Proverbs 4:10-19

[10] Hear, my son, and accept my words,
that the years of your life may be many.
[11] I have taught you the way of wisdom;
I have led you in the paths of uprightness.
[12] When you walk, your step will not be hampered;
and if you run, you will not stumble.
[13] Keep hold of instruction, do not let go;
guard her, for she is your life.
[14] Do not enter the path of the wicked,
and do not walk in the way of evil men.
[15] Avoid it; do not go on it;
turn away from it and pass on.
[16] For they cannot sleep unless they have done wrong;
they are robbed of sleep unless they have made someone stumble.
[17] For they eat the bread of wickedness
and drink the wine of violence.
[18] But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn,
which shines brighter and brighter until full day.
[19] The way of the wicked is like deep darkness;
they do not know over what they stumble. 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, The Goddess of Discord Choosing the Apple of Contention in the Garden of the Hesperides (c. 1806) 

Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 2.1

Paradox 2: A Man Who Is Virtuous Is Destitute of No Requisite of a Happy Life 

Never, for my part, did I imagine Marcus Regulus to have been distressed, or unhappy, or wretched; because his magnanimity was not tortured by the Carthaginians; nor was the weight of his authority; nor was his honor; nor was his resolution; nor was one of his virtues; nor, in short, did his soul suffer their torments, for a soul with the guard and retinue of so many virtues, never surely could be taken, though his body was made captive. 
 
We have seen Gaius Marius; he, in my opinion, was in prosperity one of the happiest, and in adversity one of the greatest of men than which man can have no happier lot. 
 
You know not, foolish man, you know not what power virtue possesses; you only usurp the name of virtue; you are a stranger to her influence. No man who is wholly consistent within himself, and who reposes all his interests in himself alone, can be otherwise than completely happy. 
 
But the man whose every hope, and scheme, and design depends upon fortune, such a man can have no certainty—can possess nothing assured to him as destined to continue for a single day. If you have any such man in your power, you may terrify him by threats of death or exile; but whatever can happen to me in so ungrateful a country, will find me not only not opposing, but even not refusing it. 
 
To what purpose have I toiled? To what purpose have I acted? Or on what have my cares and meditations been watchfully employed, if I have produced and arrived at no such results, as that neither the outrages of fortune nor the injuries of enemies can shatter me? 

—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 2 
 
We all say that we want to be happy, and yet we rarely reflect on what this might mean. Most of us will assume that happiness is the same thing as pleasure, so we pursue those conditions that can offer us the greatest possible gratification. In such an approach, morality merely becomes a tool for avoiding unnecessary pain: if I play by the rules, then hopefully other people won’t hurt me. 
 
But what if I told you that there are people who measure their appetites by their conscience, and not the other way around? You might not immediately notice them, because they do not feel the need to make demands or to put on a show. They understand why all good things are pleasurable, but not all pleasurable things are good, and so they are satisfied by the dignity of their actions. To be fulfilled in the virtues is the highest end, which also brings with it the fitting consequence of an unsurpassed joy. 
 
Historians tell me that Marcus Regulus couldn’t have offered his life for the sake of his promise, though I wonder if they are just inclined to see everyone as base. Whether the story of his sacrifice is fact or fable, it demonstrates what is most noble within our nature, as creatures gifted with reason and will. For all the harm done to his flesh, his spirit remained intact, and the contentment came from an awareness of that ultimate meaning. 
 
Since I know very little about Gaius Marius, I now have some homework to do. I was under the impression that, for all his courage, he also had a streak of brutality, so I will do some digging about what Cicero may have meant. This will take me some time, but I do not find that burdensome, as I appreciate how the effort can contribute to my own character. As it is with the big things, so it is with the little things. 
 
I am sometimes afraid to even speak about the virtues, given how often people will exploit their appearance in a pursuit of the vices. Yet since they are only playing make-believe, I know how they are fractured by insincerity, and I therefore know why they cannot be at peace with themselves. Don’t let the pretenders ruin it for you. 
 
In my own experience, I have never been happy when I am angry, fearful, grasping, or devious. I have always been happy when I am loving, constant, grateful, and authentic. Where my life revolves around feeble attempts at manipulating fortune, I am constantly anxious. Where my life rests in the integrity of my thoughts, words, and deeds, I am finally liberated. Beyond the arguments from philosophy, these are the facts, plain and simple. 
 
