Boethius, The Consolation 2.28

“The mind that rushes headlong in its search for fame,

thinking that is its highest good,

should look upon the spreading regions of the air,

and then upon the bounded tracts that are this world.

Then will shame enter it,

that, though fame grows, yet can it never fill so small a circle.

Proud men! Why will you try in vain

to free your necks from the yoke mortality has set on them?

Though fame may be wide scattered

and find its way through distant lands,

and set the tongues there talking;

though a splendid house may draw brilliance from famous names and tales;

yet death regards not any glory, howsoever great.

Alike he overwhelms the lowly and the lofty head,

and levels high with low.

Where are Fabricius' bones, that honorable man?

What now is Brutus? Or unbending Cato?

Their fame survives in this:

 it has no more than a few slight letters showing forth an empty name.

We see their noble names engraved,

and only know thereby that they are brought to nothing.

You lie then all unknown, and fame can give no knowledge of you.

But if you think that life can be prolonged by the breath of mortal fame,

yet when the slow time robs you of this too,

then there awaits you but a second death.”

—from Book 2, Poem 7

In my own experience, the pull of fame and fortune can have a powerful effect on the imagination, precisely because it is so often filled with vivid impressions of feeling important. I may, in theory, understand the innate weakness of such posturing, but I am tempted nevertheless by the sights and sounds of being praised and esteemed.

I have long appreciated the word vainglory, because its very parts tell me everything I need to know about the danger of a false pride in honor. Even so, the glory can seem to hide the poison of the vanity.

So it can help me to confront such appealing images with the contrast of correspondingly weak and disturbing images, reminders that things are not always as they at first appear. If I see someone being revered, I can think how quickly he will be forgotten. If I see a monument raised in his memory, I can find myself another monument overgrown with weeds. If I see him being glorified in the media, I can look at a pile of old newspapers used to line a pet cage. If I see him being driven about in a fancy car, I can imagine only how he might feel when being driven for the last time in a hearse. When I see him eating at a sumptuous banquet, I can ponder being food for the worms.

Though I at first found them frightening, I have actually grown fond of the medieval tradition of memento mori (“remember that you will die”), or of depictions of the Dance of Death, or of Flemish vanitas paintings. The point is never to simply dwell on what is morbid, but to remember what is right and good. Boethius is here doing much the same.

Not only will the glory of the world never last, and we will not even be around for what little of it might linger, but consider also what we make of ourselves when we pursue this path. All attention is drawn to what is on the outside, at the expense of what is on the inside. Life is no longer simply about what we choose to think and do, but about what others think and do. Instead of asking what I can give, I ask only what I can receive. Contentment succumbs to consumption, and character falls to charisma.

I sometimes wonder how much the people around me, who are building up their position and reputation, actually share in any sort of happiness. They often seem so busy, so frenzied, and so tired that I suspect they have little time to reflect on who they are at all, being constantly occupied with who other people think they are.

Yet I shouldn’t second-guess others, and I only need to look within myself. I know that whenever I’ve been enticed by fortune, I may think it will make me more free, even as I am only selling myself into slavery.

Written in 9/2015

IMAGE: Frans Hals, Young Man with a Skull (c. 1626)

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 49

In what character do you now come forward?

As a witness summoned by God. 

"Come you," says God, "and testify for me, for you are worthy of being brought forward as a witness by Me. Is anything that is outside your will either good or bad? Do I hurt any man? Have I placed the good of each in the power of any other than himself? What witness do you bear to God?"

"I am in an evil state, Master, I am undone! None care for me, none give me anything. All men blame, all speak evil of me."

Is this the witness you will bear, and do dishonor to the calling to which He has called you, because He has done you so great honor, and deemed you worthy of being summoned to bear witness in so great a cause?

The Perils of Stoic Parenting?

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.50

That which has grown from the earth to the earth,

But that which has sprung from heavenly seed,

Back to the heavenly realms returns.

This is either dissolution of the mutual involution of the atoms, or a similar dispersion of the incorruptible elements.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

We are sad to see good things go away, and happy to see bad things go away. First, of course, whether they are good or bad for us depends entirely on us, but further, why should their staying or going make them any better or worse? Is the quality of their benefit or harm in any way increased by the quantity of the time they endure?

Something is completely what it is at any moment that it exists, and becomes no more of what it is by existing at any other moment. Its nature is whole whenever or wherever it is.

