Sayings of Heraclitus 65

We must know that war is common to all and strife is justice, and that all things come into being and pass away through strife. 

IMAGE: Abraham Janssens, Heraclitus (c. 1602) 

Epictetus, Discourses 1.19.3

“But I can behead you.”

 

Well said. I forgot, of course, one ought to pay you worship as if you were fever or cholera, and raise an altar to you, like the altar to Fever in Rome.

 

What is it then which disturbs and confounds the multitude? Is it the tyrant and his guards? 

 

No, God forbid! It is impossible for that which is free by nature to be disturbed or hindered by anything but itself. 

 

It is a man's own judgements which disturb him. For when the tyrant says to a man, “I will chain your leg,” he that values his leg says, “No, have mercy,” but he that values his will says, “If it seems more profitable to you, chain it.” 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.19 

 

Yes, another Epictetian favorite! While most people I know tend not to worry about being beheaded, their own versions of failure and extinction seem just as ghastly to them. 

 

Some fear losing their property, their prestige, or their pleasures, and if they have foolishly decided that these are the conditions to determine their lives, they are quite right to be worried. However great our efforts, these are not for us to control; even where there is a concurrence of action and circumstances, the circumstances will unfold on their own terms. 

 

Those beholden to Fortune cannot help but be in constant anxiety, for their happiness is always precarious. They are the ones who bow to the tyrant, eager in expectation of rewards and nervous about the possibility of punishments. 

 

Others fear only losing their principles, and if they have looked deeply within themselves, they are acutely aware of how they must maintain them at all costs. Yet here there need be no uncertainty about the circumstances, for a life of conscience is a life of self-reliance; the only way to lose our sense of meaning and value is to freely abandon it. 

 

Those who serve Nature possess an indomitable wellspring of peace, for their happiness is from their own judgments. They are the ones who, much to everyone else’s amazement, can shrug, or even laugh, at the tyrant, because he has nothing they require. 

 

There is the man who says, “I take what I want!” Then there is the man who says, “I make the best use of whatever I have.” The contrast is evident in all aspects of our experience, and the attitude we take is what will make or break us. 

 

It is within our rights to prefer certain conditions over others, and to act for them when it is in harmony with virtue, though we should recognize how there is nothing constant in them—it is our own constancy that gives us strength. 

 

Take the leg, or even the head, if you wish, but I will not permit you to take anything of my integrity. We have parted ways on where we find the profit. My victory is already won, and yours will continue to elude you. 

—Reflection written in 2/2001

IMAGE: Abraham Janssens, Emperor Nero (c. 1618)

Joy and Melancholy

Abraham Janssens the Elder, An Allegory of Joy and Melancholy (c. 1628)

The Four Elements

Abraham Janssens the Elder, An Allegory of the Four Elements (c. 1610)

An Allegory of Fortune

Abraham Janssens the Elder, An Allegory of Fortune (c. 1610)

Vanitas 51

Abraham Janssens the Elder, Vanitas (c. 1615)

Inconstancy

Abraham Janssens the Elder, Inconstancy: An Allegory of Fickleness (c. 1617)

The Burden of Time

Abraham Janssens the Elder, Man Carrying the Burden of Time Sustained by Hope and Patience (1609)

Seneca, Moral Letters 20.2

"But," you reply, "who can maintain this standard?" 

 

Very few, to be sure; but there are some. It is indeed a hard undertaking, and I do not say that the philosopher can always keep the same pace. But he can always travel the same path.

 

Observe yourself, then, and see whether your dress and your house are inconsistent, whether you treat yourself lavishly and your family meanly, whether you eat frugal dinners and yet build luxurious houses. 

 

You should lay hold, once for all, upon a single norm to live by, and should regulate your whole life according to this norm. Some men restrict themselves at home, but strut with swelling port before the public; such discordance is a fault, and it indicates a wavering mind which cannot yet keep its balance.

 

And I can tell you, further, whence arise this unsteadiness and disagreement of action and purpose; it is because no man resolves upon what he wishes, and, even if he has done so, he does not persist in it, but jumps the track; not only does he change, but he returns and slips back to the conduct which he has abandoned and abjured.

