Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 75

Again, the Stoics say that the wise man will take part in politics, if nothing hinders him—so, for instance, Chrysippus in the first book of his work On Various Types of Life—since thus he will restrain vice and promote virtue. 

Also, they maintain, he will marry, as Zeno says in his Republic, and beget children. 

Moreover, they say that the wise man will never form mere opinions, that is to say, he will never give assent to anything that is false; that he will also play the Cynic, Cynicism being a short cut to virtue, as Apollodorus calls it in his Ethics; that he will even turn cannibal under stress of circumstances. 

They declare that he alone is free and bad men are slaves, freedom being power of independent action, whereas slavery is privation of the same; though indeed there is also a second form of slavery consisting in subordination, and a third which implies possession of the slave as well as his subordination; the correlative of such servitude being lordship; and this too is evil. 

Moreover, according to them not only are the wise free, they are also kings; kingship being irresponsible rule, which none but the wise can maintain: so Chrysippus in his treatise vindicating Zeno’s use of terminology. 

For he holds that knowledge of good and evil is a necessary attribute of the ruler, and that no bad man is acquainted with this science. 

Similarly the wise and good alone are fit to be magistrates, judges, or orators, whereas among the bad there is not one so qualified. 

Furthermore, the wise are infallible, not being liable to error. They are also without offense; for they do no hurt to others or to themselves. 

At the same time they are not pitiful and make no allowance for anyone; they never relax the penalties fixed by the laws, since indulgence and pity and even equitable consideration are marks of a weak mind, which affects kindness in place of chastizing. Nor do they deem punishments too severe. 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.121-123 

IMAGE: Raphael, The Judgment of Solomon (c. 1519) 

Henry David Thoreau 7

That virtue we appreciate is as much ours as another's. We see so much only as we possess. 

—from Henry David Thoreau, Journals (22 June, 1839) 

IMAGE: Raphael, Self-Portrait with a Friend (1519) 

Justice

Raphael, Allegory of Justice (1508) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 58.2

It is not in my purpose to show, by this array of examples, how much time I have wasted on the study of language; I merely wish you to understand how many words, that were current in the works of Ennius and Accius, have become moldy with age; while even in the case of Vergil, whose works are explored daily, some of his words have been filched away from us.
 
You will say, I suppose: "What is the purpose and meaning of this preamble?" 
 
I shall not keep you in the dark; I desire, if possible, to say the word essentia to you and obtain a favorable hearing. If I cannot do this, I shall risk it even though it put you out of humor. I have Cicero, as authority for the use of this word, and I regard him as a powerful authority. If you desire testimony of a later date, I shall cite Fabianus, careful of speech, cultivated, and so polished in style that he will suit even our nice tastes. 
 
For what can we do, my dear Lucilius? How otherwise can we find a word for that which the Greeks call οὐσία, something that is indispensable, something that is the natural substratum of everything? I beg you accordingly to allow me to use this word essentia. I shall nevertheless take pains to exercise the privilege, which you have granted me, with as sparing a hand as possible; perhaps I shall be content with the mere right.
 
Yet what good will your indulgence do me, if, lo and behold, I can in no wise express in Latin the meaning of the word which gave me the opportunity to rail at the poverty of our language? And you will condemn our narrow Roman limits even more, when you find out that there is a word of one syllable which I cannot translate. 
 
"What is this?" you ask. It is the word ὄν. You think me lacking in facility; you believe that the word is ready to hand, that it might be translated by quod est. I notice, however, a great difference; you are forcing me to render a noun by a verb. But if I must do so, I shall render it by quod est. 
 
There are six ways in which Plato expresses this idea, according to a friend of ours, a man of great learning, who mentioned the fact today. And I shall explain all of them to you, if I may first point out that there is something called genus and something called species. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 58 
 
Words can and do fade away, and while this is sometimes just a natural consequence of changing usage, at other times it may reveal that we have also lost hold of the very meanings behind them. If I choose not to think about it, I will also forget how to speak about it. 
 
Within this context, a philosophical term can be quite the double-edged sword. On the one hand, it might appear so abstract and irrelevant to daily life, and on the other hand we still desperately need to address the meaning it seeks. Few things manage to turn people away from philosophy more than the grueling technicalities, and yet without a firm grasp of ideas there can never be a serenity of living. 
 
In other words, I may not wish to slave over the best words for who or what I am, while reflecting upon my own identity remains an absolute requirement for my happiness. Is it possible to be a genuine philosopher without getting caught up in the academic posturing? There’s the rub. 
 
I would suggest that the Stoics, as one movement within what I call a larger Wisdom Tradition, take up the noble challenge of joining sound reasoning to virtuous action. Yes, there will indeed be times when a problem requires intellectual precision, but it will always be intended to aid in the increase of character. 
 
Take, for example, this very letter by Seneca. While the next few paragraphs focus on the nuances of how we can define different aspects of existence, it all eventually leads back to a lesson about learning to master ourselves in everyday circumstances. Indeed, what use would there be to study if it did not make us kinder and better human beings? It sounds so obvious when I say it now, but in the frenzy of false pride it is all too easy to divorce the theory from the practice. 
 
In asking about the term essence, Seneca encourages us to get to the very root of our identity, the foundation of what is real. Without such first principles, however they might be expressed, we have nothing to build on, and so all our later judgments will lack a proper grounding. The conclusion proceeds from the premises, and the premises rely on the clarity of the terms. 
 
