Stoic Music 10

In light of Epictetus' discussion on the difficulty of circumstances, please consider how a Stoic might approach the pain of loneliness, of rejection, of isolation. I remind myself that not all is lost. The hope is in my own ability and willingness to love.

What a beautiful and haunting song.  The answer is already in the question.

Written in 7/2005

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68P_kT_2A0c&spfreload=5 

The Smiths, "How Soon is Now?" (1985)

I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular

You shut your mouth, how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and the heir
Of nothing in particular

You shut your mouth, how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

There's a club
If you'd like to go
You could meet somebody
Who really loves you

So you go and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home
And you cry and you want to die

When you say it's gonna happen now
Well, when exactly do you mean?
See, I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone

You shut your mouth, how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

Struggling with Circumstances 7

. . . "For as we behave in the matter of hypothetical arguments, so ought we to do in life. 'Suppose it to be night.' I suppose that it is night. 'Well then; is it day?' No, for I admitted the hypothesis that it was night. 'Suppose that you think that it is night?' Suppose that I do. 'But also think that it is actually night.' That is not consistent with the hypothesis.

"So in this case also: 'Suppose that you are unfortunate.' Well, suppose so. 'Are you then unhappy?' Yes. 'Well, then, are you troubled with an unfavorable demon?' Yes. 'But think also that you are actually in misery.' This is not consistent with the hypothesis; and Another forbids me to think so." . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

For good or for ill, I listened to quite a bit of dark and depressing music in my younger days. I honestly still have a soft spot for various forms of goth, new wave, alternative, and soul-crushing neo-progressive rock. Add to that my love of heart-wrenching Country music and morbid Celtic ballads, and you have a man who knows his grief.

At the tender age of fifteen, I would regularly ponder the immortal words of The Smiths, from the song "How Soon is Now?":

"I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar.
I am the son and heir of nothing in particular.

"You shut your mouth
How can you say I go about things the wrong way?
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does.

"There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you.
So you go and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home and you cry and you want to die.

"When you say 'it's gonna happen now'
When exactly do you mean?
See I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone."

There is a certain emotional satisfaction in bemoaning our fate, and I don't deny it to anyone. We all, I think, need to struggle through that stage, at any age.  

This is exactly what Epictetus addresses.  Could I be be unhappy? Of course. Am I unhappy? That's a different question altogether. The hypothetical and the actual are two very different realms of living.

I can think of thousands of ways my life could be very different. I can imagine a world where I didn't fall for false imaginings, or a world where I didn't take a tight hold on what was real. That I wasted years of my life on vanity could have been changed by not sitting next to someone at a party. That I found honest friendship and companionship could have been changed by a single stroke on a keyboard. 

Yet these are all the 'could-have-beens'. They are not real, but just hypothetical. I worry far too much about the 'what if?' questions. I should worry far more about the 'what is' reality that is before me. 

There all sorts of reasons out there to be miserable. I find that I have little, if not absolutely nothing, in common with the values of those around me. I have walked the streets of many cities, and I see greed, hate, or just plain indifference. I see the clash of ideologies and politics that have nothing to do with my sense of a true human dignity. I see business based upon profit for the few, not for the benefit of the many. I see a professional world more like the strutting of peacocks than the peace of the lambs.

Now I could give up. But none of these things are up to me. Who I am, and how I live, is up to me. 

We'd all like to build bonfires, and call the masses to us. That would make us important. Maybe I'll just light a single match, for but a moment, and cast that little light. 

Nature, and Nature's God, tell me I must live my best as I am. We are sorely mistaken if we think that what 'could have been' is what defines us. 

Let us define ourselves not by what has happened, or even by what is happening. 

Let us define ourselves not by what we could have done, or by what we are now doing. 

Let us define ourselves by what we will choose, in this very next moment, right here and right now, to make our own lives better, and to love our neighbors.

I still love that Smiths song, but I also understand that it isn't about what happens. It isn't about needing love, it's about needing to love.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

Struggling with Circumstances 6

. . . "'But give me directions!' Why should I give you directions? Has not Zeus given you directions? Has he not given to you what is your own free from hindrance and free from impediment, and what is not your own subject to hindrance and impediment?

"What directions then, what kind of orders did you bring when you came from him?

"Keep by every means what is your own; do not desire what belongs to others. Fidelity is your own, virtuous shame is your own; who then can take these things from you? who else than you yourself will hinder you from using them?

"But how do you act? when you seek what is not your own, you lose that which is your own. Having such promptings and commands from Zeus, what kind do you still ask from me? Am I more powerful than he, am I more worthy of confidence? But if you observe these, do you want any others besides?

