Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.29

M. Wherefore, as I before said, the philosophers have all one method of cure, so that we need say nothing about what sort of thing that is which disturbs the mind, but we must speak only concerning the perturbation itself. 
 
Thus, first, with regard to desire itself, when the business is only to remove that, the inquiry is not to be, whether that thing be good or evil which provokes lust, but the lust itself is to be removed; so that whether whatever is honest is the chief good, or whether it consists in pleasure, or in both these things together, or in the other three kinds of goods, yet should there be in any one too vehement an appetite for even virtue itself, the whole discourse should be directed to the deterring him from that vehemence. 
 
But human nature, when placed in a conspicuous point of view, gives us every argument for appeasing the mind, and, to make this the more distinct, the laws and conditions of life should be explained in our discourse. 
 
Therefore, it was not without reason that Socrates is reported, when Euripides was exhibiting his play called Orestes, to have repeated the first three verses of that tragedy—
 
“What tragic story men can mournful tell,
Whate’er from fate or from the gods befell,
That human nature can support—”
 
But, in order to persuade those to whom any misfortune has happened that they can and ought to bear it, it is very useful to set before them an enumeration of other persons who have borne similar calamities. 
 
Indeed, the method of appeasing grief was explained in my dispute of yesterday, and in my book on Consolation, which I wrote in the midst of my own grief; for I was not myself so wise a man as to be insensible to grief, and I used this, notwithstanding Chrysippus’s advice to the contrary, who is against applying a medicine to the agitations of the mind while they are fresh; but I did it, and committed a violence on nature, that the greatness of my grief might give way to the greatness of the medicine. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.29 
 
As much as I might wish to carefully weigh the objects, my desire or aversion is about my own choices, not about the apparent merits of the circumstances. The classical philosophers, those who embraced the wisdom tradition, understood why we must take full charge of ourselves, instead of being tossed about by whatever seems appealing or abhorrent at the moment. 
 
Even Descartes understood this: change your own thinking, before you rush off to change the world. We avoid this lesson at our own peril; as soon as we measure ourselves by things, we have unwittingly made ourselves slaves to those beguiling conditions. 
 
When I feel a constant craving for this or that gratification, I can argue with myself, until I’m blue in the face, as to whether the prize is truly worthy of my longing. Sometimes it has been an enticing new job, and at other times it has been a bit of notoriety, and at one time it was about the affections of a woman. In my darkest of times, it has been a bottle of whiskey, or anything to make me forget myself completely for the next few days. 
 
Now what did they all share in common? They all felt good to me, in some way, which was already an abandonment of the timeless truth that a man’s genuine good is in his thoughts and deeds, not in what may, or may not, happen to him. None of it was about money, or fame, or women, or booze. It was about the lust for a misguided model of success, and the fear of a misguided model of failure. 
 
To avoid the snares of gratification and grief I did not have to acquire or discard certain accessories, to define myself by the presence or absence of mere accidents. The common thread was wayward desires and aversions, and the common cure was invariably a mastery of my passions. I am made to own them. They are not made to own me. 
 
I am easily tempted to make all sorts of excuses, to offer ridiculous pretexts for my cowardice and intemperance. Yes, I know I should make a stand, but maybe allowing this now will improve my prospects later? Yes, I know I should refuse this luxury, but how can it hurt in the bigger picture? That comes from waffling, from looking to the lay of the land over the content of character. 
 
We ultimately make our own happiness or misery, as every Greek tale should make abundantly clear. Cicero says that, contrary to the advice from Chrysippus, he skipped over the gentle coddling and went straight for the harsh medicine, finding himself a far better man as a result. Observe the many others, those we rightly call heroes, who seized their joy out of the depths of suffering—there is the power within all of us. 

—Reflection written in 1/1999 

IMAGE: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Orestes Pursued by the Furies (1862) 

Maxims of Goethe 40

Men do not come to know one another easily, even with the best will and the best purpose. And then ill-will comes in and distorts everything. 

IMAGE: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Malice (1899) 

The First Mourning

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The First Mourning (1888) 

Equality Before Death

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Equality Before Death (1848) 

Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 3.57

That a man must not be too much cast down when he falls into some faults 

1. “My Son, patience and humility in adversities are more pleasing to Me than much comfort and devotion in prosperity. Why does a little thing spoken against you make you sad? If it had been more, you still ought not to be moved. But now suffer it to go by; it is not the first, it is not new, and it will not be the last, if you live long. You are brave enough, so long as no adversity meets you. You give good counsel also, and know how to strengthen others with your words; but when tribulation suddenly knocks at your own door, your counsel and strength fail. Consider your great frailty, which you do so often experience in trifling matters nevertheless, for your soul’s health these things are done when they and such like happen unto you. 