Now Seneca introduces a number of concepts here all at once, and the difficulty is that their meanings can be rather specific, and they may change due to the context, and they are often used by different philosophers in markedly different ways. I will resist the temptation to treat this reflection like a formal paper or an involved class discussion, and simply point out that all of them are attempts at isolating the core of something’s being, the true nature of what it is. 
 
When academics use οὐσία, they usually translate it as “substance”, or possibly as “essence”, and when they use ὄν they will usually translate it is “being” or “reality”. We might already find ourselves confused. Having been trained in Aristotle and Aquinas, I am inclined to distinguish between a substance, that which is in in itself and not in another, and the principles of essence, what the thing is, and its actual existence, that the thing is. 
 
The language can get convoluted, and even after all the distinctions, we are still likely to find the words insufficient to get our ideas across. When Seneca proposes the Latin quod est, “what is” or “that which is”, as the closest approximation to what he is looking for, I am content to accept that he is aiming at the basic definition of how and why a thing exists. 
 
Enough of that. Have you ever pondered, whether in a poetic or in a scientific way, what ultimately stands behind any of the “objects” in this world, and what makes them be the way they must be? That is, I believe, what Seneca is pursuing, and it is what any dedicated philosopher must eventually do if he is to be even slightly worthy of the name. 
 
Seneca’s concern is, therefore, how six different senses of existence in Plato’s thought can help us to approach the nature of reality. Yes, it’s rather theoretical for the moment, but the result will also be an insight that can further help us to act with greater virtue. That promise has always been what keeps me going when philosophy feels too abstruse. 

—Reflection written in 5/2013 

IMAGE: Raphael, detail of Plato and Aristotle from The School of Athens (1511) 

Stoic Snippets 185

Generally, wickedness does no harm at all to the Universe; and particularly the wickedness of one man does no harm to another. 

It is only harmful to him who has it in his power to be released from it as soon as he shall choose. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.55 

IMAGE: Raphael, Saint Michael Vanquishing Satan (1518) 

Tidbits from Montaigne 42

There is the name and the thing: the name is a voice which denotes and signifies the thing; the name is no part of the thing, nor of the substance; it is a foreign piece joined to the thing, and outside it. 

God, who is all fullness in Himself and the height of all perfection, cannot augment or add anything to Himself within; but His name may be augmented and increased by the blessing and praise we attribute to His exterior works: which praise, seeing we cannot incorporate it in Him, forasmuch as He can have no accession of good, we attribute to His name, which is the part out of Him that is nearest to us. 

Thus is it that to God alone glory and honor appertain; and there is nothing so remote from reason as that we should go in quest of it for ourselves; for, being indigent and necessitous within, our essence being imperfect, and having continual need of amelioration, it is to that we ought to employ all our endeavor. 

—Michel de Montaigne, Essays 2.16 

IMAGE: Raphael, Ezekiel's Vision (1518) 

Olympians

Raphael, The Council of the Gods (1518)

Giovanni Lanfranco, The Council of the Gods (c. 1625)

Giulio Romano, The Gods of Olympus (c, 1635)

Luigi Sabatelli, Zeus Presiding Over All the Gods (c. 1820)

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.44

It is no evil for things to undergo change, and no good for things to subsist in consequence of change.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

I’ve been, at various times in my life, on different sides of this matter. I’ve sometimes desperately wanted things to change, and I’ve also sometimes desperately wanted them to stay the same. In either case, my error has always been in thinking that my own preference for one state of affairs or another should determine anything at all.  

Back when I measured my life in weeks or months, everything seemed so static, and I craved something new. When I gained the benefit of a broader perspective, I would complain that nothing was ever constant. Once I measured my life in years or decades, it was very different.

We will sometimes try to push the world to change faster, and we will sometimes try to slow it all down. Our eagerness may take on ridiculous proportions. I’ve heard it said that “it must happen now, without delay!” I’ve also heard it said that “it must stay as it is, whatever the cost!”

I can no longer count the times that I have done the same thing twice, and either been disappointed that it was exactly the same, or been disappointed that it wasn’t exactly the same. If I consider change and constancy as relative to my own desires, I will most likely be unhappy. If, however, I can allow things to change as they will, on their own terms, in their own time, and in their own way, and if I can adapt my own thinking and living to them, I may find some peace for myself.

Heraclitus had it right, in one sense, to say that change is a constant, and that something will be different the moment you look at it twice. Yet at the same time, even as all the circumstances are altered, the order ruling them, and the harmony behind the variations, is always stable and secure. Parmenides offered the other side of it. These two aspects of early Greek thought balance and complement one another for a reason.

Nature will always modify her form, because her glory is expressing herself in so many different ways. Throughout it all, the changes act for the whole, where each and every part rightly comes and goes, but the pattern is always there at each and every moment.

Life is not a static and passive state, but a dynamic and active unfolding. That is the very beauty to the whole picture, and the work of art is always a work in progress. There is no final stroke of the brush that finishes the picture, only constant growth, addition, and transition.

I will demand change when I despise existence in its own terms, and I will only fear change when I despise existence on its own terms. It will be as it should, and my only responsibility is to determine the balance of change and constancy within myself.

Written in 1/2006

Image: Detail of Parmemides and Hercalitus, from Raphael, The School of Athens (c. 1511)