Ecclesiastes 2:4-8

[4] I made great works; I built houses and planted vineyards for myself;
[5] I made myself gardens and parks, and planted in them all kinds of fruit trees.
[6] I made myself pools from which to water the forest of growing trees.
[7] I bought male and female slaves, and had slaves who were born in my house; I had also great possessions of herds and flocks, more than any who had been before me in Jerusalem.
[8] I also gathered for myself silver and gold and the treasure of kings and provinces; I got singers, both men and women, and many concubines, man's delight.

Boethius, The Consolation 3.12

“Though Nero decked himself proudly

with purple of Tyre and snow-white gems,

nonetheless that man of rage and luxury lived ever hated of all.

Yet would that evil man at times

give his dishonored offices to men who were revered.

Who then could count men blessed,

who to such a villain owed their high estate?”

—from Book 3, Poem 4

It is all too easy to see how the love of money burdens our lives, both for those who receive less than they deserve and for those who receive more than they deserve. This was one of the first things I noticed when I started trying to figure out why the world worked, or didn’t work, as it did.

But right there alongside a greed for possessions, just as prevalent if not even more so, is the desire for status, the groveling for honors and positions, and the privilege to brag about how highly we are held in esteem. After all, our money is of little use if we can’t show it off to impress others with our importance.

Money and honor seem joined at the hip. They are both symptoms of the greater problem Lady Philosophy is trying to teach us about, making the value of our lives dependent on what is outside of us instead of what is inside of us, on what fortune does for us instead of what virtue does for itself.

And just as we can shamefully be quite satisfied to receive riches without questioning where and how we acquired them, we will also accept praises and titles without considering the worth of those who grant them.

A few years back, a few of my colleagues were up for tenure, that Holy Grail of the shallow academic. It seemed that for an entire year they would do anything to impress the committee, even as they would regularly put down those same members when they were out of earshot.

“If you think so very poorly of these terrible people,” I once asked, ‘why do you care so much about the prizes they can bestow on you?”

There was one of those awkward moments of silence. “Well, that’s just how the game is played.”

Exactly. It often does seem much like playing a game, of the sort where we will do anything to win points, without actually wondering who hands them out, or if we deserve to receive them, or if they are even worth winning at all.

Where is the value in being praised by a rake, promoted by a scoundrel, or rewarded by a tyrant? What is given will only be as noble or as base as the giver; an honor from a Nero actually ends up being more of an insult.

It is odd that so many of what we say are the best of people are actually the worst of people, and yet we will still go about trying to impress them. I remind myself that I am better served by finding contentment in the merit of what I do than in the image of what others think of what I do.

Written in 9/2015

The Art of Peace 8

Life is growth. If we stop growing, technically and spiritually, we are as good as dead. The Art of Peace is a celebration of the bonding of heaven, earth, and humankind. It is all that is true, good, and beautiful.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.49

Remember that the ruling faculty is invincible, when self-collected it is satisfied with itself, if it does nothing that it does not choose to do, even if it resist from mere obstinacy.

What then will it be when it forms a judgment about anything aided by reason and deliberately? Therefore the mind that is free from passions is a citadel, for man has nothing more secure to which he can fly for refuge and for the future be inexpugnable.

He then who has not seen this is an ignorant man; but he who has seen it and does not fly to this refuge is unhappy.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

My own uncanny ability to be quite a stubborn fellow, usually to my detriment, already tells me how powerful the mind and the will can be. If I insist that my thoughts and choices aren’t going to budge, they are most certainly not going to budge.

If I am just being obstinate, of course, I am acting from a base instinct to puff myself up, and I do so by standing against something, reveling in conflict and opposition. There may not be much, if any, thinking going on at all. It is the sort of strength that is quite brutal.

But now imagine if that sort of commitment is joined together with a love of wisdom, informed by conscience, and in the service of character. It can now become something distinctly human. Driven by virtue instead of vanity, love instead of lust, justice instead of anger, it no longer merely stands against something, but rather works in conjunction with the good in all things. It goes with the grain of Nature, not against it.