2. “Put them away from your heart as well as you can, and if tribulation has touched you, yet let it not cast you down nor entangle you long. At the least, bear patiently, if you cannot joyfully. And although you be very unwilling to hear it, and feel indignation, yet check yourself, and suffer no unadvised word to come forth from your lips, whereby the little ones may be offended. Soon the storm which has been raised shall be stilled, and inward grief shall be sweetened by returning grace. I yet live, says the Lord, ready to help you, and to give you more than wonted consolation if you put your trust in Me, and call devoutly upon Me. 

3. “Be you more calm of spirit, and gird yourself for greater endurance. All is not frustrated, though you find yourself very often afflicted or grievously tempted. You are man, not God; you are flesh, not an angel. How should you be able to remain alway in the same state of virtue, when an angel in heaven fell, and the first man in paradise? I am He who lifts up the mourners to deliverance, and those who know their own infirmity I raise up to my own nature.” 

4. O Lord, blessed be Your word, sweeter to my mouth than honey and the honeycomb. What should I do in my so great tribulations and anxieties, unless You did comfort me with Your holy words? If only I may attain unto the haven of salvation, what matter is it what things or how many I suffer? Give me a good end, give me a happy passage out of this world. Remember me, O my God, and lead me by the right way unto Your Kingdom. Amen. 

IMAGE: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Virgin of Consolation (1875) 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.27

M. And let this be principally considered: that this bearing of pain, which I have often said is to be strengthened by an exertion of the soul, should be the same in everything. 
 
For you meet with many who, through a desire of victory, or for glory, or to maintain their rights, or their liberty, have boldly received wounds, and borne themselves up under them; and yet those very same persons, by relaxing that intenseness of their minds, were unequal to bearing the pain of a disease; for they did not support themselves under their former sufferings by reason or philosophy, but by inclination and glory. 
 
Therefore some barbarians and savage people are able to fight very stoutly with the sword, but cannot bear sickness like men; but the Grecians, men of no great courage, but as wise as human nature will admit of, cannot look an enemy in the face, yet the same will bear to be visited with sickness tolerably, and with a sufficiently manly spirit; and the Cimbrians and Celtiberians are very alert in battle, but bemoan themselves in sickness. 
 
For nothing can be consistent which has not reason for its foundation. But when you see those who are led by inclination or opinion, not retarded by pain in their pursuits, nor hindered by it from succeeding in them, you may conclude, either that pain is no evil, or that, notwithstanding you may choose to call an evil whatever is disagreeable and contrary to nature, yet it is so very trifling an evil that it may so effectually be got the better of by virtue as quite to disappear. 
 
And I would have you think of this night and day; for this argument will spread itself, and take up more room some time or other, and not be confined to pain alone; for if the motives to all our actions are to avoid disgrace and acquire honor, we may not only despise the stings of pain, but the storms of fortune, especially if we have recourse to that retreat which was pointed out in our yesterday’s discussion; for, as if some God had advised a man who was pursued by pirates to throw himself overboard, saying, “There is something at hand to receive you; either a dolphin will take you up, as it did Arion of Methymna; or those horses sent by Neptune to Pelops (who are said to have carried chariots so rapidly as to be borne up by the waves) will receive you, and convey you wherever you please. Cast away all fear.” 
 
So, though your pains be ever so sharp and disagreeable, if the case is not such that it is worth your while to endure them, you see whither you may betake yourself. I think this will do for the present. But perhaps you still abide by your opinion. 
 
A. Not in the least, indeed; and I hope I am freed by these two days’ discourses from the fear of two things that I greatly dreaded. 
 
M. Tomorrow, then, for rhetoric, as we were saying. But I see we must not drop our philosophy. 
 
A. No, indeed; we will have the one in the forenoon, and this at the usual time. 
 
M. It shall be so, and I will comply with your very laudable inclinations. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.27 
 
Constancy, as opposed to caprice, is a mark of being guided by reason, as opposed to being at the mercy of impulse. Let me act with bravery whenever it is right, not merely whenever it is most gratifying. 
 
I notice, for example, how many people are willing to endure pain when it will protect their riches or increase their fame, and yet they will run away when asked to stand up for the dignity of a stranger who can do nothing for them. 
 
Similarly, there is much praise for physical courage, and very little concern for moral courage, out of an ignorance that the former is completely useless without the latter. The guy who’s so tough with himself when it comes to football is no longer so tough with himself when it comes to charity. 
 