"'Well, but he has not given these orders', you will say. Produce your precognitions, produce the proofs of philosophers, produce what you have often heard, and produce what you have said yourself, produce what you have read, produce what you have meditated on, and you will then see that all these things are from God. How long, then, is it fit to observe these precepts from God, and not to break up the play? As long as the play is continued with propriety.

"In the Saturnalia a king is chosen by lot, for it has been the custom to play at this game. The king commands: 'Do you drink,' 'Do you mix the wine,' 'Do you sing,' 'Do you go,' 'Do you come.' I obey that the game may not be broken up through me.

But if he says, 'Think that you are in evil plight', I answer, 'I do not think so'; and who compels me to think so? Further, we agreed to play Agamemnon and Achilles. He who is appointed to play Agamemnon says to me, 'Go to Achilles and tear from him Briseis.' I go. He says, 'Come,' and I come." . . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

Why can't there be an owner's manual, complete with step-by-step multilingual instructions? Why is there no IKEA for the happy life? Why must it all seem so cryptic and complex?

I find myself asking such questions only when I am really making excuses. Saying that the answers are unknowable allows me to wallow in skepticism, and saying that the solutions are too confusing allows me to hide away from effort. This, in turn, allows me to live under the illusion of deferring my responsibility for myself.

But the answers are neither cryptic nor complex, and life requires no set of directions any more than Nature itself has already given us. To borrow from the Catholic tradition, the law is already written on the human heart.

If I consider that the perfection of any thing is achieved the what is specific to its own nature, and never simply by what is external to it, and if I at the same time consider that it is the nature of man, as a being of intellect and of will, to know the truth, love the good, and to act according to truth and goodness, then I already have my answer. It isn't unknowable, and it isn't too confusing. Only my past habits are getting in my way.

In the simplest of terms, I must act through what is my own, and not depend upon what is not my own. The reverse is also true. As soon as I depend upon what is not my own, I have surrendered what is my own. Here is the difference between a free man and a slave.

The great tradition of philosophy and literature, from Epictetus to Shakespeare, has often made use of acting in a play as an analogy for life. Most things in our lives, our conditions and circumstances, are given to us, as if by the directions of the playwright or the director. How well I play my part, however, and how well I choose to understand my part, are those things that are within my power.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

Struggling with Circumstances 5

"If these things are true, and if we are not silly, and are not acting hypocritically when we say that the good of man is in the will, and the evil too, and that everything else does not concern us, why are we still disturbed, why are we still afraid?

"The things about which we have been busied are in no man's power: and the things which are in the power of others, we care not for. What kind of trouble have we still?" . . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

Stoic moral principles are hardly complex, though they may sometimes seem very difficult to live. I have discerned two obstacles to my own practice of Stoicism. Sometimes I don't seem to know that they are true, and sometimes I don't seem to even want them to be true. The first comes from a weakness of habit in the mind, the second a weakness of habit in the will.

The Stoics always remind us that we should not hate an evil man, since he is evil through his ignorance of the good. This calls for my compassion and assistance, not my anger. We walk through our lives, engaged in many complex and difficult tasks, but we often simply do not know why we are doing them. How many of us have dedicated the time and effort needed to answering the question of who we are? What is our human nature? How is it fulfilled? If we do not know this, we ultimately cannot act well.

My knowledge and action may also be hindered by a weakness in my commitment. I may, in part and only vaguely, understand the theory of Stoic ethics, but I am still dragged down by the old habits I have become so comfortable with. The love of money, of fame, of power, of pleasure still weighs on me. It is what most everyone around me loves, and it what I have been told, time and time again, that I must strive for. It is no wonder that my choices are weakened by such a burden. I still choose poorly because I might be afraid of what is unfamiliar, unpopular, or deeply challenging to everything I have known before.

The troubles will only pass when we transform our awareness of Nature from theory into practice, from the hypothetical to the actual, from a hazy comprehension to the fullness of living. We need not be afraid of the true good, because once we embrace it, we have freed ourselves from all the grief and pain of depending upon what is outside of our power. This way lies happiness.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

How NOT to do it!

Struggling with Circumstances 4

. . . "'But a certain person will not leave to me the succession to his estate!'

"What then? had I forgotten that not one of these things was mine? How then do we call them mine, just as we call the bed in the inn? If, then, the innkeeper at his death leaves you the beds, all is well: but if he leaves them to another, he will have them, and you will seek another bed. If then you shall not find one, you will sleep on the ground: only sleep with a good will and snore, and remember that tragedies have their place among the rich and kings and tyrants, but no poor man fills a part in the tragedy, except as one of the chorus.

"Kings indeed commence with prosperity: 'ornament the palaces with garlands,' then about the third or fourth act they call out, 'O Cithaeron, why did you receive me?'