Take the sort of strength we see in being merely stubborn, and let it be put in the service of moral excellence. You now have a fortress that is truly unassailable.

Do I feel my passions running away with me? Am I shackled by resentment, jealousy, or greed to consume? Let sound judgment tame my passions, redirect them, and put them in their rightful place. My reason, which can discover meaning and purpose in all things, is my refuge from losing myself.

Do I feel overwhelmed by my circumstances? Am I convinced I can longer bear being hated, ignored, ridiculed, passed by, or abused? Let sound judgment temper my circumstances, accept them for what they are, and find what is good in each and every one of them. My reason, which can allow me to always depend only on the virtue that is within my power, is my refuge from whatever may happen to me.

I need not fear, despair, or surrender to my worst inclinations when I can find complete safety and contentment within myself. There should be no anxiety about losing what can’t be lost.

Written in 5/2008

Dhammapada 33

As a fletcher makes straight his arrow, a wise man makes straight his trembling and unsteady thought, which is difficult to guard, difficult to hold back.

I Don't Care!

My parents were never the spoiling sort, though they always gave me books upon books to help me understand. To this day, a book is a treasure to me.

Maurice Sendak was a writer I knew from the earliest age, and I was much the better for it. Many of my young friends had records from all the best pop bands of the time, but I recall that the only record I had back then was an album by Carole King, "Really Rosie", where she performed songs based on Sendak stories.

I cherished that old LP.

It popped back into my awareness the other day, when I read a claim by a woman who called herself a "modern" Stoic.  "I am indifferent  to what you say," she was telling someone. "I choose not to make your opinion matter to me. You are a symptom of entropy."

Now that's never how I understood Stoicism, because I always thought the idea of being indifferent to circumstances did not include rejecting others. Yet I notice that the new trend of Stoic indifference now becomes a justification for not caring.

Good Lord, no. The Stoic cares. He cares for all things, and his indifference is never about casting someone aside, but about seeing that any situation is never good or bad in itself; it rather becomes good by what we make of it through our judgments and actions.

It is never a no. It is always a yes.

Yet people say, "I don't care!" What a heartless expression.

I have been a Catholic for my whole life, and I have seen people sell my Faith for their utility. I have embraced Stoicism for half that life, but I also see people make use of it for their convenience.

To say " I am indifferent to you" is never the same as saying "I am indifferent to what happens to me." I am called to love you, even as I must accept that the world will be as it is. Stoicism is never an excuse for hatred or dismissal.

This song has it right. The moral of Pierre is: CARE!

Carole King, "Pierre", from Really Rosie (1975)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCEBLHd0v6I

There was once a boy named Pierre
Who only would say, I don't care!
Read his story, my friend, for you'll find
At the end that a suitable
Moral lies there

One day his mother said
When Pierre climbed out of bed
-Good morning, darling boy, you are my only joy
Pierre said-I don't care!
-What would you like to eat?
-I don't care!
-Some lovely cream of wheat?
-I don't care!
-Don't sit backwards in your chair
-I don't care!
-Or pour syrup on your hair
-I don't care!
-You are acting like a clown
-I don't care!
-And we have to go to town
-I don't care!
-Don't you want to come, my dear?
-I don't care!
-Would you rather stay right here?
-I don't care!
So his mother left him there

His father said-Get off your head
Or I will march you up to bed!
Pierre said-I don't care!
-I would think that you could see -
-I don't care!
-Your head is where your feet should be!
-I don't care!
-If you keep standing upside down -
-I don't care!
-We'll never get to town
-I don't care!
-If only you would say, I care
-I don't care!
-I'd let you fold the folding chair
-I don't care!
So his parents left him there
They didn't take him anywhere

Now as the night began to fall
A hungry lion paid a call
He looked Pierre right in the eye
And asked him if he'd like to die
Pierre said-I don't care!
-I can eat you, don't you see?
-I don't care!
-And you will be inside of me
-I don't care!
-Then you will never have to bother -
-I don't care!
-With a mother and a father
-I don't care!
-Is that all you have to say?
-I don't care!
-Then I'll eat you, if I may
-I don't care!
So the lion ate Pierre

Arriving home at six o'clock
His parents had a dreadful shock!
They found the lion sick in bed and cried
-Pierre is surely dead!
They pulled the lion by the hair
They hit him with the folding chair
His mother asked-Where is Pierre?
The lion answered-I don't care!
His father said-Pierre's in there!

