentatious. 

 

Where we find nobility will follow from what we love the most, and so I have learned quite a bit about the character of others simply by observing where their priorities lie. I do not mean, mind you, merely following what they say, as that is not necessarily the same as what they do. Will it be a life committed to acting with conviction or to making an impression?

 

A farmer, or anyone with similar values, has no room for putting on a show. His crop or his livestock will not thrive or wither away depending on how he is perceived by others; he finds his worth in deeds for their own sake, informed by a cooperation with Nature, not in deeds for the sake of appearances, motivated by outdoing someone else. 

 

It may not be flashy work, but it is sincere work. Perhaps, in a sort of mirroring of the Bhagavad Gita and the Tao Te Ching, it is nobility precisely because it isn’t trying to be noble, virtue without asking for any further reward, success with no need for striving. 

 

Myson of Chenae, often listed as one of the Seven Sages of Greece, was praised by the Oracle at Delphi for his great wisdom, and yet he was “just” a farmer. 

 

When King Gyges of Lydia asked if anyone was happier than he was, the same Oracle pointed to Aglaus of Psophis, yet another farmer. 

 

I have long been moved by the story of Cincinnatus, who is said to have left his farm to lead the armies of Rome during an invasion, and even as he was giving dictatorial powers, returned right back to his farm after the job of defending the state was done. 

 

One might ask who would be so foolish as to surrender such a great opportunity? Perhaps someone who realized precisely that working his own land was a far better thing than holding high office. 

 

 

 

11.7

 

What, perhaps someone may say, is it not preposterous for an educated man who is able to influence the young to the study of philosophy to work the land and to do manual labor just like a peasant? 

 

Yes, that would be really too bad if working the land prevented him from the pursuit of philosophy or from helping others to its attainment. 

 

But since that is not so, pupils would seem to me rather benefited by not meeting with their teacher in the city nor listening to his formal lectures and discussions, but by seeing him at work in the fields, demonstrating by his own labor the lessons which philosophy inculcates—that one should endure hardships, and suffer the pains of labor with his own body, rather than depend upon another for sustenance. 

 

Having grown up in a time when the most important intellectuals were imbued with a Marxist spirit, there was always a sense of solidarity for the working man hovering over most of everything. 

 

Notice I say only a sense, however, because it would have been entirely unfitting for most of my teachers to ever pick up a wrench, or milk a cow, or plow a field. They felt certain that their jobs required them to expound the theory of the dialectic, while the proletariat could then follow their inspired instructions. 

 

At my progressive high school, where no one ever got sent to the headmaster’s office, I was once sent to the headmaster’s office for talking back to a teacher who told me that I was too bourgeois in my thinking. I suggested he try working on a Soviet collective farm to see what it felt like to be a slave of the state. Needless to say, this did not go over too well. 

 

I learned fairly quickly that acquiring an education, at least one that mattered, did not require me to become an effete snob. I could still love my fancy books, and I could still be excited about all the profound learning, but I never needed to look down my nose at anyone. 

 

As with most false dichotomies, why should I assume that a commitment to theory excludes the exercise of practice? Quite the contrary, is not the meaning of the former made real through an application to the latter?

 

A good number of the people I went to school with had never suffered any serious hardships in their entire lives, and yet they were always the most vocal about condemning social injustice. This was possible for them because they only thought about it and spoke about it in a classroom, and then later took their abstract ideologies to their firms and corporations. 

 

Shouting and waving my fist at a fashionable protest is hardly the same as being evicted for not being able to pay my rent. 

 

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe they sincerely meant it, but I also believe they had no idea what struggling in life really entailed. If you had spent just an hour sitting with them at a trendy café in Harvard Square, you would know exactly what I mean. 

 

Musonius offers a radical, but also quite sensible, solution to this divide between our intellectual and moral lives: put your money where your mouth is. Instead of discussing it, start doing it. Instead of contemplating it, start living it. Instead of getting angry about it, perform the actual work. 

 

Just imagine if you could meet your teacher, not in the classroom or his office during those very few formally appointed hours, but by spending many days, weeks, and months with him clearing stumps or draining a bog. 

 

Just imagine if you could learn your lessons by helping him plant a crop or build a barn. 

 

Just imagine if you could experience the realities of struggle, suffering, and friendship by working alongside him, and hearing what he has to say at exactly the same time he shows you how to tie the best knots. 

 

Not an artsy John Lennon sort of imagining, but an earthy Wendell Berry sort of imagining. 

 

Now that would be learning, and that would be a teacher. 

 

If we did it in such a way, I assure you that we would no longer bicker about whether this group or that ends up with this political handout or that. 

 

We might well learn that we are responsible for ourselves, and that we are made to care for one another. 

 

We might well learn that we are called to give, not entitled to receive. 

 

 

 

11.8

 

What is there to prevent a student while he is working from listening to a teacher speaking about self-control or justice or endurance? 

 

For those who teach philosophy well do not need many words, nor is there any need that pupils should try to master all this current mass of precepts on which we see our Sophists pride themselves; they are enough to consume a whole lifetime. 

 

But the most necessary and useful things it is not impossible for men to learn in addition to their farm work, especially if they are not kept at work constantly but have periods of rest. 

 

When I first read this passage, I had to laugh out loud, because I suddenly saw that the best lessons I have ever learned came to me while I was working, or in those brief times where I was taking a break from working. 

 

And by working, mind you, I do mean actually working. I don’t mean being nailed to a desk and looking busy, or filling out useless paperwork, or pointing fingers to tell other people what to do, or charging someone a ridiculous amount of money while sitting on the can and thinking about his case file. 

 

I also don’t mean working in the sense of acting for the sake of any additional profit. “If you just work hard enough, you’ll be rich!” Shouldn’t it be enough to say that I will work hard to be the best version of myself? 

 

Decent folks I worked with taught me right from wrong, both by their words and by their examples. I usually dozed off during the meetings, when the bosses threw their weight around, but I was always attentive when those in the know showed me how the world actually played itself out. They understood about that, precisely because they had lived it through. 

 

There have always been Sophists in this world, and there always will be. They are deeply worried about the image, and not at all about the reality. In our day and age, they speak about advertising, and brand loyalty, and clever five-year plans to sell the product. 

 

Pay the Sophists no heed, and treat them just like Socrates did. 

 

Manual labor is not a detriment to the life of the mind, but it can rather become a means for greater virtue. You could sell a stock to some rich sucker and say you have succeeded, or you could carve a spoon from wood and have something to help you eat your soup. At least you were honest when it came to the spoon. 

 

If I really care about right and wrong, what Musonius calls farm work can do me quite a bit of right, and it will hardly steer me wrong. 

 

Watch people of character do their menial jobs, and then emulate them. Listen to people of character while they perform their humble tasks, and then take their suggestions to heart. 

 

 

 

11.9

 

Now I know perfectly well that few will wish to learn in this way, yet it would be better if the majority of young men who say they are studying philosophy did not go near a philosopher. I mean those spoiled and effeminate fellows by whose presence the good name of philosophy is stained. 

 

I’m afraid that many who are drawn to the study of philosophy are also quite fond of a sedentary life, such that they confuse the gift of contemplation with the weight of sloth. 

 

Instead of recognizing that work and reflection will ideally go hand in hand, we are tempted to separate labor and leisure from one another. I have as much respect for Josef Pieper’s Leisure: The Basis of Culture as the next aspiring Thomist intellectual, but I am fairly certain that the gentleman was not asking us to divorce productivity from pondering. Too often, a distinction of complementarity is confused with an assumption of contradiction. 

 

I am not immune to this weakness myself, having attended enough academic conferences and cocktail parties to get just a bit of a taste for the self-gratification that comes from looking down my nose at the other fellow, the one who must park my car, mix my drinks, and serve me my dinner. I, after all, should have the benefit of my “free” time, so that my thinking is not hindered by any worldly distractions. 

 

Not only did this make me lazier, but it also made any of my reflections quite useless, since they were bound up in a theory with no relationship to any practice. My lust for posturing would too easily overcome my love for living. 

 

When we see idle people pursuing ideology, it is no wonder that we think poorly of philosophy, and then we also fail to see that a good day’s work ought to be profoundly philosophical. It would be as if we thought that the right hand should be at war with the left hand, or perhaps more accurately that the head should be an enemy of the gut. 

 

There are all sorts of ways we might encourage a greater unity of life, as a part of a greater unity with Nature, but I can already imagine what would happen if a philosophical training required many years of moving into the country to work on a farm. 

 

Only a very few would even consider such a commitment. Yet they might, however small their number, be precisely the sort of followers that philosophy so desperately needs. 

 

“Shoveling shit? I’ll have none of that!” I’m sorry, you went to a top-rate college, and you aren’t deeply familiar with that task? Or do you think your own shit smells better than that of a cow or a horse? 

 

By the time I began to learn some of my own hard lessons about where the dignity of human life is to be found, I had already wasted too much of my youth with frivolities, and I had burned too many bridges to double back. I was left with making the most of what little I still had left, though Musonius, like any decent Stoic, would surely remind me that it could be more than enough to still become a good man. 

 

 

 

11.10

 

For of the true lovers of philosophy, there is not one who would not be willing to live with a good man in the country, even if the place be very rude, since he would be bound to profit greatly from this sojourn by living with his teacher night and day, by being away from the evils of the city, which are an obstacle to the study of philosophy, and from the fact that his conduct, whether good or bad, cannot escape observation—a great advantage to those who are learning. 

 

Would living on a farm help me to build up my professional standing? Would it look good on my resumé? 

 

Would working a field benefit my social life? Would it improve my networking connections? 

 

Would milking a cow assure that I be made a partner or earn tenure in a few years? Would it allow me more flexibility when seeking future opportunities for employment? 

 

No, a life of agriculture would probably do none of these things, though life will sometimes throw me for a loop, so I can never really know. The more important question, however, is why I would even aspire to such shallow goals to begin with? 

 

Helpful and unassuming tasks assist the soul in forging its own utility and humility. 

 

The place does not need to be grand, and the profit does not need to bring me luxury, and the company does not need to give me status. If I care for the quality of my humanity, I will find a total contentment in the cultivation of my character. 

 

“Well, that’s just naïve. You can’t be a good person unless you first have the means for buying what you need to be a good person.”

 

Did you really just say that? What must be bought? What is needed beyond reason and choice? This is what makes the Stoic distinct from the slave to circumstances. 

 

“Why would you want to live with your teacher in any event? It’s annoying enough that you need to see him for three or four hours a week. That’s sufficient to get you a brilliant letter of recommendation, and for him putting in a good word with the folks doing the hiring.”

 

If I can’t bear to be with him, how is he worthy to be my teacher, or how am I worthy to be his student? Is a teacher someone who will help me to shape myself in all things, or is he just an accessory to my own vanity?

 

I have gotten myself into all sorts of trouble, in all sorts of places, but it was always harder to do so when there were fewer temptations ready at hand. 

 

I have slipped under the radar quite regularly, but it was always harder to do so when someone else who cared for my welfare was keeping an eye on me, and offering me sound and loving advice. 

 

I still remember those college years, where we publicly promised our allegiance to God, to learning, and to service, and we even wrote wonderful essays about all of it. Then we walked a bit of a ways to the dorm rooms, and privately occupied ourselves with feeding, fighting, and fornicating. That very contradiction has now shaped many generations of supposedly fine Americans. 

 

Why separate the false appearance of a man from the reality of being merely a beast? Why not become an actual rational animal from the get-go, where all of it is joined together in a harmony? Whether it be on a farm or elsewhere, there are many sorts of ways to the unity and dignity of the whole person. 

 

Learning, I must remind myself, requires becoming someone better, not working on the lie of seeming to be someone better. Remove my chances at cheating, and I remove my chances at failing to live well. 

 

 

 

11.11

 

Also to eat and drink and sleep under the supervision of a good man is a great benefit. All these things, which would come about inevitably from living together in the country, Theognis praised in the verses where he says, 

 

"Drink and eat and sit down with good men, and win the approval of those whose influence and power is great." 

 

That he means that none others but good men have great power for the good of men, if one eats and drinks and sits down with them, he has shown in the following: 

 

"From good men you will learn good, but if you mingle with the bad you will destroy even such soul as you had."

 

I have learned to take a mastery over myself quite seriously, so I will not lightly surrender my own choices to another. I am, however, also quite prone to the weakness of assuming that if I accept the help of another, I have then giving myself up to another. 

 

My failure is, once again, my inability to see that we are all made for mutual support. When someone else assists me in being myself, he neither diminishes me nor diminishes himself. When I assist someone else in being himself, I neither diminish him nor diminish myself. It is all made to work together, not in opposition. 

 

When I trust a teacher, he is not my owner, and I am not his slave. There are two perfectly good reasons why he has an authority over me as my teacher, and neither one takes away any of my freedoms. 

 

First, he knows the truth and has lived well far more fully than I have ever managed to do, and so I should respect his word and example.

 

Second, I am quite clueless in my own thinking and living, and so I should struggle to become more like him.

 

These two situations are not unconnected, and Nature has arranged that we are made for one another. The hand is made to fit the glove. He helps me to start becoming a decent man, and I, in turn, help him to continue being a decent man. 

 

We will often speak about mutual benefits, yet our understanding of them can be quite shallow on the one hand, and quite selfish on the other. A friendship, whether between equals or unequals, is not dependent on trivialities. A respect, whether between those better or worse, is not meant to be a passing thing. 

 

And there is no better way, I would suggest, to building lasting and worthy relationships than living with someone, and working with someone, day in and day out. 

 

Theognis, the ancient poet we forget at the expense of Hesiod or Homer, had it quite right. Live your life in the close company of great people, because they will make you powerful. 

 

“Ah, See? I was right! I will win power!”

 

Be careful, because you must understand where your power lies. Your power is not in your pleasures, however much they tempt you. Your power is not in making money, however much that may call to you. Your power is not in a control over others, as much as that may get your rocks off. 

 

No, your power lies in offering respect, giving justice, and showing kindness to anyone who crosses your path, however different that person may be. Love others for who they are, and do not lust for them on account of what they might do for you; neither should you hate them when they cease to gratify you. 

 

If you ever find someone who can truly help you find your way, follow that person. If it is at all possible, live closely with that person in order to learn. I fear we no longer have real teachers, and we no longer have real students, because so few of us want to actually share our lives with one another. 

 

I assure you that you will not find inspiration from merely chatting with the person in the next cubicle at work, where you are just another piece of meat to be bought and sold. This is what you employer thinks of you, and this what your peers think of you by extension. 

 

If you can’t go off, in the best hippie way, to start a farm of your own, commit to growing some vegetables together in a backyard or on a patio. Your humble efforts will reveal to you how the bonds of friendship are deeply tied to the working of some shared soil, however small your plot may be. George Eliot said it better:

 

A human life, I think, should be well rooted in some spot of native land, where it may get the love of tender kinship for the face of the earth, for the labors of men go forth to, for the sounds and accents that haunt it, for whatever will give that early home a familiar unmistakable difference among the future widening of knowledge: a spot where the definiteness of early memories may be inwrought with affection, and kindly acquaintance with all neighbors, even to the dogs and donkeys, may spread not by sentimental effort and reflection, but as a sweet habit of the blood.

 

 

 

11.12

 

Therefore let no one say that farming is an obstacle to learning or to teaching the lessons of duty, for it can scarcely be such an obstacle, if we realize that under these conditions the pupil lives in closest association with the teacher, and the teacher has the pupil constantly at hand. And where this is the case, earning a living by farming seems to be most suitable for a philosopher.

 

And as we find ourselves at the end of this short lecture, the professional philosopher rolls his eyes with that dismissive disgust we all know so well, and he stops squirming in his seat, hoping that we paid absolutely no attention to anything that was said. 

 

Let us move on to something far more important, he might say, like what the proper order of the books in Aristotle’s Metaphysics ought to be. I am not joking when I tell you that my entire department was obsessed with this question for a whole year, and friendships were irreparably broken due to the critical disagreements. 

 

The soap opera took on a whole new level of drama, when the phenomenologists suggested that the text made no sense in any event, and that the order might as well be arbitrary. 

 

If all the philosophers had been manly enough, they might have thrown fists, but given their lack of courage, they were quite happy to just insult one another—in private, of course, behind the backs of their enemies. 

 

Yes, this actually happened, at one of the most “respected” institutes of higher learning in the country. The poor graduate students were in a panic, not knowing which side to pick, uncertain about who to suck up to when it came to begging for a thesis director. Their fellowships, meaning the monies they were given to kiss ass, were on the line. 

 

I should waste no more time on any of that, and waste no more of my efforts in playing such an elaborate and sinister game. 

 

I should no longer seek Aristotle’s secret intentions. I should look instead to what the right time might be to plant and to harvest, both for my crops and for the actions in my own life. 

 

I should worry less about whether Lonergan can actually be in agreement with Aquinas on the status of ideas, and worry more about putting my own mind in order. 

 

I should stop my obsession with finding what is wrong with whatever my colleagues happen to think, and start learning to love my neighbors, especially the ones who treat me like an enemy. 

 

I should join myself to decent people, and commit myself to decent work. A farm could be a good place to start, where I must constantly cooperate with others for the sake of achieving a totally concrete goal. 

 

Stop rolling your eyes at me, because you know you can’t talk your way out of this one. 

 

 

 

Lecture 12: On sexual indulgence.

 

12.1

 

Not the least significant part of the life of luxury and self-indulgence lies also in sexual excess; for example, those who lead such a life crave a variety of loves, not only lawful but unlawful ones as well, not women alone but also men. 

 

Sometimes they pursue one love and sometimes another, and not being satisfied with those which are available, pursue those which are rare and inaccessible, and invent shameful intimacies, all of which constitute a grave indictment of manhood. 

 

In my time at studying and teaching philosophy, I only came across one other fellow who formally taught about the Stoics in his classes. Academic fashions can sadly be rather narrow, so when I found a professor who asked his students to read the actual Stoic texts, I stuck to him like glue. 

 

He put together a wonderful reader for one of his courses, including selections from all the classics by Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. He even had fragments from the early Stoics in there, and he also added major bits from Musonius Rufus. 

 

I followed along with him, but I noticed a gap in the text. Lectures 12 and 15 were not mentioned at all. Being the naïve fool that I have always been, I asked him why. Were they not important? Did they just cover earlier topics again? Was their source somehow questionable?

 

He was one of the last professors who still dared to smoke in his office, even as it had been forbidden by the authorities, and I swear he dragged his way through half a cigarette before answering me. I will always remember his wry smile and the way he would wink.

 

“Please, go look them up in the library, and I do encourage you to do that. I just can’t teach those sections in the classroom anymore. You’ll understand when you read them.” 

 

When I looked them up, I saw exactly what he meant. They were about sex. 

 

Now please remember, I may come across as an old coot, but this was not in the 1950’s, where sex was a taboo topic. No, this was in the late 1980’s, where sex was all we wanted to talk about, the dirtier the better. That Musonius spoke of sex wasn’t the issue; how he spoke of it was the issue.

 

My professor was honestly afraid about ruffling political feathers, by even suggesting that jumping into bed with anyone you came across might be a bad idea. He knew that such unpopular values would make waves, and he didn’t want to go against the current. 

 

“How dare Musonius talk about sexual excess? Isn’t it all good, as long as it’s consensual?” 

 

“Who is he to say what is lawful or unlawful? Isn’t it right if I desire it?” 

 

“Where does he come off being such a sexual fascist? Surely that dead Roman was a hateful homophobe?”

 

I know exactly why my old professor dodged all of this; I had to do much the same when I myself became a teacher. 

 

Sexuality, unhindered and free of consequences, is one of our new gods. And I should stop right there, because I will surely offend the new moral majority.

 

But you know me well enough. I won’t stop there. You also know me well enough to realize that I won’t preach down at you. No, I will only respectfully ask you to think it through before you act on a feeling.

 

 

 

12.2

 

Men who are not wantons or immoral are bound to consider sexual intercourse justified only when it occurs in marriage and is indulged in for the purpose of begetting children, since that is lawful, but unjust and unlawful when it is mere pleasure-seeking, even in marriage. 

 

But of all sexual relations those involving adultery are most unlawful, and no more tolerable are those of men with men, because it is a monstrous thing and contrary to Nature. 

 

But, furthermore, leaving out of consideration adultery, all intercourse with women that is without lawful character is shameful and is practiced from lack of self-restraint. So no one with any self-control would think of having relations with a courtesan or a free woman apart from marriage, no, nor even with his own maidservant. 

 

I once very much enjoyed dramatic ideological bickering, and it was only in hindsight that I understood why that was so. I eventually learned something rather important: If I know it to be true, why do I feel the need to force it upon anyone else, which negates the very freedom of seeking understanding? It could only be my own sense of self-importance. 

 

I once very much enjoyed violently arguing about this or that social issue, and it was only in hindsight that I understood why that was so. I eventually learned something rather important: If I speak of righteousness in all those specific matters, why am I failing to practice love throughout it all? It could only be that I am fueled not by love at all, but by resentment and hatred. 

 

The struggle with defining sexuality has, in my short time on this Earth, been one of the most critical questions I have encountered, and it has also involved one of the nastiest forms of debate. It is deeply personal, and it is deeply intimate, and yet from all sides I see little except piss and vinegar. 

 

No side is more “broad” or “narrow”, I would argue, because any set of moral values, any at all, will, by definition, both include some things and exclude others. By being “for” or “against” anything, I will deny or embrace their contraries. 

 

I made a deliberate choice one day, that I would no longer reduce the dignity of human life to platitudes, and that I would no longer thoughtlessly cast aside what I found to be disagreeable. 

 

I will still fail in the commitment, but that only inspires me to get back on track. 

 

What Musonius has to say will certainly sound terrible to the followers of the current sexual fashions. Nevertheless, I have listened to him with respect and an open mind, and I find that his argument is quite worthy of consideration, however unpopular it may be at the moment. 

 

I suggest not fighting about the effects, but rather going back to causes. I avoid getting caught up in preferences, but rather consider the principles. I try to move beyond the particular “what” toward the universal “why”.

 

When Musonius speaks of what is lawful or unlawful, he is not referring to the legislation of the state, or the customs of the majority, or the dictates of religious piety.

 

Like any other good Stoic, he is appealing to Nature itself, the very order in the existence of creatures, which can be learned by simply looking at what such things are in their function and purpose. This has nothing to do with what is imposed from the outside, but by what proceeds from the inside. 

 

On a strictly biological level, sex serves a very clear role, and I wonder why we so often overlook it or negate it. As with all living things that procreate sexually, it is a means for making more of the same. It is one of those wonderful ways that Nature allows the old to be transformed into something new. Two lives together produce a new life. 

 

On a higher level, specific to creatures that have reason and choice, it also serves a further role, a deliberate expression of the most complete love for another. This second purpose is hardly separate from the first, or in any way an exclusion of it, but rather a fulfillment and perfection of it. Within human nature, the one must necessarily go along with other. 

 

By choosing to love one another, in an act of complete and total giving, husband and wife also choose to make something new from one another. 

 

It took my own personal experience of marriage to understand, in a very immediate way, what Musonius meant. 

 

Sex, many told me, was something you “had”, or something you “did”, or something you “got”. Bad people would tell me I didn’t have to buy the cow if I could get the milk for free. Even worse people would tell me it wasn’t even necessary to ask, only to take. 

 

I know I may sound a bit stuffy here, but making love to my other half was not just an act, not some annoying chore, not a selfish means for pleasure. It was a blessing, where everything, absolutely everything, in our lives came together. The two pieces that Nature made to work together were now united, both in body and in soul. 

 

It was pointless without unconditional love, and it was pointless without being open to having children. Remove either aspect, and you then remove the meaning of the whole. Those concepts are not arbitrary, but rather come from an awareness of what it means to be human, from the lowest physical level to the highest spiritual level. 

 

I said I was most concerned about the deeper principles, and there you have it. I have come to understand that other people have different views, and I respect that everyone must follow his own conscience. Instead of fighting, can we discuss it with reason and love? If I am wrong, inform me, and do not despise me. 

 

Speaking only for myself, few things have done me greater harm than thinking that sex is there merely for pleasure. Following my own model, let me take a step far further back than that: doing absolutely anything at all only for pleasure is contrary to my nature.

 

Should I find gratification in what is true and good? Absolutely. Is it true and good because it gratifies me? Absolutely not. The difference is all about our confusion between causes and effects. 

 

Whenever anyone tells me about what is right and wrong in sexual matters, I notice how that most basic question of an ultimate human purpose stands behind it all. If I think that I am only made to pursue my passions, I will follow them wherever they lead me. If I think, however, that I am made to pursue my passions through the guidance of my virtue, then I will follow a very different path. 

 

I grow tired of being told, on the one hand, that sex is all about my feelings, and I grow tired of being told, on the other hand, that sex is all about my duties. Can’t it be both, if it is rightly understood? Can’t it help me to fulfill both my passion and my reason? It doesn’t need to be dirty, and it doesn’t need to be cold. 

 

We take out the knives and the guns when it comes to marriage, or divorce, or birth control, or homosexuality, or abortion, those topics where civility has been entirely lost. 

 

I no longer publicly speak my mind on such things. It isn’t that I don’t think they are important, because they most certainly are, but I wait patiently until someone is willing to go back to the root, to the foundation of the human purpose as a whole. 

 

Once that can be established, the rest takes care of itself. 

 

 

 

12.3

 

The fact that those relationships are not lawful or seemly makes them a disgrace and a reproach to those seeking them; whence it is that no one dares to do any of these things openly, not even if he has all but lost the ability to blush, and those who are not completely degenerate dare to do these things only in hiding and in secret. 

 

And yet to attempt to cover up what one is doing is equivalent to a confession of guilt. 

 

If I wish to consider what is lawful, not merely in the sense of what is popular but in the sense of what is right, then I must learn to look beyond the impression of what is gratifying or expedient. Stoic ethics is built upon the premise that the human good is found in virtue, since we are first and foremost creatures of reason and choice, called by Nature not just to feel good, but to live well. 

 

This necessity informs all aspects of life. Whatever my preferences may be, however my passions may speak to me, will my actions be in harmony with wisdom, with courage, with temperance, and with justice? 

 

Musonius speaks quite strongly about sexual vices here, and so we might be tempted to think he is being more prudish than prudent. Yet I would suggest that he is so insistent in the matter precisely because sexuality is one of those aspects of life where people can be at their absolute worst, where they most fail to practice self-control, where they so deeply exploit others, where they behave more like animals than human beings. 

 

In my own thinking, I find it boils down to whether I am acting out of love or out of lust. The first is an act of the will, and it is concerned with joining my own good to that of others. The second is allowing myself to be led by my appetites, and it measures the value of others by how much they pleasure me. 

 

It is a property of a rational creature also to know guilt and shame, and it is no accident that a painful awareness of our weaknesses and failures is so prevalent in our sexual behavior, or, more properly, our sexual misbehavior. 

 

Now some might say that this is only a consequence of social pressures, but those of us who still choose to recognize a conscience know that it is rooted in something deeper, in a sense of right and wrong imprinted upon us by Nature. There is a perfectly good reason we feel self-disgust and remorse whenever we abuse human dignity for the sake of selfish amusement 

 

Now it may seem that the most lustful and gluttonous are quite shameless in their ways, but notice that even they will try to keep their exploits private, and they will hang their heads when others look upon them. I have known many people who insist that we should never hide our liberated libidos, and yet I have known very few who would actually copulate on the street, like dogs would. 

 

I was once foolishly enamored with a girl who told me that she never regretted jumping into bed with dozens of men, and yet she could not bear for her parents or teachers to know of it. I wonder if she now speaks nostalgically about her old conquests to her colleagues, or her husband, or her children? 

 

 

 

12.4

 

"That's all very well," you say, "but unlike the adulterer who wrongs the husband of the woman he corrupts, the man who has relations with a courtesan or a woman who has no husband wrongs no one for he does not destroy anyone's hope of children." 

 

I continue to maintain that everyone who sins and does wrong, even if it affects none of the people about him, yet immediately reveals himself as a worse and a less honorable person; for the wrong-doer by the very fact of doing wrong is worse and less honorable.

 

A common precept I hear is that I should do whatever I want, as long as I don’t hurt anyone. Indeed, it would hardly be a vice if it didn’t do any damage, and so it would seem that many of the things I question are really just victimless crimes, hardly crimes at all, since there are no victims. 

 

If a woman isn’t married, and no husband will be cuckolded, where’s the harm? If a man wants to do all of these things with me, where could there possibly be any offense?

 

At first, this sounds great to me, since it clears me from an accountability for much that I might desire. Then I realize that it only looks good on paper, since I have never in my whole life stumbled across any action that has no effect upon others. There are no real divisions or compartments in human relations, especially not where matters of sex are concerned. 

 

The human heart is not a stone, and the human mind does not exist in a vacuum. All things are closely connected, for better or for worse. 

 

Sexuality is, by its very nature, profoundly intimate, and so it will also cause both the deepest joy and the deepest pain. I have seen struggles about money tear people apart, and I have seen conflicts about status draw blood, but I have observed the greatest agony, both in myself and in others, from a broken heart. 

 

Touch someone in the most personal way possible, both in body and in soul, and the consequences will be earth-shattering. 

 

“It was just sex, what’s the big deal?” If you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you. 

 

But let me imagine, only in theory, that my choice of sexual partners and practices affected no one else at all. Let me imagine, along similar lines, that I stole a million dollars from a bank, but they didn’t even notice it, and they went on being just as profitable as they had always been. Would that be acceptable? 

 

Who has been hurt? That one person I have most failed to offer the respect he deserves, that one person for whom I am most responsible. I have wronged myself. In treating other human beings as objects, things to be enjoyed and then cast aside, I have done damage to them on the outside, while I have also crippled myself on the inside. 

 

I am always my own worst victim. 

 

The “Stoic Turn” asks me to see my own character as my highest good, as my most important goal, and I destroy myself whenever I abuse another for my own gratification, even if the other does not necessarily feel all that abused. 

 

Years after the fact, I will still have nightmares about someone I should never have been foolish enough to become so closely intimate with, and I will still wake up either screaming or crying. If being more of a man means no longer caring, I don’t want to be that sort of a man. 

 

At another shameful time, I once passionately kissed a young lady, and I mean the term with the proper respect for her, after one of those drunken college parties I should never have been at in the first place. 

 

She was a kind and sensitive soul, and she asked me when she would see me again. My so-called friends brutally mocked me for showing an interest in her, so when I did see her again, I pretended that nothing had happened. 

 

I can still see that vivid picture of the hatred and disappointment in her eyes, not because I was some great catch, but because I had been such a terrible ass. I wrote her a letter of apology much later, when I realized what I had done, but that doesn’t really make it any better, does it? 

 

As soon as I see another life as a disposable vehicle, I have already abandoned my own humanity. That terrible ass stabs himself in his own heart. 

 

Sorry, Aleister Crowley, you’re not going to suck me in with “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.” Maybe it works for the neo-pagans who worship sex, money, and power as their gods, but I know I am made for something better. I learned that the hard way. 

