Epictetus, Golden Sayings 180

It is best to share with your attendants what is going forward, both in the labor of preparation and in the enjoyment of the feast itself. 

If such a thing be difficult at the time, recollect that you who are not weary are being served by those that are; you who are eating and drinking by those who do neither; you who are talking by those who are silent; you who are at ease by those who are under constraint. 

Thus no sudden wrath will betray you into unreasonable conduct, nor will you behave harshly by irritating another. 

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, The Banquet of Cleopatra (1744) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 66.14

Why should I not reckon this good among the primary goods, and deem it in so far greater than those other goods which are unattended by danger and have made no trial of fortune, as it is a rarer thing to have overcome a foe with a hand lost than with a hand armed? 
 
"What then?" you say; "shall you desire this good for yourself?" 
 
Of course I shall. For this is a thing that a man cannot achieve unless he can also desire it. Should I desire, instead, to be allowed to stretch out my limbs for my slaves to massage, or to have a woman, or a man changed into the likeness of a woman, pull my finger joints? 
 
I cannot help believing that Mucius was all the more lucky because he manipulated the flames as calmly as if he were holding out his hand to the manipulator. He had wiped out all his previous mistakes; he finished the war unarmed and maimed; and with that stump of a hand he conquered two kings. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 66 
 
It may seem rather odd, perhaps even a touch perverse, to say that the goods of the second class might be preferable to those of the first. If I can practice the virtues in the comforts of my home, why would I face the hardships of torture or death in a strange land? If the circumstances are to be treated with indifference, where is the shame in choosing the gentler path? 
 
There is surely no shame in it at all, yet if excellence of character is the sincere goal, and if I am not making cheap excuses for myself, hard experience has taught me how I tend to be at my best when the conditions are at their worst. No, I will not seek out pain, but if it comes to me, I know why I should rise to it: Nature has given me a precious opportunity to surpass myself, to succeed in the very way she intended, not in the way of those who merely play it safe. 
 
When my definition of a profit has changed, so too my estimation of the risks will change. While a longer life might bring me more indulgence, the prospect of a shorter life raises the bar and dares me to jump higher. As much as I would be partial to keeping both hands, I will gladly sacrifice the body to improve the soul. Where will I choose to find my Pearl of Great Price? 
 
Mucius only looks like a fool to the grasping man, no pun intended, who measures his worth by his worldly conveniences. For some of us, the Roman saw a chance to act with absolute conviction, and these are the occasions we must never avoid. I do not mind if you mock a man like Mucius, but I will object once you mock him while also claiming to love virtue above all else. 
 
While my own suffering has never been that intense, I recognize how I could not have moved further along the path without braving my own obstacles. I am at least doing something right when the effort of fulfilling a responsibility becomes a joy. I do not permit it to conquer me, hence I am now finally conquering myself. 

—Reflection written in 7/2013 

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Mucius Scaevola before Porsenna (c. 1729) 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 142

The courage of the soldiers depends upon the wisdom of the general. 

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Scipio Africanus Freeing Massiva (c. 1721) 

Maxims of Goethe 38

Generosity wins favor for everyone, especially when it is accompanied by modesty. 

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Generosity Bestowing her Gifts (1734) 

Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 2

Of goods, some are virtues, some are not. 

Prudence, then, and temperance and justice and courage and great-heartedness and strength of body and soul are virtues; joy and good spirits and confidence and wish and such things are not virtues. 

Of virtues, some are kinds of knowledge of certain things and crafts, and some are not. 

Prudence, then, and temperance and justice and courage are kinds of knowledge of certain things and crafts; great-heartedness and strength of body and soul are neither kinds of knowledge of certain things nor crafts. 

Analogously, of bad things some are vices and some are not. 

Imprudence, then, and injustice and cowardice and pusillanimity and powerlessness are vices; pain and fear and such things are not vices. 

Of vices, some are kinds of ignorance of certain things and the absence of skill, some are not. 

Imprudence, then, and wantonness and injustice and cowardice are kinds of ignorance of certain things and the absence of skill. Pusillanimity and powerlessness and weakness are neither kinds of ignorance nor lacks of skill. 