They rushed the lion into town
The doctor shook him up and down
And when the lion gave a roar
Pierre fell out upon the floor
He rubbed his eyes and scratched his head
And laughed because he wasn't dead
His mother cried and held him tight
His father asked-Are you allright?
Pierre said-I am feeling fine
Please take me home, it's half past nine

The lion said-If you would care
To climb on me, I'll take you there
Then everyone looked at Pierre
Who shouted-Yes, indeed, I care!
The lion took them home to rest
And stayed on as a weekend guest
The moral of Pierre is: CARE!

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.48

If you are pained by any external thing, it is not this thing that disturbs you, but your own judgment about it. And it is in your power to wipe out this judgment now.

But if anything in your own disposition gives you pain, who hinders you from correcting your opinion? And even if you are pained because you are not doing some particular thing that seems to you to be right, why do you not rather act than complain?

“But some insuperable obstacle is in the way!”

Do not be grieved then, for the cause of its not being done depends not on you.

“But it is not worthwhile to live, if this cannot be done!”

Take your departure then from life contentedly, just as one who dies in full activity, and well pleased too with the things that are obstacles.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

The Stoic claim that it is within our power to modify our feelings by modifying our judgments may seem quite absurd, especially when we are so accustomed to defining ourselves as creatures dominated by passion. But we need not appeal only to some noble theory here, as the proof is in the pudding. I must only observe that the degree of how much I choose to value something in my thinking will determine the degree to which I am affected by a feeling.

If I don’t like cake, I won’t be angered when someone takes the last slice. If I’m into bird watching, I will get quite excited when I spot an ivory-billed woodpecker.

I once knew a fellow who was hopelessly enamored of a girl we knew. He would do anything he could to win her attention, and tried again and again to make her jealous by flirting with other women. The object of his affections wouldn’t bite, however, and the reason was quite clear to all of us, thought it was hardly clear to him: what he thought and did were not all that important in her estimation, and so she hardly felt jealous about someone she didn’t consider seriously. How she felt about him was in direct proportion to what she thought about him.

I will only feel loss for something I think is valuable to me, and I will only feel desire for something I think I need. Alter the judgment about what I believe to be worth possessing, and I will alter the power of my want.

Now I never think of this as being something as simple as turning feelings on and off, but rather a matter of directing or giving meaning and purpose to how I feel. Both the mind and the emotions can be complex, subtle, and mysterious, and it will take focus and care to understand their ways.

A pain in my body, arising from injury or disease, or a pleasure in my passions, arising from my deepest instincts, may not be in my power to somehow stop and start. But it is within my power to understand them, to put them in their place, to control my reactions to them. I often think of this as the art of tempering how I feel.

It will indeed often seem like something is blocking my way from contentment and serenity, but I must simply ask myself if what I am doing, or what I am leaving undone, is itself the obstacle. If so, I am more than able to remove it by my own decision. If not, I should not allow what I cannot determine to trouble me.

Is the weight of circumstances actually too much to bear? Then all that remains is for them to destroy me, and even there I am more than able to bear the end with courage and dignity. Even on my deathbed, or swallowed up by a broken heart, I remain my own master.

Do I find myself feeling discouraged because I am poor? Then I can stop thinking that being rich is itself a worthy thing. Do I find myself distracted by lust? Then I can assure myself that I am a man and not an animal. Do I find myself saddened because I am not loved? Then I can start remembering that giving love is greater than receiving it. The thinking will moderate the feeling.