Slave, where are the crowns, where the diadem? The guards help you not at all. When then you approach any of these persons, remember this that you are approaching a tragedian, not the actor but Oedipus himself.

"But you say, 'Such a man is happy; for he walks about with many,' and I also place myself with the many and walk about with many. In sum remember this: the door is open; be not more timid than little children, but as they say, when the thing does not please them, 'I will play no longer,' so do you, when things seem to you of such a kind, say I will no longer play, and begone: but if you stay, do not complain."

Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

I am saddened by the number of times I have seen families, rich, poor, and anywhere in between, destroying themselves over inheritance. I attended a funeral for an older man I had befriended through work, and I was one of only a half dozen people there. None of his children, or their families, attended, because they were all in dispute over some property he owned. They had only visited him a handful of times during his extended hospice care to ask him to sign legal papers.

I hardly know if I helped that man in any way while he was still alive, but I made a point of going to see him weekly, so that he might see that not all people wanted only power and possessions, and not all people are ready to dispose of others. His family hardly seemed like malicious people, but they simply could not see beyond that inheritance. My understanding is that, a few years later, the brothers and sisters ignore one another around town, a behavior I have found typical of people who have put a balance sheet in place of their hearts.

How much happier I can be when I expect to own nothing but myself, and I expect no inheritance from anyone. As Epictetus says, all the terrible tragedies are self-imposed, for we want things that are not ours, and tie ourselves up in knots with their pursuit.

If I choose to play the game as other play it, I will find myself quickly pulled under. A small compromise here, an injustice overlooked there, and before I know it I have sold what I truly value, wisdom, character, love, and friendship, for the sake of kingdoms and crowns.

Or, as Epictetus says, I can choose not to play. I can take my toys, go home, and play with my real friends. But I cannot be angry when I stick around and reap exactly what I myself have sowed.

I need to be very careful when I think that grasping people are happy people. I imagine most every Greek tragedy was written to show how they are, in the end, the most miserable people. Was Oedipus happy, when he still lived in power, pride, and ignorance? I can still walk about with many, but I need not try to make them my puppets, or to make them heed me. I can simply be myself, and not worry about the rat race. 

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

Struggling with Circumstances 3

. . . "What then shall I do? What do you do when you leave a ship? Do you take away the helm or the oars? What then do you take away? You take what is your own, your bottle and your wallet; and now if you think of what is your own, you will never claim what belongs to others.

"The emperor says, 'Lay aside your laticlave.' See, I put on the angusticlave. 'Lay aside this also.' See, I have only my toga. 'Lay aside your toga.' See, I am naked. 'But you still raise my envy.' Take then all my poor body. When, at a man's command, I can throw away my poor body, do I still fear him?". . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

Consider all the things we mistakenly think are ours, and then how fully we allow our lives to depend upon such false possessions. If we understand what truly belongs to us, and what can never be taken away, we will never suffer the frustration and loss of being swayed and swept by fortune.

One of the few times I felt that my attempts at teaching made any practical difference to people was not in a formal classroom at all, but when I had been asked to lead a self-help group. Reading our text together led to one person after another worried about how fragile and unstable the circumstances of our lives were.

Now this could have gone very poorly, very quickly, if we had either just complained until we were drowning in our tears, or if we had brushed off the concerns with some clever saying about "not worrying", or "letting go and letting God." Neither dwelling on the wrong, or offering quick solutions without explanations, was going to cut it. We managed a middle path.

First, what are these things I consider to be mine, but are not really mine at all, because my 'possession' of them does not really depend upon me?

The very things that seem to bring me grief are precisely the things that aren't mine to begin with. I make myself miserable by relying upon them, and treating them as if I owned them and deserved them. These include my wealth, my influence, my reputation, my position.

Consider all these fancy titles and badges of honor, like the clothing Epictetus speaks of. The world gives them to us, and the world takes them away.

Even my body and its health are hardly mine to control. My very name was given  to me by others, my identity is wrapped up into the conditions I was born into, and my career, however humble or noble, is a social construct. None of these things are me.

One of my favorite episodes of one of my favorite shows, Babylon 5, titled "Come the Inquisitor" had a dark and mysterious stranger interrogate our characters about only one question: "Who are you?" He finds the usual responses wanting.

"Unacceptable! What a sad thing you are! Unable to answer even such a simple question without falling back on references, and genealogies and what other people call you. Have you nothing of your own? Nothing to stand on that is not provided, defined, delineated, stamped, sanctioned, numbered, and approved by others? How can you expected to fight for someone else when you haven't the fairest idea who you are?"

The clever reference to Patrick McGoohan's The Prisoner was not lost on me.