We say, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” Does it really need to last longer? A book is no better if it takes more time to read, and a sunset would be no more beautiful if it lasted all day. My love for a friend is no deeper if we have a day or a decade together, and my life is no greater for being lengthier.

Like a good meal, just because there is more of it does not make it better, yet we still confuse “how much” with “how good”. When faced with the fact that what we prefer will cease to be, this makes us uncomfortable. Why can’t it go on and on and on? It hardly seems fair.

Yet it is quite fair, because everything that comes into being has the complete opportunity to be according to its nature, whether for longer or shorter, and then to serve on by contributing to the nature of a something else. It comes together, it disperses, and it becomes something new.

Marcus Aurelius is here referring to lines from a play by Euripides, and it is always a part of the drama of life that we will either long for change or fear it. People may pine for what has gone away, or be eager for what is to come, but we hardly need to do either. It will be when it is meant to be, and it will cease to be when it has played its part. There is no need to hold it in place, or to rush it along.

Discover what is good within it, appreciate it, be grateful for it, and be happy that it has passed into something else to discover, appreciate, and be grateful for.

Whatever it was made of, it will return back into, each thing according to its own nature and parts. But what exactly will happen to it, and, more importantly perhaps, what will happen to me? Surely it is enough to know that each thing goes back to its source, whatever it may be, and that this will be an expression of what is right and good. There need be no worries where the ways of Nature are concerned.

Written in 12/2007

IMAGE: M.C. Escher, Magic Mirror (1946)

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 48

This is the reason why Socrates, when reminded that he should prepare for his trial, answered: "Do you not think that I have been preparing for it all my life?" 

"In what way?"

"I have maintained that which in me lay!"

"How so?" 

"I have never, secretly or openly, done a wrong unto any." 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.49

Consider the past, such great changes of political supremacies.

You may foresee also the things that will be. For they will certainly be of like form, and it is not possible that they should deviate from the order of the things which take place now.

Accordingly, to have contemplated human life for forty years is the same as to have contemplated it for ten thousand years. For what more will you see?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

I was always rather dim when it came to politics, not because I couldn’t think for myself, but because I was foolishly too submissive to others who spoke with style and confidence. I recall a “Young Republican”, complete with the patriotic tie clip, trying to convince me that I could be the cock of the walk. I also recall a “Voice for Change” girl, complete with the nose piercing, trying to convince me that I could end the arms race and world hunger just by signing a petition.

Perhaps age has slowed me down, but perhaps also a touch of wisdom, just a little bit, has set me right. The world will never be fixed by the politicians, not of any sort. This has been true since the beginning, and it will always be true.

It will not be made better by the grandstanding of ideology, or by yelling, or by attacking the other side. What is helpful won’t come from the top down, from force and intimidation, but only from the bottom up, from the free choice of individual efforts.

The world will only be improved by love. As hokey as it sounds, I believe it to be true. I care little for your party, or for your agenda, or for your platform. I care only for my neighbor, whether he lives next door, or is a million miles away. I do not care about his race, or his creed, or his color, or his beliefs. Every man or woman is my brother or sister. It’s as simple as that.

Don’t tell me how to live, if you can’t love your neighbor. Your neighbors are not the people you happen to like, or who seem to agree with you, or who travel in your narrow social circles. Love has no bounds.

Yet you tell me that I am unacceptable, because we may disagree about some of the specifics of what is right or wrong. Instead of showing understanding and respect, you offer dismissal and condemnation. You exclude me, whatever side you happen to be on, and you spit your venom. Passion triumphs over reason.

All of us were made to be together, and not apart. Can’t you see that? How does the mockery, and how do the insults, make us any better?

Yes, others do wrong. Let’s not do wrong in return. Others hate. Let’s not hate in return. Others deceive. Let’s not deceive in return. Others play the game. Let’s not play it.

Marcus Aurelius, himself a man of great power, understood that the way of human politics has always been the same, and will surely always remain the same. This is because human nature is what it always was, and always will be. Man is capable of both baseness and greatness. Man always becomes better through his own personal conscience and character, and never by the strength of arms or the banner he waves.

If we judge by the ways of those who seek might, we will inevitably lose. If we judge by the ways of those who seek understanding, we may still have something to gain, but by one life at a time. There is nothing new under the sun. 

Written in 7/2002

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 47

In theory, it is easy to convince an ignorant person.