The last ivory-billed woodpecker has probably already passed away, but I’d like to think he did so completely content with himself. I should want no less for myself. 

Written in 5/2008

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 76

How then may this be attained?

Resolve, now if never before, to approve yourself to yourself; resolve to show yourself fair in God's sight; long to be pure with your own pure self and God! 

Love

Suffering

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.47

Nothing can happen to any man that is not a human accident, nor to an ox that is not according to the nature of an ox, nor to a vine that is not according to the nature of a vine, nor to a stone that is not proper to a stone.

If then there happens to each thing both what is usual and natural, why should you complain? For the Common Nature brings nothing which may not be borne by you.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

We will speak of nature in many ways, and we appeal to many aspects of the natural. We may say that nature is a harmony or a balance, that which is pure and pristine, free from impediment, the way the world works before any artificiality steps in, the true direction everything has deep down to the core.

Many of the Ancients saw nature as the guiding source of all action, the very expression of something’s essence. I have long thought that Aristotle’s definition makes up in precision for what some may say it lacks in poetry: “nature is a principle or cause of being moved and of being at rest, in that to which it belongs primarily, in virtue of itself and not through another.”

It is accordingly proper that something behave according to its identity, that what it does reflects what it is. A stone, a river, a vine, an ox, or a man exist in harmony with their own natures, and the underlying Nature of all things, when they fulfill their innate purpose. In the simplest sense, the stone acts solidly, the river acts fluidly, the vine acts with nutrition, growth, and reproduction, the ox further acts with sensation, the man acts even further with reason and choice.  

I appreciate how Marcus Aurelius here highlights another piece to the whole order of Nature. Not only will things act according to their particular natures, in agreement with what they are, but they will also be acted upon according to their particular natures, in agreement with what they are. In other words, what a stone, a river, a vine, an ox, or a man do as well as what happens to them will always work together.

I might think it is somehow unnatural for a stone to be broken, or for a river to dry up, or for a vine to be cut, or for an ox to be yoked, or for a man to suffer. Surely such circumstances will hinder each of these things from being what they are intended to be? Not at all, because the conditions they must face are a very part of what they are, and their responses are only possible through such a process of change.

Let me look at myself. I may understand that, as a creature of mind and will, I am here to know the truth and love the good. But the loss of fortune, of pleasure, of fame, of wealth, or of health seems to be standing in the way of my living well, and so I might claim that pain, disgrace, poverty, or sickness are unnatural to me.

Yet those conditions can be perfectly natural to me, since I can still always make use of them to live with wisdom and virtue, just as the vine can be natural if it is pruned, or the ox if it is put to work in a field. What happens to me is never unnatural, even as how I use my free choice to react to what happens could well be unnatural.

Yes, it is even natural for things to cease to be, just as it is natural for an animal to both eat and be eaten, because it is natural for something new to grow out of something old.

It is the order of Providence, the unity of all things that Marcus Aurelius here calls the Common Nature, that makes this possible. Nothing happens without purpose, for good can always arise from any situation.

I should therefore work with my own nature, and never against it, by embracing every event as something I am made not merely to endure, but also to transform. My complaints reflect poorly on what I do, not upon what is done to me.

Written in 5/2008

Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 1.5

Of the reading of Holy Scriptures

1. It is Truth which we must look for in Holy Writ, not cunning of words. All Scripture ought to be read in the spirit in which it was written. We must rather seek for what is profitable in Scripture, than for what ministers to subtlety in discourse. Therefore we ought to read books which are devotional and simple, as well as those which are deep and difficult. And let not the weight of the writer be a stumbling-block to you, whether he be of little or much learning, but let the love of the pure Truth draw you to read. Ask not, who has said this or that, but look to what he says.