 

 

 

12.5

 

Not to mention the injustice of the thing, there must be sheer wantonness in anyone yielding to the temptation of shameful pleasure and, like swine, rejoicing in his own vileness.

 

In this category belongs the man who has relations with his own slave-maid, a thing which some people consider quite without blame, since every master is held to have it in his power to use his slave as he wishes. 

 

In our current climate, which is just one of the many fashions that will come and go, we like to speak of justice, and we like to speak of courage. I’m always glad to see someone look out for another, and I’m always glad to see someone stick his neck out. 

 

The problem, however, is that the virtues only work properly when that are a part of the whole package, as instances of the whole person, not just as a certain part of a person. 

 

Where is the love of wisdom? When was the last time you heard the trendy activist speak about seeking a deeper understanding, to do some thinking before waving your fists?

 

Where is the practice of temperance? When was the last time you heard the rabble-rouser tell you to control your rage, to refuse giving in to hatred after you have received hatred? 

 

“He hurt me, so I must hurt him.” As my younger students might say, “epic fail”. 

 

Justice never follows from ignorance. Courage never flows from resentment. The four classical virtues are not arbitrarily chosen, but rather express a sense of all that we are. 

 

The strict Stoic may take offense, but I always remember what Thomas Aquinas taught me:

 

Wisdom is the perfection of the intellect, the fulfillment of awareness, of knowing true from false and right from wrong.

 

Justice is the perfection of the will, of knowing how to treat another as an equal and as a second self.

 

Courage is the perfection of the irascible appetite, of our drive to fight, based upon knowing what is worth fighting for.

 

Temperance is the perfection of the concupiscible appetite, of our desire to possess, grown from knowing what is worth desiring. 

 

Notice how that annoying old virtue, prudence, is required for all the rest. Notice how you can’t be just or brave or temperate if you can’t first be wise. 

 

Notice also how temperance is almost completely lacking in almost all of our discussions, since it might remind us that passion should be ruled, and not be the ruler.

 

Wait, wasn’t this passage from Musonius about sex? Where’s all the sex? I was waiting for more talk about the sex! 

 

The passage is indeed about the sex, and yet it has the nerve to suggest that sex can only be understood within the context of character. Treat another like an animal, and you then become the animal. 

 

Pardon my French, but say that you want to fuck, and then you will only be fucked. 

 

“Oh, she doesn’t matter, I just had my way with her!”

 

“Hey, I just had some fun with him, and it’s not like I’ll marry him!”

 

We say we abolished slavery, and yet we treat others as our disposable property, as things to be used, like fast food, like plastic bags, like pumping up at the gas station. 

 

You won’t get your precious social justice until you have the courage to respect any man or woman as a person, not denigrate them as things for your pleasure. 

 

 

 

12.6

 

In reply to this I have just one thing to say: if it seems neither shameful nor out of place for a master to have relations with his own slave, particularly if she happens to be unmarried, let him consider how he would like it if his wife had relations with a male slave. 

 

Would it not seem completely intolerable not only if the woman who had a lawful husband had relations with a slave, but even if a woman without a husband should have? 

 

Yes, here is the notorious double standard!

 

The way Musonius puts it might make it sound like it is all about male pride, but in the order of Nature it will necessarily go both ways. We are tempted to want one thing for ourselves, and quite different things for others. 

 

How many men have I now known, who look at a woman like a piece of meat, and will then say and do the foulest things? I’ve lost count. 

 

“I wanna tap that!”

 

But wait, we now live in a supposed age of equality. I’ve also seen much the same from many women. 

 

“I’ll let him take me any day of the week!”

 

And, at the risk of having my face bashed in, I can’t help but ask them: how would you feel if someone spoke that way about your wife or husband, or your daughter or son, or your brother or sister, or your father or mother? 

 

“I’d kill them where they stood!”

 

Indeed. Do you still not see your problem? 

 

And when they are alone, both the men and the women, they bemoan their fate, how they can’t find loving partners, how they feel so forgotten and alone. 

 

“Why can’t I find true love?”

 

Because you have no sense of how to give love, or even what it means to love. 

 

We don’t have legal slavery as an institution, and yet we still treat people like things. Where the most basic of all relationships, that between a husband and a wife, is so deeply corrupted, there is no way you will ever have a just society. The rot works from the inside out.

 

Is she only a pleasure to you? Is he only a convenience for you? You’re not loving; you’re buying and selling a commodity. 

 

 

 

12.7

 

And yet surely one will not expect men to be less moral than women, nor less capable of disciplining their desires, thereby revealing the stronger in judgment inferior to the weaker, the rulers to the ruled. 

 

In fact, it behooves men to be much better if they expect to be superior to women, for surely if they appear to be less self-controlled they will also be baser characters. 

 

What need is there to say that it is an act of licentiousness and nothing less for a master to have relations with a slave? Everyone knows that.

 

Given what Musonius has previously said about the relationship between men and women, I suspect his tongue is firmly planted in his cheek. He is calling out all of those who claim to be superior, and yet they somehow end up being quite inferior.

 

I know of no man who would be happy to have his wife taken by another man. Yet I know of many men who would gladly take another man’s wife. 

 

Now there’s always the one who may be perversely titillated by sharing her with others on his own terms, but he would never permit it without his express approval. If it was beyond his control, he would explode in rage. 

 

As I get to being middle aged, I’m a little taken aback by the odd private proposals my wife and I have started receiving, sometimes from the most respectable of folks. 

 

Do they not realize that they are no longer dealing in affection, or even in lust, but only in power? 

 

It took me many years to recognize it, but sex, on all sides, is not always about love, or even just about pleasure. It sadly becomes a means for dominance, and the satisfaction that comes from having mastery over another. 

 

This is true for women just as much as it is true for men. You will laugh your head off over this, but I spent years being told by the lost love of my life how I was so deeply special, and that I needed to wait to consummate our relationship. I thought I was being noble and virtuous, but I was just being led by the nose. 

 

She would jump in the sack with other men, but then she would sweetly tell me that they didn’t matter at all, that it was all a terrible mistake, and that she was just letting off steam. When she and I were finally together, she insisted, the earth would shake. 

 

Now have you ever heard a bigger load of crap, or ever seen a bigger loser than me? Yet I believed every word of it, since it was all about power. She had the knack, and I was the sucker. 

 

Men abuse that power, and women abuse that power, each in their own way. As with all things in life, sex only works when it is joined to true love. Use it as a means, and you are now nothing but the worst of players. 

 

 

 

Lecture 13: What is the chief end of marriage?

 

13.1

 

That the primary end of marriage is community of life with a view to the procreation of children: The husband and wife, he used to say, should come together for the purpose of making a life in common and of procreating children, and furthermore of regarding all things in common between them, and nothing peculiar or private to one or the other, not even their own bodies. 

 

Part two in an uncomfortable series on Musonius, on the bits that no self-respecting post-modernist will touch with a ten-foot pole.

 

As a young fellow, I was deeply confused about what it meant to be married, since I ran into so many different approaches and attitudes. My own generation was at a sort of a threshold, where we somehow thought that the stale old ways were giving ways to vibrant new ones. Beaver Cleaver was slowly on his way out, and Roseanne Conner was just around the corner. 

 

Were those the only options I had available to me? Was that all there was, a choice between a nuclear family and a nuclear fallout?

 

For many people, marriage was just a social institution, something that self-respecting people were eventually expected to do. If you aspired to the upper middle class, you went to school and jumped through all the hoops. Then you got a nice job, and you made some money. Then you somehow arranged a classy wedding with someone else just like you, and you posed for pictures with big smiles. Then you had a carefully planned child or two, and you continued posing for smiling pictures with them while you were on vacation. Then you retired in comfort, and posed in more smiling pictures with your grandchildren on the holidays. Then you died, and everyone said how happy you had been for the whole time. 

 

I know, that sounds like a rather nasty way to put it, doesn’t it? But it doesn’t make it any less true, or any less sad. How empty and tiresome!

 

There were other people who disparaged marriage constantly and they told me how it was a complete waste of my time. In the refined and progressive circles I eventually found myself in, divorce was a badge of pride. It almost seemed like the inability to make love work was a sign that you were going somewhere. The power to “move on” from another person, someone you had once promised to care for until you were parted by death, made it clear that your priorities were firmly centered on your own gratification. Was there a fundamental disagreement? Remove the offender, and go find someone new. Was there a serious hardship? Make it easier by throwing out the bathwater, and the babies along with it. 

 

Does it seem nasty for me to say it? Not nearly as nasty as if I chose to do it. How selfish and vain!

 

I could not come to terms with either model, since neither embraced unconditional love. The one told me that my attachments were a soulless obligation, and the other told me that my commitments were a throw of the dice. Is it any wonder, a few decades later, that fewer and fewer people want to marry anymore?

 

I took my own terrible missteps, of course, in trying to find love. It felt bad enough to be thought of as a dull, awkward, and unattractive fellow, and it felt far worse when I latched onto the first person who paid me any attention at all. My romantic illusions had nothing to do with love either; it was hardly my place to throw stones at the yuppies and the libertines. 

 

After I had rather dramatically abandoned my search for any deeper companionship, it somehow came to me while I wasn’t looking. There were struggles, and there were fights, and there were times when everything seemed wasted, and yet there was always something that remained constant. That “something” involved two parts, exactly the ones my own family had vainly tried to teach me, and exactly the ones Musonius praises as the joined ends of marriage. 

 

The passage above can sound trite if you just mouth the words, and yet they are deeply moving if you attend to their meaning. Nature does nothing in vain. There are all sorts of friendships, but nothing can be as complete as the bond between a man and a woman, as each was made for the other, in all possible ways. 

 

I give some things to some people, and that is good, but I give everything to my wife, and that is better. “Community of life”, where nothing is private, is not just a phrase. 

 

And it is no accident of Nature that a total sharing of life is necessarily ordered to a stewardship over new life. 

 

During that frustrating time when I was in college, and through almost all of what I call my later Wilderness Years, one of the most popular sitcoms on television was Married. . . With Children. It could be rather funny, and yet it was also quite cynical and depressing. I do wonder if a whole generation was inadvertently turned off from the very idea of family by some of the entertainment we consumed. 

 

I recall sitting around in someone’s dorm room one night, and most everyone was busy getting drunk. My girlfriend was also busy, flirting with the new handsome, and rich, transfer student. That show came on the television, and I actually listened to the lyrics to theme song for the first time:

 

Love and marriage, love and marriage

They go together like a horse and carriage

This I tell you, brother

You can't have one without the other

 

I know the show was making fun of it all, and maybe Frank Sinatra was originally making fun of it all as well, but I suddenly felt ashamed that any of us thought it was worth making fun of to begin with. 

 

Whenever anyone “dated” anyone else in college, the first question was always if you had “done it” yet. The second question was always if you had worn a condom. Sex without love, and sex without children, without a glimmer of commitment to be found anywhere. 

 

How much more unnatural could you possibly get?

 

 

 

13.2

 

The birth of a human being that results from such a union is to be sure something marvelous, but it is not yet enough for the relation of husband and wife, inasmuch as quite apart from marriage it could result from any other sexual union, just as in the case of animals. 

 

But in marriage there must be above all else perfect companionship and mutual love of husband and wife, both in health and in sickness and under all conditions, since it was with desire for this as well as for having children that both entered upon marriage. 

 

Where, then, this love for each other is perfect and the two share it completely, each striving to outdo the other in devotion, the marriage is ideal and worthy of envy, for such a union is beautiful. 

 

I wasted much of my life by following people who believed that sex had one purpose, and one purpose only: the satisfaction of desire. 

 

I then later wasted even more of my life by following people who believed that sex had one purpose, and one purpose only: to produce more soldiers for God. 

 

They were both partly right, but they both ended up being completely wrong. They saw certain bits and pieces, and yet they somehow neglected the whole. 

 

Is sex pleasurable? Of course, sometimes in the deepest way, but all sorts of other things are fun as well. 

 

Does sex make babies? Yes, indeed it does, but that alone hardly makes it worth my while. 

 

They both missed the critical and secret ingredient: some of us call it “love”. 

 

Love is not just an emotion, or something that somehow happens to me. Yes, I will feel deeply when I love, but love is not a feeling. Love is a choice, an act of the will, a deliberate sharing of my own good with the good of another. 

 

Yes, I know, I have already lost most of you. 

 

“I love you, baby.” 

 

Indeed, we’ve all heard that. It does not necessarily mean that you are respected, but only that you are wanted, and when the wanting stops, then the attention stops as well. It’s all about the conditions, and that isn’t love. 

 

“Let’s make a baby together.”

 

Why? Will it make you feel more important? Will it give you power? How many people, men or women alike, who use such a phrase will be there not only to change a diaper, but also to walk that young soul through life, every step of the way, over many years, without question, with absolute love? 

 

Darn it, there’s that annoying love thing again!

 

The yuppies pay other people to raise their kids, and the libertines just abandon them. I’m not sure which is worse. 

 

Nature could have found a far more efficient way to bear and raise children. A human patch, much like a cabbage patch, would have done nicely. 

 

And yet Nature was not interested only in efficiency, and She joined our procreation together with our virtues. Nature made us to love and to understand, and She makes certain that we be given the chance to do so. Only a wise and caring woman will be a good mother. Only a wise and caring man will be a good father. 

 

Modern conveniences now mean that we can buy babies on our own terms. Soon, modern science will mean that we can make them in a jar on our own terms. That we can do such things does not means that we should do such things. 

 

And what will we lose? You guessed it: the love, that elusive concept that the politician, or salesman, or lawyer, or banker cannot comprehend. 

 

How does it help me win? Where is the profit for me? Can I sell it for this or that price? Will I earn interest from the child? 

 

Your reward will the greatest one you could ever imagine. You gave yourself absolutely to another, and now you are blessed by giving yourself absolutely to yet another. 

 

“Wait, I don’t get it. How does that make me win? It just costs me more!”

 

It all depends on your measure of gains and losses. Some people recognize that the winning is in the giving, not in the receiving. 

 

Love is the law. I love her, even when she snores, or even when she annoys me, or even when she overdraws the bank account, or even when she tells me that I am the worst of all possible men. 

 

Love is the law. I love my children, even when they wet the bed, or even when they lie, or even when they steal, or even when they tell me that they hate me. 

 

My wife is hardly a saint, and I am probably the worst sinner I know. Still, we love one another. This is only possible when we share every aspect of our lives, without exception. We are not even just there for one another: we are one another, with all the good and the bad mixed together, for better or for worse. That’s the annoying thing we call love. 

 

 

 

13.3

 

But where each looks only to his own interests and neglects the other, or, what is worse, when one is so minded and lives in the same house but fixes his attention elsewhere and is not willing to pull together with his yoke-mate nor to agree, then the union is doomed to disaster and though they live together, yet their common interests fare badly; eventually they separate entirely or they remain together and suffer what is worse than loneliness.

 

I find it very difficult to discuss marriage with others, since most of the people I know do not understand it as I do. They see an artificial social institution, which may or may not be of use to them, and I see a reflection of Nature, a necessary aspect of what it means to be human. I come across to them either as a religious kook or as a hopeless romantic. 

 

The folks around me tend to follow what I can only call a sort of serial polygamy, where one is exclusive with a partner for a time, but then moves on to someone else when the pleasure or convenience have passed. The exclusivity seems to be less about a commitment, and more about a temporary possessiveness, much like that of children who insist on holding on to that one toy for the moment, until the next one catches the eye. 

 

“I used to love you, but I don’t anymore. Move on, go find someone else!” I suppose it is only from my admittedly odd perspective that such a statement makes little sense. If love, by definition, is unconditional, then measuring another person by conditions means that there was never any real love present to begin with. 

 

Where there is lust rather than love, the treating of another as a means instead of as an end, or a focus on how we can be served over how we can serve, then I’m afraid we can only have a caricature of marriage. For all of the outward appearances, there will still be an inner rot. Many such relationships, if they can even be called that, will fail, not because marriage has let us down, but because we have let one another down.

 

Sometimes people will sadly drift apart from one another because they neglect what is common, but it is just as tragic when people go through the motions of staying together as they continue to neglect what is common. 

 

I was often quite impressed, even intimidated, by some of the couples I knew, and I wondered how they managed to come across as being so deeply happy. In many cases, however, I got to know them better, and I saw a bit more of their interior lives, and I realized that those who bragged the most were only good at going through the motions. 

 

They nourished an image, and they did not nourish one another. When they thought no one else was looking, they fought like wild beasts, or played spiteful games of manipulation, or, worst of all, had absolutely nothing to say to one another. 

 

I have often felt terribly alone, but I can only imagine the horror of still feeling alone in the presence of someone I have been given every opportunity to love. Finding a mate is hard enough, and maintaining that bond is harder still, and all that toil and effort will only be worthwhile when I recognize the greatness of the reward that comes from absolute sharing. 

 

 

 

13.4

 

Therefore, those who contemplate marriage ought to have regard neither for family, whether either one is of highborn parents, nor for wealth, whether on either side there are great possessions, nor for physical traits, whether one or the other has beauty. 

 

For neither wealth nor beauty nor high birth is effective in promoting partnership of interest or sympathy, nor again are they significant for producing children. 

 

But as for the body it is enough for marriage that it be healthy, of normal appearance, and capable of hard work, such as would be less exposed to the snares of tempters, better adapted to perform physical labor, and not wanting in strength to beget or to bear children. 

 

If Musonius is right to think of marriage as such a profound commitment, I can’t help but wonder why so many people will still enter into it so lightly. It seems odd when the fashion of the age is all about sexual liberation, and yet the best and brightest still tie the knot, even after they have been playing the field for years and years. 

 

Is it just a blind habit? Is it the appeal of the pomp and circumstance? Is there some assumption that a participation in the whole ritual means that we are finally seen to be taking our lives seriously? 

 

I can only speculate that we feel the need to do the right thing, for all of the wrong reasons. Some people marry because their families expect them to do so, and others marry because it will help them improve their social status, and yet others marry for the sake of money. If the prospect of children is in the picture, which has recently become rarer, it will often only be in the service of these ends. 

 

And yes, some will say they have married for doe-eyed love, while it pains me to see that they have really married for sexual passion. These are usually, and quite sadly, the first to go. The beauty they see is skin deep, and when the bodies grow older, or too familiar, or become tattered and torn, they can’t help but look elsewhere. 

 

If I view my life through the eyes of Nature, as the Stoic tries to do, I will consider marriage as I should consider everything else in life. Will my love for her help her to become a wiser and more decent woman? Will she, in turn, help me to become a more virtuous man? Are we assisting one another in becoming more fully human, or are we using one another as tools for our greed and lust? 

 

A standing family joke has it that I had two early chances at finding a “wife”, and I terribly botched both of them. In both cases, they were from big money, and their connections would have made it very easy for me to make my way up the social ladder. They also both happened to be what most people considered “knockouts”, each in her own way. Whenever I took them out in public, I was an object of envy, a gawky and goofy fellow with a sexy woman on his arm. 

 

What did I want from them? I must hang my head in shame, because I was enamored of the appearance. What could they possibly have wanted from me? I have no idea, but back then I had a knack for coming across as an artistic intellectual. 

 

When, many years later, I did find my better half, she wasn’t rich, and she offered me no opportunities for any professional advancement. I thought her the prettiest girl I had ever met, but she didn’t show off her legs or ask other men to gawk at her cleavage. 

 

She was kind, she was caring, and she stuck with me. She was tough, she was stubborn, and she didn’t put up with my crap. I learned to trust her, without condition, because she had the most beautiful soul I had ever come across. 

 

She decided, for some reason, that I was worth her while. For all of the disagreements we may have, and for all of the obstacles that come our way, there is no question in my mind that I will stand with her to the end. 

 

Social status didn’t do that. Money didn’t do that. Not even sex did that. Love did that, to which all those other things are meant to be subordinate. 

 

 

 

13.5

 

With respect to character or soul one should expect that it be habituated to self-control and justice, and in a word, naturally disposed to virtue. 

 

These qualities should be present in both man and wife. For without sympathy of mind and character between husband and wife, what marriage can be good, what partnership advantageous? How could two human beings who are base have sympathy of spirit one with the other? Or how could one that is good be in harmony with one that is bad? 

 

No more than a crooked piece of wood could be fitted to a straight one, or two crooked ones be put together. For the crooked one will not fit another crooked one, and much less the opposite, a crooked with a straight one. So a wicked man is not friendly to a wicked one, nor does he agree with him, and much less with a good man.

 

What makes a person beautiful? Why should I ever wish to be close to anyone? For what reason, far more deeply, might I want to offer all of myself to another human being, all of my body and all of my soul?

 

I will follow Aristotle on this point, that true friendship is built upon the sharing of character, not upon any conditions of convenience. 

 

Do I claim to love you because you are gratifying, or because you amuse me, or because you make me cry out your name in the middle of the night? Remove the pleasure, and you then remove the relationship.

 

Do I claim to love you because you give me something quite useful, or make my day easier, or help me to win some profit? Remove the utility, and you then remove the relationship. 

 

Or do I claim to love you because of who you are, not because of what you have? The measure of any man, and of any woman, is the virtue in the mind and the heart. No terms or requirements can be attached to what gets right down to the core. There is the real beauty. 

 

I love you for being you, not for what you do for me. I give myself to you, with no expectation of any other benefits. To love you is a privilege, and nothing you provide can be treated as a right. 

 

You are my second self. This is what makes you my best friend. Even if you walked away from me, and even if you told me that I didn’t matter, you would still matter the world to me. 

 

That isn’t sentimental bullshit; that’s what some of us still call love. It’s a choice, not merely a feeling. 

 

I shudder with terror when I hear people say: “I will love you, as long as you love me.” That’s not love; it’s bargaining. 

 

Mutual friendship in general, and the love of marriage in particular, as the most perfect expression of mutual friendship, are only possible by means of a common end. What is it that we share? Yes, we share a home, and a bank account, and sometimes we swap our cars out of an annoying necessity. That isn’t enough. 

 

I lie next to you every night, not out of some obligation, but because our bodies are meant to be one. I speak to you when I am sad, not because you raise my spirits, but because our souls are meant to be one. 

 

If I am crooked, I cease to be there for you. I you are crooked, you cease to be there for me. Then there is a big empty space. 

 

If we are both crooked, that empty space becomes a vast chasm. 

 

If we attend to our virtues, to living with understanding and compassion, there will be no divide. Hobbies, and pastimes, and social engagements do not make a marriage. The feelings of joy can only proceed form a commitment to absolute self-giving. 

 

 

 

Lecture 14: Is marriage a handicap to the pursuit of philosophy?

 

14.1

 

Again when someone said that marriage and living with a wife seemed to him a handicap to the pursuit of philosophy, Musonius said that it was no handicap to Pythagoras, nor to Socrates, nor to Crates, each of whom lived with a wife, and one could not mention better philosophers than these. 

 

Crates, although homeless and completely without property or possessions, was nevertheless married; furthermore, not having a shelter of his own, he spent his days and nights in the public porticoes of Athens together with his wife. 

 

For many in the current fashion, marriage is merely a social accessory, and so what Musonius has to say here may seem quite strange. Yet even for my parents’ or grandparents’ generations, where marriage was seen as being far more fundamental, his attitude would be equally baffling.

 

I suggest that this is because Musonius is working from a very different moral standard, one where human worth is not determined by convenience or utility. The Stoic sees all things through virtue, and then estimates all other aspects of his life from that measure. 

 

In the two previous lectures, Musonius has defined human sexuality from the order of Nature, and so as something that goes far beyond the desires for pleasure or profit. Male and female exist first for the sake of perfect friendship, a total giving of self, and then by extension for the sake of the bearing and the raising of children. 

 

A very progressive professor of mine once told us that marriage was really only worth it if it was “fun”. “Hey, if you’re not getting anything out of it, it’s time to move on! Trust me, don’t waste your time on someone who’s going to drag you down. If it’s keeping you from being you, walk away!”

 

This troubled me deeply, though all I knew about love back then was in my own romantic musings. Still, I wondered how it was any sort of commitment at all, if the commitment depended on my own sense of gratification. 

 

“Drop” people? “Walk away” from them? Wasn’t the “being me” part of any friendship necessarily joined to the love of another? 

 

I also remember how, when I was at the ripe old age of ten or eleven, my great-grandfather gave me a talk about finding a good wife. I should be older, he advised, well into my thirties, because a man needed to build up some income and property before he could take on a family. 

 

She should be younger, he added, because women acquire a sense of responsibility long before us men can manage it, and her vitality would be a blessing both for me and for our children. 

 

“But what if I’m younger, and poor, and I love her? Do I need to have money? What if she’s older, or maybe she’s sick or something? Can I still marry her?”

 

He laughed, and he smiled that big smile I miss so much, and he rolled his eyes. “Well, that’ll happen too. Then you can only make sure it’s love, and not just your pecker talking.”

 

I always listened, though I was never entirely satisfied with the options put on the table. The professor said it required satisfaction, and Pipa said it required security. Those are certainly preferable things, but are they necessary things for love to be present? Doesn’t character trump conditions, at any time or in any place? 

 

My sense of romance has taken many blows over the years, and yet I can still somehow manage to stick with my original convictions: 

 

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.

 

To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

 

Would it be easier for me if my wife was never sick, or never despondent, or never angry? Would it be easier for her if I made a million dollars, or was always affectionate, or managed to constantly think of her feelings before I wallowed in my own? 

 

Of course, it would be easier, but easier is not the same thing as better. Put all of those circumstances into place, and we still wouldn’t have love. Love works through the circumstances, and it does not arise from them.

 

Maybe I should just avoid this whole friendship thing, this whole love thing, this whole marriage thing. I want to be a good person first and foremost, a kind and just person, and perhaps such things are just distractions. 

 

Fool, don’t you see that those are the very means by which you will be able to become good, kind, and just? How can you be a philosopher if you are unwilling to give of yourself completely? 

 

Crates of Thebes, one of the Cynic philosophers, and the teacher of Zeno of Citium, the founder of Stoicism, took his values to a place many of us would call rather extreme. He gave away all of his money, and he abandoned all desire for worldly gain. 

 

And yet he married, finding love with a woman who embraced his longing for virtue, above all else, as her own. Hipparchia of Maroneia joined him in his vocation. 

 

“But how can I love her, and how can she love me, if I have nothing? What will become of us without money?”

 

You have all that you need to love her, and she has all that she needs to love you. You own yourselves, and now you also possess one another, joined together in an even greater strength. What else could ever be required? 

 

Most would call that a perverse sense of romance; I am still so moved by the story that it will, in a private moment, bring me to tears. 

 

 

 

14.2

 

How, then, can we, who have a home to start with and some of us even have servants to work for us, venture to say that marriage is a handicap for philosophy? 

 

Now the philosopher is indeed the teacher and leader of men in all the things that are appropriate for men according to Nature, and marriage, if anything, is manifestly in accord with Nature.

 

For, to what other purpose did the Creator of mankind first divide our human race into two sexes, male and female, then implant in each a strong desire for association and union with the other, instilling in both a powerful longing each for the other, the male for the female and the female for the male? 

 

Crates and Hipparchia could find love in marriage, because they understood what was necessary, and they were quite willing to dispense with anything that was merely a supplement, however preferable it might have seemed. 

 

I constantly remind myself that a Stoic Turn is not some cosmetic change in life, and that my priorities will have to be modified to the core. If Crates and Hipparchia can pull it off, then I can do so as well, and so can the rest of us, who usually have at least some property to our names. 

 

They could do it with nothing outside of themselves, precisely because they knew what was going on inside of themselves.

 

I may be tempted to renounce the world entirely so that I can live a philosophical life, but that would be a terrible mistake. I may not be of the world, but I am most certainly in the world. Where is the merit of any thinking without the presence of any doing? 

 

What could be more natural, more in harmony with my very humanity, than learning to care for another without conditions? What greater teacher could there be than one who lives out all of those noble ideals, and actually manages to put them into practice? 

 

If I only look closely and honestly, I will see that Nature does nothing in vain, and that everything is intended for a deeper order. Male and female are, by their very definition at the level of both body and soul, made for one another. The love they can share between themselves is then also the very origin of new life, the passing on of that gift of love. 

 

Aren’t male and female, in a certain sense, opposites? Yes, but like all contraries their interaction can lead to something greater, and each is thereby a complement to the other. I only become fully myself when I embrace something quite different than myself, recognizing that who I am is balanced by and with another. 

 

I suppose I have always been a sentimental fool, and even years of steeling myself, and of honing my reason, have not removed that basic disposition. I realize, however, that it does not need to be removed at all, only tempered. It is part of who I am to feel, yet how I feel can only be given meaning and purpose by the guidance of my judgments. 

 

Do I wish to be “in love”? There is no shame in that. There is only shame in making it a circumstance instead of a choice, something that happens to me instead of something that I choose to do. Above all else, none of my passions will make any sense without an informed conscience. 

 

I am no Crates, and though she is by far the better half, my wife is no Hipparchia. We stumble through life, while it is only examples like Crates and Hipparchia that give us direction. Intense feeling alone will destroy; guided by intense conviction it redeems. 

 

 

 

14.3

 

Is it not then plain that He wished the two to be united and live together, and by their joint efforts to devise a way of life in common, and to produce and rear children together, so that the race might never die? 

 

Tell me, then, is it fitting for each man to act for himself alone or to act in the interest of his neighbor also, not only that there may be homes in the city but also that the city may not be deserted, and that the common good may best be served? 

 

If you say that each one should look out for his own interests alone, you represent man as no different from a wolf or any other of the wildest beasts that are born to live by violence and plunder, sparing nothing from which they may gain some advantage, having no part in a life in common with others, no part in cooperation with others, no share of any notion of justice. 

 

Back in high school, I once got yelled at by a teacher for asking whether Catherine the Great was perhaps just a bit too ambitious. I honestly did not expect all the venom that was spit my way. 

 

“Would you say that about her if she was man? I bet you admire all the drive in Napoleon, but not in her, right? You do realize that all of us are looking out for our own success, and it disgusts me when you deny it to a woman!” 

 

I was a bit stunned for a moment, but for once I had the sense to respond without losing my temper. 

 

“No, the ambition I’m talking about is a form of vainglory, not any sort of worthy achievement. No, it has nothing to do with her sex. No, I have little respect for Napoleon either, and if you’d read the last paper I wrote for you would know that. No, I do not believe that success should ever be a matter of selfishness, whether for a man or for a woman.”

 

You could cut the air with a knife, and no further words were ever said about it, though I did get the evil eye for the next few weeks. 

 

I’m sorry, but I just don’t much care for the whole “look out for Number One” attitude I see around me each and every day. Perhaps the confusion came from my admittedly old-fashioned use of the term “ambitious”, and it is probably best to define what our true ambitions are to begin with. 

 

But once you tell me that your ambition is to make more money, or to win more fame, or to gain more power over others, I have learned something very important. It is then about one person alone, at the expense of other people. One is the end, and the others are the means. 

 

I know it may not be the acceptable thing to say, but any ambition that is at the expense of my neighbors is no longer a virtue; it has now become a vice. 