 —from Seneca, Moral Letters 20

 

If I am allowing myself to be swept up in melancholy and pessimism, I may insist that people are seriously hampered at being good, or that they even lack the power to become any better. Heaven knows, I hardly need to look very far to find countless examples of humanity falling to shameful lows. What can make it more frustrating is when I see those who would consider themselves to be the best doing their absolute worst. 

 

All this tells me, however, is how quickly I am willing to avoid what I could do at the expense of complaining about what others might do. If I assume that our moral condition is hopelessly corrupt, notice how this both feeds into my resentments and gives me an excuse to behave with unbridled wickedness. I see that a good life requires a serious investment on my part, one that engages all of my being, and so I wiggle my way out of my accountability, preferring to be led instead of leading.

 

Give a man free will, and it is to be expected that he will make mistakes, sometimes on a colossal scale. Yet that same free will offers him the capacity to learn from his blunders, and to always improve himself, one step at a time. The act of human perfection is a process; however difficult it may seem, only the weakness of our own thinking can make it impossible. 

 

There are far more decent people out there than I realize, those deeply taking to heart the task of growing in wisdom and virtue. I may not notice them a first, since they are not the sort of people who are seeking out an audience. 

 

To join them on their journey, I must commit to the exercise of constancy, of being the same person in public and in private, of sticking to the same core values of understanding and of love, of facing every hardship, great or small, with the same joyful courage. It is not a cold and begrudging toughness, but a compassionate willingness to give of oneself without hesitation. An openness to rising above the circumstances provides the context. 

 

Am I generous here, but a miser there? Am I listening to some, while cutting off others? Am I being moderate only where it requires no sacrifice? Am I picking and choosing my conditions for acting with honesty and generosity, though there should be no conditions attached at all? 

 

I become fractured, a man who shifts back and forth between different preferences and personalities, when I am not aware of my essential nature to begin with, when I do not follow through on the principles presented by my conscience. I am flighty because I am compartmentalizing my life, failing to deliberately dedicate myself to my virtues above all else. It isn’t that I can’t do, it is only that I stubbornly won’t do it. 

—Reflection written in 9/2012

IMAGE: Abraham Janssens the Elder, Constancy (c. 1610)

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.39

To the immortal gods and us give joy.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

Surely we all know that it is our nature to be happy, and that we have no greater purpose than that. The difficulty, of course, is coming to understand what that may actually mean, and how best to achieve this end. Given the urgency of the task, we seem to often make ourselves quite miserable in the pursuit of happiness. We fill ourselves with anger, recrimination, frustration, and anxiety instead. With results like that, is there a chance we’re on the wrong path?

I have often succumbed to that sort of stubborn dissatisfaction, where I would rather be at war than at peace, where I would rather be vindicated than content. In hindsight, all I realize is that I have blinded myself to taking responsibility for myself. It somehow seems easier to lash out at everyone and everything outside of me, instead of improving what is inside of me.

My own last great obstacle to embracing happiness is letting go of resentment. I do not need to blame the world, and I don’t even need to blame myself anymore, because I can change my thinking and living right here and now.

In the middle of all the weeping and gnashing of teeth, I have overlooked joy. How simple joy really is, but how difficult I can make it for myself. I may foolishly prefer to be bloated with the arrogance of being somehow proven right, and the world proven wrong, instead of being completely content with the humility of just striving to be good.

For me, the recovery of joy is a part of what I like to call the Stoic Turn, a reordering of priorities. Life should be measured by what I do, not by what happens to me. I should seek to rule myself, not to rule others. My happiness ought to exist in harmony with the whole of Nature, not in conflict with the world. It means I can be defined by love instead of hate, acceptance instead of anger, and happiness instead of sadness.

It may seem so hopeless when I see how cynical people can become, the presence of the “life sucks and then you die” mentality. Yes, unpleasant things will happen, and yes, I will most certainly die, but that is neither here nor there. If I succumb to that sort of thinking, I am ignoring the most important part of it all, about how I can choose to live with and through such circumstances. Why should I focus on what is outside of my power, when I can dedicate myself completely to what is within my power?

Through it all, I remain convinced that we are all made, like the Divine, to find rest in joy. I am the only one who can stop me from doing so. 

Written in 12/2007

IMAGE: Abraham Janssens, An Allegory of Joy and Melancholy (c. 1623)