"I will not make any deals with you. I've resigned. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own!"

I can almost feel a "Stoicism and Popular Art" essay coming on. . .

So our group has now exhausted all the things we usually rely on, and there's an awkward silence. After I've removed all the externals, what is left? It would seem even my life is on lease.

"Yes, but no one can judge for me, decide for, act for me, love for me. That's what's mine."  Those words came from our youngest, and perhaps most troubled, participant.

If I don't claim ownership of the things that aren't mine, I won't resent losing them, and if I rely on what can never be taken from me, I can always find peace. The trappings don't matter.

I need not worry what the world thinks or says of me. The praise is often worse than the rejection. Peel back all the glory, the achievement, step out from the rank and file of those who seek fame and attention. Sebastian, the dark and mysterious stranger in "Come the Inquisitor", says it this way:

"How do you know the chosen ones? No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother. Not for millions. . . not for glory, not for fame. For one person. . . in the dark. . . where no one will ever know. . . or see."

Making that kind of commitment is entirely within my possession.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

Struggling with Circumstances 2

. . . "Diogenes, who was sent as a scout before you, made a different report to us. He says that death is no evil, for neither is it base. He says that fame is the noise of madmen.

"And what has this spy said about pain, about pleasure, and about poverty? He says that to be naked is better than any purple robe, and to sleep on the bare ground is the softest bed, and he gives as a proof of each thing that he affirms his own courage, his tranquillity his freedom, and the healthy appearance and compactness of his body.

" 'There is no enemy' he says, 'all is peace.'

"How so, Diogenes? 'See,' he replies, 'if I am struck, if I have been wounded, if I have fled from any man.'

"This is what a scout ought to be. But you come to us and tell us one thing after another. Will you not go back, and you will see clearer when you have laid aside fear?" . . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long) 

We only fear about the things that we are desperately afraid of losing. Tell me right now what you really love, and I will tell you right now what it is that you fear.

If you wish wealth, power, success, or esteem, you will do anything and everything to acquire these things. Those loves define most all of the people I knew as a young man.

In return, your greatest fear will be all about losing those things you love so much.

Last year, I ran into a college friend. I use the term 'friend' lightly, since we were really just acquaintances. Yet he was very worried about something, and drew me aside in private to discuss what was on his mind.

"Do you remember that time I cheated on my girlfriend?"

I remembered not just one time, but a number of times. It turned out that girlfriend was now his wife.

"Yes," I replied, "but I hoped that was done and over with between both of you, and that you fixed it."

"No. She never knew. And she can never know. You won't tell her, will you?"

I assured him I would never tell her, unless she asked me directly.

He became very angry. I didn't know all the specifics, but it seemed there was trouble brewing in that perfect upper class home. He was worried that a precedent of infidelity would hurt him in a divorce settlement.

Well, there you have it. If he had been like Diogenes, he would have worried more about his loyalty and integrity than about his property.  He would never have worried about his professional reputation, because fame is the noise of madmen.

If I desire none of the things that the world tells me I must desire, I will never fear their loss. I will have no enemies, as long as I am not struggling for the things that they struggle for. I give you your pleasures, you fame, your money, your influence, and I ask nothing from you.

All is peace, because I need not fight for everything that you may think is important.

I am now an older man, and I hope I am somewhat wiser. Your job, your home, your friends, your car, and your vacations do not impress me. I need not fear losing any of those things, because I do not care for them.

I do not care when you take such things from me. Because they are not me.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

Struggling with Circumstances 1

"It is circumstances which show what men are. Therefore when a difficulty falls upon you, remember that God, like a trainer of wrestlers, has matched you with a rough young man.

" ''For what purpose?' you may say, Why, that you may become an Olympic conqueror; but it is not accomplished without sweat. In my opinion no man has had a more profitable difficulty than you have had, if you choose to make use of it as an athlete would deal with a young antagonist.

"We are now sending a scout to Rome; but no man sends a cowardly scout, who, if he only hears a noise and sees a shadow anywhere, comes running back in terror and reports that the enemy is close at hand.

"So now if you should come and tell us, 'fearful is the state of affairs at Rome, terrible is death, terrible is exile; terrible is calumny; terrible is poverty; fly, my friends; the enemy is near', we shall answer, 'Begone, prophesy for yourself; we have committed only one fault, that we sent such a scout.' " . . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

I have often confused courage with aggression. While the latter is the exercise of brute strength, the former is the exercise of conviction.

I have never been the sort of person who is physically brave. I'm actually rather physically pathetic. In my early teenage years, my uncle, an accomplished mountaineer, dragged me on a two week tour of the Austrian Alps. We lived off of the land, climbed peak after peak, and for most of the time we were never below the tree line. It was one of the most wonderful and exhilarating moments of my life.