True bliss is about arriving at that point where you no longer allow the circumstances to bring you down. 

—Reflection written in 5/1999 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, Regulus (1828) 

Self-portrait

J.M.W. Turner, Self-portrait (c. 1799) 

From what I have read about the man, Turner was quite the eccentric, not easy to get along with, and ridden with profound thoughts that his peers could not fathom. He sounds exactly like my sort of fellow, which is why he is on my list of the "three Williams" I admire so much: Turner, Blake, and Hogarth. 

I am told he once rowed out into the middle of the Thames, so as to not be counted in the census. I heartily approve of his tiny act of rebellion. 

I often gaze at this painting for far too long, imagining how Turner was the sort of man I would have been proud to have as a friend. His expression speaks volumes to me. 

I do not have any of his talent, but he still seems to be a kindred spirit. If there is indeed a Heaven, where we retain anything of our former identities, I look forward to meeting him. If not, he has continued to live through me, during every day of my anonymous life. 

Sunrise

J.M.W. Turner, Sunrise, a Castle on a Bay: Solitude (c. 1845) 

Campo Vaccino

J.M.W. Turner, Modern Rome—Campo Vaccino (1839) 

The Wreck Buoy

J.M.W. Turner, The Wreck Buoy (c. 1849) 

Norham Castle

J.M.W. Turner, Norham Castle, Sunrise (1845) 

Snow Storm 2

J.M.W. Turner, Snow Storm: Steamboat off a Harbor's Mouth (c. 1842) 

Rain, Steam, and Speed

J.M.W. Turner, Rain, Steam, and Speed (1844) 

Valley of Aosta

J.M.W. Turner, Valley of Aosta: Snowstorm, Avalanche, and Thunderstorm (c. 1837) 

Burning of the Houses

J.M.W. Turner, The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 16th October, 1834 (c. 1835) 

Waterloo

J.M.W. Turner, The Field of Waterloo (1818) 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 269

As one can ascend to the top of a house by means of a ladder or a bamboo or a staircase or a rope, so diverse also are the ways and means to approach God, and every religion in the world shows one of these ways. 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, The Vision of Jacob's Ladder (1830) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.1

Letter 70: On the proper time to slip the cable  
 
After a long space of time, I have seen your beloved Pompeii. I was thus brought again face to face with the days of my youth. And it seemed to me that I could still do, nay, had only done a short time ago, all the things which I did there when a young man. We have sailed past life, Lucilius, as if we were on a voyage, and just as when at sea, to quote from our poet Vergil, 
 
“Lands and towns are left astern,”
 
even so, on this journey where time flies with the greatest speed, we put below the horizon first our boyhood and then our youth, and then the space which lies between young manhood and middle age and borders on both, and next, the best years of old age itself. Last of all, we begin to sight the general bourne of the race of man.
 
Fools that we are, we believe this bourne to be a dangerous reef; but it is the harbor, where we must someday put in, which we may never refuse to enter; and if a man has reached this harbor in his early years, he has no more right to complain than a sailor who has made a quick voyage. For some sailors, as you know, are tricked and held back by sluggish winds, and grow weary and sick of the slow-moving calm; while others are carried quickly home by steady gales. 
 
You may consider that the same thing happens to us: life has carried some men with the greatest rapidity to the harbor, the harbor they were bound to reach even if they tarried on the way, while others it has fretted and harassed. To such a life, as you are aware, one should not always cling. For mere living is not a good, but living well. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 

Though I still catch myself reaching for it regularly, I do try to avoid using the analogy of life as a voyage. This is not because it isn’t fitting, which it most certainly can be, but rather because it has become so hackneyed, and we have made it all the more confusing with the addendum of how it is the journey that counts, not the destination. 
 
While happiness is hardly a place, or even a state, we are misguided when we fail to seek progress, or deny that there is any ultimate aim or purpose. There is most certainly an end to the trip, in that it has both a goal and a termination. 
 
Many things will pass away, and many new ones will take their place, and finally there will be a conclusion to all the rushing about. I am often tempted to think with nostalgia about the vitality of my youth, yet then I remember why the departure of what was then is a condition for the awareness that is now. The number of years, and whether I desired more or less time, is quite secondary to my love of living with integrity, not whether I came to it sooner or later. 
 