In actual life, men not only object to offer themselves to be convinced, but hate the man who has convinced them. 

Whereas Socrates used to say that we should never lead a life not subjected to examination. 
 

Boethius, The Consolation 2.27

. . . “Listen to the witty manner in which one played once upon the shallowness of this pride. A certain man once bitterly attacked another who had taken to himself falsely the name of philosopher, not for the purpose of true virtue, but for pride of fame. He added to his attack that he would know soon whether he was a philosopher, when he saw whether the other bore with meekness and patience the insults he heaped upon him.

“The other showed patience for a while and took the insults as though he scoffed at them, until he said, ‘Do you now see that I am a philosopher?’

“‘I should have, had you kept silence,’ said the other stingingly.

“But we are speaking of great men, and I ask, what do they gain from fame, though they seek glory by virtue? What have they after the body is dissolved at death? For if men die utterly, as our reason forbids us to believe, there is no glory left to them at all, since they whose it is said to be, do not exist. If, on the other hand, the mind is still conscious and working when it is freed from its earthly prison, it seeks heaven in its freedom and surely spurns all earthly traffic. It enjoys heaven and rejoices in its release from the of this world.”

—from Book 2, Prose 7

There we have it all, the difference between the man of character, and the man of appearances. One lives well, while the other wants to be considered well.

Philosophers are an odd bunch, but there are actually two very different sorts to be found. This is true, in my experience, of all scholars, academics, or professionals in the world of education. You will find some who love truth, and you will find others who love glory. I suppose it is actually true of all people, period.

There are, in other words, those who serve, and those who wish to be served.

When I was an undergraduate, I was immediately drawn to teachers who wanted to help me to understand, and I tried to avoid teachers who wanted to help themselves to be revered.

I made a big mistake once, however, by falling for a clever and charming fellow, who told me that there were certain games I needed to play if I ever wanted success. He wrote fancy books, complete with artfully posed pictures of himself on the cover, and quickly rose to being the Chairman of the Department. When I was a graduate student, he told me that he would “groom” me. I just needed to be humble and obedient.

One day, I was ecstatic to have one of my papers accepted for a snazzy conference. I asked him if he could attend my presentation, hoping he would be proud of what I had done. He didn’t show up. As it turns out, he spent the afternoon at the hotel bar across the street, socializing and drinking with friends from his own special circle. I was crushed. Even some of my own students made the lengthy trip, but he was nowhere to be found.

A month later, he told me has was leaving for a better job, but that I was welcome to finish my dissertation by the end of the academic year, and he’d see if he could fit me into his busy schedule. Otherwise, I’d have to start all over again. I did have to start all over again.

He went from one achievement to another, and I was there sitting in the mud. I felt angry, I felt hopeless, and I felt betrayed.

It took me many years to understand that he was going to be who he was, but it was up to me who I was going to be. Using the George Costanza “opposite” rule, I committed myself to teaching over research, to students over publishing, to service over promotion. Did it get me anywhere? Define your terms. It cost me a career, but it saved my soul.

I finally grew out of my resentment, but it wasn’t easy. I began to see how some treat wisdom as a means, while others treat it as an end. It should not bother me that I failed by that man’s standards, and I should only be concerned with whether I succeeded by Nature’s standards.

Decades in the world of education, working in the trenches and not in the boardroom, have taught me that character will always be better than posturing. Every time. I don’t pose well for the camera, but I will do anything to help my neighbor out of the gutter.

Boethius offers a very telling story. The man who wishes to be thought of as a philosopher is hardly a philosopher at all. He betrays himself when he is questioned or berated. You will see a good man keep his silence, because he doesn’t care about his reputation, even as you will see a wicked man fight for his fake honor.

Have I failed simply because no one even knows who I am?

What does all of this honor mean? This has long been one of my favorite passages in the Consolation. If there is no life after death, it matters nothing. If there is life after death, it still matters nothing. Either death is the end of everything, or it is the beginning of something completely different.

Vanity of vanities. . . 

Written in 9/2015

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 46

The beginning of philosophy is to know the condition of one's own mind. 

If a man recognizes that this is in a weakly state, he will not then want to apply it to questions of the greatest moment. 

As it is, men who are not fit to swallow even a morsel, buy whole treatises and try to devour them.