2. Men pass away, but the truth of the Lord endures forever. Without respect of persons God speaks to us in diverse manners. Our own curiosity often hinders us in the reading of holy writings, when we seek to understand and discuss, where we should pass simply on. If you would profit by your reading, read humbly, simply, honestly, and not desiring to win a character for learning. Ask freely, and hear in silence the words of holy men; nor be displeased at the hard sayings of older men than you, for they are not uttered without cause.

 

Man or Animal?

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.46

Take me and cast me where you wish; for there I shall keep my divine part tranquil, that is, content, if it can feel and act conformably to its proper constitution.

Is this change of place sufficient reason why my soul should be unhappy and worse than it was, depressed, expanded, shrinking, frightened? And what will you find which is sufficient reason for this?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

During what I call my Wilderness Years, where I allowed myself to be overwhelmed by loneliness and despair, I made a number of frantic efforts to keep myself afloat. At one point, I dropped all my academic pretensions, and sought out work that might better serve my soul.

I stumbled across a chance to work in Catholic social services, and I jumped at it. Asked which particular ministries interested me, I immediately chose AIDS patients and prisoners. At that time, those who suffered from AIDS were largely considered pariahs, just as those doing jail time still are to this day.

I somehow figured, quite selfishly perhaps, that if I could work around that sort of suffering, where others will barely consider you to be human, it might help me to come to terms with my own suffering.

What I did not expect was the degree to which the experience would affect me, and how it continued changing me for years afterwards. I was forcefully pulled out of all my first-world problems, and shown the bare bones of how other people face real pain.

I slowly observed that people weren’t made or broken by suffering, but rather that they made or broke themselves through suffering. It wasn’t what happened to them, but what they chose to do with what happened to them.

I hardly think I ever helped anyone else, because I was really just a gofer, but many of those people helped me. It was in hospitals and prisons that I saw both some of the best and the worst in people; it was the judgment about circumstances that made the difference.

The words of Viktor Frankl, which had only been a profound abstraction before, were now strikingly real:

The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity—even under the most difficult circumstances—to add a deeper meaning to his life.

It may remain brave, dignified and unselfish. Or in the bitter fight for self-preservation he may forget his human dignity and become no more than an animal.

Here lies the chance for a man either to make use of or to forgo the opportunities of attaining the moral values that a difficult situation may afford him. And this decides whether he is worthy of his sufferings or not.

Wherever you may put me, and under whatever conditions I must live, am I not still capable of living with dignity and character? Yes, the outside may be chipped away, but the inside can still flourish; in fact it can flourish all the more, because greater hardship can actually offer an opportunity for greater virtue.

If I can rightly understand what it is that gives my life meaning and value, the excellence of my own attitude, I can recognize that I do not need to consider any state of affairs to be too much to handle. The weight of circumstances and the power of pain only have as much power as I permit them to have.

Do you choose to treat me like an animal? You have made that choice. Now whether I choose to also become like an animal, or thrive as a human being, is entirely my own choice.

Written in 4/2008

Tao Te Ching 18

When the Great Tao ceased to be observed, benevolence and righteousness came into vogue. Then appeared wisdom and shrewdness, and there ensued great hypocrisy.

When harmony no longer prevailed throughout the six kinships, filial sons found their manifestation; when the states and clans fell into disorder, loyal ministers appeared.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.45

See that you secure this present time to yourself; for those who rather pursue posthumous fame do not consider that the men of after time will be exactly such as these whom they cannot bear now, and both are mortal.

  

And what is it in any way to you if these men of after time utter this or that sound, or have this or that opinion about you?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I have always loved wandering through towns all over the world, not following some guidebook that tells me where all the important sites are, but rather finding the obscure corners, those wonderful places off the beaten path that show human life for what it really is, in all of both its wonder and its grime.

On those journeys I have stumbled across overgrown thickets that were once pristine parks, crumbling buildings that were once mansions, and, perhaps the ones that move me the most, statues and monuments erected to immortalize people now long forgotten. Pull back the ivy, rub away the dirt from the inscription, and you uncover snapshots of past worlds.