 

Where do we get this idea that virtue, the highest human good, must be compromised for the sake of what is lesser? Why do we think that some must fall so that others might rise? This can only happen when we have incomplete goals, where we fail to see that the good of the one and the many are inexorably joined together. 

 

And so it is with all things, as big as international politics and as small as the family. Once love, at any level, is just about what it does for me, it is no longer love at all. There can be no balance sheet of giving and receiving, only the total awareness that all is shared in common.

 

The love between a husband a wife must also be like that, as well as the love between a parent and a child. Any and all individual merits exist in the service of the whole, never to the exclusion of the whole. 

 

“Don’t wolves have offspring too, and don’t they form packs to live?” Certainly, but lacking reason and choice, they do so out of an instinct, and not out of judgment. They also act for survival alone, and not for virtue or for justice. For all the wonderful things about a wolf, a man should not be a wolf. 

 

In the simplest of terms, it does not befit men to fight one another over a piece of meat, as much as it might befit wolves. 

 

Crates was made for Hipparchia, and Hipparchia was made for Crates. Man was made for woman, and woman was made for man. It comes down to an awareness of character over convenience. 

 

Catherine or Napoleon? No thank you, not the women or men I have in mind. 

 

 

 

14.4

 

If you will agree that man's nature most closely resembles the bee which cannot live alone, for it dies when left alone, but bends its energies to the one common task of his fellows and toils and works together with his neighbors.

 

If this is so, and in addition you recognize that for man evil consists in injustice and cruelty and indifference to a neighbor's trouble, while virtue is brotherly love and goodness and justice and beneficence and concern for the welfare of one's neighbor—with such ideas, I say, it would be each man's duty to take thought for his own city, and to make of his home a rampart for its protection. 

 

Now all analogies are inherently weak, especially those involving a comparison between men and animals, but the life of the little bee might be the closest parallel to the calling of being human. 

 

I am honestly quite frightened of bees, but I hope it is for some of the right reasons. I can swat one away, or even squash him if he is coming at me, but I stand no chance against the swarm. I have had many bee stings, and they were annoyances; the one time I had a dozen or so sting me at once, however, I realized that they could be quite the force to be reckoned with. 

 

I knew a wonderful fellow back in Austria, a beekeeper out in the country, and he explained to me that you had to work with them and never against them. 

 

“They will let you take some of their honey, as long as you let them be what they are. A bee is not to be tamed, like a cow or a pig or a goat. Do not fight. Show respect. Let them crawl all over you. If you are no threat to them, they are no threat to you.”

 

He tried to bring me back out to his hives, to show me how it was done, but I was too terrified. The buzzing was too much. Long before I read a single word from the Stoics, this decent man had already tried to teach me an important lesson. 

 

“It’s fine, because one day you’ll see that bees are like people at their best, and never at their worst. They always, without exception, work with the others in the hive. They are all friends to one another, not like us, with all of our religion and our politics!”

 

He slapped his thigh and laughed a joyful laugh, and I lowered my eyes in shame. I now wish I had taken him up on his offer. 

 

And to this day I wonder why a man feels the need to be more like a wolf instead of more like a bee. 

 

The wolf looks cooler, of course, than the bee. How many biker gangs do you know that use a happy bumblebee as a symbol, instead of a growling beast? 

 

I would join a bumblebee gang, if anyone ever made it. We might actually be friends for the right reasons. 

 

 

 

14.5

 

But the first step toward making his home such a rampart is marriage. Thus, whoever destroys human marriage destroys the home, the city, and the whole human race. For it would not last if there were no procreation of children, and there would be no just and lawful procreation of children without marriage. 

 

That the home or the city does not depend upon women alone or upon men alone, but upon their union with each other is evident.One could find no other association more necessary nor more pleasant than that of men and women. 

 

For what man is so devoted to his friend as a loving wife is to her husband? What brother to a brother? What son to his parents? Who is so longed for when absent as a husband by his wife, or a wife by her husband? Whose presence would do more to lighten grief or increase joy or remedy misfortune? To whom is everything judged to be common, body, soul, and possessions, except man and wife? 

 

Many people would like to design a society from the top down. “If we pass this new legislation, we will finally have decent wages, and fair housing, and we will abolish all prejudice!”

 

I deeply admire the enthusiasm, but it will do nothing of the sort. It will only give people new hoops to jump through, and they will still pursue their own values, for good or for evil, working their way around your elaborate dictates. 

 

If they want to treat other people like garbage, your fancy directives won’t change that. They will continue to live like beasts, while you praise yourself on a podium for having fixed the world. 

 

I can’t fix anyone, and you can’t fix anyone. The politicians and priests don’t like it, but people can only fix themselves. 

 

God runs the Universe from the top down, and yet I suspect people think that they can somehow be like God. The irony is that Providence made it such that we humans can rule from the bottom up, by starting with ourselves. 

 

It burns, doesn’t it? How dare God be so cruel! 

 

The association between man and woman is the most basic of all, and if I can’t get that right, I’ll never get anything else right. If I can’t love her with the deepest respect she deserves, how can I expect to love anyone else with even the faintest of sincerity? 

 

“Yes, I have been married three times now, but I am your best choice for governor, because I believe in the American will to succeed!”

 

No, clearly you don’t. Your version of success involves the using and the disposing of people. 

 

I make no claims about how to “correct” society. I can only offer a love for my wife. Anything else to follow will depend upon that. 

 

 

 

14.6

 

For these reasons all men consider the love of man and wife to be the highest form of love; and no reasonable mother or father would expect to entertain a deeper love for his own child than for the one joined to him in marriage. 

 

Indeed how much the love of a wife for her husband surpasses the love of parents for their children is clearly illustrated by the familiar story of how Admetus, receiving from the gods the privilege of living twice the time allotted to him if he could get someone else to die in his place, found his parents unwilling to die for him, although they were old, but his wedded wife Alcestis, though still very young, readily accepted death in her husband's place.

 

Do all people see the love between a husband and as the greatest of all possible human loves? 

 

No, sadly not, I must admit, but I suspect I know what Musonius means; it is certainly true for the wisest and most compassionate of people, and I have yet to find any exceptions to that. 

 

I have known many decent folks who chose not to marry, for whatever reasons, and yet even they always treated marriage as something profoundly sacred. 

 

If I had not somehow stumbled across my own Hipparchia, I could still have found peace in celibacy. 

 

I never wish to offend, but I’ll repeat my tired old mantra: not about custom, not about convenience, and only about commitment.

 

Admetus was known for his kindness and hospitality, such that the god Apollo himself found comfort and friendship while being bound as his servant. 

 

Were Admetus and Apollo lovers? I really don’t know, but Plutarch and Ovid apparently thought so. 

 

Yet Apollo assisted Admetus in finding his bride, Alcestis, and when Artemis was angered at Admetus, because had failed to offer her a sacrifice, Apollo intervened. 

 

He cleverly convinced the Fates to not only spare Admetus’ life, but also arranged that he could live for two whole human lifetimes, if only someone else offered a life in return. 

 

Who might accept that fate? Surely his aged parents would be glad to take on the task?

 

No, they refused, clinging to what little time they had left, and it was Alcestis who chose to do the necessary. Alcestis died, so that Admetus might live. 

 

It gets me every time, an awe at what true love can do. No, those aren’t tears; the darn allergies are acting up again. 

 

Admetus could not bear it, knowing that simple survival was never the measure of a worthy life. She was far better now, while he was far worse. In the words of Euripides:

 

I think my wife's fate is happier than my own, even though it may not seem so. 

 

No pain will ever touch her now, and she has ended life's many troubles with glory. 

 

But I, who have escaped my fate and ought not to be alive, shall now live out my life in sorrow.

 

Now they say that Heracles went to the Underworld, and he fought to get Alcestis back for Admetus. I do wish I had gods and demigods acting on my behalf, but it hasn’t worked out that way for me. 

 

No matter. The virtues remain the same, regardless of the presence or absence of supernatural powers. Admetus was a good man, by his own choice. Alcestis was a good woman, by her own choice. 

 

He was just in most of everything that he did, and yet she took justice to a new level, to that of a sacrifice, to an act of ultimate mercy. 

 

Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

 

In this case, a woman did far better than any man. 

 

 

 

14.7

 

How great and worthy an estate is marriage is plain from this also, that gods watch over it, great gods, too, in the estimation of men; first Hera (and for this reason we address her as the patroness of wedlock), then Eros, then Aphrodite, for we assume that all of these perform the function of bringing together man and woman for the procreation of children. 

 

Where, indeed, does Eros more properly belong than in the lawful union of man and wife? Where Hera? Where Aphrodite? When would one more appropriately pray to these divinities than when entering into marriage? What should we more properly call the work of Aphrodite than the joining of wife and husband?

 

Why, then, should anyone say that such great divinities watch over and guard marriage and the procreation of children, unless these things are the proper concern of man?

 

Though I at first had to be dragged along kicking and screaming, I eventually learned that nothing human can make any sense outside the context of the Divine, that the meaning of the part is only apparent through the purpose of the whole. 

 

An appeal to the gods, or to God, or to whatever terms we might like to use, simply reflects the profound acceptance that nothing can exist in isolation. 

 

And so it is that any love coming from me is only possible through a sharing in the Love that unites all things together. I have seen many people speak of love as something that is merely about them and their selfish desires, and I have succumbed to that error myself, and I finally wished to escape from my self-imposed limits. 

 

I was a bit surprised when my future wife, in the first proper letter she ever sent me, quoted one of my heroes, the Emperor Charles of Austria. On the day before his wedding to Zita of Bourbon-Parma he said to her:

 

Now, we must help each other to get to Heaven. 

 

Here I was, so cynical about other people, that I thought she might just be playing with me. She could not possibly, at that point, have known of my great admiration for Charles. Who said something like that, and actually still meant it? 

 

Piety is not about putting on a show, or going through some mindless motions, or abusing the concept of God to stroke an ego. Piety is reverence, and for the Romans this covered all the bases, and included a deep respect for the gods, for family, and for fellow citizens. 

 

All love flows from a sense of responsibility and duty, and so the love between a husband and a wife mirrors a Universal Love. The lower is only possible through a participation with the higher. 

 

A selective love, an affection that depends upon conditions, isn’t a love at all. There is a perfectly good reason the Divine smiles upon marriage, because we become most fully human, and therefore most fully play our part in Nature, when we give all of ourselves to another. 

 

 

 

14.8

 

Why should one say that they are the proper concern of man but not the concern of the philosopher? Can it be because the philosopher is worse than other men? Certainly, he ought not to be worse, but better and more just and more truly good. 

 

Or could one say that the man who does not take an interest in his city is not worse and more unjust than the man who does, the man who looks out only for his own interests is not worse than the one who looks out for the common good? 

 

Or can it be that the man who chooses the single life is more patriotic, more a friend and partner of his fellow man, than the man who maintains a home and rears children and contributes to the growth of his city, which is exactly what a married man does? 

 

I will sometimes find myself confused about the intersection of being a good person, of being a philosopher, and of being married. Musonius reminds me that these are all in perfect harmony with one another.

 

There are days when I want to lock up my moral self, over in some forgotten corner, and work instead on my professional self. 

 

There are days when I want to separate a commitment to my job from a love for my wife and children. 

 

There are days when I want to divide myself into scattered bits, each having little to do with the others, and live in an ignorant fragmentation, where I do one thing here, another thing there, and never bother to consider the beauty of the whole. 

 

If I want to be a good man, I will have to be a philosopher, not as a trade, but as my most fundamental human vocation. If I want to choose what is right, I will first have to understand what is right. 

 

If I want to be a good man, informed by a knowledge of true from false, I will also be called to love. Not love as gratification, or love as preference, or love as confused with lust, but love as a complete sharing of my own being. 

 

Of all the ways that might be put into practice, few could be as suitable as the love between spouses. There are times when it will hurt like hell, and there are times when it will make me doubt myself to the core, but there will never be a time when it fails to give me the opportunity to become better. 

 

“Well, that’s a bit naïve, don’t you think? I’m committed to my career right now, and maybe a wife and kids are somewhere further down the line, but surely I need to make something of myself first?”

 

Define your terms. What does it mean to make something of yourself? Is it you with others, or you at the expense of others? Where is the decency, the sacrifice, or the commitment if you cannot serve another, in absolutely every way? Where is the love, if it must always be qualified by other goals? 

 

If the circumstances had been only slightly different, in the most subtle of ways, I may have found myself married to someone for all the wrong reasons, or not even married to anyone at all. Some of us won’t necessarily be able to choose a mate, a second self, because of things far beyond our own power. 

 

Yes, the good man must, in a certain sense, be a philosopher, and the good man must, in another sense, be open to embracing absolute love. Must every good man marry? His particular path may not take him that way, but there’s a big difference between saying that he can’t do it and that he won’t do it. 

 

Put in other words, I have known many virtuous people who have never married, but I have never known any virtuous people who assumed that marriage was somehow a violation of their most essential humanity.

 

An interest in myself can never exclude an interest in others. Family, in whatever form it may take, is the most natural vehicle for exercising love, the one upon which every other association is built. 

 

 

 

14.9

 

It is clear, therefore, that it is fitting for a philosopher to concern himself with marriage and having children. 

 

And if this is fitting, how, my young friend, could that argument of yours that marriage is a handicap for a philosopher ever be sound? For manifestly the study of philosophy is nothing else than to search out by reason what is right and proper, and by deeds to put it into practice. 

 

Such, then, were the words he spoke at that time.

 

Some of us don’t just think that marriage and family get in the way of the “job” of philosophy; we will foolishly think that marriage and family get in the way of any and all professions. 

 

In Athens and Rome, the philosophers, especially the Stoics, were annoyances, but they were at least revered annoyances. Many of them grew their hair long, begged for food, and yelled inconvenient truths at you when you passed them on the street. Still, it was understood that they were necessary. 

 

Now the term of “philosopher” has been narrowed to be just another path of employment, really no different at all from being a lawyer, or a doctor, or a stockbroker. 

 

Imagine if Socrates, or Musonius, or Epictetus had bickered about getting a promotion, or winning the corner office. Imagine if Marcus Aurelius had bothered about sleeping on a feather bed, instead of on a cot or on the floor. 

 

If philosophers behaved like real philosophers, we’d probably call them useless bums. 

 

“Get a job, you loser!” 

 

Maybe some of them have rather important jobs, however, and we just don’t see it, having abandoned our human values?

 

That is a deep tragedy. “Have you gotten tenure yet? Did you present at the Chicago conference this year?”

 

Perhaps I think that my career requires me to give up the trivialities of human love. All I have done, in that case, is actually surrender my very humanity for the trivialities of Fortune. What I have lost is far greater than what I believe I have gained. 

 

It won’t be enough if I add a family as some sort of further accessory to my social status, as if they were merely an afterthought. I might praise my children for being so bright and full of potential, but I will do them no good if I only prepare them for worldly success, if I fail to attend first and foremost to the health of their souls. 

 

Where is the true brightness in my life, where is the real potential? Do I wish to make my children slaves to circumstances, as I myself was for far too long? 

 

If I really want to be a good man, then the calling to a life of wisdom and virtue is the only profession that matters. This, in turn, will find its practical expression in how I go about loving those closest to me. All the rest of it is accidental. 

 

Marriage and children make quite a bit of sense to someone who lives by love, first and foremost. Otherwise they are just vanities, more objects to be bought and sold.

 

Be a philosopher before you marry. Be a philosopher, and you can then be happy to marry. 

 

 

 

Lecture 15: Should every child that is born be raised?

 

15.1

 

Is it not true that the lawgivers, whose special function it was by careful search to discern what is good for the state and what is bad, what promotes and what is detrimental to the common good, all considered the increase of the homes of the citizens the most fortunate thing for the cities and the decrease of them the most shameful thing? 

 

And when the citizens had few or no children, did they not regard it as a loss, but when they had children, yes, plenty of them, did they not regard it as a gain? 

 

So it was for this reason that they forbade women to suffer abortions and imposed a penalty upon those who disobeyed; for this reason they discouraged them from choosing childlessness and avoiding parenthood, and for this reason they gave to both husband and wife a reward for large families, and set a penalty upon childlessness. 

 

I believe this the last of the politically uncomfortable lectures from Musonius, the ones my old professor would not dare to teach in class, because the Pharisees of our age would have nailed him to the wall. 

 

All of Musonius’ lectures are politically uncomfortable, of course, if we only bother to dig beneath the surface. We don’t like doing that, however, so the rest of his lectures are safe, at least for the moment. Only certain “trigger phrases” get us upset. 

 

This passage at first confused me quite a bit, since the “lawgivers” I know would actually prefer it if there were fewer people about. They judge a society by its efficiency, not by its charity, and so having a few wealthy taxpayers is preferable to having more mouths to feed. 

 

The “law” that Musonius describes seems downright insane to our supposedly enlightened age. 

 

This what they tell me: 

 

Consume as much as you can, but produce as little as you have to. Take what you think is yours, but leave the rest to fend for themselves. Have sex whenever you want, but divorce it from its natural context and consequences. Make a child when it is convenient, but dispose of it when it is inconvenient. 

 

Gratify yourself first, and then ask the questions later. 

 

Again, I will usually no longer debate about sex, or family, or abortion with most people, not because these matters are unimportant, but because what is important needs to go back much further, a good three or four steps, to the first principles about what is truly good in this life. 

 

The “law” that Musonius describes begins with something quite contrary to our current customs. 

 

Stoic values, those grounded in Nature instead of selfish profit, are actually deeply countercultural. This is why I have little patience for the current fad of Hipster Stoicism, which glorifies the word but not the task, which wants to maintain all the current conveniences and change nothing of substance in the soul. 

 

A Stoic “law”, not one of coercion but one of conscience, looks at a human life from a different angle. What makes a life, any life at all, worth living? The chance to live well. What makes for such a good life? It will involve none of the usual suspects.  

 

Virtue makes us good, not pleasure. Virtue makes us good, not wealth. Virtue makes us good, not power. Virtue makes us good, not fame. Give a person the chance to live with wisdom and with love, whatever the other circumstances may be, and everything else is only a footnote. 

 

But how do we raise our children, the few that we still choose to have? To be satiated, to be rich, to be influential, to be admired. We will now obviously have fewer children, not because there isn’t enough to go around, but because we are unwilling to give, unwilling to share what we already have. 

 

“But there are too many people in the world!”

 

No, there is not enough love in the world. Nature gives us all what we need, if only some didn’t take more than they deserved. 

 

Musonius understood how a society that refuses to procreate is a society that is killing itself. Such a society has all of its priorities confused, because love is no longer the law. 

 

Lust is then the law. I am foolishly looking to the wrong lawgivers. 

 

 

 

15.2

 

How, then, can we avoid doing wrong and breaking the law if we do the opposite of the wish of the lawgivers, godlike men and dear to the gods, whom it is considered good and advantageous to follow? 

 

And certainly, we do the opposite if we avoid having many children. How can we help committing a sin against the gods of our fathers and against Zeus, guardian of the race, if we do this? 

 

For just as the man who is unjust to strangers sins against Zeus, god of hospitality, and one who is unjust to friends sins against Zeus, god of friendship, so whoever is unjust to his own family sins against the gods of his fathers and against Zeus, guardian of the family, from whom wrongs done to the family are not hidden, and surely one who sins against the gods is impious. 

 

Now an appeal to piety? What else could Musonius possibly do to go further against the grain of modernity? 

 

The Divine here, however, is not just some clever crutch to prop up this or that set of arbitrary social customs. The Divine is the Mind behind the order and purpose of everything, that which binds the world together, the meaning of the totality. 

 

When I have the courage to do what is right, to follow the calling of my own nature, then I will also find myself in harmony with all of Nature. Therefore, whenever I act with virtue, with understanding and with love, I also act with piety. 

 

I cannot help but be reverent to God as long as I pursue virtue. By extension, I cannot help but be irreverent to God as long as I follow vice. 

 

Whatever name we may give it, the Divine is present in every expression of justice. The Divine is further present in every act of friendship. The Divine is even more deeply present in every bonding with the family. 

 

As I narrow the circle, from my responsibility to all people, to my responsibility to those who immediately live around me, to my responsibility to my own flesh and blood, the degree of piety increases. 

 

Where there is fairness, there you will also find God. Where there is a personal fellowship, you will find a bit more of God. Where there is the love between parents and children, there you will find perhaps the greatest presence of God on this Earth. The greater the love, the greater the holiness. 

 

I must not confuse this with spouting noble words, while turning my back on the needs of any person at all. I must not replace friendship with mere utility. I must not look at my family as something made to serve me, but as something I am made to serve. 

 

Please don’t tell me that Jesus, or Krishna, or the Buddha are just a bunch of pretty stories. In each case, even if it is manifest in very different ways, the Universal was brought forth. The Divine was made present in something human, reminding us how the love of neighbor and the love of God go hand in hand. To love the whole is to love the part, and to love the part is to love the whole. 

 

I learn, more and more, that if I can’t find the face of God in the people around me, then I also won’t manage to treat them with the unconditional respect that they deserve. The smaller scene is merely a part of the bigger picture. 

 

No man or woman should ever be a mere convenience, and no child should ever be treated like a burden. Zeus is honored when the most helpless life is honored. 

 

 

 

15.3

 

And that raising many children is an honorable and profitable thing one may gather from the fact that a man who has many children is honored in the city, that he has the respect of his neighbors, that he has more influence than his equals if they are not equally blest with children. 

 

I need not argue that a man with many friends is more powerful than one who has no friends, and so a man who has many children is more powerful than one without any or with only a few children, or rather much more so, since a son is closer than a friend. 

 

I have seen some people break out into mocking laughter when I have shared this passage with them. 

 

“Seriously? He thinks that children are somehow profitable? He thinks that children will win me some respect? He thinks that children will give me more power? This guy must be crazy!”

 

Properly define profit, or respect, or power. The misunderstanding will be found right there. 

 

Will a child make me rich? Rich in spirit, certainly, even if not in money. It all depends on what we think is truly worth possessing. 

 

Will a child give me a better reputation? Yes, it will bring me honor with people of character, the ones whose judgments we should take to heart. 

 

Will a child offer me greater strength? The love for my offspring will provide me with more power to live according to virtue, the only sort of power that really matters. 

 

I can think of how great a blessing it is to have friends, and then I can think of how much more of a blessing it is to have children. In both cases, and in increasing degrees, I am given the opportunity to be more fully human, to exercise all of the qualities that allow me to live well and be happy. 

 

I could merely look at a friend as an amusement or convenience for myself, or at a child as an extension of my own wishes, and yet that would only make me a worse man. 

 

Another option is open to me, that I consider a friend as someone to offer my love, and a child as someone to offer every last bit of my love. I can learn to be more just through a friend, while I can learn what it means to sacrifice absolutely everything for a child. 

 

I can make myself better by helping other people to be better, where the practice of moral worth is the greatest gain, the most complete reward. 

 

Is there really profit, respect, or power in any of that? The grasping man, the fellow committed to his station in life, may not think so, but I’ve decided on a different path, a commitment to what I can give, not to what I might receive. 

 

 

 

15.4

 

One may remark what a fine sight it is to see a man or woman surrounded by their children. Surely one could not witness a procession arrayed in honor of the gods so beautiful nor a choral dance performed in order at a religious celebration so well worth seeing as a chorus of children forming a guard of honor for their father or mother in the city of their birth, leading their parents by the hand or dutifully caring for them in some other way. 

 

What is more beautiful than this sight? What is more enviable than these parents, especially if they are good people? For whom would one more gladly join in praying for blessings from the gods, or whom would one be more willing to assist in need? 

 

It might seem odd to describe parenthood as such a joyful and glorious thing. Surely it is more of a burden, full of exhaustion, and pain, and disappointments? You offer up so much, and so rarely a word of thanks. 

 

All generations have their own quirks, but I noticed how mine, as we grew older, was quite fond of complaining about how busy we felt, how the work never seemed to end, and how stressed we were by all the hectic running about. 

 

For those who had children, their complaints could take on a whole new level of resentment. It almost seemed like we were proud of being miserable through our families, and we would compete over who could come across as the most frazzled. 

 

Maybe my parents felt the same about the troubles of raising me, but they would never have spoken of it openly. 

 

And so most of my crowd can’t help but think of family life as a chaotic and soul-sucking mess. Observe, for example, the usual depictions we see in film, which are simply exaggerated forms of what we muddle our way through every day. 

 

Assuming everyone isn’t being sullen, there will be lots of yelling, insults, and the rolling of eyes. People are rushing from one appointment to another, stuffing their faces with food as they go. They barely take notice of one another. Children act out, and parents are completely ineffective at providing any order or purpose, since they long ago abandoned common sense for shallow platitudes from Oprah and Dr. Phil. 

 

Occasionally, in the midst of the clutter of dirty dishes and laundry, someone will sigh, and wonder out loud why we can’t all live a much simpler sort of life. 

 

I will foolishly let myself get dragged along like the next fellow, but then I may have a moment of clarity. Indeed, why can’t there be simplicity and purity? I’m the only one keeping myself from it. The hardship comes not from the circumstances, but from my priorities. 

 

Of course, raising a family will bring with it many obstacles, and great sacrifices will have to be made, though what I might lose will seem quite bearable if I value the right things. If understanding and love come first, and are the source of all my joys, then I can easily shrug my shoulders at whatever else Fortune throws my way. Those hardships will be quite insignificant in comparison to the rewards. 

 

When my wife and I had our son, he needed constant attention, what some people might call a “fussy” child. There were times when we thought we could no longer bear it. 

 

In a desperate attempt to return to some semblance of our old life, we tried, perhaps too hastily, to bring him along while we went out for a quiet meal. Who knows, we said, maybe he’ll finally take a nap?

 

He didn’t of course, and we spent much of the time taking turns with one of us eating in peace while the other walked him up and down outside. I don’t think I ever came closer to throwing in the towel. 

 

As we were about to leave, a man approached us, politely apologized for interrupting, and told us that he had noticed how good we were at taking care of our boy. “You clearly love him very much, and you all look so happy.”

 

In my precarious state, I wanted to slug him, to ask him what he could possibly know about it. Then I glanced toward the table he had come from, where his wife was quite efficiently managing three young children, and I could only smile and offer my thanks. His kind words then are often still a comfort to me now. 

 

The sight of parents with children, at least with those parents who bother to care, is indeed a beautiful thing, if only I can remember what life is actually supposed to be about. Family is an inconvenience to the man who wants to get ahead, but a blessing to man who recognizes what he is able to give. 

 

 

 

15.5

 

Very true, you say, but I am a poor man and quite without means, and if I have many children, from what source should I find food for them all? 

 

But pray, whence do the little birds, which are much poorer than you, feed their young, the swallows and nightingales and larks and blackbirds? Homer speaks of them in these words:

 

"Even as a bird carries to her unfledged young whatever morsels she happens to come upon, though she fares badly herself—"

 

Do these creatures surpass man in intelligence? You certainly would not say that. In strength and endurance, then? No, still less in that respect. Well, then, do they put away food and store it up? Not at all, and yet they rear their young and find sustenance for all that are born to them. The plea of poverty, therefore, is unjustified.

 

Not so many of my peers ever got married, and those who did waited quite some time to do so. Even then, many of those marriages didn’t last for five years. Those who had children waited even longer, often well into middle age. In this regard, we were very different than our parents. 

 

Such hesitancy is not necessarily a bad thing at all; what matters here is not so much the what, but the why. Was there a delay in order to be certain about something, or was there a delay in order to avoid something? We all know the difference, even if we won’t admit it. 

 

And yet, almost without exception, the explanation I was given for marrying at thirty-five, or having children a forty-five, was twofold: 

 

“I need to work on my career first, to make something of myself, to become somebody, before I settle down. And I need to be secure in my wealth before I ever have kids.”

 

Most people I know will nod their heads rather approvingly, and I will look like quite the lunatic for even biting my tongue. What is it that troubles me? It’s about the priorities inherent in those sorts of statements. 

 

Do I need to pursue honor before I can pursue perfect friendship? 

 

Do I need to be rich before I am able to give of myself? 

 

Yes, I know, there will be all sorts of hemming and hawing. “Oh, be realistic! You can’t commit to somebody if you’re not already a somebody; you can’t have children if you don’t have the means to raise them.”

 

Quite right: I should be a somebody, and I should have the means. Where we differ is what any of that actually entails. 

 

Define for me what is required to be human, to be a somebody, and then define for me what is required to be rich, to have the means. Once we have established that, we have something of worth to discuss. 

 

Here is where the genuine Stoic, and any other person who seeks Nature, will drastically part ways with all the fads and the gimmicks. 

 

Laugh all you like, but I am convinced that maturity is interchangeable with character. Mock if you must, but I believe that wisdom and compassion are the only currencies that matter. 

 

“But I need to pay for all these things!”

 

Sorry, no things need to be paid for; virtue must be sought after, and that requires nothing more than an open mind and a caring heart. I will insist that 99% of the stuff we find necessary is quite extraneous. 

 

Going to a fancy school? Wearing a business suit? Driving a new car? Having a pension plan? Perhaps very preferable, but not at all necessary for a good life. 

 

Paying attention? Showing compassion? Working to understand? Loving without condition? That is necessary. 

 

“But what will my poor children eat? What will they wear? Where will they live?”

 

Nature gives me far more than I think I have. Eating is not about buying the trendy products at Whole Foods, but about the sustenance of the flesh. Clothing must not come from Saks Fifth Avenue, but must protect the body. Shelter is not a McMansion, but just a place away from the wind and the cold. 

 

“But we might die!”

 

Well yes, of course, we will all die. What was the state of our souls while we still lived?

 

Some would like to build empires, while others are quite content with gleaning. 

 

“I can’t possibly have a child, because I’m not rich enough!” 

 

What is it I am not rich enough in? That will resolve any of my problems.

 

Therefore, I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your body, what you shall put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 

 

Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow, nor reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 

 

And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

 

But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O men of little faith? 

 

Therefore, do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek all these things; and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well.

 

Therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Let the day’s own trouble be sufficient for the day.

 

—Matthew, 6:25-34

 

 

 

15.6

 

But what seems to me most monstrous of all, some who do not even have poverty as an excuse, and in spite of prosperity and even riches are so inhuman as not to rear later-born offspring in order that those earlier born may inherit greater wealth—by such a deed of wickedness planning prosperity for their surviving children. 

 

That these may have a greater share of their father's goods, their parents rob them of brothers, never having learned how much better it is to have many brothers than to have many possessions. 

 

For possessions inspire intrigue on the part of the neighbors, but brothers discourage intriguers. And possessions need support, but brothers are the strongest supporters. One cannot compare a good friend to a brother nor the help that others, friends and equals, give to that which a brother gives. 

 

If security and wealth were the conditions for raising a family, you would think that the richer people would have more children. Yet all of my experience tells me that quite the opposite is the case, that families tend to become smaller with greater prosperity. 

 

Perhaps the psychologists and sociologists can offer some deeper insight on this, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s because they actually think of money and power as ends, and not as means at all. They wish to acquire, and they wish to consume, and they wish to be revered. The child simply becomes an extension of that, another aspect of vanity, a reflection of the parents’ glory. 