Accordingly they either vomit them up again, or suffer from indigestion, whence come gripings, fluxions, and fevers. Whereas they should have stopped to consider their capacity. 
 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.48

This is a fine saying of Plato: That he who is discoursing about men should look also at earthly things as if he viewed them from some higher place.

He should look at them in their assemblies, armies, agricultural labors, marriages, treaties, births, deaths, noise of the courts of justice, desert places, various nations of barbarians, feasts, lamentations, markets, a mixture of all things and an orderly combination of contraries.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

If I see the world only through the lenses of my own feelings, my attractions and aversions, I am really only seeing myself imposed on everything around me, and so everything will take on the tint of my prejudice. Good and evil become what is pleasant or unpleasant for me, right and wrong whatever is convenient or inconvenient for me.

There is a better way. I can move beyond the influence of my own impressions, and I can take mastery over them. I can try to see things not only as they are for me, but also as they are in and of themselves. I can seek to find a loftier perspective, where I don’t just notice this or that part, but I can appreciate a sense of the whole. Anything that may have appeared as overwhelming, pointless, or unfair when viewed from too close can now perhaps be seen in a proper context from further away.

When I can appreciate the order and purpose of the relationships within all of Nature, so much of the frustration and conflict I assumed can pass away. There are so many things in this world, all distinct and different in their own way, but all of them play their own part. There are so many changes happening at all times, the constant tension of opposites, but all of them exist within a harmony.

As a child, I would always love seeing the scenery from the top of a mountain, or the city from the top of a skyscraper. There was a certain sense of awe in it, as well as of peace. In later years, I would think of that line from Browning:

God's in his heaven—

All's right with the world!

Recently, my wife dropped me off at the airport early one morning for a trip back to Boston. There was much worry on my mind, about never seeming to be able to make ends meet, about how unhappy my children seemed at their school, about all the nastiness, abuse, and petty politics at my work. I was even concerned that another trip back to where I grew up would wake up too many sleeping demons.

So I peered out the window as the plane took off, and got lost in the view as we flew ever higher. I noticed certain landmarks down below, and realized our path would take us straight over the little town I now lived in. I could still see individual houses, and the little colored specks of moving cars. I looked very carefully, and spotted my own house, with our bright blue car in the driveway. They had already made it home, and were surely having breakfast.

It was seeing that little corner of my own life as a part of the much bigger world around it that helped me, then and there, to understand and accept that world as it was, not merely as I would desire it to be. A bit of height helped to give me that context.

Written in 3/2012

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 45

Is there smoke in the room? If it be slight, I remain; if grievous, I leave it. For you must remember this and hold it fast, that the door stands open. 

"You shall not dwell at Nicopolis!"

Well and good. 

"Nor at Athens." 

Then I will not dwell at Athens either. 

"Nor at Rome." 

Nor at Rome either.

"You shall dwell in Gyara!" 

Well, but to dwell in Gyara seems to me like a grievous smoke. I depart to a place where none can forbid me to dwell: that habitation is open unto all! 

As for the last garment of all, that is the poor body. Beyond that, none can do anything to me. This is why Demetrius said to Nero: 

"You threaten me with death; it is Nature who threatens you!" 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.47

Look round at the courses of the stars, as if you were going along with them; and constantly consider the changes of the elements into one another; for such thoughts purge away the filth of the earthly life.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

Sometimes the weight of the everyday can drag us down. Situations may seem filled with frustration, discouragement, boredom, and a lack of purpose. I remind myself, however, that the problem is hardly with the situations. The problem is in my thinking.

Something is frustrating when I believe it to be a burden. Something is discouraging when I allow myself to be overwhelmed. Something is boring when I fail to find what is true and good within it. Something will only reveal its purpose when understood in relationship to other things, within the whole.

The world only seems mundane and meaningless when I am thinking small. I need to think big. No, not in the sense many will use the term, the constant quest for greater power and profit, which is still another form of small thinking. I mean thinking big in the sense, rather, of recognizing that every existing thing, however seemingly tiny or insignificant, plays a part in the harmony of all things. Nature is indeed grand and beautiful, and each little thing contributes to that grandeur and beauty.

There is a good reason we can be so impressed by the motions of the stars above, or the transformations in the natural world around us. That isn’t just something for dreamers, or poets, or hopeless romantics. To gaze upon the glory of such things is a reminder that we are all an aspect of something greater, and that all the things that seem so big when I cast my head downward actually become quite small when I raise my eyes up.