If it is death I fear, approaching the harbor will fill me with anxiety, but if it is character I seek, I will be glad to have undertaken the passage with excellence. I can recall the parties, or the vacations, or the romantic moments I never wanted to end, and it sadly meant I was fixated on the quantity over the quality: the beauty is in the depth of the experience, where each instance is complete, and so is not increased by stretching out the duration. 
 
Within such a context, this letter turns to an uncomfortable topic, about when it might be the right time to die, and more specifically about whether what we call a suicide, however broadly or narrowly we choose to employ the term, is ever justified. 
 
I will be sorely disappointed, however, if I expect Seneca to provide me with a quick-fix solution, easy to parrot but short on any genuine understanding. Instead, the many examples he offers will point to the necessity of guiding principles on what truly defines a good life, and how the circumstances of life and death relate to that intention. 
 
If I do not begin with a reflection on why I am here, I cannot properly consider how long I should bother to stay. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, Fishing Boats Entering Calais Harbor (c. 1803) 

Dhammapada 348

Give up what is before, give up what is behind, give up what is in the middle, when you go to the other shore of existence; if your mind is altogether free, you will not again enter into birth and decay. 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, Seascape with Distant Coast (1840) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 51.3

A single winter relaxed Hannibal's fiber; his pampering in Campania took the vigor out of that hero who had triumphed over Alpine snows. He conquered with his weapons, but was conquered by his vices.
 
We too have a war to wage, a type of warfare in which there is allowed no rest or furlough. To be conquered, in the first place, are pleasures, which, as you see, have carried off even the sternest characters. 
 
If a man has once understood how great is the task which he has entered upon, he will see that there must be no dainty or effeminate conduct. What have I to do with those hot baths or with the sweating-room where they shut in the dry steam which is to drain your strength? Perspiration should flow only after toil. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 51 
 
I was fascinated by the story of Hannibal from a very young age; one of the first “chapter books” I read was an account of his life, which I all but memorized from the many times I checked it out of the school library. I have, however, foolishly forgotten the author’s name, so I regret I could not find a copy for my son. 
 
I am hardly an expert on the Punic Wars, therefore I don’t really know what to say about Seneca’s explanation for Hannibal’s ultimate loss in Italy. Whether there is some truth to it, or it is merely a Roman legend, it can stand for the deeper realization that all failure, rightly understood as an internal surrender, has its root in a weakness of character. 
 
And what has tripped me up more often than my attachment to gratification? I am encouraged to know that far better men than myself have faced the very same challenge, and duly warned by how some have sadly succumbed. I would like to blame everyone else for my problems, and yet deep down inside I know how my own concupiscence was my undoing. 
 
It isn’t a popular thing to say in a culture that glorifies mindless pleasure, but allowing myself to be surrounded by luxuries has usually ended with me being spoiled rotten. As the alcoholic probably shouldn’t keep a bottle in the house, I am well advised to avoid the temptation of indulgence. Someone of incredible virtues can brush it all off with indifference, though I’m not quite there yet. 
 
The real war is going on in my heart and mind, and peace can only come from bringing my passions into harmony with my reason. As much as we praise a victor on the battlefield, the true hero is the one who is brave enough, and wise enough, to conquer himself. 
 
While some men brag because they are so strong in body, the real man has strength precisely because he has tempered the very callings of the flesh. The power of his conscience permits him to walk away from extravagance, and to thereby elevate himself from lust to love. 

—Reflection written in 4/2013 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, Hannibal and His Men Crossing the Alps (c. 1812) 

Stoic Snippets 176

Take me and cast me where you will; for there I shall keep my divine part tranquil, that is, content, if it can feel and act conformably to its proper constitution. 

Is this change of place sufficient reason why my soul should be unhappy and worse than it was, depressed, expanded, shrinking, frightened? 

And what will you find which is sufficient reason for this? 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.45 

IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, War. The Exile and the Rock Limpet (1842) 

Coniston Fells

J.M.W. Turner, Morning Amongst the Coniston Fells, Cumberland (1798)

The Shipwreck

 

J.M.W. Turner, The Shipwreck (c. 1805)

 

The Fighting Temeraire

J.M.W. Turner, The Fighting Temeraire, tugged to her last berth to be broken up (1838)