 

If I thought that my own life was measured by my worldly possessions, I would probably also be hesitant to give of myself. If I can’t have it, and get something out of it, what possible purpose would it serve? If I looked at a child like an investment for my own satisfaction, it would be foolish to spread myself too thin. 

 

Once I define a good life by the conveniences and luxuries that it offers, then I will also assume that my child’s happiness will require such accessories. I may then work to provide all the externals, and I may too easily neglect the internals. Forming a successful son or daughter, as the world would define it, will cost me quite a bit, so one of them is probably enough. Perhaps I will add a second as a backup. A third might be pushing it. 

 

So to make my precious child more successful, to make him more like me, I will pass on my money. Isn’t that the greatest gift I can give him? 

 

There might be another option, one that will never occur to most people, because they sadly make life about gratification instead of love. Inheriting a million dollars sounds quite nice, and I will rub my hands thinking about what I can buy with it. 

 

There is something far more precious in this life, however, and it is called friendship. 

 

If I had to choose between giving my son more money or a loyal companion for life, which would I choose? Let me give him a brother, or a sister, the joy of fellowship. Money comes and goes very quickly, but the bond of family is much harder to break. 

 

If I had my brother or sister with me, the gutter would feel more bearable, far more bearable than being alone in my empty suburban home. 

 

I was once madly in love with a girl who had our whole lives planned out, including our careers, where we would live, and the timing of our children. There would be two, and only two, and the names were already chosen. The first would come along six years after we were married, and the second another four years after that. The first would be another lawyer, but the second would be encouraged to become a doctor. The house was going to be a frilly Victorian, and I was even told I could have an Irish Wolfhound for the yard. 

 

“Why not a third or a fourth child?”

 

“Don’t’ be so stupid! that’s not in the budget.”

 

 

 

15.7

 

What good would one compare to the good will of a brother as a pledge of security? What better disposed sharer of common goods could one find than a good brother? Whose presence in misfortune would one desire more than such a brother's? 

 

For my part I consider the man most enviable who lives amid a number of like-minded brothers, and I consider most beloved of the gods the man who has these blessings at home. Therefore, I believe that each one of us ought to try to leave brothers rather than money to our children so as to leave greater assurances of blessings.

 

Let me certainly seek what is profitable, but let me be very careful in understanding what will bring me true gain. If I attend to the right order of human goods, then I will consider the bond of friendship to be a far greater blessing than any financial security. 

 

As always, though the noble sentiments can make for a good soundbite, this is not the way most people in the world will think or act. As always, the task is more demanding than the mere word. I should not let this discourage me. The profit will be in the soul, regardless of whether I have wealth or popularity. 

 

Should I send my child to Harvard, or should I give him a brother or a sister? One will greatly assist him in becoming prosperous in the world, while the other will greatly assist him in becoming prosperous in love. Can I give him both? It’s possible, but I wouldn’t hold my breath; a man cannot really serve two masters.

 

I never had any siblings, by the forces of circumstance and not by my parent’s free choice, and so I received all the attention, the travel, and the education that would otherwise have been split among many. I always greatly appreciated those many gifts, but as the years have passed, I suspect I would have traded all of them for just one companion in blood. 

 

Discerning that absence within myself, I was always rather shocked to see those who treated their brothers and sisters like inconveniences or annoyances. Did they not see the opportunities they were wasting by being selfish and petty? There is no price too high to pay for the benefit of such companionship. 

 

Will there be fussing and fighting, disputes and disagreements? Of course there will, just as it is unavoidable in all human relations. Yet the strength comes from the chance to make such things right, and thereby to increase the character of one and all. A large family won’t automatically make anyone a good man, though it will offer far greater means to choose to become a better man. 

 

To love my parents is to show reverence, and to love my own children is to give guidance, but to love a brother or a sister is a love between equals, on the horizontal and not just the vertical scale, and that can become a perfect model of fellowship, of the solidarity I am called to share with all the world. 

 

Well, I can’t afford to have children! There’s no way I could give them a good life!”

 

Is it possible you wouldn’t need to buy anything at all? 

 

 

 

Lecture 16: Must one obey one’s parents under all circumstances?

 

16.1

 

A certain young man who wished to study philosophy, but was forbidden by his father to do so, put this question to him "Tell me, Musonius, must one obey one's parents in all things, or are there some circumstances under which one need not heed them?" 

 

And Musonius replied, "That everyone should obey his mother and father seems a good thing, and I certainly recommend it. However, let us see what this matter of obedience is, or rather, first, what is the nature of disobedience, and let us consider who the disobedient person is, if in this way we may better understand what the nature of obedience is.”

 

The customs of the ages will come and go, but back when I was a child, in those glorious yet cringeworthy 1970’s, there still seemed to be a general consensus that if your parents told you to do something, you would have the good sense to go ahead and do it. 

 

Maybe it was just from a fear of the painful consequences, and maybe we sometimes cheated a bit when they weren’t looking, but we knew not to mess too much with Mom and Dad. 

 

Before you think I am waxing nostalgic, I remind you that I am hardly a fan of any blind obedience to authority. I once got myself into hot water when a friend’s mother scolded me for doing something foolish, and she then asked me the usual question from back then: “If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do it too?”

 

I was sadly always a smartass. “I don’t really know. Would it be different if you told me to do it?” There was the point when the one mom called the other mom, and the dads dealt out the appropriate punishments. Ah, good times! 

 

I don’t mean to be flippant, yet I can’t help but struggle, decades later, with many of the same problems. Somehow, they put people “in charge”, for whatever reason or by whatever means, and they give them power over others in whatever way, and there is still this thoughtless assumption that we must all obey them without question. 

 

I do commit myself to a respect for my betters, and I do dedicate myself to an obedience to what is right and good. Working that out is not always easy. How am I to distinguish between the person and the principle, between loyalty and truth? 

 

After many years as a Yankee, I eventually found myself in Dixie. I did not know the customs, but a fellow of the old school set me straight about one important point. 

 

“I notice people often address one another as sir or ma’am. Is there a rule for that?”

 

“Yes, sir, there is. You speak to anyone older, wiser, or better than you as sir or ma’am. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. You can never be a Southern gentleman without those rules.”

 

“By those standards, I would probably have to refer to most anyone as sir or ma’am, barring children or criminals.”

 

“Well done, sir, you’re learning!”

 

The world has been changing, of course, and those rules are no longer socially required in the South. I will go out on a limb, however, and suggest that they are still morally required everywhere.

 

So many of us have lost a sense of respect and decency. That is a crying shame. 

 

Now does this mean I must follow any commands from those supposedly older, wiser, or better? 

 

How does that relate to the dictates of my own conscience?

 

Is it acceptable for me to merely follow all orders? They execute people for doing that. 

 

Is it better for me to follow my own sense of right and wrong? The execute people for doing that too. 

 

When asked where his loyalties lay, Robert E. Lee spoke both with both firmness and with subtlety:

 

I shall never bear arms against the Union, but it may be necessary for me to carry a musket in the defense of my native state, Virginia, in which case I shall not prove recreant to my duty.

 

There is an intersection of the duty to my superiors and the duty to myself; it is a complementarity, and not a contradiction.

 

 

 

16.2

 

“Now then, take this case. If a father who is not a physician and not experienced in matters of health or sickness should prescribe for his invalid son something which was harmful and injurious, and the son was aware of that fact, surely in not following his father's prescription he is not disobeying and is not disobedient, is he? It would not seem so. 

 

“Or again, suppose the father himself were ill and should demand wine and food which he ought not to have, and which probably would aggravate his illness if he took it, and his son, realizing this, would not give it to him, surely he is not disobeying his father, is he? Certainly, one cannot think so.”

 

Far too often we assume a tension between what others ask us to do and what we want to do, between obedience and self-expression, between following authority and following ourselves. 

 

It is only my own ignorance, however, that has ever made me think that these aspects need to be in opposition to one another. Our obligations to Nature are always in harmony, whether we discern them from outside of us or from inside of us. 

 

Whatever the source of the duty may be, what inherently makes it a duty is that it is in the service of what is right. 

 

Where could there ever be a responsibility to do myself harm? How might I possibly be required to permit another to come to harm? If I correctly understand what is beneficial to all who share in human nature, I will not let myself be confused by any supposed conflicts of interest.

 

“I feel bad that I treated you unfairly, but the boss said I had to do it.” The wishes of my boss, whatever his status or title, do not take any precedence over justice. 

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show you the respect you deserve, but I had to follow my conscience.” If I was actually following an informed conscience, then that would have included giving everyone proper respect. 

 

And an informed conscience is really the key, isn’t it? If I am certain I am following virtue, then I am also being obedient to the all of the right people, in all of the best ways. 

 

If I am not certain about what I should be doing, then it might be best to follow the guidance of someone else who has already given every indication of understanding. 

 

In either case, one and same duty is being served. 

 

I have no obligation to take poison as a medicine, whoever might tell me to do so, and I have no obligation to give anyone at all something that will do him harm. No one is ever dishonored by pursuing the good. 

 

 

 

16.3

 

“And yet I fancy one would consider it far less disobedient than in this case, the man who, having a money-loving father, is ordered by him to steal or make away with money entrusted to him, but does not carry out the order. Or do you think that there are no fathers who give such orders to their children? 

 

“Well, I know a father so depraved that, having a son conspicuous for youthful beauty, he sold him into a life of shame. If, now, that lad who was sold and sent into such a life by his father had refused and would not go, should we say that he was disobedient or that he was showing purity of character? Surely even to ask the question is scarcely necessary.”

 

In the simplest of terms, it isn’t right just because the father orders it, but the father should order it because it is right. The authority of any person is relative to the presence of virtue, which is itself the highest measure of human excellence. 

 

A parent may command a child, and the obedience of the child follows directly from the wisdom and the character of the parent, who shares something that he possesses with the one who is still learning to possess it. 

 

What if the parent judges out of ignorance, or only encourages vice? The child is still called to offer respect for the one who gave him life, who raised him, and who provided for him, as is intended by Nature, but he is not called to do what he knows to be wrong. He is actually doing his parent a service, and expresses his piety all the more fully, if he objects with humility and sincerity. 

 

Even though we don’t speak of obedience as would have been common only a few generations ago, I still notice how easily we go along with so much that we are told, often completely without question. 

 

I remember a fellow from Boy Scouts who, though cut from a rough cloth, was still one of the kindest and most helpful people I had met. As I got to know him better, however, I saw a more sinister aspect, one that expressed itself first in petty theft, but soon grew into an involvement in the family enterprise of stealing and stripping cars. His profound reverence for his father, who was in prison most of the time, was the deciding factor in the choices he made. 

 

I also remember so many of my peers in college, from far more refined backgrounds, insisting that they would go their own ways, and yet following almost exactly in their parent’s footsteps by continuing the tradition of worshiping money, and power, and reputation. 

 

Was Luke Skywalker somehow obliged to join his father in going over to the Dark Side? I would argue that he was a far better and more loving son by being obedient to a good they could come to share together. 

 

 

 

16.4

 

“To be sure, disobedience and the disobedient person are terms of reproach and shame, but refusing to do what one ought not to do merits praise rather than blame. Therefore, whether one's father or the archon or even the tyrant orders something wrong or unjust or shameful, and one does not carry out the order, he is in no way disobeying, inasmuch as he does no wrong nor fails of doing right. He only disobeys who disregards and refuses to carry out good and honorable and useful orders. Such is the disobedient man. 

 

“But the obedient person behaves in just the opposite way and is completely different from him; he would be the kind of man who listens to anyone who counsels what is fitting and follows it voluntarily. That is the obedient man. 

 

“Thus in relation to his parents also, one is obedient when he does voluntarily whatever they counsel that is good and fitting. For my part, moreover, I should say that anyone who did what was right and expedient, even when his parents did not counsel it, was obeying his parents, and in support of my reasoning, consider this.”

 

My head will get dizzy, my thoughts terribly muddled, when I try to work out all the different levels and degrees of responsibilities I somehow assume I have. I see so many apparent tensions and conflicts, taking for granted that in order to do some good over here, I will then have to do some bad over there. 

 

I get caught up in different sorts of utilitarian formulas, where some must suffer harm so that others can receive a benefit, where a vague idea of a greater good excuses the committing of lesser evils, where I comfort myself by saying that the ends justify the means. 

 

None of this is necessary, if I only stick to the basic premise of Stoic ethics, that nothing is in itself good or bad for human nature except a life according to virtue or vice. 

 

Since I share that very same human nature with all of my neighbors, what is good for all of us is good for one of us, and what is good for one of us is good for all of us. 

 

Since human nature exists as a part of the whole of Nature, given meaning and purpose by Providence, everything that is good for a man is also a good for the Universe. 

 

Only my own ignorance, where I separate one piece from the other, where I replace principle with preference, where I confuse what is truly virtuous with what is merely indifferent, will get in the way of clarity and commitment. 

 

“But it would be wrong to disobey my father, or a priest, or the magistrate!” They abandon their authority if they ask you in any way to act with greed, or hatred, or deception. 

 

“But I may have to lie, or steal, or do another some harm to get the job done!” If the job that needs to be done is to act with kindness, and love, and integrity, I will need to do nothing of the sort. 

 

“But it won’t really be all that good if I have to lose my wealth, or my status, or even my life to achieve it!” I would only think that if I believed that the presence or absence of such qualities defined my merit and happiness. 

 

Once I see that it is only disobedient to arrogantly reject what is virtuous, and only obedient to freely embrace what is virtuous, all my doubts and worries will disappear. 

 

 

 

16.5

 

“In my opinion the man who does what his father desires and follows his father's wishes is obeying his father; and he who does what he ought and pursues the better course is following the wish of his father. 

 

“How is that? Because surely all parents have the interests of their children at heart, and because of that interest they wish them to do what is right and advantageous. 

 

“Consequently, one who does what is right and useful is doing what his parents wish and so is obedient to his parents in doing it, even if his parents do not order him in so many words to do these things. 

 

“This one thing only and nothing else should he take into consideration who wishes to obey his parents in each act—whether what he plans to do is good and advantageous. Thus if such a conviction be entertained, whatever a man's action may be, it is the act of one obedient to his parents.”

 

What should a parent want for his child? What should an owner want for his workers? What should a king want for his subjects?

 

In each case, the very nature of the position brings with it an authority, an authority with the purpose to give direction: the ruler exists for the sake of those who are ruled. He is not there merely for himself, but there for the benefit of others. 

 

And what if the ruler, whose service should be one of stewardship and guidance, stumbles in his pursuit of the good? I can then continue to be obedient to him by fulfilling what he should have asked of me, even if he fell short. I can honor his position, as best as is within my power, by still clinging to our shared goal. 

 

I can serve my king, even if he has failed to serve me. 

 

Would any good father turn away from his own son, however much he had strayed from virtue? No, the father will always welcome him back with open arms, because he stays firm in his duty. The son may fuss and fight, insisting that he knows better, but the father is patient in his love. Though the son may not yet understand, the father still understands. 

 

Conversely, would any good son turn away from his own father, however misguided his orders might be? No, the young man will always give his respect, and he shows that piety by living up to his side of the bargain. The father may bang his fists and threaten to disown him, but the son is patient in his convictions. Though the father may be misguided, the son is still obedient to the father’s mission. 

 

I have long been deeply moved by Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, often brought close to tears by its profound expression of love. I can also imagine a story where the roles are reversed, where the dutiful son remains constant to the dignity and vocation of his errant father. 

 

 

 

16.6

 

“And so you, my young friend, do not fear that you will disobey your father, if when your father bids you do something which is not right, you refrain from doing it, or when he forbids you to do something which is right you do not refrain from doing it. 

 

“Do not let your father be an excuse to you for wrongdoing whether he bids you do something which is not right or forbids you to do what is right. For there is no necessity for you to comply with evil injunctions, and you yourself seem not unaware of this. 

 

“You would certainly not submit to your father in musical matters if, with no knowledge of music, he should order you to play the lyre incorrectly, or if he knew nothing of grammar and you did, he should order you to write and read, not as you had learned but otherwise; and if, finally, with no knowledge of how to steer a ship, he should order you who did understand to handle the helm in the wrong way, you would not heed him. Well, then, enough of that.” 

 

“I was just following orders!”

 

The phrase has sadly become quite hackneyed, and it has even taken on something of a comic quality, not unlike Bart Simpson’s “I didn’t do it!” Nevertheless, it should serve me as a powerful reminder that passing the buck is only a way to cover for my own ignorance and cowardice. 

 

Because I am ruled by my own judgments, and by no one else’s, I am also responsible for my own actions. This includes choosing whose guidance I will trust, and whose directions I will follow. If I can be reasonably expected to comprehend for myself, I can also be reasonably expected to give my assent or dissent. 

 

“I didn’t know any better!” is not in itself an excuse; the more important question is “Should I have known any better?” And yet to think how many times I have hidden behind what others told me, without doing any thinking for myself, or been quick to point the finger, when the weakness lay squarely within myself. 

 

It is not necessary for me to despair over this, but it is necessary for me to improve from this. Mistakes will indeed be made, though they are only compounded when they are ignored. 

 

I would trust the authority of a doctor to heal me, not that of a lawyer. I would listen to a mechanic when it comes to fixing my car, not some loud guy at the end of the bar. So why, then, should I take advice about being virtuous from a wicked man? Why am I tempted to imitate those who lie, cheat, and steal? 

 

The adulterer can teach me nothing about loyalty, precisely because he lacks love. The profiteer can teach me nothing about business, precisely because he has no sense of justice. The social climber can teach me nothing about character, precisely because he cares only for himself. 

 

And I, turn, do not have to be a rocket scientist to figure out who is who. Becoming a stand-up guy is only uncomfortable when I’ve gotten lazy from too much sitting down. 

 

 

 

16.7

 

“Now if your father, knowing nothing about the subject, should forbid you who had learned and comprehended what philosophy is to study philosophy, would you be bound to heed him, or would you not rather be obligated to teach him better, since he is giving bad advice? That seems to me to be the answer. 

 

“Perhaps by using reason alone one might persuade his father to adopt the attitude he ought in regard to philosophy if the father's disposition is not too obstinate. If, however, he should not be persuaded by argument and would not yield, yet even then the conduct of his son will win him over if his son is truly putting his philosophy into practice. 

 

“For, as a student of philosophy he will certainly be most eager to treat his father with the greatest possible consideration and will be most well-behaved and gentle; in his relations with his father he will never be contentious or self-willed, nor hasty or prone to anger; furthermore he will control his tongue and his appetite whether for food or for sexual temptations, and he will stand fast in the face of danger and hardships; and finally with competence in recognizing the true good, he will not let the apparent good pass without examination.”

 

Now recall that the original question was what a son should do when a father particularly forbids him the study of philosophy. Yes, we can all have a good laugh about that, given how often parents are driven to despair by seeing their children following what most of the world regards as useless disciplines. 

 

I will venture to say, at the risk of becoming even more unpopular, that such objections are the result of lopsided thinking. 

 

By all means, find the best way to pay for your day-to-day worldly needs, what the Ancients called the servile arts. Mea culpa; I sadly neglected those for far too long. 

 

But what is the ultimate purpose of life, the end toward which all other means are directed? It is happiness, and there can be no happiness without distinguishing the true from the false and the right from the wrong. This requires what the Ancients called the liberal arts, those suitable for a person who is free. 

 

To study philosophy, as the careerist might describe it, is probably a complete waste of time. To study, and thereby to live, philosophy, as Musonius would have described it, is an absolute necessity.  

 

Does the father command the son to build up his power and prestige instead of first building up his character? The father is mistaken. The son can show his reverence by using reason to argue his point, but if the father still does not comprehend, the son can offer only the dignity of his own example. 

 

Most professional philosophers I know have a tendency to be petty and mean-spirited folks. Let them be as they choose to be. Most genuine philosophers, however, those who put into practice what they ponder, will be understanding, respectful, and caring. They will strive to be wise, courageous, temperate, and just. There is the basis of a good life. 

 

Please convince me if I am wrong, before I send my own son off on his journey. 

 

 

 

16.8

 

“As a result he will willingly give up all pleasures for his father's sake, and for him he will accept all manner of hardships willingly. To have such a son who would not offer prayers to the gods? Who, having one, would not love him because of whom he had become an envied and most blessed father in the eyes of all men of sound judgment? 

 

“If, then, my young friend, with a view to becoming such a man, as you surely will if you truly master the lessons of philosophy, you should not be able to induce your father to permit you to do as you wish, nor succeed in persuading him, reason thus: your father forbids you to study philosophy, but the common father of all men and gods, Zeus, bids you and exhorts you to do so.

 

“His command and law is that man be just and honest, beneficent, temperate, high-minded, superior to pain, superior to pleasure, free of all envy and all malice; to put it briefly, the law of Zeus bids man be good. But being good is the same as being a philosopher. 

 

“If you obey your father, you will follow the will of a man; if you choose the philosopher's life, the will of God. It is plain, therefore, that your duty lies in the pursuit of philosophy rather than not.”

 

If the son is committed to philosophy, and not just to some form of academic posturing, he will already have a sense that what is right does not merely proceed from the exercise of force. The son will surely hold his father in esteem, appreciating their natural bond, even if he will not necessarily conform to his commands without careful and humble consideration. 

 

If the son does truly love wisdom, this will be evident in his own words and deeds, and his inner character will shine forth. Wouldn’t a decent and loving father be proud of such an achievement? I would like to think that nothing gives a parent greater satisfaction than a child forming a conscience, though I have seen such noble standards ignored far too often. 

 

There will be times when parents give their children all the worst guidance, encouraging them to acquire wealth by stepping on others, or increase their influence at any cost. This does not have to mean that the parents don’t love their children, or don’t have their best interests at heart, but it does sadly mean that they are confused about the priorities of life. 

 

Yet even if the father tells the son to cast aside other people, the son will not do that, and he will start close to home, by not casting aside his own father. The respect remains, as the son still looks to a greater authority that joins them both together. 

 

When anyone at all tells me that being a good man is subservient to some other goals, I can accept that he means well, though he does not understand well. My own human nature already defines me as a creature made for virtue, and in this I am also in service to the whole of Nature. It is ultimately Providence, the source of all purpose and order in things, that is the greatest master. 

 

I was raised to call this God, and Musonius here calls it Zeus, and you may name it in some other way, but the root principle always remains one and the same. It gives us a shared meaning, such that any apparent conflict, between fathers and sons, or between any people at all, arises only from the fog of ignorance and the narrowness of pride. 

 

Young people can, of course, be terribly stubborn. There were many times I did not prefer what my own parents asked me to do, and yet I can honestly say that I don’t think they once, even once, asked me to do something wrong. This was a distinction I had to learn, and it was only experience and reflection that made me aware of that blessing. 

 

In a moment of adolescent rebellion, I once begged a kindly old priest to tell me how to get my nagging father off of my back. 

 

“Well, there’s your father, and then there’s your Father. You never have to pick and choose when it comes to loving one within the other.”

 

 

 

16.9

 

“But, you say, your father will restrain you and actually shut you up to prevent your study of philosophy. Perhaps he will do so, but he will not prevent you from studying philosophy unless you are willing; for we do not study philosophy with our hands or feet or any other part of the body, but with the soul and with a very small part of it, that which we may call the reason. 

 

“This God placed in the strongest place so that it might be inaccessible to sight and touch, free from all compulsion and in its own power. Particularly if your mind is good your father will not be able to prevent you from using it nor from thinking what you ought nor from liking the good and not liking the base; nor again-from choosing the one and rejecting the other. 

 

“In the very act of doing this, you would be studying philosophy, and you would not need to wrap yourself up in a worn cloak nor go without a chiton nor grow long hair nor deviate from the ordinary practices of the average man. To be sure, such things are well enough for professional philosophers, but philosophy does not consist in them, but rather in thinking out what is man's duty and meditating upon it.”

 

If I define the value of my life by the property I own, or by my social standing, or by the freedom of my body, then I will understandably be concerned when someone in authority, making use of some external force, tries to hinder such things. It would be what post-moderns might like to call an “existential threat”. 

 

If, however, I am informed by a Stoic model of meaning, one that looks to the merit inside me instead of the circumstances that surround me, I will not be quite so troubled. 

 

It isn’t that my inner Stoic is unfeeling, or in denial, or separated from the world; it is rather that I can put all experiences, whether pleasant or unpleasant, within a deeper context. I try to find peace in orienting wherever I find myself to the building of my ability to know and to love. 

 

There is certainly nothing mindless or heartless in that! 

 

Might I have a preference for luxury, or fame, or freedom of movement? Perhaps, and if I am still tied to old habits, most certainly. Yet I can turn to the truth in my judgments, that who I am is not measured by what I have, or whetherothers look my way, or where I may go. 

 

Musonius, like any good Stoic, insists that being a philosopher is nothing more or less than living according to wisdom and virtue, and living according to wisdom and virtue are, in turn, the very ends of human life. To “choose” philosophy is not like choosing an outfit, or a house, or a career, but is a decision about what it means to be human. Now there is the true existential content of life!

 

Can anyone or anything else stop me from following this path? I am the only obstacle, and any other hardship is transformed into an opportunity to become better in my soul. My own thoughts and choices are what will make all the difference; even when I face the end of my life, which I inevitably must, I will still face it with my own thoughts and choices. 

 

Can my father block my way by cutting off my inheritance, or ruining my reputation, or even locking me up? The beautiful irony is that if he tried to do so, he would only be a giving me another chance to respect him all the more, by practicing virtues like courage, and temperance, and kindness. 

 

I suppose it is no accident that many of the heroes who inspire me, like Socrates, or Boethius, or Thomas More, or Franz Jägerstätter, or James Stockdale, found their characters tested by the loss of worldly freedoms. They became philosophers not in spite of these challenges, but because of them. 

 

 

 

Lecture 17: What is the best viaticum for old age?

 

17.1

 

At another time when an old man asked him what was the best viaticum for old age, he said, the very one that is best for youth too, namely to live by method and in accord with Nature. 

 

You would best understand what this means if you would realize that mankind was not created for pleasure. For that matter, neither was the horse or dog or cow created for pleasure, and all of these creatures are much less valuable than man. 

 

Aging is one of those parts of life we are prone to neglect before its arrival, and then by the time we get around to thinking about it, it already seems to be too late. 

 

Is this why they say that youth is wasted on the young? If only we had been smarter back then, and then we wouldn’t have gotten ourselves into the mess we’re in now. It is so easy to feel remorse for all the wasted opportunities, to punish ourselves for what we only wish we could have known. 

 

Yet I can’t help but notice how often we don’t seem to have learned the right lessons at all. “I should have been taken more risks, and then I would have become richer! I should have spoken out more loudly, and then people would have taken notice! I should have insisted on what I wanted, and then I would have had so much more fun!”

 

Your mileage may vary, but those are exactly the attitudes I found I needed to unlearn. Whether young or old, nothing truly good will come from them. The old man who regrets not having been more selfish, or obnoxious, or lecherous when he was a young man is really only sorry for losing the vitality of his body, and is oblivious to the content of his character. 

 

There doesn’t need to be any remedy specific to old age at all, because what any person needs is eminently suitable to any age. The young man is called to be happy by attending to the virtues within his soul, and the old man has the exact same vocation. As long as I am hard at work at just being human, it will make no difference how many wrinkles I have on my face. 

 

Pleasure is one aspect of our humanity, but is not the ultimate measure of that humanity. As the name suggests, a passion is something that happens to us, and the worth of the feeling is only as good or bad as the choice and action from which it proceeds. 

 

The purpose of any living creature is to fulfill itself in what it does, whether it be a horse, or a dog, or a man. If I remain convinced that gratification, and acquiring the sorts of things that can buy me gratification, should be my priorities, I’m afraid that just getting older is not going to make me any the wiser. I shouldn’t be surprised when I then equate my age with misery, having defined myself by consuming instead of loving. 

 

 

 

17.2

 

Certainly a horse would not be considered to have fulfilled its purpose by eating and drinking and mating at will, and doing none of the things which are the proper work of a horse; no more would a dog if it simply enjoyed all kinds of pleasures like the horse and did none of the things for which dogs are considered good; nor would any other animal if kept from the functions proper to it and allowed to have its fill of pleasures; in short, according to this, nothing would be said to be living according to Nature but what by its actions manifests the excellence peculiar to its own nature.

 

 For the nature of each guides it to its own excellence; consequently, it is not reasonable to suppose that when man lives a life of pleasure that he lives according to Nature, but rather when he lives a life of virtue. 

 

What Musonius describes will make immediate sense to someone who is in even the slightest way familiar with the natural world, though you might be hard pressed to explain it to the lustful or gluttonous fellow, who has confused his deeper purpose with gratification. 

 

An animal will not find contentment merely by feeding and fornicating, since all of its instincts are calling it to the pursuit of a certain function, particular to its breed. It is fulfilled in its actions, in the quality of what it does, whether it is the bee making honey, or the dog hunting, or the horse running free, or the bird building a nest. If you simply lock it in a cage and spoil it, you will immediately see its misery, how incomplete and stifled it has become. 

 

I have always been amazed, for example, at how readily an animal will surrender its pleasures, and be willing to endure pain, to follow its innate inclinations. When we as humans learn to work together with animals, each providing for the other, those deeply rooted roles become even more apparent. 

 

The beast, of course, does not judge in the same way as a man does, yet it still follows its distinct nature. I can speak of the animal living according to its own excellence, much as I can speak of a human being living according to his own excellence. 

 

The great difference, however, is that the human, endowed with reason and choice, is made complete not by running, or swimming, or flying, but by the exercise of virtue. This is not some arbitrary imposition on who he is, but a necessary expression of his very identity. 

 

Should Rex be a good dog? He most certainly should, and I should, in turn, be a good man. Just providing us with toys and treats will not be sufficient. 

 

My passions are refined by my character, and my feelings are given meaning by my understanding. This insight about pleasure being relative to virtue is one of the ways the Stoics differed from the Epicureans. Whenever I find my desire for gratification crowding in on my sense of right and wrong, I recall the words of Marcus Aurelius:

 

In the constitution of the rational animal I see no virtue which is opposed to justice; but I see a virtue which is opposed to the love of pleasure, and that is temperance. (8.39)

 

 

 

17.3

 

Then, indeed, it is that he is justly praised and takes pride in himself and is optimistic and courageous, characteristics upon which cheerfulness and serene joy necessarily follow. In general, of all creatures on earth man alone resembles God and has the same virtues that He has, since we can imagine nothing even in the gods better than prudence, justice, courage, and temperance. 

 

Therefore, as God, through the possession of these virtues, is unconquered by pleasure or greed, is superior to desire, envy, and jealousy; is high-minded, beneficent, and kindly (for such is our conception of God), so also man in the image of Him, when living in accord with nature, should be thought of as being like Him, and being like Him, being enviable, and being enviable, he would forthwith be happy, for we envy none but the happy. 

 

Indeed it is not impossible for man to be such, for certainly when we encounter men whom we call godly and godlike, we do not have to imagine that these virtues came from elsewhere than from man's own nature. 