When I still lived in the city, all the pollution of fumes, noise, and light could sometimes make it harder for me to experience a sense of meaning and belonging in the world around me. Still, even then I could appreciate the vast web of connections between so many people, each one acting out his own life while still joined so completely to every other life around him. But the one thing I would always look forward to during a trip far away from the city was the chance to gaze at a clear night sky.

There are all sorts of ways to keep in touch with a sense of wonder and purpose, a profound respect for the order and balance of things both big and small. I find I can also share in it when I read a book, or smoke my pipe, or watch the birds in my yard, or go for a walk or a ride to nowhere in particular. Most of all, I can enjoy it whenever or wherever I can just stop, look, and listen. Most anywhere can actually do, if only I keep an open mind and heart.

This is all the more important when I am diverted by my self-imposed irritations and worries. I am adding all of those, and they are completely unnecessary. I will only harm myself if I obsess about my petty problems, and I will only benefit myself if I perceive everything with a proper sense of scale and proportion.

Written in 12/2007

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 44

Above all, remember that the door stands open. 

Be not more fearful than children; but as they, when they are weary of the game, cry, "I will play no more," even so, when you are in the like case, cry, "I will play no more" and depart. 

But if you stay, make no lamentation.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.46

But, my good friend, reflect whether that which is noble and good is not something different from saving and being saved; for as to a man living such or such a time, at least one who is really a man, consider if this is not a thing to be dismissed from the thoughts.

And there must be no love of life: but as to these matters a man must entrust them to the deity and believe what the old women say, that no man can escape his destiny, the next inquiry being how he may best live the time that he has to live.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

Classical thinking in general, and Stoic thinking in particular, will sometimes stand in sharp contrast to many of the attitudes we take for granted in contemporary life. This is surely one of those times; the modern reader may at the very least be confused, perhaps even deeply offended by such a passage.

But I will never assume that this is just a matter of the old versus the new, or blindly reject one attitude for the sake of another. Rather, I should try to understand how and why the difference arises, and what it tells me about the way our first principles can lead us down quite different paths.

We are familiar with the idea that living is good, and that dying is bad, and so we should take our very survival as an inherent good. The Stoic will look at this a bit differently. It is not merely the purpose of something to exist alone, but to act according to its nature, and so a human being should not just live, but seek to live well. Given that it is our nature to think and to choose, to know the true and love the good, the life well lived is the life of wisdom and virtue.

If this is the purpose for which I am here, then I should make all other things subservient to this greatest good. Therefore I should be indifferent to how much wealth I acquire, or how much pleasure I receive, or how popular I am, or, yes, even how long I live.

This means that a life well lived is not necessarily a longer or a shorter life; neither is inherently good or bad, and either can offer the opportunity to live well.

This does not mean that the Stoic neglects life, or seeks death. I may indeed prefer to live a long life, and all other things being equal, I would be free to pursue it; but if living longer requires that I abandon my character, then I must gladly and willingly surrender the former for the latter.

Indifference, in the Stoic sense, isn’t about not caring, but rather about not wanting relative things for their own sake. All of this proceeds from the premise that human worth is not in the quantity of living, but in the quality of living, and that such quality is measured not by the circumstances around us, but by the virtues within us.

We moderns may also frown upon ideas like destiny, or fate, or Providence, but the Stoic simply understands that many things happen that proceed from causes beyond our own power. Now we may angrily fight against these, or we may graciously accept them, knowing that Nature does nothing in vain, and orders all thing toward the good.

It isn’t ultimately up to me how long I have, but it is completely up to me what I’m going to do with it.

Written in 12/2007

IMAGE: Alphonse Mucha, Fate (1920)

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 43

A man was talking to me today about the priesthood of Augustus. I said to him, "Let the thing go, my good Sir; you will spend a good deal to no purpose." 

"Well, but my name will be inserted in all documents and contracts!" 

"Will you be standing there to tell those that read them, 'That is my name written there?' And even if you could now be there in every case, what will you do when you are dead?"
 
"At all events my name will remain!" 

"Inscribe it on a stone and it will remain just as well. And think, beyond Nicopolis, what memory of you will there be?" 

"But I shall have a golden wreath to wear!" 