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Allegory of Virtue and Nobility (c. 1748) 

Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 9

Appointed military tribune,​ he was sent to Macedonia, to serve under Rubrius the praetor. At this time, we are told, his wife being full of grief and in tears, one of Cato's friends, Munatius, said to her: "Take heart, Atilia; I will watch over your husband." 

"Certainly he will," cried Cato, and after they had gone a day's journey on their way, immediately after supper, he said: "Come, Munatius, see that you keep your promise to Atilia, and forsake me neither by day nor by night." 

Then he gave orders that two couches be placed in the same chamber for them, and thus Munatius always slept—and that was the joke—watched over by Cato. 

He had in his following fifteen slaves, two freedmen, and four friends. These rode on horses, while he himself always went on foot; and yet he would join each of them in turn and converse with them.​ 

And when he reached the camp, where there were several legions, and was appointed to the command of one of them by the general, he thought it a trifling and useless task to make a display of his own virtue, which was that of a single man, but was ambitious above all things to make the men under his command like unto himself. 

He did not, however, divest his power of the element which inspires fear, but called in the aid of reason; with its help he persuaded and taught his men about everything, while rewards and punishments followed their acts. 

Consequently, it were hard to say whether he made his men more peaceful or more warlike, more zealous or more just; to such a degree did they show themselves terrible to their enemies but gentle to their allies, without courage to do wrong but ambitious to win praise. 

Moreover, that to which Cato gave least thought was his in greatest measure, namely, esteem, favor, surpassing honor, and kindness, from his soldiers. For he willingly shared the tasks which he imposed upon others, and in his dress, way of living, and conduct on the march, made himself more like a soldier than a commander, while in character, dignity of purpose, and eloquence, he surpassed all those who bore the titles of Imperator and General. 

In this way, without knowing it, he produced in his men at the same time the feeling of good will towards himself. For a genuine desire to attain virtue arises only in consequence of perfect good will and respect for him who displays virtue; those, on the other hand, who praise good men without loving them may revere their reputation, but they do not admire their virtue or imitate it. 

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Honor Crowning Virtue (1734) 

Time Unveiling Truth

Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Time Unveiling Truth (c. 1758) 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.48

M. There is also a story told of Silenus, who, when taken prisoner by Midas, is said to have made him this present for his ransom—namely, that he informed him that never to have been born was by far the greatest blessing that could happen to man; and that the next best thing was to die very soon; which very opinion Euripides makes use of in his Cresphontes, saying, 

 

“When man is born, ‘tis fit, with solemn show, 

We speak our sense of his approaching woe; 

With other gestures and a different eye, 

Proclaim our pleasure when he’s bid to die.” 

 

There is something like this in Crantor’s Consolation; for he says that Terinaesus of Elysia, when he was bitterly lamenting the loss of his son, came to a place of divination to be informed why he was visited with so great affliction, and received in his tablet these three verses: 

 

“Thou fool, to murmur at Euthynous’ death! 

The blooming youth to fate resigns his breath: 

The fate, whereon your happiness depends, 

At once the parent and the son befriends.” 

 

On these and similar authorities they affirm that the question has been determined by the Gods. 

 

Nay, more; Alcidamas, an ancient rhetorician of the very highest reputation, wrote even in praise of death, which he endeavored to establish by an enumeration of the evils of life; and his Dissertation has a great deal of eloquence in it; but he was unacquainted with the more refined arguments of the philosophers. 

 

By the orators, indeed, to die for our country is always considered not only as glorious, but even as happy. They go back as far as Erechtheus, whose very daughters underwent death, for the safety of their fellow citizens.

 

They instance Codrus, who threw himself into the midst of his enemies, dressed like a common man, that his royal robes might not betray him, because the oracle had declared the Athenians conquerors, if their king was slain. 

 

Menoeceus is not overlooked by them, who, in compliance with the injunctions of an oracle, freely shed his blood for his country. 

 

Iphigenia ordered herself to be conveyed to Aulis, to be sacrificed, that her blood might be the cause of spilling that of her enemies. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.48 
 

A part of me here wonders if Cicero is going too far with these examples; is a love of hyperbole at the close of the first book getting the better of him? Then I remember how that part of me is also the one that is disappointed with happy endings or snickers at true love, and I recognize it as a cynicism and bitterness born of an unwillingness to be honest with myself about who I am and why I am here. 