By the end, he took me up a mountain that was fairly easy for the first few hours, but had a stretch at the end that required some clever free climbing. I did my best, but made the horrible mistake of looking down. I saw 500 meters of empty space below me. I panicked.

Here was a moment, and it is a moment I will never forget. I had my fingers and toes glued to the rock, but my will seemed to give out. For a brief second, I wanted to let go and fall, because the terror was so great. My state of horror and panic was that severe.

And out of nowhere, with no other inspiration or encouragement, I told myself that I was able. I looked up. I made the last few grabs, and before I knew it, I was at the peak at one of the most beautiful places on God's Earth.

Going down was easier.

Courage is never about toughness or physical strength. Do not be deceived. The least of us, in body and mind, can practice fortitude, because it is nothing more than about how we think.

As a child I always worried about the bullies, and whenever they challenged me, whether I could 'take' them.

The courage I learned wasn't about winning the fight by defeating the aggressor. It was always about defeating myself. A few times I was the physical victor, mainly because I had more to lose. Usually, I found myself in the dirt, with a bloody nose, coupled with the ridicule of my peers.

None of that mattered, and it still doesn't matter. Fear is in myself, and as powerful as the feeling may be, I can work with it, and through it.  I do not deny or repress the feelings. I learn to use them to my advantage, as a means to make myself better. I can choose to accept the challenge that Nature has given me, and I will only lose the battle if I betray myself. I win when I have acted rightly, whatever the consequence.

Difficulty indeed causes pain, and it breeds uncertainty. As long as I am certain in my convictions, those feelings are hardly wasted.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

Even Simpler Stoicism

On Exile 11

. . . "These things I used to repeat to myself and I say them to you now. If you are wise, you will not consider that exile is a thing to be dreaded, since others bear it easily, but evil. It makes wretched every man in whom it is present. And neither of the two necessary alternatives is a just cause for repining.

"For either you were banished justly or unjustly. If justly, how can it be right or fitting to feel aggrieved at just punishment? If unjustly, the evil involved is not ours, but falls upon those who banished us.

If in fact you agree that doing a wrong (as they have done) is the most hateful thing in the world, while suffering a wrong (as has been our fate) in the eyes of the gods and of just men is held a ground not for hate but for help. "

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

If I remember to understand the source of good and evil rightly, then I will also be able to perceive how all other things fall into their rightful place. It isn't the exile, or any circumstance, that harms me, but my own thinking.

Musonius reiterates a common Stoic formula here, and it reveals the logical order of Stoic thinking just as much as it offers a very practical guide to all the alternatives in our daily choices. This is how I usually repeat it to myself. Any hardship or suffering can, of course, replace exile in this case.

Let us say I have been exiled. If I deserved the exile, then I have been rightly punished. It is entirely up to me if I choose to learn from my situation, to improve myself, and to make right whatever it is that I have done wrong.

If I did not deserve the exile, then I have not done wrong, but others have done me wrong. That is still not an evil for me, but for others.

All that remains for me to decide is how I will act toward the evil by another. If I respond in kind, I have made myself as bad as the original offender. That is, however, still entirely on me. If I respond with care, concern, and assistance for the wrongdoers, I now have the wonderful opportunity to transform evil into good, by my own thoughts and actions alone. Whether I 'win' or 'lose' depends upon me, not upon them.

To love our enemies, to do good for those who persecute us, is hardly a pipe dream. Stoic thinking makes very clear how this logically follows from a right apprehension of what is truly good in our lives.

I have long lost track of the number of times I've been pushed around, and I can barely remember when I deserved it, and when I didn't. It hardly matters, because as soon as I use the actions of another as a justification for anger or hate, I've already thrown away the only thing that can make me good, and could perhaps help other people to also become good for themselves.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

Napoleon into Final Exile. . .

Perhaps helpful with the recent entries on the nature of exile, this painting speak volumes. Observe not only the man once strong in power, yet now weak in character, struggling with his fate. Observe also the crew who regard him with a mixture of curiosity, awe, contempt, indifference, and ridicule. They are the Chorus, the very sort of people Bonaparte once ruled with barely a thought.

Written in 8/2013

Image: William Quiller Orchardson, Napoleon on Board the Bellerophon (c. 1880)

On Exile 10

. . . "The reflections which I employ for my own benefit so as not to be irked by exile, I should like to repeat to you. It seems to me that exile does not strip a man entirely, not even of the things which the average man calls goods, as I have just shown. But if he is deprived of some or all of them, he is still not deprived of the things which are truly goods.