"If you must have a wreath, get a wreath of roses and put it on; you will look more elegant!" 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.45

For thus it is, men of Athens, in truth: wherever a man has placed himself, thinking it the best place for him, or has been placed by a commander, there in my opinion he ought to stay and to abide the hazard, taking nothing into the reckoning, either death or anything else, before the baseness of deserting his post.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

Continuing with his reference to Plato’s Apology, Marcus Aurelius points to the parallel between following one’s conscience and standing one’s ground in battle. Now the analogy may seem a bit too masculine for some, but there is certainly a common virtue at play, what can be called fortitude, courage, or bravery, the willingness to confront what I fear for the sake of what I know to be right and good.

Though my reflections can be deeply confessional at times, sometimes to a fault, there are experiences in my life I choose never to share any details of at all. In a few instances, I have faced fear so powerful I thought it would melt me on the spot, and the very thought of these times can still leave me as a trembling mess. What I have learned from such terrifying impressions is the willingness to distinguish between what the world can take from me, and what I can surrender of myself.

Sometimes I might be afraid of shame, or of losing what I think are my rightful possessions, or of having my freedom taken from me, or of pain, either physical or emotional, or even of dying. What makes fear so powerful, I notice, is the expectation of what I suspect is likely to happen next.

When I crushed my thumb as a child, the worst part of it was actually looking at that squashed and mangled piece of me, hardly recognizing it at all, and still feeling nothing at all. It was the physical agony I knew would soon follow that scared me so much.

Oddly enough, when it did inevitably follow, it was more bearable than the worry about it, and I suffered more from the thoughtless babble by a nurse about possible amputation than I did from my every nerve being on fire.

So what am I actually afraid of? The prospect of losing something I care about, and the torture of continuing suffering that seems to serve no purpose, and the crippling doubt about whether I can manage to bear it.

I would probably have brushed this off when I was younger, but I see that my conscious thinking often brings me far more fear than any emotional instinct or physical feeling ever could. And so I wonder, can I conquer my fear not merely by being toughened to pain, but by being sound in my judgments?

If I look at what I might lose, what my circumstances may take away from me, do I not see that this really has little to do with me? If I look at the merit of my own choices and actions, do I not see how this is so much more important?

So maybe I will be ridiculed, or robbed, or locked up, or have my heart broken, or be tortured, or be killed. What are they to me, since they can be done to me anyway, at any time?

But I can leave those things where they are, for what they are, and still decide to do the right thing. That is entirely up to me. My estimation will make all of the difference, about what matters more, and about what matters less.

Courage doesn’t necessarily take a big man. It takes a good man. 

Written in 12/2007

IMAGE: William Barnes Wollen, The Last Stand of the Survivors of Her Majesty's 44th Regiment of Foot at Gandamak (1898) 
 

Boethius, The Consolation 2.26

. . . “Further, the manners and customs of different races are so little in agreement, that what little it is to make his name known, because he takes pleasure in a glorious fame. So each man can only be content if his fame travels throughout his own countrymen, and the immortality of his name shall be bounded by the limits of one nation.

“But how many men, the most famous of their times, are wiped out by oblivion because no man has written of them! And yet what advantage is there in much that is written? For with their authors these writings are overwhelmed in the length and dimness of age. Yet when you think upon your fame in future ages, you seem to think that you are prolonging it to immortality. But if you think upon the unending length of eternity, what enjoyment do you find in the long endurance of your name?

“For though one moment bears but the least proportion to ten thousand years, yet there is a definite ratio, because both are limited spaces of time. But even ten thousand years, or the greatest number you will, cannot even be compared with eternity. For there will always be ratio between finite things, but between the finite and the infinite there can never be any comparison.

 “Wherefore, however long drawn out may be the life of your fame, it is not even small, but it is absolutely nothing when compared with eternity. You know not how to act rightly except for the breezes of popular opinion and for the sake of empty rumors; thus the excellence of conscience and of virtue is left behind, and you seek rewards from the tattle of other men.” . . .

—from Book 2, Prose 7

We become easily confused about right scale and proportion, so our judgments about value can become distorted. Smaller things are mistaken for bigger things, and lesser things for greater things. The shadow of a mouse can appear like a giant beast, or a bag of snacks can be filled mainly with air. If it is closer, it may seem more desirable, or more frightening, than if it is further away. Dress it up nicely on the outside, but it can still be rotten on the inside, even as bland packages sometimes reveal the greatest treasures.