 

The presence or absence of many years, like the presence or absence of any circumstances at all, will not need to change the convictions of a good man, and hence his peace of mind can remain constant. 

 

So if I claim that I am miserable because I am too young, or miserable because I am too old, or I cast the blame for my state of being rich or poor, or healthy or sick, or esteemed or reviled, then I have already abandoned myself, and the application of some miracle cure will be insufficient to bring me back to my senses. 

 

Some may say that this all sounds terribly restrictive, to be limited only to my own thoughts and deeds, and to expect to receive nothing more. I choose to think of it quite differently, however, to already be gifted with everything I need, and to not be enslaved by any externals that are beyond my power. 

 

It is in this way that we can speak of human nature rising to the level of the Divine, all the more conscious, accepting, self-sufficient, and compassionate. 

 

I do sincerely believe that a person becomes more God-like as he learns, through all of the hardships and the failures, to understand himself in a harmony with Nature. The self may not cease, but yet the arrogant insistence on the self falls away, and this actually liberates the self all the more completely. 

 

What is binding me, expect my own ignorance and vanity, my dependence on the support of lesser things? Nothing else is bringing me down. Now I can find the flicker of a Divine presence in the brittle shell of a man. 

 

“But it can’t possibly be done! I will need help!”

 

And you do have that help, whenever you turn to God, however you may understand that ideal, and you then elevate yourself into the fullness of the whole. Where there is God, the presence of infinite perfection, nothing is lacking, not for a pebble, or for a snail, or even for that bag of flesh and bones that we call the self. 

 

 

 

17.4

 

If, then, by good fortune while still young, one had taken pains to get right instruction, and had mastered thoroughly all those lessons which are considered good, as well as their practical application, such a man in old age using these inner resources would live according to Nature, and he would bear without complaint the loss of the pleasures of youth, nor would he fret at the weakness of his body, and he would not be irked even when slighted by his neighbors or neglected by his relatives and friends, since he would have a good antidote for all these things in his own mind, namely his past training. 

 

Did I have the benefit of right instruction when I was younger? Yes, but only from a very few places, and I far too often ignored it in pursuit of far louder voices telling me to embrace vanities like lust or fame. Appearances seemed flashier than the real content; recreation took precedence over formation. Those missteps remain my greatest mistakes, though they can now serve me as an opportunity to reexamine what I had once neglected.

 

Close family told me one thing, and yet most of the rest of the world, including my teachers and my peers, told me something very different. It didn’t help that the fashions of the time seemed more appealing, at least on the surface, and so I would grumble about the idea that what was inside of me came before the outside trappings. Quite honestly, I also didn’t see the necessary connection between self-discipline and genuine freedom. 

 

Should I have been surprised, then, when I ended up following leaders concerned with their own glory, or trying to impress friends who changed their tunes at a moment’s notice, or seeking approval and affection from people quite incapable of compassion? It is easy to blame them, of course, but they would be who they would be; the responsibility was entirely my own. 

 

If, as was inevitable, I met with failure in following the world, I nevertheless continued to assume that the external rewards would still somehow come, but they would surely come later. I would be happy when I found the perfect career, or stumbled across decent company, or won the heart of that girl who could care for me unconditionally. 

 

I shouldn’t assume that such circumstances can’t come my way, though I should hardly rely upon them. The mistake was thinking that certain things would make me content, rather than understanding that my own attitude is what could make things, of any sort at all, occasions for peace of mind. All the stress was on the receiving instead of on the giving. 

 

Pain cripples me when I demand to be given only pleasure. Illness troubles me most when I insist on perfect health. Solitude bears down on me so heavily when I require the adulation of a crowd. 

 

The remedy for getting older and weaker is the same as the remedy for any hardship at all, to cultivate a thoughtful and loving soul. It helps us greatly to learn this from very early on in life, long before we might think we need it. There is a great danger in learning it too late. 

 

 

 

17.5

 

If, however, one should have shared less abundantly in early instruction but should show an eagerness for better things and a capacity for following words well-spoken, he would do well if he sought to hear relevant words from those who have made it their business to know what things are harmful and what helpful to men, and in what way one should avoid the former and obtain the latter, and how one should patiently accept things which befall him that seem to be evils, but are not really so. 

 

If he heard these things and acted upon them (for to hear them without acting upon them would be most unprofitable), he would manage old age very well, and in particular he would rid himself of the fear of death—which more than all else terrifies and oppresses the aged, as though they had forgotten that death is a debt that every man owes. Yet it is certain that that which renders life most miserable for the aged is this very thing, the fear of death, as even the orator Isocrates confessed. 

 

For they tell that when someone asked how he was getting on, he replied that he was doing as well as was reasonable for a man of ninety, but that he considered death the worst of evils. And yet how could there have been any smattering of knowledge or of acquaintance with true good and evil in the man who thought that an evil which is the necessary sequel even to the best life? 

 

Now what if I was denied the right instruction when I was younger, or as is far more likely, I didn’t think it all that important to listen? I have indeed known people who were totally starved of good influences, and their situations can be deeply tragic, but I have known far more people, myself included, who arrogantly assumed they already knew better. 

 

Will I insist that it is too late, sighing all sorts of resigned platitudes, like how it’s impossible to teach an old dog new tricks? When is it really too late, and when am I just making excuses? 

 

I can’t speak for another dog, but I can speak for myself, and as much as I might want to deny it, my own attitude is the only thing stopping me from becoming a new man. Do I still possess a power over my own thoughts? Then I still possess a power over my own character. If I built up the bad habits, bit by bit, I can also remove them and replace them, bit by bit. 

 

This dog will learn nothing new once he is dead, or too deaf and blind, or too lame, but he still has a spark in him if he remains eager and willing. 

 

I can, right here and now, pay attention to wiser voices, and the follow the example of people better than myself. How will I find them, however, having let myself be misled for so long? I must look to the inner meaning of what they say and do, not be entranced by the pretty pictures and the empty promises. I must admit that I have rarely failed to recognize moral decency in others, and that the real problem was always in failing to make a connection, that this would be the best and happiest way for me to live as well. 

 

Good people know who they are, and so they know what they must do, without any fuss, or ostentation, or need to be at the center of attention. Because they understand how their own thoughts and actions are the measure of their worth, they will not make loud demands, or be filled with resentful complaints, or go about blaming others for standing in the way. They will, in fact, not refer to anything that happens to them as good or bad, recognizing that benefit and harm are in the estimation and the use of circumstances. 

 

That admittedly doesn’t sound like the people we usually follow, does it? There lies the depth of the transformation required by a Stoic Turn. 

 

Yet what can hinder me once I follow such simple and humble guidance? Why would old age bother me, if I knew what was worthwhile in life? Why would even death itself trouble me, if I was willing to accept that how long I live has nothing to do with how well I live? 

 

I imagine the good I could have done, if only I had taken all the time and effort I dedicated to avoiding pain, or poverty, or a bad reputation, and instead employed it all in first avoiding wickedness. 

 

Isocrates may well have been one of the greatest rhetoricians of the Greek world, one of the Alexandrian Canon of Ten, and yet he struggled like most everyone else with facing his mortality. I suppose even the best of style is no substitute for genuine substance. 

 

Death is a threat only to those who confuse a quality of existence with a quantity of existence, who look to conveniences instead of virtues, and who are stubborn about accepting an ending as a necessary part of any story. 

 

 

 

17.6

 

The best life, you will agree, is that of a good man, and yet the end even of such a man is death.

 

Therefore, as I said before, if one in old age should succeed in mastering this lesson, to wait for death without fear and courageously, he would have acquired no small part of how to live without complaint and in accordance with Nature. He would acquire this by associating with men who were philosophers not in name only but in truth, if he were willing to follow their teachings. 

 

So it is that I tell you that the best viaticum for old age is the one I mentioned in the beginning, to live according to Nature, doing and thinking what one ought. For so an old man would himself be most cheerful and would win the praise of others, and being thus, he would live happily and in honor. 

 

Why should I insist on having more of something that can already be complete in its excellence at any one given moment? 

 

Why am I demanding to be in a constant state of ever greater becoming, when nothing can be ultimately transformed except by means of an ending? 

 

Am I really telling myself that seeking more and more consumption will satisfy me, even as I know full well that true contentment would leave nothing else to be desired? 

 

If I am already happy to live according to Nature, death can never take anything away from me, and so I will have no reason to fear it. Growing weaker in my body, or being parted from my friends, or slowly becoming forgotten only sound terrifying when I am still expecting something “better” to come along. Being dissatisfied with who I am now can only reflect on my own failure to have lived and appreciated what is now. 

 

Truly wise people will be truly good people, and truly good people will be truly joyful people. The limitations of merely bookish learning or narrow professional achievements become rather apparent when I find myself no better as a man, and so also no happier as a man. Wisdom should yield abundant fruit, not leave only more grasping or resentment. 

 

People will offer all sorts of specialized cures for all sorts of specific ailments, and most of them will require the payment of money or obedience to receive their supposed benefits. In my own lifetime, I have seen many lose their financial savings for the sake of medical treatments, and I have also seen many lose their freedom and dignity for the sake of ideological belonging. 

 

Let us prefer what we will, but there is really only one cure for anything that brings us grief and pain in this life. Our human nature, in harmony with Providence and the whole of Nature, provides all that is necessary. Revere what is true and love what is good, so that nothing, not even old age or death, will stand as an obstacle. 

 

 

 

17.7

 

But if anyone thinks that wealth is the greatest consolation of old age, and that to acquire it is to live without sorrow, he is quite mistaken; wealth is able to procure for man the pleasures of eating, and drinking, and other sensual pleasures, but it can never afford cheerfulness of spirit nor freedom from sorrow in one who possesses it. 

 

Witnesses to this truth are many rich men who are full of sadness and despair and think themselves wretched—evidence enough that wealth is not a good protection for old age.

 

In response to anything Musonius might have to say, the common attitude will look on with a blank stare; it was surely that way at his time, just as much as it is now. 

 

Do I not have rather clear obligations for my old age, that I establish myself, that I accumulate wealth, that I provide the means for my future security and comfort? I have been told this for as long as I can remember, I have seen others doing it all around me, and it’s already enough of a chore to keep up with those demands. What else could really matter? 

 

What else, indeed? When considering what actually matters, I need to stop keeping philosophy at arm’s length, as merely an amusing diversion from the task of living. Where there is no immediate reflection on my very human purpose, I will be acting blindly. What is it that I truly require, and can fame and fortune offer any of that for me? 

 

I often find that I can give no reasonable account of myself at all. I focus in on gaining the worldly riches, and I then assume that contentment will somehow follow. I also easily forget that money in and of itself provides nothing at all, being useful only as a means for something else. 

 

What is it good for? I can buy all sorts of conveniences and luxuries, and perhaps they will make my life more gratifying, but their presence will not make me any better as a person, and so they will not make me any happier as a person. 

 

In fact, I could end up using them poorly just as readily as using them well, which should tell me that fortune doesn’t make the man, but that the man can make something of any fortune. It is what is within my soul, the content of my character, that will decide the difference. 

 

When I have actually worked to be understanding and loving, with a real dedication instead of just going through the motions, I have never found myself burdened by any need. Yet when I have enslaved myself to a desire for possessions, always itchy and anxious, I will still find myself in a state of constant want.

 

It was true when I still had a spring in my step, and it will be just as true if I turn out to be old and gray. 

 

 

 

Lecture 18: On food. 

 

18.1

 

On the subject of food, he used to speak frequently and very emphatically too, as a question of no small significance, nor leading to unimportant consequences; indeed he believed that the beginning and foundation of temperance lay in self-control in eating and drinking. Once, putting aside other themes such as he habitually discussed, he spoke somewhat as follows. 

 

As one should prefer inexpensive food to expensive and what is abundant to what is scarce, so one should prefer what is natural for men to what is not. Now food from plants of the earth is natural to us, grains and those which though not cereals can nourish man well, and also food (other than flesh) from animals which are domesticated. 

 

Some would say it is best to leave questions of the ideal human diet to the biologists and the nutritionists, since they are surely the experts on “following the science”. And yet, in my few decades on this Earth, I have seen “the science” change back and forth over the years, often influenced more by politics and culture than it is by any insight about what is best for the human body. 

 

It can be difficult to separate the soundbites from the substance, the people who are trying to sell us a product from the people who are genuinely concerned with our health. 

 

Musonius may not have had the benefit of all the latest research, and some of his explanations may sound downright primitive to our ears, but I must remember that his interest here is for the good of the soul as much as it is for the good of the body. Though they may be expressed in what we now consider odd terms, he offers common sense suggestions on the healthiest foods within the larger context of the healthiest moral character. 

 

What we eat and drink is hardly accidental to who we are. The very substance of the body itself depends upon it, and how we choose our sustenance is a reflection of our sense of values. 

 

The virtue of temperance is concerned with our judgments having the power to rule over our passions, and is therefore one of the foundations of the good and happy life. Some modern associations of the term suggest that it is about repression and denial, but in the classical sense it is about learning to freely guide our desires instead of being enslaved to them.

 

Indeed, most of the great mistakes of my life have played themselves out in allowing my feelings to run away from me. I forget that they are mine to do with as I choose, not for them to do with me whatever they will. An appetite for pleasure or an aversion to pain is a natural part of who I am, and I am meant to feel such things. Yet to simply feel them is not enough—I am also called to understand them, and thereby to give them direction and purpose. It is what I do with my feelings that makes all the difference. 

 

Intemperance in sexual desires, the reduction of love to lust, can be a great obstacle to happiness, and has been a horrific downfall for many, but I would suggest that intemperance in food and drink can be just as harmful to us, even if its effects are perhaps more creeping and subtle. 

 

My grandmother would say that you could tell quite a bit about a man by how he ate, that what he put inside his stomach told you about the content of his heart. 

 

Gluttony is a reflection of imbalance, moderation a reflection of balance. One always requires more, while the other finds contentment with what is enough. We certainly see this in the “developed” world, where excessive consumption is a primary form of recreation, the slow crippling of the body on account of an emptiness in the soul. 

 

I hardly need to accuse anyone else of this; I have done it myself more often than I can count, and I have to admit I implicitly knew exactly why I did it. I overfilled my belly because I was failing to be content in my mind. 

 

Good food will become no better because it costs more, just as a person will become no better because he earns more. 

 

Good food will become no better because it is rare and obscure, just as a person will become no better because he is exotic and glamorous. 

 

Good food will become no better because it has been elaborately prepared and processed, just as a person will become no better because he is artificially cultured and refined. 

 

The Stoic tells us to always live according to Nature, and it will be no different when it comes to our diets. What should I eat and drink? In that all the other conditions of my life should be measured relative to virtue, and the goods of the body should be in service to the goods of the soul, whatever I receive into myself is beneficial when it helps me to live in common with others, in simplicity of form, and with a purity of purpose. 

 

 

 

18.2

 

Of these foods the most useful are those which can be used at once without fire, since they are also most easily available; for example fruits in season, some of the green vegetables, milk, cheese, and honey. Also those which require fire for their preparation, whether grains or vegetables, are not unsuitable, and are all natural food for man. 

 

On the other hand he showed that meat was a less civilized kind of food and more appropriate for wild animals. He held that it was a heavy food and an obstacle to thinking and reasoning, since the exhalations rising from it being turbid darkened the soul. For this reason also the people who make larger use of it seem slower in intellect. 

 

I will gladly defer to those far wiser than myself on the proportion of different foodstuffs, or the merits of cooked versus uncooked foods, or the contemporary debates on the balance of proteins, fats, and carbohydrates. That is a whole discussion that must surely begin with a philosophical foundation, but must also go far beyond it in considering the biological particulars of nutrition. Both components are required. 

 

Through all of this, Musonius is simply arguing that a suitability for the health of both body and mind, along with a simplicity of availability and preparation, are the ideals we should pursue. Nature demands what is moderate and sufficient, never what is excessive or extraneous.

 

I have heard many arguments, for example, that man was designed to be an omnivore, and a few that he was designed to be an herbivore, and I can honestly not speak with authority on any of them. 

 

How much meat should we eat, or should we be avoiding it entirely? I’m not sure, but I am always careful not to confuse preferences with principles. What I do know, however, is that most of us who have the means seem to eat far more meat than is good for us, to the point where our diets become terribly imbalanced. We do so for the pleasure, not for the necessity, and this is a surely a reflection of the problem Musonius describes. 

 

Few things are as satisfying to me as a fine cut of rare steak, and I will be the first to admit that it is to follow my passions, not just to feed myself. Yes, there might be a time for such things, in proper measure, and yet I find that my body, and hence also my mind, are crisper and clearer when I consume more fresh fruits and vegetables, or I fulfill my urge for more substance with some unprocessed bread and cheese. 

 

The imagery of the dark and heavy vapors emanating from meats sounds rather strange to us, but it actually speaks a profound truth. A meal that is too rich drags me down, making both my limbs weak and my thoughts sluggish. 

 

I am prone to both eating too much, and to eating all the wrong things. The sight of me after a full order of General Gao’s chicken and a side of egg rolls is deeply unpleasant, almost as bad as the sight of me after a fifth of whiskey. 

 

Though as a child I once ate too many unripe peaches, to disastrous effect, I have rarely found myself in a physically or mentally comatose state from eating a fair amount of fresh produce. 

 

 

 

18.3

 

Furthermore, as man of all creatures on earth is the nearest of kin to the gods, so he should be nourished in a manner most like the gods. 

 

Now the vapors rising from the earth and water are sufficient for them, and so, he said, we ought to be nourished on food most like that, the lightest and purest; for thus our souls would be pure and dry, and being so, would be finest and wisest, as it seemed to Heraclitus when he said, "The clear dry soul is wisest and best." 

 

But now, he said, we feed ourselves much worse than the unreasoning brutes. For even if they, driven by appetite as by a lash, fall upon their food, nevertheless they are not guilty of making a fuss about their food and exercising ingenuity about it, but they are satisfied with what comes their way, seeking satiety only, nothing more. 

 

But we contrive all kinds of arts and devices to give relish to eating and to make more enticing the act of swallowing. 

 

We might not wish to believe in the gods if it doesn’t suit us, and yet our foods should still be light and pure, exactly the way our souls ought to be. 

 

Again, look beyond the different symbolism of ambrosia, or the rising vapors, or the clear and dry soul described by Heraclitus, to consider how Musonius is pointing at what can best elevate our human nature. 

 

A thing becomes more perfect and complete by possessing a greater self-sufficiency, less bound to what is below it, and therefore more attuned to what is above it. Just as the mind and the will of a man are weighed down by a dependence upon externals, so too the body of a man is made heavy by gluttony and luxury, both literally and figuratively. 

 

I might assume that this will make my life quite unpleasant, but that is only because I am failing to understand the proper relationship of action and pleasure. It won’t be the best for me because it is at first the most pleasing, but rather it will become the most pleasing because it is the already the best. I will only find wallowing in base things gratifying when I have not yet tasted of genuine merit. 

 

It is quite natural for an animal to immediately gorge itself on whatever is put before it, since it is a creature ruled by instinct alone. Yet I have the power of judgment, and as such it is hardly right for me to consume thoughtlessly, and it is even worse for me to treat my food as something to gratify my senses alone, however refined I may think them to be. 

 

The beast will stop when his belly is full, but a man will be tempted to make an elaborate affair of his eating and drinking, not feeding to make himself healthy and strong, but feasting merely in order to tickle his fancies. The man will only stop when his lusts are satisfied, which means, of course, barring pauses to catch his breath, that he won’t really stop at all. 

 

 

 

18.4

 

We have come to such a point of delicacy in eating and gourmanderie that as some people have written books on music and medicine, so some have even written books on cooking which aim to increase the pleasure of the palate, but ruin the health.

 

 It is at all events a common observation that those who are luxurious and intemperate in food have much less vigorous health. Some, in fact, are like women who have the unnatural cravings of pregnancy; these men, like such women, refuse the most common foods and have their digestion utterly ruined. 

 

Thus, as worn-out iron constantly needs tempering, their appetites continually demand being sharpened either by neat wine or a sharp sauce or some sour relish. 

 

Is there some problem with receiving pleasure? Not at all, but, as with all things that should be in themselves indifferent, pleasure is not an absolute good, just as pain is not an absolute evil. The context is what will matter, and that context is all too easily lost. 

 

“What do I enjoy?” can only make sense through first asking another question, “Why do I enjoy it?” 

 

Finding satisfaction in bringing my wife a coffee when she wakes up is very different from finding satisfaction in bringing my neighbor’s wife a coffee when she wakes up. 

 

My better half has recently been working as a chef, and much of our recent pillow talk revolves around food. She knows much more about the “culture” of food than I do, and yet I am surprised at how much we both agree about the degradation of fine dining. 

 

I appreciate her stress on the distinction between a gourmet and gourmand. One eats to love, while the other just loves to eat. The new “foodies” of our age are the hipster gourmands. 

 

I weep with her when a patron demands a Caesar salad, but without any anchovies. 

 

I wring my hands with her when a dry red wine is suggested to go with a certain dish, and the fellow orders a Bud Light. 

 

And then we worry that we are just being terrible snobs. Is it wrong to ask others to think about the meaning of what they eat, or to suggest what might be both tasty and healthy? 

 

A good meal should, I think, satisfy the whole person, not just one part of the person. Is the belly too full? You have eaten too much. Are the passions too dulled? You have eaten too greedily. Are you more interested in the seeming more than the being? You should have stayed at home. 

 

I once waited almost an hour for a very simple plate of freshly made cheese dumplings, at an old-fashioned restaurant in Salzburg. When it arrived, it seemed like one of the smallest meals I had ever seen. 

 

It was also one of the best meals I had ever eaten. I would gladly trade every meal since then for a chance to eat those cheese dumplings again. 

 

The wife and I will insist that good taste and good nutrition are not really in conflict, just as pleasure and virtue are not really in conflict. 

 

Eat well, and so live well. Live well, and so be happy. 

 

She already had my heart, but it didn’t hurt when she named her three favorite chefs: Julia Child, James Beard, and Jacques Pepin. Old school, and also built around a balance of simplicity and moderation. 

 

People with sick souls do sick things, and their sick bodies are filled with sick things. Observe the supposedly “better” people, and observe how they dine. They eat not to nourish, but to glorify themselves. 

 

 

 

18.5

 

But no such man was the Laconian who, on seeing a man refuse to eat a young peacock or other expensive bird that was placed before him, and complain that he could not eat because of lack of appetite, remarked, "But I could eat a vulture or a buzzard." 

 

Zeno of Citium even when he was ill thought that no unusually delicate food should be brought him, and when the attending physician ordered him to eat squab, he would not allow it, and said, "Treat me as you would treat my slave Manes." For I imagine that he thought there should be nothing more delicate in his treatment than for one of his slaves if he were ill; for if they can be cured without receiving more delicate fare, so can we. 

 

Surely a good man should be no more delicate than a slave; and for that reason Zeno very likely thought he ought to beware of delicacy in diet and not yield to it in the least, for if he once yielded he would go the whole way, since in the matter of food and drink, pleasure accelerates its pace alarmingly. The words spoken on that occasion concerning food and nourishment seemed to us more unusual than the customary discourses day by day.

 

I do worry that my desire for quality in what I eat and drink can too easily become a form of pretension, where the substance is confused with a mere love of the appearances. If I am honest with myself, I know that the difference will be found in my own judgments, in the reasons why I choose to pursue certain things. 

 

I think with shame of a time when I started to refuse eating a certain soup I had long enjoyed, only because I learned that it contained mushrooms. I had thought that those were pieces of meat, and it somehow disturbed me to no end that they were actually pieces of fungus. I had unwittingly joined the ranks of the picky eaters, all too common in a culture of luxury. 

 

The mere thought of the mushrooms disturbed me, even though I enjoyed the taste of them, and, more to the point, they were surely healthier for me than the pork I had taken them for. I should be thinking more like a Spartan instead of some culinary dandy, happy to eat buzzard instead of peacock if it gives me good nourishment. 

 

A good test of my integrity will be if I am willing to apply the same standards across the board, or if I expect some form of special treatment for myself. If I say that eating an apple instead of a hamburger is good enough for anyone else, it should also be good enough for me. It will hardly be moderation if I consider myself exempt. 

 

The danger in making excuses for myself is that allowing for too many luxuries will weaken any good habits I may still have. How many wills have been broken by starting with just one bite or with just one sip? Pleasure has a way of carrying me away, not because a feeling of satisfaction is somehow bad, but rather because I am far too prone to abusing it. I find that I no longer have a rule over it, and it now has a rule over me.

 

Was Zeno being too strict with himself? I might say that a stronger man could handle it, but perhaps it was that very sense of self-discipline that made him strong to begin with. 

 

 

 

18.6

 

Thoroughly shameful, he used to say, are gluttony and high living, and no one will dare deny it; yet I have observed very few aiming to shun these vices. On the contrary I notice that the majority of people strive to obtain these same foods when they are not available and when they are at hand are unable to refrain from them, and they use them so lavishly when they have them that they make for the detriment of their health. 

 

And yet what else is gluttony but intemperance in the matter of nourishment, causing men to prefer what is pleasant in food to what is beneficial? And high living is nothing but excess in table luxury. 

 

Now excess is always evil, but here particularly it reveals its true nature in these people since it makes them greedy like swine or dogs rather than men, and incapable of behaving properly with hands, or eyes, or gullet, so completely does the desire for pleasure in dainties of the table pervert them. 

 

I imagine most Americans would agree that we eat far too much, and we eat of all the wrong things, and we get tangled up in the lure of images of food sold by advertising, instead of looking to the health of mind and body. 

 

Yet most Americans continue to be brutal consumers, doing precisely what they say they shouldn’t do. Are we playing that double standard? We stuff our faces, at all hours of the day, and still pontificate at the same time. 

 

When McDonald’s seasonally offers the holy Shamrock Shake, or the legendary McRib, people go a bit crazy, and they line up for hours. There is nothing Irish in the drink besides some green food dye, and there is nothing of actual rib meat to be found in the sandwich. We are drinking and eating corporate hokum. 

 

What is the real content of these advertising masterpieces? Sugar, more sugar, lots of salt, and then loads of fat. It speaks to what is most base in our taste, under the guise of being hip and cosmopolitan.  

 

I may see before me something that I know will provide a lasting good for me, and I may see before me something else that I know will only be temporarily gratifying for me, and the very fact that I hesitate in my choice shows how easily I can delude myself. 

 

When I am overcome by gluttony, the judgment I have made is to bind my very judgment to something far lower than itself; in a way, I am choosing to let the impressions do the choosing for me. It is bad enough that I lean to excess, but the degree to which I can become a mindless devourer, so fundamentally inhuman, is surely what is of such great concern to Musonius. 

 

I might be shocked to see children throwing tantrums when they don’t receive their favorite treats, and then I remember the arguments between adults about which fast food joint they will do their gorging at during lunch hour. 

 

 

 

18.7

 

How shameful it is to behave toward food in this way we may learn from the fact that we liken them to unreasoning animals rather than to intelligent human beings. Now if this is shameful, the opposite must be altogether good; that is, exercising moderation and decorum in eating, demonstrating one's self-control there first of all, not an easy thing to do, but one which requires much attention and practice. 

 

Why should this be? Because although there are many pleasures which lure man into wrong-doing and force him to yield to them contrary to what is good, pleasure in eating is probably the hardest of all to combat. For other pleasures we encounter less often, and we can refrain from some of them for months and whole years, but of necessity we are tempted by this one every day and usually twice a day, since it is not possible for man to live otherwise. 

 

As a younger man, I often deeply resented it when my family told me to eat with civility, as I assumed that their claims were informed only by blind customs and an obsession with appearances. As I have grown older, I begin to see that they may have been on to something. 

 

It somehow stuck in my head when my father, referencing Jewish law, told me it might be natural for a dog to eat, defecate, or copulate in public, but for a man it was quite unnatural. Though shame can all to easily be abused as a means to diminish others, I should not forget that shame can also be a truly healthy means to get myself back in touch with an informed conscience. I am a creature of deliberate choice, not just of brute instinct. 

 

We are still quick to condemn people when they use tobacco, or become addicted to alcohol and drugs, or sometimes even if they are sexually promiscuous, and yet we are far less likely to condemn them when they are intemperate with food. Why are we more forgiving when it comes to eating and drinking, given the prevalence of gluttony, wastefulness, and obesity? Perhaps we look the other way precisely because they are so prevalent? 

 

It may be easier to avoid a vice when it is easier to avoid the occasions of sin, on the premise of “out of sight, out of mind”. I can alter my circle of friends, or I can even change my name and move to another town, but I can’t really stop eating. The whiskey can get poured down the sink, or her picture can get tossed in the trash, but I can’t run away from food. 

 

With food being a lure that always surrounds me, especially in an instant world where the whole day can become one continuous meal, it is no wonder that I turn to it as a diversion from facing myself. Food is necessary to nourish a person, but hence it is also an immediate opportunity to merely tame or numb my passions whenever I feel distressed or disturbed. 

 

I would rummage through the kitchen looking for something tasty to consume, and I seethed with rage when my mother called down to me, “You’re just eating because you’re bored!” How dare she have turned out to be right after all those years. 

 

 

 

18.8

 

Thus the oftener we are tempted by pleasure in eating, the more dangers there are involved. And indeed at each meal there is not one hazard for going wrong, but many. 

 

First of all, the man who eats more than he ought does wrong, and the man who eats in undue haste no less, and also the man who wallows in the pickles and sauces, and the man who prefers the sweeter foods to the more healthful ones, and the man who does not serve food of the same kind or amount to his guests as to himself. 

 

There is still another wrong in connection with eating, when we indulge in it at an unseasonable time, and although there is something else we ought to do, we put it aside in order to eat. Since, then, these and even more vices are connected with eating, if a man wishes to show self-control, he must be free of all of them and not be guilty of any of them. 

 

I keep a piece of advice from Aristotle close to my heart, that a man is good in one way, but bad in many. There are lots of easy ways to miss the mark, but only one difficult way to hit it. This helps to keep me on my toes whenever I am becoming too complacent. 

 

Some vices express themselves clearly in only one manner, and are somewhat easier to identify, but the temptation to gluttony has so many different ways of tugging at us, so many means of pulling us down. 

 

At first, they may seem harmless enough, and I am quite ready to overlook them, but with time they all weaken my ability to be my own master, and before I know it, I have made myself a slave to my creeping habits. 

 

Sometimes I will eat and drink too much, on the mistaken assumption that an increase in the quantity of my consumption will somehow increase the quality of my enjoyment. 

 

Sometimes I will eat and drink far too quickly, thinking that all my petty chores, running here and there, make it impossible for me to take the time to calmly and gently nurture my body. 

 

Sometimes I will allow myself to be overwhelmed by a desire for only strong and overwhelming tastes, loaded with too many sauces and spices, forgetting that a good flavor is often the simplest and purest flavor.

 

Sometimes I will follow the craving of the proverbial sweet tooth, falling for what is most brutally and immediately satisfying. 

 

Sometimes I will become so greedy in my devouring that I ignore how what is mine is to be shared, because Nature has made us all for one another. 

