Seneca, Moral Letters 76.13

If a man can behold with unflinching eyes the flash of a sword, if he knows that it makes no difference to him whether his soul takes flight through his mouth or through a wound in his throat, you may call him happy; you may also call him happy if, when he is threatened with bodily torture, whether it be the result of accident or of the might of the stronger, he can without concern hear talk of chains, or of exile, or of all the idle fears that stir men’s minds, and can say: 
 
“O maiden, no new sudden form of toil 
Springs up before my eyes; within my soul 
I have forestalled and surveyed everything.”
 
Today it is you who threaten me with these terrors; but I have always threatened myself with them, and have prepared myself as a man to meet man’s destiny.
 
If an evil has been pondered beforehand, the blow is gentle when it comes. To the fool, however, and to him who trusts in fortune, each event as it arrives “comes in a new and sudden form,” and a large part of evil, to the inexperienced, consists in its novelty.
 
This is proved by the fact that men endure with greater courage, when they have once become accustomed to them, the things which they had at first regarded as hardships. 
 
Hence, the wise man accustoms himself to coming trouble, lightening by long reflection the evils which others lighten by long endurance. 
 
We sometimes hear the inexperienced say: “I knew that this was in store for me.” 
 
But the wise man knows that all things are in store for him. Whatever happens, he says: “I knew it.” Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 76 
 
I have a markedly sensitive disposition, so Stoicism would, at first glance, hardly seem a good fit for me. You will not inspire me with calls to toughness, and I am unsuited to the way of the warrior; all that bravado about a glorious death, or the gritty endurance of torture, will sadly leave me cold. 
 
Yet while I am not a man’s man, I have also learned how Stoicism has never been a creed of brute strength, but rather a calling to serenity. The steely resolve that may appear on the outside is actually the result of a refined understanding on the inside, and I should not assume that constancy implies heartlessness. While some will repress their feelings, and others will be swept away by their feelings, the Stoic will become the master of his feelings. 
 
Should I fear the sword, or the rack, or any of the torments in this life? When willpower alone fails to quell the dread, it is then time to modify my very judgments, to reconsider what I even mean by benefit or harm. Let the impressions have their say, and then let the mind offer its verdict—this cannot truly injure me, as long as my virtues remain intact. 
 
Once I know where to find my good, the way I feel is now put in its proper context; both the pleasant and the painful can now be transformed through purpose, into an excellence of character that is unassailable. And with that kind of awareness, it now makes sense why hardship need not be an obstacle to happiness, but can become an occasion for happiness: so little is lost, and so much is gained! 
 
In simpler terms, I don’t have to be the enraged guy in order to overcome fear. I can be the loving guy in order to overcome fear. I think of those who used their distress to offer compassion. 
 
I should not seek out adversity, but I should accept it willingly, and I should prepare myself for it, conscious of its deeper significance as a means for self-improvement, and mindful of how Fortune is a fickle mistress. If I cannot determine the way of the word, I can certainly determine my own response, ready to face with dignity whatever life sends my way. 
 
As much as this may sound cynical to the critic, a jaded surrender to Murphys’ Law, I suggest that it is rather an expression of a committed faith in the human capacity to do what is right, under any conditions. It will do me little good to be ready for the most routine nuisances, when it is always the earth-shattering catastrophes that truly put me to the test. Until the wolf came along, those other little pigs laughed at the one who had thought ahead. 
 
Habit is a potent force, far too often underestimated, so it is better for me to consider when it will happen, not merely if it will happen. Then I am armed against any threat, not with the foolish confidence that I will destroy my foe, but with the calm assurance that I can retain the integrity of my conscience. My actions, and not my circumstances, are what reflect on me. 
 
Having already experienced more than his fair share of tragedies before visiting the underworld, Aeneas was not speaking out of despair. He knew his calling, and he had steeled himself for any possibility. Though they made little sense to me back then, the torments from my darkest days have now become the foundation for my endurance. It is better to learn this lesson in old age, than to have never learned it at all. 

—Reflection written in 10/2013 

IMAGE: Jan Bruegel the Younger, Aeneas and the Sibyl in the Underworld (c. 1630) 

Allegory of the Virtuous Life

Jan Bruegel the Younger and Hendrick van Balen the Elder, Allegory of the Virtuous Life (c. 1626) 

Landscape with Allegories of the Four Elements

Jan Bruegel the Younger and Frans Francken the Younger, Landscape with Allegories of the Four Elements (1635) 

James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 19

19. 

Περισκοπεῖν ἄστρων δρόμους ὥσπερ συμπεριθέοντα καὶ τὰς τῶν στοιχείων εἰς ἄλληλα μεταβολὰς συνεχῶς ἐννοεῖν: ἀποκαθαίρουσι γὰρ αἱ τούτων φαντασίαι τὸν ῥύπον τοῦ χαμαὶ βίου. 

Look all around on the courses of the stars, as if running around their races with them; and give mind unceasingly to the mutations of the elements with one another. For the impressions of these things cleanse away the sordidness of the earthly life. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.47 

19. 

Confirm thyself in meditation oft 

O’ the elements—as fire, and how it burns, 

And water the extinguisher, and soft 

Billow of air that to a tempest turns. 

Reckon their casual conflicts, when they rage 

In civil strife, or banded ’gainst the earth 

In ireful havoc, but soon their wrath assuage 

To bake the meats and green the plain for mirth. 

Then up, beyond these elements surmise, 

Pondering what may be the circling stars, 

Yet as if riding with them through the skies, 

Driving the coursers of those fiery cars. 