"Certainly the exile is not prevented from possessing courage and justice simply because he is banished, nor self-control, nor understanding, nor any of the other virtues which when present serve to bring honor and benefit to a man and show him to be praiseworthy and of good repute, but when absent, serve to cause him harm and dishonor and show him to be wicked and of ill-repute.

"Since this is true, if you are that good man and have his virtues, exile will not harm or degrade you, because the virtues are present in you which are most able to help and to sustain you.

"But if you are bad, it is the evil that harms you and not exile; and the misery you feel in exile is the product of evil, not of exile. It is from this you must hasten to secure release rather than from exile." . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

In typical Stoic fashion, Musonius explains that our confusion arises from what we consider to be 'good' in life. We will grumble and roll our eyes at this, of course, because only philosophers seem to worry about such abstract and obscure questions. This arises, however, from a misunderstanding of true philosophy, which isn't just about thinking well, but ordered primarily toward the fullness of living well.

As the grounded philosophers, like the Stoics, remind us time and time again, there is no more practical and critical matter than understanding the nature of the good. All thought, desire, and action rises or falls with that understanding.

"Average men" will tend to find the good in pleasure, honor, or wealth, and Musonius has explained that we need not even lose those things in a state of exile. Many have indeed increased their fortunes when cast away from home.

But even if we lose such things, these are hardly complete goods, which are determined by the value of my thoughts and deeds, not by the externals themselves. I can, in any and every circumstance, continue to practice courage, justice, temperance, or wisdom, since such goods are absolute, and depend upon nothing but my judgment. Indeed, losing pleasure, honor, and wealth can even give me an even greater opportunity to act with virtue.

The only thing that is completely good for man is the exercise of virtue, and the only thing that is completely evil for man is the exercise of vice. Happiness or misery hinge upon these two. The evil is never in the circumstances of the exile, or of any supposed misfortune, but in our use of it. We are mistaken when we say that our conditions are evil, but quite right when we see evil in our response. Let us not confuse what is done to us with what we do.

I don't think Musonius wishes to scold us, but rather to encourage us. He reminds us that he too must think through the benefit and harm in his state, and it is only in this way that he does not confuse evil with any circumstance. Our estimation of where we are to find the pure good of our nature, which can be nothing but the exercise of that nature, will be a powerful tool in living well.

Whenever I fell that itch of temptation, of measuring myself by all the worldly trappings, I do much as he suggests, and I can feel the whole viewpoint gradually shift, as if I was seeing the very same things but from a different perspective, from seeing myself from the outside in, to seeing myself from the inside out. There we have yet another instance of the Stoic Turn.

Written in 8/2013

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On Exile 9

. . . "But tell me, my friend, when Diogenes was in exile at Athens, or when he was sold by pirates and came to Corinth, did anyone, Athenian or Corinthian, ever exhibit greater freedom of speech than he?

"And again, were any of his contemporaries freer than Diogenes? Why, even Xeniades, who bought him, he ruled as a master rules a slave. But why should I employ examples of long ago? Are you not aware that I am an exile?

"Well, then, have I been deprived of freedom of speech? Have I been bereft of the privilege of saying what I think? Have you or anyone else ever seen me cringing before anyone just because I am an exile, or thinking that my lot is worse now than formerly?

"No, I'll wager that you would say that you have never seen me complaining or disheartened because of my banishment, for if I have been deprived of my country, I have not been deprived of my ability to endure exile." . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

The Stoic Turn reminds us that the world may provide or deprive us of many things, but only we can can provide or deprive ourselves of our happiness. We are too quick to define our lives by our circumstances, and when those circumstances seem to overwhelm us, we are too quick to surrender.

I enjoy the turn of the phrase here: I may be deprived of my country, but I have not been deprived of my ability to endure exile.

I have often struggled to rightly understand such strength, and over the years I have distinguished between a strength of character and a strength of power.  The former is what Musonius describes, the willingness to depend upon my own virtue as the measure of my life, whatever the externals may be, while the latter is the attempt to use my strength to conquer the externals. Both seem, at first, to take the form of self-reliance,though I would suggest that the real difference between them is one as radical as the difference between freedom and slavery.

My self-reliance hinges upon whether it is truly free of hindrance, and I find that nothing is a greater hindrance than making my life depend upon the order of my circumstances, whether or not I have any apparent power over the things around me.

I should not assume that simply having influence and wealth makes someone only strong in power, but I should assume that he is a man who depends upon being strong in power when he loves those things for their own sake.

The man strong in character may gain or lose power over the world, but he does not allow this to determine the value of his life. The man only strong in power will rise or fall entirely on those terms.  He does not even control himself, because his life is measured by his circumstances, and he does not even control those circumstances, because fortune can just as easily take away what it has given.