 

Sometimes I will forget that there is a right time and place to eat and drink, and instead I snack away at all times of the day, or even turn the entire day into a continuous meal, neglecting a balance of living for the sake of my perpetual gratification. 

 

I had never thought of myself as an intemperate eater, having been as skinny as a beanpole for all of my life, but with some honest and humbling reflection, I began to see how often I was using food and drink only as a way to ease my anxiety or avoid my worries. 

 

I can hardly expect to practice self-control in the grander aspects of my life if I can’t manage to do so at my dinner table. 

 

 

 

18.9

 

To keep himself blameless and free from such errors one should by constant practice accustom himself to choosing food not for enjoyment but for nourishment, not to tickle his palate but to strengthen his body. Indeed, the throat was designed to be a passage for food, not an organ of pleasure, and the stomach was made for the same purpose as the root was created in plants. 

 

For just as the root nourishes the plant by taking food from without, so the stomach nourishes the living being from the food and drink which are taken into it. And again, just as plants receive nourishment that they may survive, and not for their pleasure, so in like manner food is to us the medicine of life. 

 

Therefore it is fitting for us to eat in order to live, not in order to have pleasure, if, at all events, we wish to keep in line with the wise words of Socrates, who said that the majority of men live to eat but that he ate in order to live. Certainly no reasonable being, whose ambition is to be a man, will think it desirable to be like the majority who live to eat, and like them, to spend his life in the chase after pleasure derived from food. 

 

I was told many words of earthy wisdom long before I knew that they had come from certain philosophers, and the one about eating to live instead of living to eat was one of the more memorable ones. I understood it, and yet something about it annoyed me. 

 

It could only have been the implication that I shouldn’t be enjoying my food, that its nutritional value was all that mattered. Once again, however, I was assuming an opposition where none needed to exist. I simply needed to return to that old Socratic lesson, that things are not good because they are pleasurable, but rather that they are pleasurable because they are good. 

 

My intention should be to eat and drink in the healthiest way possible, and I will then also find that this is the most satisfying way possible. Aim for the good, and then gain the bonus of pleasure, but never expect that it can work the other way around. 

 

It isn’t always easy to teach that to a flighty and passionate young fellow, and so I suppose we offer a bit of leniency for the ignorance of youth. It takes some experience and reflection to appreciate the benefits of a pure and simple diet, to embrace it for its natural purpose of building vitality. Once that goal is within reach, however, there will also follow the deepest joy. 

 

I remain a terrible gardener, and yet I am always happy to have helped a humble houseplant grow by providing just the right mix of rich soil, clean water, fresh air, and invigorating sunlight. I should find no less pleasure in nurturing myself, as I will surely find no nurturing in just pleasuring myself. 

 

Most people I know think a bowl of old-fashioned Scottish oatmeal to be bland and boring, and yet I have gained the deepest respect for this humble and stalwart companion. Few meals can strengthen the body and warm the soul as well as a fine porridge, so it should come as little surprise that I have found both the greatest energy and contentment when I choose it to begin my day. 

 

When I keep my thoughts focused on the quality of what I eat, I find that satisfaction is in less instead of more, and I no longer have such strong cravings for what is processed instead of what is natural. All the high-and-mighty preaching of the food police turns me off, though the prospect of a hearty lunch will soon get me back on track. 

 

They now call it a ploughman’s lunch, though the basic concept is surely an ancient one. By all means, add a hard-boiled egg, salad, or a chunk of cold ham (though Musonius might frown upon the last one) if you like, but the core of it is bread, cheese, and onion or pickle. Slices of apple will also fit in wonderfully. Over the last few years, this has become like ambrosia to me, best served on a cutting board and eaten with a pocketknife. 

 

It isn’t terribly difficult to figure out why Nature wants us to eat, and then working from that premise to decide what sort of things are best for us to eat. 

 

 

 

18.10

 

That God who made man provided him food and drink for the sake of preserving his life and not for giving him pleasure, one can see very well from this: when food is performing its real function, it does not produce pleasure for man, that is in the process of digestion and assimilation. At that time we are being nourished and renew our strength, but we feel no sensation of pleasure; and yet there is a longer time involved in this process than in eating. 

 

Surely if God had planned eating as a pleasure for us, He would have had us enjoy it a longer time and not merely the brief moment when we are swallowing. 

 

And yet for the sake of that brief moment when we do experience pleasure, countless dainties are prepared, the sea is sailed from end to end, cooks are more in demand than farmers; some even squander the value of their estates to spread their tables, though their bodies are not at all benefited by the costliness of the food. 

 

If I think about it from the order of Nature, and not from the order of my preferences, it suddenly seems quite ridiculous that I would eat and drink, putting substances into my mouth and then swallowing them, in order to gain a few seconds of pleasure here and there. And yet I have spent so much of my time doing precisely that, working for hours and days just for the sake of a single taste. 

 

That taste is soon gone, of course, and it is no wonder that I go through the whole process over and over again, much like a drug addict hunting for the ecstasy of that first hit. What a waste. 

 

Another way I knew I had finally found my better half was when she explained to me that gluttony for food is much like lust for sex:

 

 “Some people chase after the perfect taste, and they never find it. Other people chase after the perfect orgasm, and they never find it. There is no such thing, because what is perfect in eating and what is perfect in sex is never defined by a mere moment of pleasure. What were they made for? Health and Love. Those don’t just come and go at a moment’s notice.”

 

I do worry that they don’t make women, or men, like that anymore. 

 

I did pause for a bit when I first read this passage, wondering why Musonius says that the act of swallowing is what provides gratification for the glutton. Surely it is in the taste buds, I thought, not in the gullet? 

 

Still, I only need to look at how we all tend to eat. There is as little chewing as possible, and even when we do so it is frantic and rushed. There is very little sense of savoring the subtlety of flavor, only the urge to stuff more and more into our mouths. 

 

I will gladly defer to the expertise of the psychologist or the physiologist, yet I can’t help but wonder if the satisfaction of gorging comes from a feeling of power and control that goes with consumption, much like the satisfaction of sexual conquest comes from a feeling of power and control that goes with consumption. 

 

 

 

18.11

 

Quite the contrary, people who eat the cheapest food are the strongest. Indeed you may notice that slaves are usually stronger than their masters, country men than city men, the poor than the rich, better able to do hard work, less fatigued by their labor, less frequently ill, enduring more cheerfully cold, heat, lack of sleep, and every such hardship. 

 

Furthermore, even if expensive and cheap food strengthened the body equally well, nevertheless one ought to choose the cheaper food because it is more conducive to temperance and more fitting for a good man. 

 

I must remember that “cheap” here does not mean something of low quality; it simply means something that is affordable and easily available to the everyman. 

 

Please don’t tell me that times have changed so much that a good diet requires a fancy white-collar job and a luxurious suburban lifestyle. Your Volvo makes you no better, and your politically correct shopping at Whole Foods makes you no better. 

 

It is quite possible that all of that can make you worse, because you might think that the image is more important than the content. 

 

I have lived most of my life on a terrible cusp between high class and low class; I honestly no longer care about the difference. I do not need to be rich in order to eat well, just as I do not need to be rich in order to live well.

 

When I go to the grocery store, I am tempted by all sorts of cleverly packaged products, and by all sorts of enticing treats. I must walk right past them, as much as my passions are inflamed, and buy some decent fruits and vegetables. 

 

Steak-Umm’s and Doritos call to me; a few pears or peaches are far better for me, and far cheaper for me, and actually far more pleasant for me. 

 

I’m not just playing the health food nut role here: a slice of an orange is both healthier and tastier than a Twinkie. 

 

Yes, the increasing prevalence of processed and packaged food makes it far too easy for us to think that it is cheaper to eat by buying industrial products, but it only takes a bit of common arithmetic to show that this is not the case. 

 

If I buy fresh produce, I can very easily feed myself for around $50 a week. If I buy all the corporate garbage, the bill is suddenly around $150 a week. 

 

The fact remains that the simplest foods are the best foods, and the best people are smart enough to eat the simplest foods. Most importantly, the best people, not the richest or the most influential people, will find health of body and health of mind in their convictions. 

 

 

 

18.12

 

In general for men of sense and reason, in respect of food, what is easy to procure is better than what is hard to obtain, what requires no work than what requires it, what is available than what is not at hand. 

 

But to sum up the question of food, I maintain that its purpose should be to produce health and strength, that one should for that purpose eat only that which requires no great outlay, and finally that at table one should have regard for a fitting decorum and moderation, and most of all should be superior to the common vices of filth and greedy haste. 

 

The wife and I once found ourselves in a grocery store in Cambridge, just before Thanksgiving, and we couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between two well-to do women. 

 

To be honest, there was no overhearing it at all, because, like most entitled people, they made sure that we all heard what they had to say.

 

“Where are the strawberries? I need some fucking strawberries!”

 

“There’s a few over right here, right over here.”

 

“Yeah, but they’re not organic. Josh will kill me if they’re not organic. Oh, my fucking God, I need some organic strawberries!”

 

“See? I told you this store was no good.”

 

My wife was still new to Massachusetts, straight from Texas, and she made the horrible mistake of trying to help them. 

 

“Strawberries are out of season right now, and anything you buy will be a bit old and questionable.”

 

The laser glares of those two very special women were suddenly upon her. I did my best to hide behind the fish counter. 

 

“What, are you some kind of fucking chef? What the hell do you know about it?”

 

“Yes, I am a chef, and you’d be smarter to get some cranberries, if you want something fresh.”

 

“Yeah, but I want some fucking organic strawberries!”

 

I will remember my wife’s response to my dying day: 

 

“Of course you do, but we don’t always get what we want, do we? And your loud cussing, Ma’am, won’t change that one bit.”

 

Fancy people want fancy things, and yet decent people are quite content with decent things. 

 

 

 

Lecture 19: On clothing and shelter.

 

19.1

 

Such were his opinions on food. He also thought it best to provide moderate covering for the body, not expensive and superfluous, for he said that one ought to use clothing and shoes in exactly the same way as armor, that is for the protection of the body and not for display. 

 

Therefore just as the most powerful weapons and those best calculated to protect the bearer are the best, and not those which attract the eye by their sheen, so likewise the garment or shoe which is most useful for the body is best, and not one which causes the foolish to turn and stare. 

 

For the covering should at once render the thing covered better and stronger than its natural condition, rather than weaker and worse. 

 

Some of the earlier lectures were too controversial for one of my old professors to teach, because the arguments are too unorthodox in our age of political correctness. The man was certainly not a coward, but he knew how to pick his battles; reason has little effect on narrow prejudices, whatever side of the aisle they may come from. 

 

Now, in contrast, the remaining lectures may seem terribly petty and shallow, all about food, and clothes, and household furnishings, and even about how to cut hair. Don’t we have far more important things to worry about? 

 

Well yes, but all of these very immediate concerns are expressions of deeper principles; the Stoic will choose to live very differently than the usual drone, and there are very good reasons why. Since philosophy should be ordered toward living, and not just thinking, higher values manifest themselves in daily practice. 

 

What is the most suitable clothing? My personal preferences will obviously play into it, and there may well be a wide range of options, but those should be in harmony with the requirements of Nature. I can therefore only know whatclothes to wear when I can first make sense of why I should be wearing them to begin with. 

 

I must always remind myself that Stoic norms never need to be confusing or mysterious; The end is virtue, and all other circumstances are meant as a means to that end. 

 

If clothing can help to protect the health of the body, this can surely be a good thing, because then the health of body can further help to encourage the health of the soul. What else do I really need to know? 

 

Does the tool get the job done? Then I should be completely satisfied with it, knowing that it has worked precisely as it should. Did the armor keep me from injury? Did the weapon hold my foe at bay? It is more than enough. 

 

It might be nice, however, if those clothes could also possess a bit of class. It couldn’t hurt, could it, to add some style? 

 

In and of itself, it would do no harm for them to have clean lines that appeal to the eye, but the danger will be, as always, in my intentions; the reasons why I might want something will change its merit and its worth for me. 

 

First, is my insistence on good looks in any way taking away from the need for what is most useful, humble, and moderate? It is no accident that the most fashionable clothes are often the least practical. 

 

Second, and perhaps more importantly, why am I so interested in turning heads? The kind of people who care about image and appearance are not the ones I should worry about winning over, and my own character suffers deeply when I pursue an exterior image at the expense of an interior improvement. 

 

Some say that “the clothes make the man.” They might be right if they mean that what he wears should be a reflection of his character, but they are quite wrong if they mean that his value is determined by what he wears. 

 

 

 

19.2

 

Those, then, who acquire smoothness and delicacy of skin by their clothing make their bodies worse, inasmuch as plainly the pampered and soft body is much worse than one that is sturdy and bears evidence of hard work. But those who strengthen and invigorate the body by the clothing they wear, those, I say, are the only ones who benefit the parts of the body so covered. 

 

It does not improve the appearance of the body to cover it completely with many garments, to smother it with tight wrappings, and to soften the hands and feet by close fitting gloves or shoes unless perhaps in case of illness. 

 

It is not good to be entirely without experience of cold and heat, but one ought in some degree to feel the cold in winter and likewise the heat of the sun in summer and to seek the shelter of shade as little as possible. Wearing one chiton is preferable to needing two, and wearing none but only a cloak is preferable to wearing one. 

 

Also going barefoot is better than wearing sandals, if one can do it, for wearing sandals is next to being bound, but going barefoot gives the feet great freedom and grace when they are used to it. It is for this reason that one sees couriers wearing no sandals on the highways and the runners in a contest unable to make the best speed if they have to run in sandals. 

 

I never could manage to appear physically attractive to anyone, not for any lack of trying, but I suspect that this was a blessing in disguise, of the sort that Providence is often ready to offer us. 

 

Discovering that I was unable to impress anyone with my looks, it began to dawn on me that true human dignity is to be found in the heart and in the mind, not in any accessories to the body. My own failure at being shallow forced me, kicking and screaming, into deeper waters. 

 

People will often scoff at warnings about the vanity of appearances, insisting that it hardly matters if we care about how we come across to others. I will maintain, however, that the danger is very real, because it so easily confuses our priorities. Instead of simply being good, and allowing others to judge us however they wish, we get caught up in merely seeming good, neglecting the content of character for the sake of winning esteem. 

 

In other words, if I am living well, that should stand on its own merits. Once I start to focus on the image over the substance, that defeats the goal of building my own moral worth. The external has now overshadowed the internal, and I have surrendered my own judgments to others. 

 

If my fancy clothing, and all sorts of refined cosmetics, are intended to keep my body looking smooth and delicate, that sadly reflects my deep disrespect for the very purpose of that body. Am I ashamed that work has given me wrinkles or callouses? Should I not wear what keeps me healthy and strong, not dainty and effete? 

 

Observe how easily we are tempted to wear too many layers of clothes to create a certain false outer form, or clothing that is too tight to arouse and titillate. Even when I still wore them back in the 1980’s, I had to laugh out loud at those ridiculous shoulder pads in our jackets, and the girls I knew never ceased to complain about how their painted-on jeans always rode up into the most uncomfortable places. 

 

I once fancied a girl who liked to wear a little black dress and high heels, and she certainly could turn heads with it. Still, she grumbled that she was freezing most of the time, and that her poor feet were aching. 

 

I was hardly any wiser, wearing my oversized, thick wool greatcoat, covered in heavy straps and buckles, feeling so overheated that I was afraid I was going to pass out. What a deluded pair we made! 

 

I must admit that I still like a good hat, though the years have taught me to care more about it being useful and comfortable than coming across as dapper and debonair. 

 

I have even come to the point where I wonder if shoes are terribly overrated, only really necessary in rough terrain or frigid weather. I used to frown at an eccentric fellow I knew who went most everywhere barefoot, which regularly got us kicked out of restaurants, though I am starting to think he might have had the right idea. 

 

Hard experience has proven that it’s never worth wearing anything awkward or ungainly for the sake of putting on airs. 

 

 

 

19.3

 

Since we make houses too for a shelter, I argue that they ought to be made to satisfy bare necessity, to keep out the cold and extreme heat and to be a protection from the sun and the winds for those who need it. 

 

In general, whatever a natural cave would offer, furnishing a moderate shelter for man, this our houses ought to furnish for us, with just enough to spare to make a convenient place for storing away man's food. 

 

What good are courtyards surrounded by colonnades? What good are all kinds of colored paints? What good are gold-decked rooms? What good are expensive stones, some fitted together on the floor, others inlaid in the walls, some brought from a great distance, and at the greatest expense? 

 

Are not all these things superfluous and unnecessary, without which it is possible not only to live but also to be healthy? Are they not the source of constant trouble, and do they not cost great sums of money from which many people might have benefited by public and private charity? 

 

As it should be with my clothing, so it should also be with my home, which is really just another layer of protection. The best place to live is in one that encourages a vitality of the body, so that I may then have a safe place to develop a contentment in my soul. 

 

A house that is simple and humble may frighten me if I still think that happiness is to be found in the acquisition of more and more things, but once I have my head on straight, I will appreciate that the cottage will do me far better than the mansion. It does not demand an absence of comfort, only a wariness of losing myself to the lure of unnecessary luxury. The difference becomes clear when my sense of human purpose becomes clear. 

 

But did Musonius really just say that a cave can be a good model? Not all of them are dank or full of bats, and there’s a good reason people will still speak of a “cave” as a cozy escape from the craziness of the outside world. The point is that we don’t need as much space to feel at ease as we might think, and we all know that the more room we have, the more likely we are to hoard masses of useless junk. 

 

When I regularly say that many of us possess far more than we require to be happy, people tend to nod their heads in agreement, and will then list a handful of items they could manage to part with. I tend to push myself further than that, suggesting that not just some, but the vast majority of things in my life are clutter, diversions from the proper task at hand. Why do I really want them? 

 

A house with unoccupied rooms, or decked out with all the most elaborate decorations, or filled with rows and rows of expensive recreational and labor-saving devices might make me feel more important, though it adds nothing to my inner worth. 

 

I may think a fancier home makes my life easier, but in so many ways, the ones that really count, it only makes my life harder. The more I have, the more I need to keep what I have, and then, before I know it, most of my day is spent in maintaining a winding chain of expenses and obligations. 

 

Who has the energy to worry about being a good man, when every waking moment must be dedicated to being a rich and luxurious man? 

 

Do I have the courage to actually add up all the effort, the time, and the resources I have given over to making the right impression with my clothes, my car, and my home? I can’t quite bring myself to do it, but I know I would be deeply ashamed, painfully aware that what could have been used in the service of virtue was instead wasted in the service of conceit. 

 

 

 

19.4

 

How much more commendable than living a life of luxury it is to help many people. 

 

How much nobler than spending money for sticks and stones to spend it on men. 

 

How much more profitable than surrounding oneself with a great house to make many friends, the natural result of cheerfully doing good. 

 

What would one gain from a large and beautiful house comparable to what he would gain by conferring the benefits of his wealth upon the city and his fellow citizens? 

 

The tone of Stoic simplicity and frugality, what may even seem to border on asceticism, can easily come across as cold and heartless. Musonius here explains, clearly and beautifully, how this is hardly the case. The goal is not to deny joy, but to find joy in the right places. 

 

How will I make use of the various gifts that fortune sends my way? Will I treat them as a means to acquire more convenience and gratification, or will I see them as opportunities to increase my ability to love? 

 

The time and the resources available to me are rather limited, and I can never presume that more will come my way. What little I do have, the bits and pieces that are lent to me for a few moments by Providence, must be committed to what is most precious to me. 

 

To think of all the ways I could have made someone else’s life easier, providing them with something they needed, instead of treating myself to something I wanted! Well, I may not possess much, but I do still have the current moment to change my direction, don’t I? 

 

I know it sounds terribly hackneyed, but people really do matter more than things, with the latter ordered toward improving the virtues of the former. It isn’t that the sentiment is hopelessly naïve, but rather that not enough of us have ever taken it seriously. 

 

I may think that charity for my fellows goes against my self-interest, yet that is because I don’t know what’s really good for me. Stoicism teaches the inherent connectedness and unity of all things, such that a benefit for one is the same as a benefit for all. Only my failure to know what I was made for keeps me bound to acquiring more shiny trinkets for myself; I forget that I become better, and therefore happier, when I treat my neighbors better. 

 

Does it, once again, sound too much like a Hallmark card to say that giving is the best sort of spending? 

 

I have known very many people who speak loudly about justice and compassion, but very few people who practice it for themselves. You will be able to recognize those few fairly easily, however, by the fact that they never treat their property as something made only for them. 

 

 

 

Lecture 20: On furnishings. 

 

20.1

 

Related to and in harmony with extravagance in houses is all the matter of furnishings within the house—couches, tables, coverlets, drinking cups, and similar objects—completely surpassing all needs and going far beyond necessity. 

 

There are ivory and silver, yes, even golden couches, tables of similar materials, coverlets of purple and other colors difficult to obtain, cups made of gold and silver, some of marble or some similar material rivaling gold and silver in costliness. 

 

All these things are eagerly sought for, although a pallet furnishes us a place to lie on no worse than a silver or ivory couch, and a rough cloak is quite as suitable to cover it as a purple or crimson coverlet; it is possible for us to eat quite safely from a wooden table without longing for one of silver. Yes, and one can drink from earthenware cups which are quite as good for quenching the thirst as goblets of gold; and the wine which is poured into them is not tainted, but yields a fragrance sweeter than from cups of gold or silver. 

 

It may seem lazy of me to understand someone else’s words by pointing to yet another passage from a completely different author, but when the shoe fits so well, there is surely no shame in wearing it. 

 

I was not as keen on the musical version as most everyone else seemed to be back in the 1980’s, but the original book of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables shakes me to the core. Bishop Myriel speaks here with the voice of a true Stoic; I imagine that Musonius would have approved. 

 

The event that immediately follows this section is also profoundly moving, but I won’t spoil it for anyone who doesn’t know the story. Myriel will always be one of my literary heroes. 

 

"Monseigneur, the man is gone! The silver has been stolen!"

 

As she uttered this exclamation, her eyes fell upon a corner of the garden, where traces of the wall having been scaled were visible. The coping of the wall had been torn away.

 

"Stay! That is the way he went. He jumped over into Cochefilet Lane. Ah, the abomination! He has stolen our silver!"

 

The Bishop remained silent for a moment; then he raised his grave eyes, and said gently to Madame Magloire:

 

"And, in the first place, was that silver ours?"

 

Madame Magloire was speechless. Another silence ensued; then the Bishop went on:

 

"Madame Magloire, I have for a long time detained that silver wrongfully. It belonged to the poor. Who was that man? A poor man, evidently."

 

 "Alas! Jesus!" returned Madame Magloire. "It is not for my sake, nor for Mademoiselle's. It makes no difference to us. But it is for the sake of Monseigneur. What is Monseigneur to eat with now?"

 

The Bishop gazed at her with an air of amazement.

 

"Ah, come! Are there no such things as pewter forks and spoons?"

 

Madame Magloire shrugged her shoulders.

 

"Pewter has an odor."

 

"Iron forks and spoons, then."

 

Madame Magloire made an expressive grimace.

 

"Iron has a taste."

 

"Very well," said the Bishop; "wooden ones then."

 

A few moments later he was breakfasting at the very table at which Jean Valjean had sat on the previous evening. As he ate his breakfast, Monseigneur Welcome remarked gayly to his sister, who said nothing, and to Madame Magloire, who was grumbling under her breath, that one really does not need either fork or spoon, even of wood, in order to dip a bit of bread in a cup of milk. . . . 

 

 

 

20.2

 

In general, one would rightly judge what is good and bad in furnishings by these three criteria: acquisition, use, and preservation. Whatever is difficult to obtain or not convenient to use or not easy to protect is to be judged inferior; but what we acquire with no difficulty and use with satisfaction and find easy to keep is superior. 

 

For this reason earthenware and iron and similar vessels are much better than those of silver or gold, because their acquisition is less trouble since they are cheaper, their usefulness is greater since we can safely expose them to heat and fire (which cannot be done with others) , and guarding them is less of a problem, for the inexpensive ones are less likely to be stolen than the expensive ones. 

 

No small part of preserving them too is keeping them clean, which is a more expensive matter with costly ones. Just as a horse that is bought for a small price but is able to fulfill many needs is more desirable than one which does little although he was bought for a great price, so in the matter of furnishings the cheaper and more serviceable are better than the more costly and less serviceable ones. 

 

I often feel the weight of a certain assumption, that all the luxuries of modern technology are absolute goods, as there is never any question that they make our lives easier, more pleasant, and safer. With this can also come a sort of disdain for the people of the past, because they were so unfortunate and ignorant as not to possess all these glorious devices. 

 

It is easy to think this way, confusing what is optional with what is necessary. It all comes down, as it does time and time again, to what I believe I need for a good life, to the distinction between a blessing and a burden. 

 

And yet I will have moments of clarity, where I recognize that all of these furnishings, gadgets, and accessories do not always make my life easier, more pleasant, and safer; quite often they make my life harder, more frustrating, and more dangerous. 

 

Instead of removing effort from my day, I instead spend ever more of my time and resources to purchase greater fineries. Working hard to be less busy ends up making me very busy indeed. 

 

Rather than providing me with contentment, I feel the constant urge to acquire that one more thing that I still don’t have. A man who is not happy with himself is never satisfied, and enough will perpetually be another step away. 

 

Through it all, I imagine that I am more secure in my person and my property, and yet I worry about all the ways I now need to keep my pile of booty. If it isn’t really mine to begin with, I must always despair of losing it. 

 

Hard to get, hard to use, hard to maintain. At what point did something like that actually sound preferable? It must have been at the point where I thought how impressive it looked mattered more than how well it worked. 

 

In those moments of clarity, however rare they may be, I might think of the example of my car. I am told that I absolutely need one, and even that every adult in my family needs one, because we have to get to more places more quickly. 

 

Why, pray tell, must I always be going further and further afield? So I can get the best job, you silly man, and earn enough money to buy a home as far away from that job as possible, and then make the payments on that very car to cover the distance between work in the city and the house in the suburbs, which is packed with all kinds of pleasant conveniences and safe from those dirty people in the city. 

 

Still, it’s funny that I never really get to sit back and enjoy those conveniences, since I’m usually working for them, or stuck in traffic. Now is my car carrying me around, or am I carrying my car around? 

 

 

 

20.3

 

Why is it, then, that the rare and expensive pieces are sought after rather than those that are available and cheap? It is because the things that are really good and fine are not recognized, and in place of them those which only seem good are eagerly sought by the foolish. As madmen often think that black is white, so foolishness is next of kin to madness. 

 

Now we should find that the best lawgivers— and I think first of all of Lycurgus, who drove extravagance out of Sparta and substituted frugality, who preferred a life of deprivation as a means of producing courage to a life of excess, and who did away with luxury as a corrupting influence and considered the will to bear hardships the salvation of the state. 

 

Testimony to this is the endurance of the Spartan ephebes, who were made accustomed to bear hunger and thirst and cold, and even blows and other hardships. Trained in such noble and austere habits the ancient Lacedaemonians were the best of the Greeks and were so esteemed. Their very poverty they caused to be more envied than the King's wealth. 

 

From an early age, I saw an association between merit and glory, such that those who were deemed to be worthy were always rewarded with fame and luxury. It started with winning differently colored stickers, moved on to class rankings, and ended up with titles and bank accounts. 

 

Through it all, if it sparkled more and it cost more, it was surely worth more. This was true of clothing, of cars, of homes, of offices, even of the very people themselves. There may have been much public insistence that people mattered more than things, but we all really knew that the people were just another set of things, to be bought and sold based upon appearances. 

 

When we already begin with the wrong values, we will then pursue all the wrong goals, and what is in itself rather ignorant is made to look so terribly wise. It happens for one simple reason, the fact that we confuse character and circumstance. 

 

Stoic living will never be popular in that sort of climate, and so the hero to the Stoic will be thought quite the fool by the seeker of status. I am always wary of making the Spartans into saints, but I understand completely why the Stoics thought so much of their lawgiver, Lycurgus. One of his crazy ideas was that we can help people make far more of themselves by making then do with far less. 

 

I may think, for example, that I am a better man because my home is completely climate controlled, while lesser people have to put up with the heat and the cold. Actually, it only means that I am a pampered man, and I am overlooking the possibility that bearing the heat and the cold can be excellent ways to acquire some mastery over myself. 

 

The good man sees the opportunity in hardship, while the rich man sees only an obstacle. The good man will gladly surrender his own comfort for the sake of his virtue, while the rich man will gladly surrender the comfort of others for the sake of his pleasure. 

 

With my rather odd sense of humor, I imagine a world where people would look out from their cozy windows during a blizzard, only to say to themselves, “Look at that fellow, walking to work through the wind and the snow, and wearing only a tattered coat and those old shoes. I feel deeply ashamed that I’m not more like him!” 

 

None of this is about wallowing in what is unpleasant, or being heartlessly tough just to put other people down. No, it is rather the insight that human greatness is to be found in the excellence of the soul, and that the luxuries of the body are usually more of a hindrance than a help to such character. 

 

If I find satisfaction in possessing trinkets and fineries I will be tempted to stop right there, forgetting that my very ability to move beyond them, to take them or leave them, is what gives me merit. 

 

 

 

20.4

 

For my part, then, I would choose sickness rather than luxury, for sickness harms only the body, but luxury destroys both body and soul, causing weakness and impotence in the body and lack of self-control and cowardice in the soul. 

 

Furthermore, luxury begets injustice because it also begets covetousness. For no man of extravagant tastes can avoid being lavish in expenditure, nor being lavish can he wish to spend little; but in his desire for many things he cannot refrain from acquiring them, nor again in his effort to acquire can he fail to be grasping and unjust; for no man would succeed in acquiring much by just methods. 

 

Once I figure out that riches aren’t always good for me, I am prone to another terrible mistake, one that comes from swinging between extremes, based upon emotion instead of reason, where I suddenly think that being rich is somehow a bad thing. 

 

This conclusion hardly follows, since riches or poverty, health or illness, luxury or hardship are never good or bad in and of themselves for me; they become good or bad by what I choose to do with them. 

 

Stoicism 101: the man makes something of the conditions, the conditions make nothing of the man. 

 

Being wealthy isn’t a problem, though loving wealth is a problem. Being poor isn’t a problem, though hating poverty is a problem. Indifference to externals means that I will make the best of myself, whatever Providence decides that I should receive. This is only possible by a change of priorities through the Stoic Turn. 

 

Nevertheless, let me be quite practical about all of this. What is most likely to happen when I am given various succulent treats? I will settle for the comfort, and I will ring my wagons around it. 

 

What is most likely to happen if I am denied gratification? I will fortunately have to find another way to make something of myself, a means from within my own judgments, and I will leave the safety of the camp to go into the wilderness. 

 

Would I rather be sick instead of pampered, as Musonius so boldly suggests? Yes, if that is truly necessary to become a more understanding and loving person. My preferences must ultimately bow to my principles. 

 

I should see how my desire for more expensive and convenient “stuff” ends up becoming a burden. 