This fellow converse scours away the rust 

Gendered of earthy days mid noise and dust. 

IMAGE: Jan Bruegel the Elder, Abundance and the Four Elements (c. 1606) 

Ruins 11

Jan Bruegel the Elder, Coastal Landscape with Fishermen and Ruins of the Temple of Minerva Medica (c. 1620) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 65.8

To return to our subject; this freedom will be greatly helped by the contemplation of which we were just speaking. 

All things are made up of matter and of God; God controls matter, which encompasses him and follows him as its guide and leader. And that which creates, in other words, God, is more powerful and precious than matter, which is acted upon by God.
 
God's place in the Universe corresponds to the soul's relation to man. World-matter corresponds to our mortal body; therefore, let the lower serve the higher. 
 
Let us be brave in the face of hazards. Let us not fear wrongs, or wounds, or bonds, or poverty. 
 
And what is death? It is either the end, or a process of change. I have no fear of ceasing to exist; it is the same as not having begun. Nor do I shrink from changing into another state, because I shall, under no conditions, be as cramped as I am now. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 65 

If I want to be happy, then I should first understand something of what this means. If I have a hunch that such happiness demands freedom, then I should learn more about when to bind and when to lose. If I want to find my proper place in this wide world, then I should get a sense for the lay of the land. Why am I hacking away at the limbs, when I need to get to the roots? 
 
Far from being a shameful extravagance, a reflection on who I am, why I am here, and where I am going is an absolute necessity of life. Without it I will be completely adrift, and no amount of tinkering with the nuts and bolts will make a spot of difference. 
 
And for the job to be done thoroughly, it ought to offer the fullest account possible, where the effect is bound to the cause, and the proximate is perceived within the context of the ultimate. 
 
While bullies and snake oil salesmen might pay their lip service to God, we know quite well how they are only thinking of themselves. No, if we are completely honest with ourselves, we realize we are uncomfortable with the very concept of God precisely because it requires us to cease believing we are the center of everything. If we continue to find fault with the Absolute, we still aren’t thinking big enough. 
 
All creatures are formed by Being, and all purpose is driven by Mind. To approach the Divine, however weakly and imperfectly, is finally to be looking at the grand scheme of things. 
 
Going to the source is always the best bet, which is why any philosopher who puts his money where his mouth is must become a seeker of God, whatever words he may use to describe that greatest Measure. They way my body is made to be in service to my soul is but a faint mirroring of how all creatures are in service to their Creator. 
 
Such an awareness, in turn, will strengthen my commitment to a good life. What can hardship, or deprivation, or even death itself do to me, when I know what it is really about? 

—Reflection written in 7/2013 

IMAGE: Jan Bruegel the Younger, God Creating the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars (c. 1650) 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 5

Self-reliance, the height and perfection of man, is reliance on God. 

—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Fugitive Slave Law 

IMAGE: Jan Bruegel the Younger, The Creation of Adam (c. 1650) 

The Five Senses

Jan Bruegel the Elder and Peter Paul Rubens, The Five Senses (1617-1618)

Sight 

Hearing 

Smell 

Taste 

Touch 

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 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. 

Written in 5/2000

IMAGE: Jan Bruegel/Hendrick van Balen, The Feast of the Gods (The Wedding of Thetis and Perseus) (c. 1618)

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 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. 

Written in 1/2000

IMAGE: Jan Bruegel, The Wedding Banquet (1623)

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 14.1

Chapter 14

Moreover, we ought to cultivate an easy temper, and not become overly fond of the lot which fate has assigned to us, but transfer ourselves to whatever other condition chance may lead us to, and fear no alteration, either in our purposes or our position in life, provided that we do not become subject to caprice, which of all vices is the most hostile to repose.

For obstinacy, from which Fortune often wrings some concession, must needs be anxious and unhappy, but caprice, which can never restrain itself, must be more so.

My own temperament has long been quite the mess. I spend most of my time sitting there quietly, going about doing whatever I am told to do. I justify this on the grounds that I am letting the world be as it will be, and yet I am somehow hardly content. That last part is the root of my imbalance.

Then, from time to time, I will explode with self-righteousness. I’ve had enough, and I feel the need to put the bullies, the petty tyrants, and the abusers in their place.

They are suddenly quite shocked, having expected me to be their perfect little bitch. I do my job well, and then they can’t understand why I would revolt against their grand schemes.

They aren’t the problem at all; I am the root of my evil. If I am really happy with my work, I will demand nothing from them, and I will let them play their games. Yet I secretly want to be like them, a sucker for vanity.

There is the source of my caprice, of my uneven temper. I did indeed force myself to not want to be the king of the hill, but I suppressed the desire so much that it seeped out in other ways. This is now something I work on, from day to day.

Rage, fueled by my resentment, will never serve me well. Does that Vice President need to be knocked down a notch or two? Yes, but it isn’t my place. Does that Director require a swift kick in the ass? Yes, but my boot is not the one to do it.

Let them wallow in their glory. They already have their own reward. The Gospels are far more Stoic than you might think.

I am so busy trying to fix other people, and those other people are so busy trying to fix me. Imagine a world where we only try to fix ourselves, minding our own business, instead of condemning everyone else.

The Stoics taught me to be my own master. Jesus told me not to be the judge, lest I be judged. We all share that same commandment in common.

Written in 12/2011

IMAGE: Jan Bruegel, The Sermon on the Mount (1598)