Not all people who are strong, are strong in quite the same way.  It is a test of a hardship such as exile that can identify which type of strength we truly possess.

Musonius was himself a man who struggled with exile throughout his life, and we can see by his words and deeds how strong he was in character. I also often think of Napoleon Bonaparte, a man strong in power, but also a man who could not bear exile, because he no longer had power over others. If only he had chosen to rule himself.

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On Exile 8

. . . "But, you insist, Euripides says that exiles lose their personal liberty when they are deprived of their freedom of speech. For he represents Jocasta asking Polynices her son what misfortunes an exile has to bear. He answers,

" 'One greatest of all, that he has not freedom of speech.'

"She replies,

" ' You name the plight of a slave, not to be able to say what one thinks.'

"But I should say in rejoinder:

" 'You are right, Euripides, when you say that it is the condition of a slave not to say what one thinks when one ought to speak, for it is not always, nor everywhere, nor before everyone that we should say what we think.

" 'But that one point, it seems to me, is not well-taken, that exiles do not have freedom of speech, if to you freedom of speech means not suppressing whatever one chances to think. For it is not as exiles that men fear to say what they think, but as men afraid lest from speaking pain or death or punishment or some such other thing shall befall them.

" 'Fear is the cause of this, not exile. For to many people, nay to most, even though dwelling safely in their native city, fear of what seem to them dire consequences of free speech is present.

" 'However, the courageous man, in exile no less than at home, is dauntless in the face of all such fears; for that reason also he has the courage to say what he thinks equally at home or in exile.'

"Such are the things one might reply to Euripides." . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

Exile need not deny us prosperity or reputation, and most importantly it need not deny us happiness, because our happiness depends upon what we do, not upon what is done to us.

It may still, however, remove something else that is very dear to us, our freedom of speech. Is it not a curse to be hindered from speaking our minds, from voicing our thoughts and feelings? To suppress such a liberty is surely hard to bear?

I need to consider in what way anyone can limit my words, or any of my thoughts or actions, for that matter. Another person can certainly threaten me, intimidate me, punish me, restrain me physically, or even do me physical or emotional harm. A person can even end my life. What no one can do, however, is control my own judgment and decisions. These are entirely up to me, and even if I were to be harmed or killed for them, I am the one who has still made the choice.

It isn't the threat made by someone that hinders me, but rather my fear of the consequences of the threat. Now fear is a powerful emotion, but as long as I am still able to reason, I am able to make of it whatever I will.

Musonius is simply pointing us back to a basic tenet of Stoicism, the distinction between what is within and beyond my power. It is the gravity of the punishment that worries me when I choose not to speak my mind.

How much I fear the loss of something tells me precisely how deeply I value it. If you tell me I will lose my property or reputation, that I will be punished by being locked away or even killed, I will gladly curtail my freedom of speech, or of any action, if I care for wealth, honor, or my body more than I care for my love of truth and honesty. If, however, I understand that all worldly goods are simply granted by fortune, while virtue is my highest good that is completely within my power, the decision will become quite a bit easier.

I cringe with shame when I think of the times I should have spoken out, but buttoned my lip because I feared losing status or position. For a people so enamored of our freedom of thought and expression, we are remarkably docile and cowardly when we are threatened with losing power or influence.

I can no longer count the times I've heard people says something like "I really don't want to do this, but I don't have a choice." Actually, we always have a choice, and what we really mean is that we may think something is wrong, but we are willing to suspend our power to act out of a fear of the consequences.

"But I could lose my job!" Alright then, you've lost your job. But what have you lost by not standing up for what is right and fair? We sell our souls for trinkets.

Only the Stoic recognition that our own virtue is our highest good can help me to understand that my own failure to live rightly is the only thing I need to fear. Anything else is just a reshuffling of our circumstances, of things that were beyond my power to begin with. This is a powerful tool in practicing courage.

Written in 8/2013


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Why worry?

On Exile 7

. . . "Furthermore, it is not at all necessary for exiles to suffer ill repute because of their banishment, since everyone knows that many trials are badly judged and many people are unjustly banished from their country, and that in the past there have been cases of good men who have been exiled by their countrymen, as for example from Athens Aristides the Just and from Ephesus Hermodorus, because of whose banishment Heraclitus bade the Ephesians, every grown man of them, go hang themselves.

"In fact some exiles even became very famous, as Diogenes of Sinope and Clearchus, the Lacedaemonian, who with Cyrus marched against Artaxerxes, not to mention more. How, pray, could this condition in which some people have become more renowned than before be responsible for ill-repute?" . . . 