 

Musonius has the courage to say something I could never quite bring myself to proclaim openly: Fine furnishings never made anyone bad, but bad people have quite the lust for fine furnishings. Look to what is inside the heart and the mind, and you will know precisely who you are. 

 

If I want to live in the grandeur of luxury, I will have to spend much to achieve it. If I want to spend much, I will have to gain much before I can spend it. If I am a grasping man, my life is now about receiving instead of giving. If I only wish to receive, I have now thrown my very humanity out the window. 

 

I am no longer a man of any worth; I am a man who defines himself by everything except himself. 

 

Is it possible for me to be both rich and just? Yes, but only if I am totally ecstatic about throwing away all of the riches for the sake of all of the justice. 

 

 

 

20.5

 

In still another way the man of luxurious habits would be unjust, for he would hesitate to undertake the necessary burdens for his city without abandoning his extravagant life, and if it seemed necessary to suffer deprivation on behalf of his friends or relatives he would not submit to it, for his love of luxury would not permit it. 

 

Nay more, there are times when duties to the gods must be undertaken by the man who would be just toward them, by performing sacrifices, initiatory rites, or some such other service. 

 

Here, too, the wastrel will be found wanting. Thus, he would in all ways be unjust toward his city, toward his friends, and toward the gods, in failing to do what it is his duty to do. So, then, as being also the cause of injustice, luxury and extravagance must be shunned in every way.

 

Observe the finer folk, as they retain their own luxuries, and care so little for even your mere survival. Yes, as a part of their glorious image, they will speak words of vague universal compassion, for the reason that those clever words are a means for their particular power. 

 

Beg a working man for a dollar, and there’s a good chance he’ll give it to you. Beg a millionaire for a dollar, and there’s a good chance he will have you arrested for panhandling and vagrancy. You know it to be true. 

 

We would like to think that the luxurious people make all of us better by spending their money to employ us. Yet I seem to get poorer every year, working harder and harder, and they seem to get richer every year, doing less and less. What is the actual difference between chattel slavery and wage slavery?

 

For some, this is a call to violent revolution. “Kill the Rich! Take back what is ours!”

 

There is another solution, a totally different kind of revolution. “Make virtue your only currency, and meet hatred with love.”

 

The whole can only suffer when one piece of it arrogantly makes itself the meaning of the whole. This happens every day, wherever you may look, and it is easy to feel resentment. 

 

Yet with no money, and with no influence, and with no status, you may change the whole, working from whoever you are. Love is more powerful than wealth. Virtue will always trump money. 

 

Heal the whole world with your love. You will never lose with love, because you are triumphant if another man embraces it, just as you are triumphant if another man kills you for it. You have loved without condition, as God and Nature had asked you to do. 

 

Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

 

 

 

Lecture 21: On cutting the hair.

 

21.1

 

He used to say that a man should cut the hair from the head for the same reason that we prune a vine, that is merely to remove what is useless. 

 

But just as the eyebrows or eyelashes which perform a service in protecting the eyes should not be cut, so neither should the beard be cut from the chin (for it is not superfluous), but it too has been provided for us by Nature as a kind of cover or protection. 

 

Moreover, the beard is nature's symbol of the male just as is the crest of the cock and the mane of the lion; so one ought to remove the growth of hair that becomes burdensome, but nothing of the beard; for the beard is no burden so long as the body is healthy and not afflicted with any disease for which it is necessary to cut the hair from the chin. 

 

Perhaps only what we do with our hair can be any sillier than what we do with our clothing and our property. All of the preening reflects how we wish to be seen, instead of showing a love for who we really are.

 

I didn’t get away with as much as most of my peers, but back in the ‘80’s I did everything I could to look more like some of my musical heroes, especially synthesizer whiz Howard Jones, complete with exaggerated pompadour. 

 

My primary musical obsession changed somewhere in the ‘90’s, as it inevitably does for a young fellow, from New Wave to Celtic folk, and so I eventually settled for trying to look more like Scottish fiddler Johnny Cunningham, complete with flowing locks and pensive beard. 

 

I managed both looks poorly, but what I managed even more poorly was learning to be my own man, or learning something from the talents these men shared, instead of just mimicking their appearances. 

 

By now, anyone who has followed along with Musonius Rufus will hopefully know the drill, and that should be a good thing, because it means the message might be sinking in. 

 

What should my career be? Which party should I vote for? Is this the right store to shop at? Should I wear white after Labor Day? 

 

Does any of it help me in practicing prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice? Then I should do that. Does any of it hinder me from practicing prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice? Then I should avoid doing that. If it doesn’t make a difference either way, then I am completely free to go either way. 

 

“But wait!” I might ask. “What are these virtues? Why do they matter? How do I recognize them? In what way do they help me to become happier?” 

 

Now those are precisely the question I need to be asking myself, instead of worrying about my record collection, or the size of the coffee I will order today, or which school district is best for getting my kids into the classiest college. I am well advised to get to the heart of the matter. 

 

Back to the hair: Is it doing what it should, or is it getting in the way? Nature gave us hair for very practical reasons. What else could matter, other than vanity? 

 

Fashions are odd things. Greek men had generally liked their beards, while Roman men generally believed a distinguished man should be clean-shaven. In Rome, long hair with a beard also tended to be a sign of the artsy philosopher types, and cropped hair a sign of the respectable folks. I suppose it has finally, after many centuries of extreme variations, come back to that again, hasn’t it? 

 

Pardon the terrible pun, but Musonius cuts to the chase. Trim your hair whenever it is a burden. As for the beard, a man should keep it, if possible, not for the sake of style, but as a mark of his sex. 

 

Yes, Nature made man and woman different, just as she made the peacock and the peahen different, or the lion and the lioness different. Don’t be fooled by the fact that one is bigger and showier than the other, since neither one is ultimately any better than the other; balance and complementarity are wonderful things. 

 

Let custom be what it may, but let it always follow the order of Nature. 

 

 

 

21.2

 

The remark of Zeno was well made that it is quite as natural to cut the hair as it is to let it grow long, in order not to be burdened by too much of it nor hampered for any activity. 

 

For Nature plainly keeps a more careful guard against deficiency than against excess, in both plants and animals, since the removal of excess is much easier and simpler than the addition of what is lacking. 

 

In both cases man's common sense ought to assist Nature, so as to make up the deficiencies as much as possible and fill them out, and to lessen and eliminate the superfluous.

 

My own life has unfortunately been marked by my clumsy struggle to find that precious mean between extremes, and the tempest-in-a-teacup saga of my hair is a trivial but telling consequence of this. 

 

I would grow it out to ridiculous lengths whenever I was feeling carefree, and then I would immediately buzz it all off, right down to the scalp, whenever I faced an existential crisis. Like a sort of archeological stratigraphy, or a dendrochronology with trees, you could tell my state of mind by how long or short my hair was in a series of photos over the years. 

 

I certainly do not recommend such a path. Let your hair grow out as long as you can manage it, since you can’t get it right back once you’ve cut it. 

 

Similarly, and far more importantly, keep what is dear to you as close as you can, since you can’t recover it once it has been abandoned. Nature advises caution over rashness. 

 

There is no substitute for a balanced soul. Moving around all the other little bits and pieces in our lives is not a replacement for getting our hearts and minds in order. 

 

For me, fighting to be compassionate has ultimately been one part of a cure. Think like he must think, feel like she must feel, and then the great divide is bridged, and then there is no need for any of the hatred. 

 

And then there is certainly no need for any ceremonial chopping of the hair. Dramatic gestures are not required, only some common sense. 

 

Yes, I know that common sense isn’t so common, but that is really just a play on words. The common is not what everyone else does; the common is a recognition of basic truths and of a shared humanity, the willingness to go with Nature, not to fight against her. 

 

Remove the accidental while retaining the essential. Never throw it away unless it demands that you do an injustice. Love the right things without condition, and the wrong things will then pass away of their own accord. 

 

Philosophy has far more to do with hairstyles than I might think. 

 

 

 

21.3

 

Therefore the hair should be cut only to get rid of too much of it and not for looks, as some think they must, who shave their cheeks and imitate the beardless or, would you believe it, boys who are just beginning to grow a beard, and the hair on the head they do not cut all in the same way, but differently in front and behind. 

 

In fact, that which seems to them good-looking is quite the opposite and does not differ from the efforts of women to make themselves beautiful. For they, you know, plait some parts of their hair, some they let fall free, and some they arrange in some other way in order to appear more beautiful. 

 

So men who cut their hair are obviously doing it out of a desire to appear handsome to those whom they wish to please, and so some of their hair they cut off completely, some they arrange so as to be most pleasing to the women and boys by whom they want to be admired. Nowadays there are even men who cut their hair to free themselves of the weight of it, and they also shave their cheeks. 

 

Putting on a show. Playing the part. Performing an act. Posing for the camera. 

 

All too often, it becomes the be-all and end-all of our lives, whether it is what we are heard to be saying, or what we are seen to be doing, or how we go about styling our hair. I can slip into it so easily, barely even aware of what I am up to, since it is what I regularly see all around me. 

 

I regret to say that it is a form of manipulation, pulling at the strings of desire at the expense of inspiring understanding. The harm, once again, is not in how we look, but rather in why we wish to look that way; we are seeking beauty in all the wrong places, interested in flaunting it instead of revering it. 

 

Being so caught up in the moment, we don’t see how ridiculous we are, and then only the passage of many years, and the discovery of the old yearbook photos in the basement, will make us cringe. What could we have been thinking? Indeed, were we doing much thinking at all? 

 

The macho sideburns and the big moustaches in the ‘70’s. The androgynous spikes and waves in the ‘80’s. That truly odd year in the ‘90’s when every young man seemed to be frosting his hair. The boys thinking that the peach fuzz made them look more like men, and the men who shaved twice a day to look more like boys. It hasn’t changed that much since the time of Musonius, has it? 

 

I will regularly hear people defending such practices on the grounds that they are ways to express individuality, but then surely we would all look different, not the same. In any event, there can really be little sense of confidence and pride when we only wish to impress others, defining ourselves by their approval. 

 

There inevitably comes the moment, when you see that enticing person, who has until then driven you mad with longing, without the makeup, or the fancy clothes, or the elaborate hair that took hours to prepare. What a surprise it is to see just a regular person underneath. 

 

 

 

21.4

 

Clearly such men have become slaves of luxurious living and are completely enervated, men who can endure being seen as womanish creatures, hermaphrodites, something which real men would avoid at all costs. 

 

How could hair be a burden to men? Unless, of course, one should say that feathers are a burden to birds also. 

 

A man is clearly not a bird, though there are men who could certainly learn some lessons from the birds. No fancy examples are required, simply the ones to be found close to home. 

 

Nature has given every kind of bird its own qualities, and none of them feel the need to supplement their plumages with different colors than were given to them, or to behave any more like the others, or even to appear any more like the others. 

 

The sparrow does not envy the duck, and the duck does not dream of becoming the cardinal. 

 

The cardinal does not wish to paddle his way across a pond, and the duck does not hold a grudge that he lacks the agile flight of the sparrow. 

 

Ducks have their quacks, and sparrows make their tweets and chirps, and cardinals sing melodically, and they don’t show any signs of fighting over how they express themselves. If I sit and listen carefully, I find that they all go together quite nicely. 

 

Even within their species, the male and the female do not make efforts to imitate one another, satisfied with the fact that they look different because they are different. 

 

As a young boy, I once observed to my Uncle Alois that Mrs. Cardinal must get annoyed at Mr. Cardinal for being such a show-off. “She doesn’t seem to mind,” he replied. “Maybe she’s smart enough to know that it isn’t worth the effort.”

 

The birds don’t acquire useless accessories and vain luxuries, or only eat worms bought at the expensive stores, or build nests exclusively in the most fashionable trees. They don’t chop off their feathers, or dye them, or curl them, or glue fake feathers onto the ones they already have. 

 

Humans have reason and free will, of course, and we might think that this is what must be getting in the way, making us somehow unhappy with who and what we are. 

 

No, it isn’t our power of judgment itself that’s tripping us up, since it too was given to us by Nature, so that we might live even more abundantly, with the depth of awareness and choice. It’s our neglect of those gifts that brings us down, because we don’t look deep inside enough to learn that being ourselves is more than sufficient. 

 

 

 

Fragment 22: 

 

It is not possible to live well today, unless one thinks of it as his last.

 

I’m too tired, so I’ll do it tomorrow. 

 

This seems broken, but I’ll fix it later. 

 

I know this is wrong, and yet it seems like so much fun. I’ll pay my dues when I’m sane and sober. 

 

I am powerless right now. Let God take care of it. 

 

My greatest regrets in life, the ones that felt like an unbearable toothache, or a splitting migraine, or a glass splinter you just can’t get out from under your skin, were the results of that kind of sloppy thinking. 

 

What has been done has been done. There is also no promise that anything else will ever be. I only have the here and now. 

 

Guilt from the past can still be fixed now, by making sincere amends. Show compassion where it was once denied. 

 

Worries about the future can already be managed now, by shining with unconditional understanding and love at this very moment. 

 

Always a sensitive soul, I worried about why fictional depictions of sudden death in books and films troubled me so much. Was it just the violence, or something about the wasted loss? 

 

When an anonymous “enemy” soldier got shot, or garroted, or knifed during a war movie, and everyone else cheered, I still felt sad. He had a mother and a father, and twenty or thirty years of growth were just snuffed out in an agonizing instant.

 

Exactly. That was what bothered me the most. Isn’t that terribly unfair? 

 

It will only be unfair if I am not prepared, as Musonius suggests. This day, this minute, must be handled as if it were the only one I will ever have. Nothing else is guaranteed. 

 

 

 

Fragment 23: 

 

What indictment can we make against tyrants when we ourselves are much worse than they? 

 

For we have the same impulses as theirs, but not the same opportunity to indulge them.

 

If I am feeling especially self-righteous on a certain day, I will paint the man who thinks and acts differently from me as an enemy, and I will insist that we have absolutely nothing in common. 

 

He is wrong, and I am right, and the delineation between us is absolutely clear. This puts me under the illusion that I can sleep the sleep of the just, while he must be forever tormented for his sins. 

 

Yet it isn’t always that simple, is it? Do I not also feel the pull of jealousy and resentment, much as he does? Am I to deny that I too am easily tempted to insult and injury? Is my mind as empty of deception, and my heart as clear of malice, as I might like to claim? 

 

Sometimes the only real difference between the oppressor and the oppressed, between the bully and the victim, is a presence or absence of the power to act out our wishes. 

 

Let me not be too quick to judge, saying that I would never choose to do what he does, when I really mean that I don’t have the means do what he does. 

 

To understand this does not require that I have to wallow in my own guilt, but rather that I should redirect my efforts to compassion instead of condemnation.

 

We are more alike that we are willing to admit. That can be a chance to grow better together, instead of drawing imaginary lines in the sand. 

 

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?

 

—Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago

 

 

 

Fragment 24: 

 

If one were to measure what is agreeable by the standard of pleasure, nothing would be more pleasant than self-control; and if one were to measure what is to be avoided by pain, nothing would be more painful than lack of self-control.

 

Stoicism has always stood in sharp contrast to the most prevalent attitudes, in arguing that the highest human good is not to be found in the feeling of pleasure, but in the merit of judgment and action. 

 

To measure life by the power of the passions may at first seem quite sensible, since pleasure and pain are such immediate and forceful modes of experience. What else could be more real, I might insist, than how it relates to my desires and aversions? Everything else seems to revolve around the presence of strong emotions.

 

Even if I choose to follow such a standard, however, it quickly becomes clear that another condition must always come first, itself informing the way I perceive the meaning of benefit and harm. For pleasure to be truly pleasant, it must be moderated, and if the good of pleasure relies on something greater than itself, it is no longer the highest good. 

 

Too much pleasure becomes quite painful, so it wasn’t the best of states to begin with, was it? 

 

Pleasure and pain will only be appreciated within the context of understanding how and why they can become good or bad. Nothing is more satisfying than having my feelings be subject to my judgments, and nothing is more miserable than having my judgments be enslaved to my feelings. 

 

Whenever I have first thought about the most gratification, I have ended up suffering the most. Whenever I have first thought about doing the right thing, I have somehow found the deepest gratification. 

 

Even the glutton can’t help but eventually recognize, like the Epicurean, that his excess will be the death of him. He now sees pleasure and pain as relative things, not as absolute things, and so he is well on the way to becoming a Stoic, if only he continues to listen to his reason and his conscience. 

 

 

 

Fragment 25: 

 

Musonius said that there was no more shameful inconsistency than to recall the weakness of the body under stress of pain, but to forget it in the enjoyment of pleasure.

 

I like to take credit whenever pleasant things happen to me, and I like to point fingers whenever unpleasant things happen to me. 

 

I am an achiever and a go-getter as long as the world does what I prefer, and I am oppressed and a victim as soon as the world does something I do not prefer. 

 

It is sadly no different when I look at the physical luggage I am carrying around. This bag of bones and flesh and blood is a noble and wonderful thing if it gratifies me, and then it suddenly becomes a terrible burden if it gets in my way. 

 

Providence has a wonderful way of calling out my hypocrisy, giving me the very things I don’t want, but yet also the very things I so desperately need, precisely for the purpose of reminding me that my head is screwed on wrong. 

 

These foolish contradictions only occur when I place my worth in anything other than the content of my own character. 

 

 

 

Fragment 26: 

 

One begins to lose his hesitation to do unseemly things when one loses his hesitation to speak of them.

 

The careless use of bad language is not just some offense against prissy manners; the words that come out of our mouths truly reflect what is within our hearts and minds. 

 

The ubiquitous “f-bomb”, for example, is currently a necessary part of many people’s vocabulary, even in increasingly formal circles, and I can only wonder why we feel the need to use it so often. 

 

I do know that whenever I have drawn on it in conversation, it is intended to impress, to intimidate, to shock, or even just to conform. I am shamefully aware that none of those are ever good reasons to speak in a certain way. 

 

My mention of the sex act isn’t a problem, though my referencing it in a crude and animalistic way does indeed say something about my sense of right and wrong, or, more properly, the absence of my sense of right and wrong. There is a very thin line between saying and doing. 

 

The libertarian in me, even the anarchist in me, is not fond of others telling me how to think or to speak. It’s rather my own job to do that for myself. 

 

I know it sounds terribly uncool, but I’m afraid that the person who constantly uses nasty words will almost invariably also have a nasty soul to go along with it. 

 

 

 

Fragment 27: 

 

And if you choose to hold fast to what is right, do not be irked by difficult circumstances, but reflect on how many things have already happened to you in life in ways that you did not wish, and yet they have turned out for the best.

 

On a bad day, I find statements like this to be preachy and condescending, as if my troubles in life are somehow being described as not worth worrying about. 

 

On a good day, I understand that all of those worries were entirely of my own making, and that there has never been a single circumstance that ever “made” me unhappy. I invariably allowed them to harm me, by not discovering how to put them to good use. 

 

Certainly, situations have not always gone as I might have wanted, though that does not mean that I didn’t need them to go as they did. People have surely acted with carelessness or malice, but that was on them, and not on me. 

 

This is not defeatism, and it is not letting myself be steamrolled. Quite the contrary, the trick is in taking a hold of what I ought to do, and then further seeing everything else that might happen as an opportunity to continue doing what I ought to do. 

 

Only the Stoic Turn makes this possible, by shifting the weight from the external conditions to my own internal choices, by taking responsibility for my own character instead of letting events define me. 

 

For the last few weeks, I have felt like the only worthwhile thing I can manage to do is to let Jack, the old tabby cat, in and out of the house whenever it suits his feline fancy, and to feed him whenever he meows plaintively. I sourly gripe to myself that no one else cares, that my whole existence has become a miserable failure. 

 

And yet I have been showing care and affection to one of God’s creatures, have I not? A grandness of scale is not required to provide a sincerity of depth. 

 

 

 

Fragment 28: 

 

Choose to die well while it is possible, lest shortly it may become necessary for you to die, but it will no longer be possible to die well. 

 

Both life and death are inevitable for us, however much we might try to wish either of them away. 

 

Sometimes we are terrified of living, and sometimes we are terrified of dying, but we tend to worry more about the quantity of how long we might live, and we easily forget about attending to the quality of how well we might live. 

 

And even when we do consider such a quality of life, we can get confused about its source and origin. We look to a catalog of things that might or might not happen to us, contrasting a wish list of circumstances we would prefer to a litany of fears about circumstances we would like to avoid. Wealth, social standing, convenience, and luxury become the false benchmarks of a good life. 

 

It’s no wonder I become anxious and fidgety, since none of those things are ultimately within my power. I must look for my happiness elsewhere, not in a set of conditions, but in the dignity of my convictions. 

 

What I choose to think and do at this moment in time, how I decide to act toward others instead of making demands of how they should act toward me, is where a true quality of life comes in. 

 

I will most certainly die, not necessarily when I expect, and not necessarily how I expect, so I must live well now, with decency, love, and acceptance, so I might also die well when the time comes, with the very same decency, love, and acceptance. 

 

There is a path of unconditional peace and joy. 

 

 

 

Fragment 29: 

 

One who by living is of use to many has not the right to choose to die, unless by dying he may be of use to more.

 

I can never quite wrap my head around how cheaply we often treat human life, allowing people to die alone and uncared for, and yet we simultaneously get on our moral high horses to condemn anyone who might willingly choose to die. 

 

I suppose it has something to do with our assumption that he who freely surrenders his life must be doing so out of laziness, or weakness, or cowardice. Yes, some people may, out of despair, think it best to throw themselves away, though I also wonder if compassion and concern are then in order on our part, not harsh words. 

 

Whole volumes have surely been written about the difference between a suicide and a sacrifice, and I must be careful not to make the definition a merely semantic one. 

 

What is in the heart and the mind? That death will come is certain, though how I choose to go about facing it, and even, in certain cases, when I choose to go about facing it, will depend on the integrity of my own judgments. 

 

Many years of walking with the Black Dog have taught me that though he can be a nasty biter, he can also be a charming seducer. I am no longer as ashamed to admit that there were times I listened too closely to his words: “You know you’re not worth it, right? Just end it now, before you embarrass yourself some more.”

 

How can reason, as an arbiter for powerful feelings, help me to come to terms with this? Musonius offers a simple and effective solution. 

 

Is there still more good that I can do by living instead of dying? Then I must stay. 

 

Is there, however, far more good that I can do by dying instead of living? Then it is time to go. 

 

Perhaps it is enough to remain of use to a few, or even to one, and not just to very many, and it may not require a grand and dramatic scale. Is there more love left to give? Then Providence hasn’t yet called me. Does the giving of such love also demand the end of me? Then that is as it should be. 

 

Consider the story of Captain Lawrence "Titus" Oates, who, knowing he was now far more of a burden than a blessing to his suffering comrades, walked out of that tent into a bitter Antarctic storm. 

 

“I am just going outside and may be some time.” 

 

 

 

Fragment 30: 

 

You will earn the respect of all men if you begin by earning the respect of yourself.

 

I have to be very careful with this passage, as I find it is more subtle than it may at first appear. 

 

The scoundrel, wishing to be thought of highly by others, will believe that it means he must first think highly of himself. 

 

He does not understand respect, confusing reverence with admiration, and he does not understand that he would immediately stop worrying about his reputation at the very moment he judged himself on his own merits. 

 

There is a certain wu wei to this, an effortless action, where a blessing comes to us when we cease to frantically grab at it. 

 

If I can work to honestly and humbly know myself, what Nature calls me to do, and how I should seek a place in the harmony of things, then I have begun to acquire some self-respect. This will be a reflection of my inner dignity, not of my outer status. 

 

Will everyone else suddenly “like” me? That will no longer be of importance, but those who are attuned to wisdom and virtue will surely recognize me as a kindred spirit. 

 

I must never put on a show in order to attract the right people; being foremost concerned with my own character will naturally bring me into the right circles.

 

 

 

Fragment 31:

 

Those men do not live long who have become accustomed to say to their subjects in defense of whatever they do, not, "It is my duty," but, "It is my will."

 

In all walks of life, from places of work to the halls of government, we find people who like to impose themselves. They begin with what they want, with what they think will most gratify them, and then they demand that the rest of us must conform. 

 

Others cease to be ends in themselves, and they are instead reduced to a means for the self, such that daily living itself is twisted into a state of constant struggle and opposition. A harmony of purpose gives way to a clash of egos. 

 

Behind so much of this, I suggest, is not only the mistaken assumption that people must work against one another instead of with one another, but also a confusion about giving and receiving. 

 

We rarely talk about our responsibilities, even as we constantly bicker about our rights. Service falls to being served. Thinking that life is about what happens to us, and not what we do, we measure ourselves by whether the world is conforming to our desires; lost somewhere in the shuffle is the possibility that our desires should minister to the world. 

 

The grasping man, the fellow who insists upon himself, will always be anxious and troubled, since he defines himself by keeping a tenuous hold on his power. What he has can be lost in an instant. 

 

In contrast, I will recognize the righteous man through his serenity, since he defines himself by how he is able to share of himself. What he has can never be taken away from him. 

 

“Now wait, some tyrants, big or small, hold on to their spoils for years and years!”

 

Fair enough. To be precise, they may survive for a time, but they don’t really live at all, do they? Their souls are already dead, even as their bodies still sit in the corner offices or on the thrones. Their worrisome dependence on externals and violent consumption by conflict make them empty shells. 

 

He who lives by the sword shall perish by the sword. 

 

 

 

Fragment 32:

 

Do not expect to enjoin right-doing upon men who are conscious of your own wrong-doing.

 

Words are cheap, but actions are priceless. 

 

We all know the tendency to posture and to dictate, to wave people about and to offer extensive suggestions on how they might improve themselves. Most of that will do very little good at all, and it may well do quite a bit of harm, since it is the example of good living that remains the best teacher. 

 

Do as I say, not as I do. Where did I last see the master work hardest when he asked the servants to work harder? How often does the charming and eloquent mentor actually follow his own advice? When will a man take the log out of his own eye before he criticizes the fleck in mine? 

 

The hypocrisy is so insidious that I am constantly tempted to point fingers at others, and I end up calling them out while only revealing my own ironic bitterness. So, certainly not for the last time today, I turn to one of my old Stoic mantras: “Attend to yourself!”

 

If I myself am doing wrong, I will never help anyone else to do right. If I am totally honest with myself, can I justifiably say something, however kind the tone may be, if I am not already practicing what I preach? And if I am somehow already practicing, will the addition of fine preaching make any difference? 

 

The odd result has been that, as age brings with it just a bit more compassion and concern, I find myself saying less and less. I fear that some confuse this with carelessness or early senility, but at the heart of it is a desire to first fix my own failings. 

 

If I can’t handle it myself, my silence should be an admission that we are in the mess together. If I can manage to stand up and get something done, that should be my answer. 

 

 

 

Fragment 33:

 

Toward subjects one should strive to be regarded with awe rather than with fear. Reverence attends the one, bitterness the other.

 

The Machiavellian claim that, given the choice, it is better to be feared than to be loved is largely accepted as a given rule of life. Of course, people might prefer that it be otherwise, but that’s just the way it is, right? What can we possibly do to change how the world works? 

 

I find it odd that some people accuse the Stoics of being defeatists, and yet then they turn around and let the world roll right over them, surrendering to the fashions of the time. 

 

I suppose half of a lesson has been learned: Others will not change their ways simply because I want them to. 

 

What is lost is the other side, the bit that the Stoics so eagerly embrace: Even in the face of such weight, is it not possible to still change myself? Why must I do it the same way that everybody else does it? 

 

To go my own way, regardless of how other people go, will only be possible if I measure myself by the standard of Nature, not by the standard of popularity. It will only be possible if I cling to what is right, instead of what is convenient. If my own thoughts and actions are sufficient, the rest can then be taken in stride. 

 

Most every place I have ever lived, or gone to school, or worked, or tried to make my way has been ruled by sanctions, by the threat of punishments, and so it has been ruled by fear. 

 

Yet whenever even the smallest bit of responsibility or authority comes to me, I can always choose to do it differently. I can rule myself by love, and also offer it to others. Who knows, it might even catch on. 

 

Reverence is better than fear. Love is better than hate. This isn’t just because it is more pleasant, but because it genuinely completes our natures to act with compassionate justice instead of brute force. 

 

It is always wiser to compromise the goods of the body than the goods of the soul. The Golden Rule is precious for a good reason. 

 

 

 

Fragment 34:

 

The treasures of Croesus and Cinyras we shall condemn as the last degree of poverty. One man and one alone shall we consider rich, the man who has acquired the ability to want for nothing always and everywhere.

 

I don’t know of anyone under sixty who exclaims “Rich as Croesus!” anymore, though I suppose someone like Bill Gates now stands in for that role. 

 

I hear some people say wonderful things about Mr. Gates, and I hear other people say terrible things about him, but the fact is that I have little idea about his personal character, since all I can see is a carefully crafted media image. 

 

That in itself is a very telling point, because people of that sort are considered famous and important simply on account of being rich, having received power and influence through Fortune’s toss. Are there many other people out there who might be wiser or kinder? It is likely that there are, and yet they are not thought to be great. 

 

If I take my blinders off to look at this without all the layers of social custom, such a state of affairs should appear to be quite ridiculous. 

 

I follow the herd in admiring a fellow on account of the things around him, and I pay no attention to what is actually in his soul. I judge him by his circumstances, somehow convinced that he made all of it for himself, when I really know that we all have very little say in what is going to happen to us. 

 

I would be better served by looking for wealth on the inside, not on the outside. Who is the man who is truly rich? Not the one who defines himself by how much property or praise comes his way, but the one who is completely content with absolutely anything that comes his way. 

 

A spiritual prosperity rests in self-sufficiency, in never demanding any more than I already have, any more than I am in the merit my own thoughts and deeds.

 

 

 

Fragment 35:

 

Since the Fates have spun out the lot of death for all alike, he is blessed who dies not late but well.

 

This is a classic Stoic lesson, repeated very often, but very rarely taken to heart. The theory sounds quite noble, and yet I will continue in my shallow ways, clinging to quantity at the expense of quality. 

 

It can only be that I speak the words, while I do not truly understand. Perhaps I want to have it both ways, or I am still living with the hope that coming to be and passing away will apply to all the other creatures, except for me? 

 

If I cared first and foremost about the content of my character, regardless of any other preferences, I would not worry about how many more days, or months, or years I have ahead of me. If I saw how Nature delights in change, I would never fear death. 

 

I would, as Socrates said, be more inclined to fear wickedness, because wickedness runs faster than death. 

 

Pithy sayings, whatever the source, can be helpful points of reference, and yet they can all too easily become empty expressions, cheap posturings, where I rub my beard pensively, and undertake nothing to actually make my life any better. 

 

It will only mean something when I have the conviction to do something. 

 

 

 

Fragment 36:

 

And further, of the notable sayings of Musonius that come to my mind, this is one, Sulla, that those who want to be in health should spend their lives taking care of themselves. 

 

For unlike the hellebore plant, reason should not be cast forth with the illness after it has affected a cure, but it should be allowed to remain in the soul to keep and guard the judgment.

