Jacob's Ladder 6

Salvator Rosa, Landscape with Jacob's Dream (c. 1665) 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.2

So far we proceed on conjecture. As to the vestiges of the Pythagoreans, though I might collect many, I shall use but a few; because they have no connection with our present purpose. 
 
For, as it is reported to have been a custom with them to deliver certain precepts in a more abstruse manner in verse, and to bring their minds from severe thought to a more composed state by songs and musical instruments; so Cato, a writer of the very highest authority, says in his Origins, that it was customary with our ancestors for the guests at their entertainments, every one in his turn, to celebrate the praises and virtues of illustrious men in song to the sound of the flute; from whence it is clear that poems and songs were then composed for the voice. 
 
And, indeed, it is also clear that poetry was in fashion from the laws of the Twelve Tables, wherein it is provided that no song should be made to the injury of another. 
 
Another argument of the erudition of those times is, that they played on instruments before the shrines of their Gods, and at the entertainments of their magistrates; but that custom was peculiar to the sect I am speaking of. To me, indeed, that poem of Appius Caecus, which Panaetius commends so much in a certain letter of his which is addressed to Quintus Tubero, has all the marks of a Pythagorean author. 
 
We have many things derived from the Pythagoreans in our customs, which I pass over, that we may not seem to have learned that elsewhere which we look upon ourselves as the inventors of. 
 
But to return to our purpose. How many great poets as well as orators have sprung up among us! And in what a short time! So that it is evident that our people could arrive at any learning as soon as they had an inclination for it. But of other studies I shall speak elsewhere if there is occasion, as I have already often done. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.2 
 
I cannot speak with any confidence on the Pythagoreans, who always appeared quite perplexing to me, though I imagine that was a very part of their method. At first, I assumed my confusion arose from my incompetence at mathematics, but after many years I was finally taught geometry in the proper way, and I began to appreciate how the order of numbers reveals the order of the Universe. 
 
No, it turned out that what left me frustrated was the whole “mystery religion” vibe, complete with levels of initiation into the depths of secret knowledge. As someone who finds comfort in the clarity of reason, despite my odd romantic tendencies, I struggle when truth is expressed in purely symbolic terms, and I seek out the bare-bones argument. While this is healthy up to a point, I am doing myself no favors if I shut out the instinctive and creative aspects of my nature. 
 
This chapter helped me to understand more about the Pythagoreans in particular, and also more about philosophy in general. Cicero observes how both the Pythagoreans and the early Romans would employ music and poetry to provide peace of mind while reflecting upon profound principles, a practice which suddenly made sense to me. 
 
In my own peculiar way, Mahler helps me to put grief in its place, and Gregorian chant brings me closer to my Creator, and the verses of the Iliad are always an aid in learning about justice and compassion. 
 
It had somehow not directly occurred to me why the exercise of art is actually a medium for the pursuit of philosophy, grasped beyond the formal into the realm of the experiential—it offers a concrete framework to an abstract form, grounding the theoretical in a corporeal beauty. 
 
There is no need to oppose the left and the right side of the brain, for they are both cooperating in the same task, even if they do so by different means; each one supports and strengthens the other. 
 
Here was yet another of those proofs of why I should stop seeing contradictions, where there is absolutely no opposition at all. The Pythagoreans were “studying” philosophy in their songs, just as the Romans were also honoring the true and the good by playing music to praise their heroes and to worship their gods. 
 
I do not know if the Romans learned this from the Pythagoreans, and I don’t suppose it ultimately matters: what does matter is that such customs, whether original or borrowed, are signs of someone who is thinking while he is feeling, and so is just as philosophical, if not perhaps more so, than the scholar at his lectern. 

—Reflection written in 1/1999 

IMAGE: Salvator Rosa, Pythagoras Emerging from the Underworld (1662) 

Allegory of Falsehood

Salvator Rosa, An Allegory of Falsehood (c. 1649) 

I am fascinated by the question of where precisely the finger is pointing, and by the subtlety of the expression on his face. . . . 

Allegory of Fortune

Salvator Rosa, Allegory of Fortune (c. 1659) 

Maxims of Goethe 20

Character calls forth character. 

IMAGE: Salvator Rosa, The Death of Socrates (c. 1650) 

Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 18

One day, observing a child drinking out of his hands, he cast away the cup from his wallet with the words, "A child has beaten me in plainness of living!" 

He also threw away his bowl when in like manner he saw a child who had broken his plate taking up his lentils with the hollow part of a morsel of bread. 

He used also to reason thus: "All things belong to the gods. The wise are friends of the gods, and friends hold things in common. Therefore all things belong to the wise." 