I must remember, it is only the virtue of fortitude if strength is in the service of conscience, and so the stability or the variability of man’s actions will reveal much about his deeper values. I am always pleasantly surprised by someone who publicly stands for the truth to a hostile crowd, just as readily as he privately commiserates with his sympathetic friends. 
 
I have now been around long enough to hear politicians change their positions completely from one decade to the next. Once they are called out on this, they explain that their views have “evolved”. Now I’m all for learning and growing, though I will be more inclined to believe it when one of them forms a conviction that happens to go contrary to the prevailing fashion. 
 
Whatever qualities we may admire, all of them must derive from philosophy, for anything of worth can only be understood by means of the very discipline that defines such worth. By focusing on such thoughts, I slowly but surely become as capable of facing torture at the hands of a tyrant as I am at enduring a toothache. 
 
Cicero brings me back to the same principles Nature has been trying to teach me for so long, and yet I have often resisted her, because I would like to have my cake and eat it too. If I truly know where my priorities lie, then there is nothing that can do me any abiding harm. If my sincere goal is to always be the best man I can be, then this pain ceases to be a hindrance, and actually becomes a means for becoming better. 
 
Whether the Stoics are correct in claiming pain is not an evil, or Cicero is correct in claiming it is a relatively insignificant evil, my conclusion still needs to be the same. As my judgment about the integrity of character increases, so my terror at the possibility of pain decreases. Once I foolishly insist it can’t be done, the limits of my estimation have already lowered the bar. 
 
Arion preferred to throw himself into the sea than submit to pirates, and I should stick to my standards before I bow to convenience. I don’t necessarily expect dolphins to save me from drowning, but I can certainly be at peace with a job well done. The rewards are from what I recognize to be within my power. 
 
For the next book, Cicero will turn to the more particular problem of mental suffering, which can often affect us far more deeply than any physical suffering . . . . 

—Reflection written in in 8/1996 

IMAGE: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Arion on a Sea Horse (1855) 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.21

M. It is true, I might expatiate, did the subject require it, on the many and various objects with which the soul will be entertained in those heavenly regions; when I reflect on which, I am apt to wonder at the boldness of some philosophers, who are so struck with admiration at the knowledge of nature as to thank, in an exulting manner, the first inventor and teacher of natural philosophy, and to reverence him as a God; for they declare that they have been delivered by his means from the greatest tyrants, a perpetual terror, and a fear that molested them by night and day. 

 

What is this dread—this fear? What old woman is there so weak as to fear these things, which you, forsooth, had you not been acquainted with natural philosophy, would stand in awe of?

 

“The hallow’d roofs of Acheron, the dread

Of Orcus, the pale regions of the dead.”

 

And does it become a philosopher to boast that he is not afraid of these things, and that he has discovered them to be false? And from this we may perceive how acute these men were by nature, who, if they had been left without any instruction, would have believed in these things.

 

But now they have certainly made a very fine acquisition in learning that when the day of their death arrives, they will perish entirely. And if that really is the case—for I say nothing either way—what is there agreeable or glorious in it? 

 

Not that I see any reason why the opinion of Pythagoras and Plato may not be true; but even although Plato were to have assigned no reason for his opinion (observe how much I esteem the man), the weight of his authority would have borne me down; but he has brought so many reasons, that he appears to me to have endeavored to convince others, and certainly to have convinced himself.

 

As Cicero discusses how the philosophers approach death, I can’t help but turn to my own experiences with how the people around me consider the soul. Perhaps I am straying too far from the topic, but these are the thoughts that first come to me with this section. 

 

Remember, of course, that Cicero intends to show that either possibility, the presence of an afterlife or the complete cessation of life, can be good, and need never be an evil. A belief in the underworld, with all the mythology attached to it, may seem primitive and superstitious to some of the philosophers, though we can only wonder what better options they offer. 

 

So I should not be worried about a future suffering, since there will be no future “me” at all? Couldn’t that prospect be just as depressing, as the Auditor had originally suggested? 

 

I am always wary of hasty generalizations, such that I am fond of that old corny joke: there are two kinds of people, those who believe that there are two kinds of people, and those who don’t. 

 

Yet I have still found, amidst the great diversity of folks I come across, a nagging pattern. Two sorts of people have been pulling at me for my whole life, from one side or another, and I can feel pressured by their demands. In this corner are those who insist that I must constantly think about the next life, and in that corner are those who claim there can be no other life than this one. 

 

These convictions are usually tied to deeper beliefs, though the part I see the most is that they latch onto a hope, a longing to be satisfied, and the only difference is in whether they expect their reward somewhere down the road or right here and now. They can become quite stubborn about their views, yet I notice that both groups desperately want to be gratified, and they disagree only on when this should happen. 