 

It is always easier to tear something down than to build it up, and it can be temporarily more gratifying to wallow in resentment than to make an effort at appreciation.

 

I cling to life and am terrified by death whenever I know that I have left something undone. I still expect to receive more from the world, instead of finding peace in the merit of what I have chosen to do, whatever circumstances or length of time I might be granted. If I decide to be pleased with the content of my character, then the prospect of death ceases to be an odious burden, and it can further be taken as a blessed relief from my labors. 

 

If I am never willing to bear any suffering at all, then it would indeed be better to have never been born. If I have lived in harmony with the virtues as best as I can, then the time to pass on can be met with acceptance and gratitude. 

 

As Euripides said, it’s all a part of the coming and the going, where the attitude at the end should rightly be very different than it might have been at the beginning. Similarly, What Terinaesus needed to understand was why happiness depends on working with the natural order, not against it. 

 

When my head is screwed on right, I am especially taken by the two stories of Codrus and Iphigenia. They only begin to make sense when the very purpose of life is considered from the perspective of duty over comfort. 

 

Legends has it that while the Dorians were attacking Athens, the Delphic Oracle proclaimed that they would be victorious, as long as Codrus, the last of the Athenian kings, was not killed. Surely the invaders could make certain to spare his life, and so win their victory, but they had not counted on Codrus’ dedication to his city. 

 

The king crept out of the city in disguise, picked a fight with some of the besiegers, and thereby surrendered his own life. Upon learning what they had inadvertently done, the Dorians departed rather than face the power of the prophecy. 

 

It seems so ridiculous to a man who only cares for his survival, but it makes perfect sense to a man who cares only for his virtues. Once again, the dying was itself an essential part of the living well. 

 

In the opening of the Trojan War, Agamemnon offended the goddess Artemis, and as a punishment she calmed the winds to prevent his army from sailing to Troy. The seer Calchas insisted that the only way to appease Artemis was for Agamemnon to sacrifice his daughter, Iphigenia. 

 

There are variations on the story, but however the tragedy plays itself out, Iphigenia ultimately agreed to offer herself for the sake of the Greeks. She grasped how the value of her life was in the quality of her deeds over the quantity of her years. 

 

Death has no sting when the priorities are properly arranged. 

—Reflection written in 6/1996 

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, The Sacrifice of Iphigenia (1757) 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 5.32

Why should unskilled and ignorant souls disturb him who has skill and knowledge? What soul then has skill and knowledge? That which knows beginning and end, and knows the Reason that pervades all substance, and through all time by fixed periods administers the Universe.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 5 (tr Long)

I will often find myself feeling frustrated and offended when the actions of others are thoughtless and careless. I will then be tempted to act vindictively or dismissively, but both of these responses are themselves thoughtless and careless. They both proceed from a disordered sense of self, an unwillingness to understand myself in right relation to others and to the world around me.

A man will be unskilled in life not because he lacks training in some specific trade, but because he neglects the essential art of acting with character. He will be ignorant in life not because he lacks any formal education, but because he doesn’t know who he is, where he came from, and where he is going. If I strive to attain both skill and wisdom, I should surely know that allowing myself to get upset only weakens my own power to live well. I must remember that a foolish man acts he as he does from a lack of understanding, and my anger will help neither him nor me.

As is so often the case, Marcus Aurelius doesn’t just tell us not to be disturbed, but he offers a very brief yet thorough account of why this should be so. If I am to live well, this is only possible if I grasp my own part within the context of the whole. It isn’t just about me, or about how I feel, or about how I perceive myself to have been wronged.

Everything that happens is according to a universal order and purpose, and it is the wise man that can comprehend, however incompletely, that his own thoughts and actions should be in harmony with Nature, not in conflict with it. If I can respect that there is a reason for why things are as they are, I can then seek out the good in all things.

There are no grounds for being disturbed. There are only grounds for discovering how to freely participate in a greater good for everything.

When I was first asked to read Homer’s Iliad, I rolled my eyes, and was, in a sense, offended that I should have to examine some dusty old text, one I thought irrelevant to my life, and also so difficult to read. It didn’t take long for me to change my tune.