 

 For the power of reason should not be compared to drugs but to health-giving foods, since it introduces a good and healthy frame of mind into those to whom it becomes habitual. 

 

On the other hand admonitions and warnings made when the emotions are at their greatest heat barely have any effect at all. They are not unlike those scents that revive people who have fallen in a fit but do not cure the disease.

 

The Greeks and Romans had their own medicines, usually taken from nature, and we have our own medicines, usually brewed up in a corporate laboratory. Some will work, and some won’t; I’m not so sure the odds have really gotten any better or any worse. 

 

Maybe part of our universal problem is that we only look for a remedy after we start feeling sick, instead of nurturing ourselves at all times, keeping both body and mind healthy on an ordinary day, so that we might then prepare ourselves for that extraordinary day. 

 

It was only after I found myself ill that I understood what they had long been telling me, that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. 

 

This applies to my moral health all the more than to my physical health, as the latter only exists for the sake of the former. This means that I must attend to the habits of a sound mind recommended by the philosophers, with an even greater conviction than the habits of a sound body recommended by the physicians. 

 

It will be a burden if my flesh fails me because I have not chosen to eat and exercise properly; it will be a total obstacle to my happiness if I have not chosen to live with wisdom and virtue. 

 

The constant cultivation of my judgment is required, and having a change of heart well after the fact will be of little consolation. All the reminders and good advice will fall on deaf ears once I have already surrendered to lust, greed, and rage, once I have already made that crippling choice. 

 

 

 

Fragment 37:

 

The notorious Rutilius coming up to Musonius in Rome said, "Zeus the Savior, whom you imitate and emulate, does not borrow money." 

 

And Musonius with a smile answered, "Neither does he lend." For Rutilius, while lending money himself, was reproaching Musonius for borrowing.

 

We sadly all know people like this Rutilius, and there will be some times, even more sadly, when we all turn into a Rutilius. 

 

There is the smugness, of course, but more damaging to the soul is the malice and the hypocrisy. We may think they are clustered in law, business, and politics, but I run across quite a few in the field of education as well. At the root of it is, I suspect, the desire to pull other people down in order to raise oneself up. 

 

How ironic it is, the lender who points fingers at the borrower, criticizing the very people he feeds on. 

 

A fellow is in need, and instead of finding charity, he finds someone who will profit handsomely from his need, putting him into even further need. 

 

It is indeed true that God does not borrow, since He lacks in nothing. 

 

It is also true that He does not lend, since he gives of Himself freely, out of love and mercy, without charging any interest at all. 

 

A man, unlike God, may need to seek assistance, by no fault of his own. 

 

But shame on the other man who takes advantage of his brothers and sisters, by his own choice; there is nothing of God in him. 

 

 

 

Fragment 38:

 

Of the things that exist, God has put some in our control, others not in our control. In our control he has put the noblest and most excellent part by reason of which He is Himself happy, the power of using our impressions. 

 

For when this is correctly used, it means serenity, cheerfulness, constancy; it also means justice and law and self-control and virtue as a whole. 

 

But all other things He has not put in our control. 

 

Therefore, we ought to become of like mind with God and, dividing things in like manner, we ought in every way to lay claim to the things that are in our control, but what is not in our control we ought to entrust to the Universe and gladly yield to it whether it asks for our children, our country, our body, or anything whatsoever.

 

For the habitual reader of Stoicism, these ideas should sound comfortably familiar, from a far better-known text. 

 

I can only imagine a younger Epictetus listening attentively to his teacher, Musonius, and then in turn eventually passing these principles on to his students, in his own way. It was Arrian of Nicomedia who finally wrote down what Epictetus had to say. 

 

There is no shame in that at all, because the truth is always the truth, and our own originality concerns how we express it from our own distinct dispositions, circumstances, and perspectives. It never diminishes personality and preference to embrace the fact that the whole plays itself out in many diverse parts. 

 

I am sometimes told that these Stoic values on self-reliance are depressing, that they limit the scope of our lives. 

 

“So all I have is myself? That’s it?”

 

I suggest a different point of view. 

 

First, it isn’t just about an isolated self, sitting there all alone, but rather a responsible self, attending to one’s own business while reaching out to the whole wide world. 

 

Second, it is hardly a little thing to become one’s own master; it is quite a big thing to play a brilliantly conscious part in the marvelous unfolding of things, to become a creature that is more like the Creator. 

 

We can only speak of what is jointly ours when we first attend to the scope of our individual selves. 

 

Let me rule what is within my power, and let other things rule what is within their power, and I will be overjoyed to find that Providence has precisely made it to work out that way. 

 

 

 

Fragment 39:

 

Who of us does not marvel at the action of Lycurgus the Lacedaemonian? For when he had been blinded in one eye by one of his fellow citizens and had received the young man at the hands of the people to punish as he saw fit, he did not choose to do this, but trained him instead and made a good man of him, and afterward escorted him to the public theater. 

 

And when the Lacedaemonians regarded him with amazement, he said: "This man I received from you an insolent and violent creature; I return him to you a reasonable man and a good citizen."

 

I know many people who define themselves almost completely by their political affiliations, and therefore usually, as I like to say, “start at the top” of any problem. Social matters are seen on a large scale, and so a conformity to certain sets of general dictates is the norm. 

 

Has someone followed the rules? Then he should receive a prescribed pleasurable reward. Has someone broken the rules? Then he should be given a prescribed painful punishment. A belief in the “system”, of whatever sort, is paramount. 

 

I do not deny the importance of such abstractions, but in daily life I find it far more helpful to start with people, not with “—isms”. I see something of this in the above story about Lycurgus, the founder of Spartan law. 

 

Custom gave Lycurgus the power to determine the wrongdoer’s sentence, and I can imagine the usual options of a fine, or imprisonment, or a public caning, or perhaps even exile or execution. 

 

And yet Lycurgus wasn’t interested in vengeance, or causing pain, or removing a criminal from society. He treated the young fellow like a human being, not like a faceless statistic, and was committed to improving his personal character, not beating him into submission. 

 

I will respectfully claim that a society as a whole will only function when its individual members take the time to treat one another with decency and compassion. The rules are only as good as the motives of its members. Justice is built from the bottom up. 

 

 

 

Fragment 40:

 

But most of all the work of Nature is this: to make desire and the impulse to act fit closely with the perception of that which is seemly and useful.

 

When things are inherently made to work together, they can’t do much of worth on their own. I have a nice antique Sasieni pipe bowl, but it is of little use to me missing its stem. I knew a fellow who continually brought a single cross-country ski with him every time he moved over the years, and it inevitably just sat in a series of closets. 

 

Or, as I once discovered much to my annoyance on a lonely back road, there is no way to ride a bicycle with one pedal broken off. 

 

When the human person is in a state of harmony and balance, the will and the intellect must be, as they say, “in sync” with one another. Within us is the innate wanting for something good, as well as the capacity to recognize what is good. In unison, there follows a life of meaning and purpose; in separation, there will be only conflict and frustration. 

 

I will be completely unable to do what is right if I don’t first know what is right, just as all the awareness of profound truths is wasted if it is not applied to my concrete choices. 

 

Few things can be more tragic than a heart that wants to love, but it isn’t on speaking terms with a mind that understands what it means to love. 

 

Imagine if I need a certain kind of mushroom to cure what ails me, and even though I come across dozens of different varieties as I wander through the forest, I don’t know what this particular one is supposed to look like. 

 

The old Thomist in me thinks of the will as an efficient cause, that “pushes” me forward, and the intellect as a final cause, that “pulls” me in the right direction. When they cooperate, I’m going somewhere, but when they are at odds, I’m just going in circles. 

 

 

 

Fragment 41:

 

To share the common notion that we shall be despised by others if in every way we do not strive to harm the first enemies we meet is the mark of mean-minded and ignorant men. 

 

For we say that the despicable man is recognized among other things by his inability to harm his enemies, but actually he is much more easily recognized by his inability to help them.

 

Warning bells go off in my head whenever I hear anyone, regardless of party or creed, speak about destroying the opposition. Yes, the rhetoric might appeal to certain fiery passions, but it still reveals a betrayal of human solidarity. If another must suffer harm in order for me to be right, then I’m fairly sure that my conscience is misinformed. 

 

I understand that this is not a popular view, and it only serves to remind me that what happens to be popular is not always best. The clash of tribes, wherever they may sit on the spectrum, is both a denial of our common identity and a rejection of that old adage, that we should treat others as we would wish to be treated. 

 

If I feel that I have been mistreated, this does not justify my own acts of mistreatment. But when I say this, I am told that I am weak, and that I must now be shunned. 

 

At the same time, if I make an argument for choosing to take a stand for myself, I am told that I am now an oppressor, and that I must in turn be oppressed until I conform. 

 

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t? 

 

There actually is a resolution, and it involves embracing the fact that no one ever has to lose for someone else to win. This requires understanding that winning or losing are never defined by money, or power over others, or any sort of bragging rights. Winning is living with our own virtue, while losing is living with our own vice. 

 

It might not be possible for everyone to own all of the toys, but it is entirely possible for everyone to practice decency by learning to share them. 

 

Let me be responsible for myself. The left doesn’t like that, so they shake their fists. Let me always seek to help others, and never to cast anyone aside. The right doesn’t like that, and so they spit venom. 

 

Somewhere along the line, we forgot the love was the only real binding law. 

 

 

 

Fragment 42:

 

Of such a character the Nature of the Universe was and is and will be, and it is not possible for things that come into existence to come into existence differently from the way they now do. 

 

And in this process of change and transformation, not only human beings and other creatures of Earth have had a part, but also the divine beings, and even the four elements are changed and transformed upwards and downwards; that is, earth becomes water and water air, and air is again transformed into ether; and there is the same process of transformation downwards. 

 

If a man resolves to focus his thoughts on these things and persuades himself willingly to accept the inevitable, he will lead a life well measured and in harmony with the Universe.

 

I do myself a great disservice when I claim that the world is random or chaotic, simply because I do not immediately see how the effects flow from the causes, or when I deny that there is any meaning or purpose to things, simply because how they are meant to be is not always as I would wish them to be. 

 

It is my vanity getting in the way, tempting me to insist on the world being my way, or there being no way at all. To put myself in order does not require rejecting the order inherent in other things, and to embrace the necessity of Providence does not negate my own worth. 

 

The frustration that the pieces don’t seem to fit together, and the despair that come from feeling out of place, are only a result of my own confused judgments. The world is unfolding exactly as it should, each little piece playing its own distinct part, and so I am now called to understand how my own choices are intended to play their own distinct part. 

 

There does not need to be any great mystery in seeing the order of Nature at work. I can observe the distinctions between things, the patterns of how they complement one another, the deeper harmony in the tension between opposites, the way beginnings and endings work together with one another. 

 

Despite how all of our artificial posturing tries to cloud it, there is no escaping it. Nor should I want to escape it, because there is the deepest beauty in that total unity. 

 

I am anxious when I tell myself I must be at war with the world, serene when I learn to be at peace with the world. If it has happened, it has happened for a perfectly good reason; to discover the value of it for myself is itself included in that perfectly good reason. 

 

 

 

Fragment 43:

 

Thrasea was in the habit of saying, "I should rather be put to death today than be banished tomorrow." 

 

What then did Rufus say to him? "If you choose that as the heavier misfortune, what a foolish choice to make! But if as the lighter, who has given you the choice? Are you not willing to train yourself to be satisfied with what has been given you?"

 

I easily resort to a sort of bargaining, a crutch I imagine many of us will fall back on to varying degrees, where the appearance of inconvenience or conflict leads me to set the conditions for a resolution on my own terms. 

 

“Almighty God, if only You give me this, I promise I will do that!”

 

“Bring her back to me, and then I will always love her!”

 

“I will sacrifice anything else to be freed from this pain!”

 

It makes a sort of sense in the heat of the moment, but it seems rather petty and arrogant if I bother to reflect. 

 

If something is already right to do, why should it matter under what sort of circumstances I choose to do it? If I truly love her, why do I demand that she love me? Will I even trade in my very conscience for a reprieve from suffering?

 

It isn’t my place to decide what will happen to me, when it will happen to me, or how it will happen to me. It is my place to make something good of myself in the face of whatever happens to me. 

 

Hypothetical musings about how the world could play itself out are all nice and well, but there is no negotiating with the order of Nature. She knows what she must do, and she asks very little of me, just to manage what I must do. 

 

I only get myself twisted into knots when I confuse preferences with principles. 

 

 

 

Fragment 44:

 

Why do we continue to be lazy and careless and sluggish and seek excuses for not working hard and sitting up late to perfect our mastery of logical argument? 

 

"Well, if I have made a mistake in this problem, I haven't been guilty of killing my own father, have I?" 

 

“Stupid boy, shall I show you where in this instance there was a father to kill? The only possible error to make in this example is the one you have made.”

 

Yet that was the very answer I once made to Rufus when he scolded me because I could not find the missing member in a certain syllogism. 

 

"It is not as bad," I said, "as if I had set fire to the Capitol." 

 

Whereupon he answered, "In this case, you foolish fellow, the missing member is the Capitol." 

 

Are these the only possible wrongs, burning the Capitol and killing one's father? 

 

But using one's impressions without purpose or profit and quite at random and failing to follow argument or demonstration or semblance of reason, and completely missing what is to one's advantage or disadvantage in question and answer—are none of these wrongs?

 

Every time I told myself that it was quite okay, because I could have done something so much worse, was a time when I took a step backwards. Before I knew it, I was standing far behind the line where I had started. 

 

I have often tried to make myself feel better by insisting that I was getting it right with all of the big things, and that all of the little things could therefore be more easily overlooked. 

 

“Hey, at least only some of it is messed up!” It may be one thing to say this about my circumstances, but quite another to say it about my own character; I can’t deny any responsibility for the latter. 

 

Progress will have to move forward, even if it can only manage at a snail’s pace. Failures and setbacks do not need to be seen as excuses, but they can be taken as noble encouragements.

 

Just as everything in the whole wide world counts, so everything that I do in the whole wide world counts. 

 

Those big things are made up precisely of many little things, and I cannot expect myself to be proficient at what is harder when I cannot be bothered to commit to what is easier. The rocket scientist must first learn his multiplication tables. 

 

Taking the time and effort to judge with care and concern will be necessary in all the aspects of my life if I wish to improve all the aspects of my humanity. Sweeping the unseemly bits under the rug just makes for a lumpy rug. 

 

 

 

Fragment 45:

 

And in the same way to make trial of me, Rufus used to say, "Such and such a thing will befall you at the hands of your master." 

 

In answer to him, I said that in such a case it would be kind of him to intercede on my behalf.

 

"What!" he exclaimed, "Do you mean that I should intercede on your behalf when I can get the same result from you yourself?" 

 

For in truth what one can get from himself it is superfluous and foolish as well to get from someone else.

 

If Epaphroditus, the master, threatens to punish Epictetus, the slave, what is Epictetus to do? Perhaps he can ask Musonius, the teacher, to put in a good word for him? 

 

If I face any sort of hardship in this life, what am I to do? Who is going to make my troubles go away? 

 

I should never think that Stoicism can espouse selfishness, or neglecting the needs of others, since the unity of Nature always calls for universal compassion and concern. There is no conflict between what is good for me and what is good for my neighbor, because we all share in the same dignity and purpose. 

 

It is important, however, to ask precisely what I am able to do for my fellows, and what my fellows are able to do for me. We can offer one another the deepest solidarity, encouragement, and support, but we cannot make one another’s choices. Assistance will come from the outside, but the formation of character can only come from the inside. 

 

As wonderful as it is to give and receive help, this can never take the place of being first and foremost responsible for ourselves. Epictetus will have to come to terms with the actions of Epaphroditus by his own judgments, and I will have to come to terms with a sense of pain and loss by my own judgments. Only I can ultimately make my troubles go away. 

 

I will gladly offer anything I can to improve your happiness, and I can only hope that you would do the same for me. There is, nevertheless, a great danger in asking others to do our work for us, to cross that line between the helpmate and the enabler. 

 

No good will come from relying on crutches, dependent on being provided with easy circumstances, when we are perfectly able to walk on our own two feet, to be true to our own convictions. 

 

I never liked it when my mother used to tell me that God helps those who help themselves, but I think I have now come to better understand what she meant. 

 

 

 

Fragment 46:

 

It is not easy to produce an effect upon soft characters any more than it is to pick up a soft cheese with a hook, but young men of sound nature, even if you turn them away, hold to philosophy all the more. 

 

For that reason, Rufus frequently discouraged pupils, using this as a means of testing the superior and inferior ones. For he used to say, "Just as a stone, even if you throw it upwards, will fall downwards because of its nature, so the superior man, the more one repels him, the more he inclines toward his own natural direction."

 

I have never tried picking up soft cheese with a hook, but I have tried to herd cats and to fix that tiny screw on my eyeglasses, and I can assure you that both are far easier than being a teacher. The student will only receive and retain in proportion to the strength of his own commitment, and there is no way to force him to understand. 

 

The value of everything else in our lives ultimately reduces back to character, our willingness to take full responsibility for ourselves. This is not a strength that comes from possessing many things, or having a powerful body, or being gifted with cleverness, but arises rather from the integrity of our souls. This is never given to us by our circumstances, but proceeds out of our choices. 

 

It is within my power to offer whatever inspiration I might have within me, best presented in the form of a good example as well as fine words, and it is also within my power to distinguish who is most amenable to self-improvement, open to a new perspective. 

 

Those who truly love wisdom and virtue, however difficult their struggles may be, will ultimately seek out truth of their own accord, and will not be easily discouraged from the task. 

 

I will test myself often, firmly but carefully, to see how capable I am at overcoming an obstacle, and I will also do so with the people around me, whether inside or outside a classroom. 

 

Present a barrier, with compassion and concern instead of malice or manipulation, to find out where someone stands. I can raise or lower the bar, move the goal closer or further away, and I will then discover something about the weight of convictions.

 

I will begin to recognize that the people who wish to become better see a hindrance as an opportunity. Love is such that it pushes back with loyalty when it is pushed away by opposition. 

 

 

 

Fragment 47:

 

On the assassination of Galba someone said to Rufus, "Can you now hold that the world is ruled by Divine Providence?" 

 

To which he replied, "Did I ever for a moment build my argument, that the world is ruled by a Divine Providence, upon Galba?"

 

I once had someone tell me, in all seriousness, that there could not possibly be a God, because Ronald Reagan had been re-elected as President in 1984. 

 

In 1992 I was given a corresponding argument, that Bill Clinton’s victory was a punishment from God for our frightful sins. 

 

In matters big and small, it is not uncommon for us to believe that the plan of Providence can surely only be measured by our personal preferences, by whether or not the circumstances happen to be convenient or inconvenient, pleasant or painful.

 

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Galba became Emperor after Nero’s death, and so many saw him as a blessing from the gods after those turbulent years. Musonius himself benefited from this shift of power, being allowed back into Rome after his exile under Nero. 

 

Yet Galba was soon murdered, leading to a year of conflict in which three more men took turns on the throne. What were the Romans now thinking about the beneficence of their gods?

 

What Musonius understood, however, was that good and evil are not determined by what happens to us, but by what we do with what happens to us. While others may have questioned whether Providence was still in proper working order, he would not have succumbed to such doubts, at peace with the knowledge that Nature was unfolding precisely as it should. 

 

Whether there is poverty or prosperity, war or peace, sickness or health, each and every one of us is still given the opportunity to live with wisdom and virtue; sometimes the most trying times can even become the occasions for the greatest acts of love, if only we so decide. God always gives us exactly what we need, fully conscious of the conditions that can bring out the best within us. 

 

It all goes back to that basic Stoic insight, that happiness is in the exercise of character. We miss the mark terribly when we define ourselves by the presence or absence of pleasure, wealth, or status. I would suggest that this confusion is at the root of all our anxiety and misery. 

 

Reagan or Clinton, Nero or Galba, it can all serve us to grow in decency and kindness. God puts the ball in our court. 

 

 

 

Fragment 48:

 

Rufus used to say, "If you have time to waste praising me, I am conscious that what I say is worth nothing."

 

So far from applause on our part, he spoke in such a way that each of us sitting there felt that someone had gone to him and told him our faults, so accurately he touched upon our true characters, so effectively he placed each one's faults before his eyes.

 

I long felt uncomfortable with the amount of showmanship I saw in education, and I assumed that this was due only to my own stuffiness. Yes, there have been many times when I was foolishly being dour, and yet it took me a while to also see that some people were really just interested in appearing impressive. 

 

A preoccupation with heaping praises and basking in the spotlight will make the admirer ingratiating, and the admired conceited. It begins with a fawning introduction, and ends with rapturous applause, regardless of the quality of what happens in the middle. There is some confusion about the distinction between what is enlightening and what is entertaining. 

 

If I look back carefully, I recall that the times I have been most moved by a speaker have almost always ended in my silence, not in my cheering. I may not, in fact, even be “feeling good” about myself at all, the goal of so much processed pablum, but rather feeling deeply self-conscious of my own urgent need to make myself better. 

 

The thrill of the impassioned crowd fades quickly, while the power of a soul-wrenching insight sticks to the ribs. 

 

Yes, I am probably sounding like a curmudgeon again, but I find that the best teaching will not stroke my ego at all, but rather poke holes in it. I need to be broken down before I can be built back up. 

 

 

 

Fragment 49:

 

We have it on good authority that Musonius the philosopher in his discourses was accustomed to deprecate and repress applause on the part of his auditors. 

 

"When a philosopher," he said, "is exhorting, persuading, rebuking, or discussing some aspect of philosophy, if the audience pour forth trite and commonplace words of praise in their enthusiasm and unrestraint, if they even shout, if they gesticulate, if they are moved and aroused, and swayed by the charm of his words, by the rhythm of his phrases, and by certain rhetorical repetitions, then you may know that both the speaker and his audience are wasting their time, and that they are not hearing a philosopher speaking but a flute player performing.”

 

 “The mind," he said, "of a man who is listening to a philosopher, if the things which are said are useful and helpful and furnish remedies for faults and errors, has no leisure and time for profuse and extravagant praise. The hearer, whoever he may be, unless he has completely lost his moral sense, in listening to the philosopher's words must shudder and feel secretly ashamed and repentant, and again experience joy and wonder and even have varying facial expressions and changes of feeling as the philosopher's speech affects him and touches his recognition of that part of his soul which is sound and that which is sick.”

 

Moreover, he used to say that great applause and admiration are to be sure not unrelated, but that the greatest admiration yields silence rather than words. For that reason he said the wisest of poets does not have those who listened to Ulysses relating the wonderful tale of his hardships leap up and shout and cry out their approval when he finished speaking, but he says that all kept silent as if struck dumb and senseless because the pleasure they had in hearing him affected their power of speech. 

 

"Thus he spoke; but they all were hushed and silent, and were held spellbound throughout the shadowy halls."

 

I understand that our modes of expression are shaped by our cultures, as well as being specific to our individual dispositions, and so it is important to put such things in perspective. Nevertheless, words and actions that only serve our diversions and vanities are reflections of shallow and confused souls. Empty speech, empty minds. 

 

Far too often, making more noise is a way to avoid honest reflection, and putting on a frantic act becomes a substitute for sincerity. All the hooting and the hollering, the clapping and the stomping, the flowery words and extravagant gestures are like the nervous fidgeting of a man who doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

 

People will often apologize when they are at a loss for words, worried that they are expected to have a speech ready to hand. “I don’t know what to say!”

 

You don’t need to say anything at all. Your silence can speak volumes. The feelings on your face are unfiltered and genuine. You are paying the greatest compliment in simply showing that you are shaken to the core. 

 

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.

 

 

 

Fragment 50:

 

"Musonius," Herodes said, "ordered a thousand sesterces to be given to a beggar of this sort who was pretending to be a philosopher, and when several people told him that the rascal was a bad and vicious fellow, deserving of nothing good, Musonius, they say, answered with a smile, 'Well then he deserves the money.'"

 

Most everyone, except perhaps the most uptight fellow, will laugh at the joke, and yet most everyone will then also brush aside the uncomfortable truth behind it. I would propose that what is humorous is not merely the nonsensical, but rather a caricature of something that is quite profoundly sensible. 

 

For the Stoic, money, like any other external circumstance, is in and of itself an indifferent; it only becomes good or bad by how we choose to use it. It is easy for me to condemn rich people in general, and to ridicule the faux philosopher in particular, and yet the problem is not the presence or absence of wealth at all, but the deeper attitude within us that riches are somehow important for their own sake. 

 

The crafty beggar is actually being punished by receiving the donation, because all he will do with it is feed his own vices. In this sense, he deserves everything he gets, just as we all ultimately deserve everything we get. Whatever comes to us will be transformed, for right or for wrong, by the content of our character; the blessings and the curses are in the thinking. 

 

Yes, the joke is on the greedy and shifty man, and yet I wonder if the joke is also on me. Like so many other people, I find the story funny, and I do feel a bit satisfied to see the charlatan gets what’s coming to him. Nevertheless, shouldn’t I be looking back at the merit of my own judgments, instead of pointing a finger at someone else’s? 

 

If I take the time to be honest with myself, I might discover that my attitude is not all that much better. I may at first agree with those who complained about the gift, but that falsely comes from thinking that the money is like a reward. I may then seem to agree with Musonius in letting him keep it, but that falsely comes from thinking that the money is like a punishment. 

 

But it is neither a reward nor a punishment, is it? I am still giving it some inherent value. I am still stuck in the assumption that prosperity or poverty make or break our lives, and they really do nothing of the sort; it is virtue or vice that make or break our lives. 

 

I should also laugh at myself here, since I am also making possessions so significant. Stoicism will dig much deeper than I expect. 

 

 

 

Fragment 51:

 

When I was still a boy at school, I heard that this Greek saying, which I here set down, was uttered by Musonius the philosopher, and because the sentiment is true and striking as well as neatly and concisely rounded out, I was very happy to commit it to memory. 

 

"If one accomplishes some good though with toil, the toil passes, but the good remains; if one does something dishonorable with pleasure, the pleasure passes, but the dishonor remains." 

 

Afterwards I read that same sentiment in a speech of Cato's which was delivered at Numantia to the knights. Although it is expressed a little less compactly and concisely as compared with the Greek which I have quoted, yet because it is earlier and more ancient, it may well seem more impressive. 

 

The words from his speech are the following: "Consider this in your hearts: if you accomplish some good attended with toil, the toil will quickly leave you; but if you do some evil attended with pleasure, the pleasure will quickly pass away, but the bad deed will remain with you always."

 

I can hear the professional scholars already: “We have here another example of how derivative and unoriginal the thinking of Musonius was, recycling the words of Cato the Elder, or of the Greek Stoics that came before him.”

 

I can only shrug and say that I care far less if something happens to be original than I do if it happens to be true. Sharing something helpful is a service, while insisting on taking personal credit is a self-service. 

 

I am also told, by much the same sort of people, that Stoicism is a deeply inefficient philosophy, incapable of getting anything useful done. I can, however, turn to the very passage above for some guidance to set myself straight. 

 

Efficiency, the experts say, is about gaining as much as we can while giving as little as we have to, the relationship of benefit and cost. I’m already a little worried about the selfishness that can follow from such an approach, and yet it really all depends on what it is we are hoping to gain, and what it is we are willing to lose. 

 

I can talk all I want about the most productive means, and none of it gets me anywhere without first identifying the proper end. Useful for what? 

 

It is in this that the Stoic differs from the usual money maker, or power broker, or fortune seeker, because the Stoic examines human nature itself, and finds that happiness is to be found not in hoarding trinkets, but in a sturdy and steady peace of mind. 

 

Now what, to use the popular term, is the most efficient way to achieve this goal? What is it in this life that is most fleeting, what is it that is most lasting? What will give me the greatest return on my investment? 

 

The circumstances of the moment will come and go very quickly, while the content of my character will stick with me for the long haul. The pain and the pleasure pass, though the state of the soul remains. 

 

Given what has greater or lesser significance, it turns out that working for virtue is far more efficient than working for gratification. 

 

In the end, Stoicism will get the job done quite admirably, as long as I understand what the job actually is, and as long I don’t feel the need to draw attention to myself while doing the work. 

 

 

 

Fragment 52:

 

"To relax (remittere) the mind," said Musonius, "is to lose (amittere) it."

 

I always enjoy a good play on words, simply because I enjoy the subtleties of language. I sadly did not inherit the linguistic skills of my father, though I did inherit some of his sense of humor. 

 

Yet what Musonius has to say here is far more than a clever joke; it offers me an incredibly important lesson. 

 

Stoicism teaches the pursuit of serenity, of finding a peace of mind in the midst of so much worldly conflict and struggle. Still, when I come across people who present seemingly similar values, I am often struck by what I can only call, with all due respect, a sense of profound laziness. 

 

“Don’t worry about it! Just let it all flow, and don’t make an effort. It’s all good! You don’t have to try; it will come to you.”

 

Lao Tzu did not tell us to sit on our rear ends and grow fat. Krishna did not renounce action, but only a desire for the fruit of the act. The Buddha did not encourage sloppy living. Jesus called us to a conscious commitment of unconditional love, not to become thoughtless and careless. 

 

Tranquility is not passivity. Life is itself a principle of action, and rational life is itself a principle of rational action. The confusion arises when I assume that action must be against something, when it should more rightly be with something. There is the flow!

 

I have little patience for any sort of sloth, but especially not for the moral sort. I know this from my own constant failures, not from judging others. Vice will creep in before I know it, and so I must always be on my guard. 

 

I will keep my eyes open. I will move when my conscience calls me. There will be no falling asleep on the job of life. 

 

 

Fragment 53:

 

Someone who was urging me to take heart quoted a saying of Musonius. 

 

"Musonius," said he, "wishing to rouse a man who was depressed and weary of life, touched him and asked, 'What are you waiting for, why stand you idly gazing? Until God in person shall come and stand by you and utter human speech? Cut off the dead part of your soul and you will recognize the presence of God.'”

 

“Such," he said, "were the words of Musonius."

 

I suffer from the Black Dog. Each and every day that I wake up, I have an immediate feeling that I would prefer to die than go on living. I know what it means to lose heart. 

 

I then take a moment to find my bearings, to remember that each and every thing, including my paltry self, is touched by God.

 

There are many, many like me, and it does us no good to be told to “suck it up”. It would be more helpful to hear that we have worth, and that grace is real, and that you might offer a loving hand. 

 

The world is charged with the grandeur of God. . . 

 

And so I am now fired up, ready to think that I must do nothing at all, that happiness will somehow come to me on a silver platter. The Lord will provide! 

 

No. Providence most certainly provides, but I must first make myself amenable. I must do my own work, in order for the Divine to do its work. 

 

That waking moment is a moment of putting on the armor. It is a moment of sharpening the blade. I know that I will have to fight for my dignity today. 

 

And I am my only enemy. 

 

The armor protects me from my own arrogance. The sword cuts away at my own resentments.

 

I will only find God, and thereby find myself, when I choose to excise what is useless to me. 

 

Once I do my part, with sweat and blood, I will find that God was never something out there. Then I win back my heart.