 

And along with those hopes there are also corresponding fears, that it might not work out as originally planned. Those who are planning for a promise of something still to come can succumb to restlessness, and those who are betting on the present can suspect that it isn’t all it was cracked up to be. The first type is worried that there may not be more to this life after all, and the second type is worried that there may actually be to be more to this life than they had thought. 

 

Now I understand that the purists don’t consider Cicero a “hardcore” Stoic, but I have the sense that he clearly comprehends a Stoic principle that most of us will completely overlook. We are very busy looking at what comes to us, whether immediately or later, and so we forget that life isn’t about what we receive, at whatever time. Life is ultimately about what how we choose to act, and anything else is entirely relative to that measure. 

 

“But what about the pleasure and the contentment? When do I get that?”

 

I would suggest that we get the pleasure and the contentment precisely when we don’t seek it for its own sake, and instead discover it as a consequence of living well. As Socrates taught, it is pleasurable because it is good, not good because it is pleasurable. 

 

The anxiety about now or in the future, in this life or in a next life, misses the fact that each moment is glorified, and thereby joyful, through the exercise of virtue. Secure in that knowledge, it will no longer matter as much what may or may not come to pass. 

Written in 3/1996

IMAGE: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Soul Carried to Heaven (c. 1878)

Seneca, On the Happy Life 53: The Difficulties of Giving

He who believes giving to be an easy matter, is mistaken. It offers very great difficulties, if we bestow our bounty rationally, and do not scatter it impulsively and at random.

I do this man a service, and I need a good turn done me by that one. I help this other, because I pity him. This man, again, I teach that he is not a fit object for poverty to hold down or degrade.

I shall not give some men anything, although they are in want, because, even if I do give to them they will still be in want. I shall proffer my bounty to some, and shall forcibly thrust it upon others. I also cannot be neglecting my own interests while I am doing this.

At no time do I make more people in my debt than when I am giving things away. "What?" say you, "do you give that you may receive again?" At any rate I do not give that I may throw my bounty away. What I give should be so placed that although I cannot ask for its return, yet it can be given back to me. . . .

—Seneca the Younger, On the happy life, Chapter 24 (tr Stewart)

Back when I was still in Boston, working in social services, one of the priests who ran the agency was affectionately known for always being late in the morning. This wasn’t because he was lazy, but because he was still one of those priests who proudly wore his clerical collar, and this meant that he would be constantly approached by the needy and homeless in the streets for assistance. He took this duty seriously, and we would often not see him until the afternoon.

His method of offering help was, however, not what one might expect. If he was asked for money to get food or clothes, he would never give money, but offered to buy someone a meal, or provide him with new shoes and a coat.

This was his way of estimating character. He knew that those who became angry with him had other intentions in mind, but he would always encourage those who were willing, and even those who appeared hesitant. He would often take someone to breakfast, get to know him, and then suggest different options for finding shelter, meals, medical assistance, and work. Many of these people became our clients, and many became our friends.

The priest gave in charity, because he gave all of himself, even as the lawyers and bankers at the train stations looked the other way. He also realized that giving to others must be reasonable and responsible, always keeping in mind not just the act of giving, but how the gift would assist someone to be a better human being.

Sometimes, the people he met would be a bit dumbstruck, and awkwardly express that they would always be in his debt. Again, his words were perhaps unusual.

“Yes,” he would say, “You are in my debt. But you don’t need to give me anything. I hope that one day, however, when you have more, you choose to give to someone else, or maybe even to me, if you see me where you were just now.”

I think he understood he had an interest in how his generosity was used, just as Seneca did, and I know he was scolded for being selfish, just as Seneca was. “See! It turns out you just want to get something in return!”

Of course I have an interest, but it is not the interest of the greedy man. I should not wish to be wasteful, but to see benefit from what has been shared. For me, that benefit should be the knowledge that I have helped another to practice virtue, that I would like to see him share for himself, and that I would be glad if he also shared with me. I hope another man will act well toward me, as I acted well toward him, but I can hardly ever force him to do so. Love is a choice.

A bad man expects repayment, but a good man is only grateful to receive it. A bad man expects a return for his own profit, but a good man is happy to see the return in the profit of another. A gift is only a gift when it is freely offered, and never when it is demanded.

Seneca’s adversary earlier accused him of wanting to be rich, and now accuses him of wanting to be compensated. The response to the former also applies to the latter. I should never desire or expect to be wealthy, though I may prefer it. I should never desire or expect to be repaid, though I may prefer it. Self-interest can simply be for the self to do what is good, while selfishness is only to do what is good for the self. 

Written in 5/2004

Image: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Charity (c. 1878)