One day he saw a woman kneeling before the gods in an ungraceful attitude, and wishing to free her of superstition, according to Zolus of Perga, he came forward and said, "Are you not afraid, my good woman, that a god may be standing behind you? – for all things are full of his presence – and you may be put to shame?" 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.37 

IMAGE: Salvator Rosa, Diogenes Throwing Away His Drinking Cup (1662) 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.10

Let us see what Aeschylus says, who was not only a poet but a Pythagorean philosopher also, for that is the account which you have received of him; how does he make Prometheus bear the pain he suffered for the Lemnian theft, when he clandestinely stole away the celestial fire, and bestowed it on men, and was severely punished by Jupiter for the theft. Fastened to Mount Caucasus, he speaks thus:
 
“Thou heav’n-born race of Titans here fast bound,
Behold thy brother! As the sailors sound 
With care the bottom, and their ships confine 
To some safe shore, with anchor and with line; 
So, by Jove’s dread decree, the God of fire 
Confines me here the victim of Jove’s ire. 
With baneful art his dire machine he shapes; 
From such a God what mortal e’er escapes? 
When each third day shall triumph o’er the night, 
Then doth the vulture, with his talons light, 
Seize on my entrails; which, in rav’nous guise, 
He preys on! then with wing extended flies 
Aloft, and brushes with his plumes the gore: 
But when dire Jove my liver doth restore, 
Back he returns impetuous to his prey, 
Clapping his wings, he cuts th’ ethereal way. 
Thus do I nourish with my blood this pest, 
Confined my arms, unable to contest; 
Entreating only that in pity Jove 
Would take my life, and this cursed plague remove. 
But endless ages past unheard my moan, 
Sooner shall drops dissolve this very stone.”
 
And therefore it scarcely seems possible to avoid calling a man who is suffering, miserable; and if he is miserable, then pain is an evil. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.10 
 
Another reason I can relate to Cicero is by how he always seems to foresee my own reactions, and he is then already prepared to offer some sort of resolution to the tension.
 
The death of Hercules has long haunted me, and I catch myself wondering about further examples of horrible suffering from mythology. Dwelling upon such instances may not be too healthy for me, and yet I am nevertheless drawn into it. 
 
Could anything be worse than slowly melting away, and then throwing oneself on a fire to finally make it end? What if there actually was no end to the anguish? Yes, what if there were a torment like that of Prometheus? 
 
Sisyphus knew how the labor of ceaselessly rolling a boulder uphill was in vain, and Tantalus was afflicted by an eternal deprivation of food and drink that was so close at hand, but these punishments can’t top Prometheus having his liver ripped out and eaten by an eagle, only to have it grow back and to be consumed again and again for all time to come. It’s so shockingly merciless, only a god could come up with it. 
 
I notice how thinking this through has riled me up, and something very much like Cicero’s last sentence in this chapter pops into my head: what hope for happiness is there when this happens, or even if there is the prospect of it happening? 
 
It doesn’t get any better when I reflect on the fact that there was a certain heroism in Prometheus, despite his disobedience and recklessness, and I realize how this is true of most tragic figures. 
 
They may mean well, and they may be certain they have it all figured out, and then everything comes crashing down around them. They have succumbed to pride because they have gotten ahead of themselves, rushing to hasty conclusions without the benefit of any calm consideration. 
 
Though it is hardly on as grand in scale, isn’t this still similar to what I am doing when I get so caught up in anxiety and despair? I am letting my imagination run away from me, and my passion has outpaced my judgment. Instead of pretending that the pain isn’t real, I am now hopelessly lost in it. 
 
I am already wondering how Cicero will get me out of this mess, and I have a hunch he will tell me to stop moping over the wrong texts, or to at least to finally stop reading them in the wrong way. 
 
There can be no ordered feelings without an ordered mind. Slow down. 

—Reflection written in 7/1996 

IMAGE: Salvator Rosa, The Torture of Prometheus (c. 1648) 

Self-portrait

Salvator Rosa, Self-portrait (c. 1647)

Sayings of Socrates 49

To one who said, "You are condemned by the Athenians to die," he made answer, "So are they, by Nature." But some ascribe this to Anaxagoras. 

When his wife said, "You suffer unjustly," he retorted, "Why, would you have me suffer justly?" 

He had a dream that some one said to him:

On the third day thou shalt come to the fertile fields of Phthia;

and he told Aeschines, "On the third day I shall die."

When he was about to drink the hemlock, Apollodorus offered him a beautiful garment to die in: "What," said he, "is my own good enough to live in but not to die in?" 

When he was told that So-and-so spoke ill of him, he replied, "True, for he has never learnt to speak well." 

—Diogenes Laërtius, Lives of the Eminent Philosophers 2.35

IMAGE: Salvator Rosa, The Death of Socrates (c. 1650)

Shamed

Salvator Rosa, Diogenes Casting Away His Cup (c. 1650)

An Honest Man?

Salvator Rosa, Diogenes Searching for an Honest Man (c. 1650)

Stay Out of My Light . . .

Salvator Rosa, Diogenes and Alexander (1662)

The Emperor demands, the Philosopher reprimands. . . 

Human Fragility

Salvator Rosa, Human Fragility (c. 1650)