Some people suggest that this would make them quite sad, and that my odd hobby might even be rather pathetic, but I am not driven by melancholy or a romantic yearning for the past. I am rather inspired by learning how the human condition is so much the same at all times, even as each individual expression of human life is only for a very brief time.

I suppose there can be a certain sense of power, of immortality, in wanting to be remembered. We become so accustomed to this goal of extending the mark of our existence as long as possible, and so we think it tragic when such efforts fail. But there need be no loss or sadness here, because the dignity of human life is never measured by what other people think or say, and it is never measured by what may or may not happen after a span of life has passed.

The dignity of living is the living itself, and Nature has given this a proper limit. There is a perfectly good reason the Stoic is not afraid of death, or cares nothing for fame, or is unimpressed by fancy posturing. He understands that each moment can be a perfect and complete present, the fullness of life. The weight of the past and the worry for the future do not need to define it.

“But it is gone!” Yes, it is gone. And look how glorious it was! It needs no encore beyond what it was, when it was.

“But I won’t matter anymore!” Yes, of course you will still matter, but not perhaps in the way that you expect. Whether or not there is any further recognition has nothing at all to do with your significance and worth in the order of things.

Am I living well right now, the only thing within my power? The rest is just a diversion. 

Written in 4/2008

Ecclesiastes 2:1-3

[1] I said to myself, "Come now, I will make a test of pleasure; enjoy yourself." But behold, this also was vanity.
[2] I said of laughter, "It is mad," and of pleasure, "What use is it?"
[3] I searched with my mind how to cheer my body with wine—my mind still guiding me with wisdom—and how to lay hold on folly, until I might see what was good for the sons of men to do under heaven during the few days of their life.

Happiness and Hellholes

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.44

Different things delight different people; it is my delight to keep the ruling faculty sound without turning away either from any man or from any of the things that happen to men, but looking at and receiving all with welcome eyes and using everything according to its value.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I’m always one for being committed to what is true and good, and I am at the same time quite wary of any sort of intellectual bullying. After all, I can hardly say that I want other people to think for themselves, while simultaneously telling them exactly what they must think. The truth should set you free, not make you my slave.

People will seek joy in all sorts of ways. If they have come to know a better life, let me be happy for them. If they have fallen into a worse life, let me suggest improvement to them, not by dictating, but by the worth of my own example. Whatever I say about happiness is meaningless if I myself am not living in happiness.  Put your own house in order! Physician, heal yourself!

So much of what we believe will satisfy us seems to be built on the assumption of conflict. I may think I need to always be fighting with myself, and to always be fighting with other people. Now I will see that around me each and every day, and yet I don’t see people finding any delight in this; they seem to be in a state of constant anxiety.

Will it help if I tell them how wrong they are, offering only another source of opposition and strife? Or could I simply live in the way I find most delightful, hoping they can see its merit for their own lives, while also being quite content if they completely ignore me?

I don’t need to be at war with myself. There is serenity within me when I choose to let reason rule, when the inferior is ordered by the superior, the lesser measured according to the greater. This means that I can only act for the good if I first understand what is good, and the reasons why it is good. In this way, all circumstances and all feelings can be of service to me, because I can know how they can be directed to living well.

I don’t need to be at war with others. If I can choose to rule myself, I can also respect the manner in which others choose to rule themselves. Whether I believe they are right or wrong, whatever they think and whatever they do only offers me a greater opportunity to practice virtue for myself. They have their place in the balance of all things, just as much as I have my place.

I try to remember that a wise man, who surely will also be a loving man, and therefore also a deeply contented man, will accept things as they are instead of casting them aside, and will seek to find the good in things instead of dwelling upon the evil. That is the sort of delight and serenity I’m seeking, where even a cloudy or stormy day is a profoundly beautiful day. 

Written in 4/2008

The Art of Peace 7

Eight forces sustain creation:
Movement and stillness,
Solidification and fluidity,
Extension and contraction,
Unification and division.