Now I may think that the social values and fashions of my time and place are all there is, and if I can only live up to them, then I have done all that there is ever to do. Yet there are countless other times and places, all with different standards of glory. I may have arrived, as they say, right here and now, but I am a nothing and a nobody everywhere else.

Few things can help us to rouse ourselves from the slumber than considering the scale and proportion of time itself. In relationship to one another, there is a real difference between one and ten, and so accordingly I might think it better to be famous for a decade instead of just for a year.

Yet this is only because we are comparing finite quantities. Though one and ten are different from one another, each is still infinitely removed from eternity, and what once seemed so important becomes hardly important at all. Tens, hundreds, thousands, millions, and billions become insignificant if we see them in the face of infinite time, or of infinite space. Contrasted to what is absolute, my limited worries are as nothing.

When I was back in Boston, I would see hundred and hundreds of young professionals on the subway every morning, and then thousands and thousands more streaming into their office buildings once I got out of that little metal tube.

Now each was a human being, no better or worse than any other, but just consider the way they were all being played. If they worked enough hours, made the right connections, and impressed the best people, they were told they would be on top, the recipients of true wealth and glory.

Their lives were indeed special, but not for the reasons they were given. What is one suburban yuppie success story among all the other millions? There was very little individual difference between them, as they marched back and forth in their vast armies, and certainly a boundless difference between them and the power that charges all of Creation.

What a difference seeing the big picture can make!

Written in 9/2015

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 42

Has a man been raised to the tribuneship? Everyone that he meets congratulates him. One kisses him on the eyes, another on the neck, while the slaves kiss his hands. He goes home to find torches burning. He ascends to the Capitol to sacrifice.

Who has ever sacrificed for having had the right desires, or for having conceived such inclinations as Nature would have him? 

In truth, we thank the Gods for that wherein we place our happiness.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.44

From Plato:

But I would make this man a sufficient answer, which is this: You do not speak well, if thou think that a man who is good for anything at all ought to consider the hazard of life or death, and should not rather look to this only in all that he does, whether he is doing what is just or unjust, and the works of a good or a bad man.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

Socrates, Plato, the Stoics, and many other seekers of wisdom from different times and places, share a common theme on what makes for the best life. It isn’t a terribly complex, obscure, or abstract principle, and can perhaps even be stated in a single sentence:

Virtue, the act of living well itself, is the highest good for human nature, and all other conditions or qualities can only be measured relative to an excellence of character.

For me, this has always meant that I must first and foremost ask myself if I am acting according to wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice, and consider if my thoughts and deeds are ordered to respecting both my own human dignity and the human dignity of others.

Should I also be rich? If it might help me build my character, then I should take it. But if it will only hinder my character, then I should leave it.

Should I also have pleasure and comfort? If it might help me build my character, then I should take it. But if it will only hinder my character, then I should leave it.

Should I also be honored and revered? If it might help me build my character, then I should take it. But if it will only hinder my character, then I should leave it.

Should I also have a healthy body over a sick body? If it might help me build my character, then I should take it. But if it will only hinder my character, then I should leave it.

Should I also live a longer life over a shorter life? If it might help me build my character, then I should take it. But if it will only hinder my character, then I should leave it.

Now that last one may sound the hardest, but I have found that all of those questions can be difficult in their own way. It is really about what I choose for my priorities, and why I might choose them. As often as I am tempted to wander away, something will always pull me back, and that is the recognition that nothing whatsoever in this world, no quality inside of me or outside of me, will be of any use if I have a crooked soul behind it all.

“Well,” I might proudly tell myself, “just look at all the things I have!” Then another part of me speaks up. “Yes, but where is the value in what I am doing?”

For the Stoic, this distinction corresponds to our circumstances and our actions, to what is beyond our power and to what is within our power. Yes, a man may be a wealthy animal, or a well-fed animal, or an admired animal, or a long-lived animal.  Being a rational animal, however, it really only matters whether he is living as a moral animal.

I find nothing more decent in myself than when I care about this, and nothing more disgusting in myself than when I say I care, but I end up doing something quite different. 

Written in 12/2007

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 41

What you shun enduring yourself, attempt not to impose on others. You shun slavery—beware of enslaving others! 

If you can endure to do that, one would think you had been once upon a time a slave yourself. For Vice has nothing in common with Virtue, nor Freedom with Slavery.