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

We should also not assume that exile must bring with it a loss of reputation. Like wealth and power, for some it may even increase in their new circumstances.

Also like wealth and power, fame is something that is in itself indifferent, and we should never assume that Musonius is measuring the value life by such standards in themselves. Nevertheless, even as we should know that our circumstances are never the measure of a good life, we should never see changes of time and place as burdens. They are always opportunities for virtue, whether Providence gives us fortune or takes it away.

We rightly often tie reputation together with wealth and power, and for good reason. Such external things can be a blessing or a curse, dependent entirely upon our estimation and use of them. I do wonder, however, if reputation is somewhat more fickle than wealth or power. It was always easier to convince myself that money or influence were hardly important, but I have had a harder time not caring whether or not I am liked.

I am usually able to convince myself that my bank account is not the measure of my character, but I will still feel the pull of being respected. Now I don't think I have ever been popular in any context, but it does feel deeply comforting to be respected, hurtful to be frowned upon. I remind myself of two important facts.

First, I should hardly avoid honor, just as I should not avoid wealth or power in themselves, or anything that is indifferent. But I should ask myself not only whether I am liked, but what sort of person is doing the liking. It is hardly to my credit to be respected by a a greedy or dishonest man, but I should take note if I am respected by a just and honest man.

Second, it isn't the respect of others that makes me good, but other good men will recognize me if I am good. I suspect that many famous people of the past were good precisely because they didn't seek honor, and that it turn is exactly the reason decent people ended up honoring them. They say that love comes when you aren't looking for it, and I wonder if the same is true of repute. As soon as I want it, I'm not doing it right.

I found a companion for my life when I began to measure the worth of a person by thoughts and deeds, and not by shallow images. I also found that person at a point when I finally understood that I did not need to be recognized to be whole. Life can be funny like that. 

Above all else, be charged with a love of wisdom and a commitment to character. Sometimes this may end up making me poor and scorned, at other times it may make me rich and revered. And if fortune does indeed give me money or fame, let me be certain I am receiving it for the right reasons, and making use of it in the right way.

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On Exile 6

. . . "Let me add that men who are worth anything not only easily manage well so far as the necessities of life are concerned, when they are in exile, but many acquire great fortunes.

"At any rate Odysseus, in worse plight than any exile one may say, since he was alone and naked and shipwrecked, when he arrived among strangers, the Phaeacians, was nevertheless able to enrich himself abundantly.

"And when Themistocles was banished from home, going to people who were not only not friendly, but actual enemies and barbarians, the Persians, he received a gift of three cities, Myus, Magnesia, and Lampsacus, as a source of livelihood.

"Dio of Syracuse too, deprived by Dionysius the tyrant of all his possessions, when he was banished from his country waxed so rich in exile that he raised a mercenary army, went with it to Sicily, and freed the island of the tyrant.

"Who, then, if he were in his right mind, looking at these cases would still maintain that banishment is the cause of want for all exiles?" . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

I must remember not to swing between extremes, from loving fortune to despising fortune. Musonius had just told us that exile will hardly remove us from the necessities of life, for we do not need luxuries to live well. This does not mean, however, that exile will inevitably deprive us of any wealth, power, or honor. Quite the contrary, it could be an occasion to add greatly to our fortune. New situations could reveal new opportunities, and we can still use those opportunities to live well.

Exile will not necessarily make me rich or poor, just as staying at home will not necessarily make me rich or poor. I should never assume that a change of place or circumstance will lead me to poverty. Musonius gives three examples of men who ended up quite the opposite, richer and more powerful than they had been before.

So what will it be? Should I only worry about the necessities, or should I also pay heed to the luxuries? The answer, of course, is yes, but in different senses. All things of fortune, all things external to us, must be viewed as being indifferent. This does not mean that they do not matter, but how they matter depends entirely upon our judgment and use of them. We must never desire them for their own sake, but only ask how we can employ them well.

Exile could make me poorer, and the only thing that matters is how I live in those circumstances, because poverty does not measure the quality of my virtue. Exile could also, as it did above, make me far richer, and the only thing that matters is how I live in those circumstances, because wealth does not measure the quality of my virtue.

Years ago, I had met a kindly musician at a local Irish pub. I was bemoaning how I had foolishly chosen a vocation that would forever leave me one paycheck from the street. He understood, because his vocation was even leaner, as he didn't even get a paycheck, and was only one gig from the street.

But he smiled at me, and said, "I figured long ago that if the Good Lord made me poor, I'd be a good poor man, and if the Good Lord made me rich, I'd be a good rich man. Now I'm not sure which of those would be harder."

Whether exiles brings poverty or riches, and it could well bring either, Nature only asks that I make good use of whatever I have been given.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):