I immediately saw that this was a story with many strands and many themes, but one that stood out for me, time and time again, was the rage of Achilles. Here was a great man, but a man who too often acted only for himself, without seeing the big picture, motivated by vanity instead of wisdom. When he struggles against Agamemnon, when he refuses to fight, when he reacts to the death of Patroclus, or when he denies pity to Hector, he is consumed by selfish passion.

I walked away from that first reading with a profound sense that I always needed to look to origins and ends, and how what I did played into a greater sense of meaning and purpose. I didn’t need to be disturbed by pettiness, or lash out at others, if I could only see beyond myself to the reason that is shared by all.

Written in 8/2006

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, The Rage of Achilles (1757)

Epictetus, The Handbook 21: The Root of Outrage

Remember that foul words or blows in themselves are no outrage, but your judgment that they are so. So when anyone makes you angry, know that it is your own thought that has angered you.

Wherefore make it your first endeavor not to let your impressions carry you away. For if once you gain time and delay, you will find it easier to control yourself.

—Epictetus, The Handbook, Chapter 20 (tr Matheson)

I’ve been on this Earth long enough to see a slow but steady increase in our modern sensitivity. We are more and more easily shocked, offended, outraged, and insulted. We speak of all the things that are unacceptable and inappropriate. We become increasingly impermissive in all of our permissiveness, increasingly intolerant in all of our tolerance.

I knew this had hit critical mass in my early years of teaching, when a young man came to my office full of anger. We had just been reading Nietzsche’s The Anti-Christ in class, and he explained that he had been “elected” by a group of students to come and protest what we had discussed.

His concern? Nietzsche’s attitude toward women, and, if I understood him rightly, that the text seemed to ignore the needs of gay men.

I explained that I was no friend of Nietzsche myself, but that we were reading a wide range of modern philosophers to hopefully understand a wide variety of different arguments and conclusions. He would have none of it.

“I was offended, other students were offended, and we demand a public apology in class for you presenting an inappropriate text.”

It took all of my self-control to not tell him where he could stick his indignation, to not find offense at his being offended. I made it clear I would not apologize for encouraging him to think in ways unfamiliar to him, and he could complain all he wanted, but I would never compromise a commitment to an open mind or to academic freedom.

“Not everyone agrees in this world, you know,” I said. “I suggest the trick is learning to understand, not to condemn and censure.”

“No. We all need to fight intolerance,” was his reply.

I could hardly keep from breaking into hysterical laughter, once again barely managing my own frustration. Here was the pot calling the kettle black, though I’m sure if I had used that phrase, he would have accused me of being a racist, as well as being a sexist and a homophobe. The fellow was criticizing Nietzsche, yet being a little Nietzsche himself, the Will to Power in the form of upper class American entitlement.

Whenever I am offended or outraged, I have taught myself to stop time for but a moment. What is it all about? It usually has nothing to do with another person, or what that person said, but it does have everything to do with me. People, things, ideas, or words are not in themselves offensive. My estimation of them is the root of offense. 

I recall the politician who was fired a few years back for using the word “niggardly” in a press conference. No matter that he used the word in an entirely accurate way; it was all about the offense in public perception, an offense born of ignorance.

No one ever offends or outrages me. I choose to be offended or outraged. Another man may be a bully, a boor, or a moral cesspool, but my own estimation is what drives my response. Will I choose to angry, or will I choose to heal?

If someone for whom I have great respect speaks ill of me, I am hurt. If someone who is on a totally different moral compass speaks ill of me, I might even take it as a compliment. The same thing may have been said, but it is only my own judgment that makes the difference. I have been called a hateful fascist by liberals, and I have been called a bleeding-heart socialist by conservatives. The context of my understanding can allow me to navigate that storm.

There is only one way to avoid being constantly offended and outraged. Take a deep breath, and consider what all of it is about. There is no greater harm here than responding on instinct and feeling alone. I invariably find that my own thinking is the root of the blame.

Quite a few people I know now seem to think I am becoming senile, because I will now pause for a long period before answering a question. I may indeed be heading toward senility, but my silence comes from the fact that I will take my sweet time to think about what needs to be said.

And I’m sorry if what I think needs to be said outrages you. What I said is on me, but what you think about it is on you.

Written in 12/2009

Image: The Rage of Achilles, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (1757)