Aesop's Fables 37

The Tree and the Reed

"Well, little one," said a Tree to a Reed that was growing at its foot, "why do you not plant your feet deeply in the ground, and raise your head boldly in the air as I do?"

"I am contented with my lot," said the Reed. "I may not be so grand, but I think I am safer."

"Safe!" sneered the Tree. "Who shall pluck me up by the roots or bow my head to the ground?" 

But it soon had to repent of its boasting, for a hurricane arose which tore it up from its roots, and cast it a useless log on the ground, while the little Reed, bending to the force of the wind, soon stood upright again when the storm had passed over.

Obscurity often brings safety.

Seneca, Moral Letters 9.5

For what purpose, then, do I make a man my friend? In order to have someone for whom I may die, whom I may follow into exile, against whose death I may stake my own life, and pay the pledge, too. 

 

The friendship which you portray is a bargain and not a friendship; it regards convenience only, and looks to the results.

 

Beyond question the feeling of a lover has in it something akin to friendship; one might call it friendship run mad. 

 

But, though this is true, does anyone love for the sake of gain, or promotion, or renown? Pure love, careless of all other things, kindles the soul with desire for the beautiful object, not without the hope of a return of the affection. 

 

What then? Can a cause which is more honorable produce a passion that is base?

 

I once knew a woman who had a small and tasteful tattoo on her arm that simply read “John 15:13”. My years of Catholic school had not gone to waste, so I was grateful to remember the reference: 

 

Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

 

One evening, a loudmouthed fellow decided to grace her with his attention, and he seemed to think that asking her what it meant might win him some points. When she hesitantly told him, he used this as an opportunity to explain how worldly-wise he was. Us men often have an unfortunate tendency to not know when to shut up. 

 

“Well, let me tell you, that sounds great, but there is absolutely no way you could pay me enough to die for anyone!”

 

Her response was priceless. “I’m sorry that you don’t have any friends.”

 

“What are you talking about? I’ve got lots of friends!”

 

“I do hope they’re not counting on you.”

 

Though the fellow was a buffoon, what he said is hardly an uncommon sentiment. At least he had the decency to be honest about it, unlike the folks who piously read words like that from their pulpits, and yet are nowhere to be found when the going gets tough. 

 

What Seneca says here, and what so much of the world’s timeless wisdom tries to teach us, will seem quite ridiculous to those who think themselves so important. They are so busy accumulating that they cannot understand how life is something to be spent. They are so burdened by terms and conditions that they have made themselves incapable of loving. 

 

Once I can find the profound fulfillment in giving of myself absolutely, and asking for nothing else in return, then all of those old bugbears are no longer quite as frightening. 

 

Poverty? Things will come, and things will go. What a wonderful liberation, to learn that it was never about the things at all. 

 

Exile? It hurts to feel rejected and shunned by others, until I recognize that who I am is not defined by their approval or disapproval. 

 

Death? It will come to us all, sooner or later, and the only question is whether I will face it as a better or as a worse man. 

 

Is this something like the power of romantic love, which can also consume us, and seemingly overcome any obstacle? I must distinguish. 

 

Yes, in that the impassioned lover will give anything, without question, for the sake of his beloved. 

 

No, in that the impassioned lover will still not be satisfied until he possesses his beloved. 

 

By all means, let us gasp with admiration at the dedication and sacrifice of lovers, while being in even greater awe of how a perfect and total friendship rises even higher than that, by asking for no further reward beyond itself. 

 

In complete friendship, there can be no bargaining over what is absolute, and no price too high to pay for what is inestimable in value. 

Written in 5/2012

Dhammapada 116

If a man would hasten towards the good, he should keep his thought away from evil; if a man does what is good slothfully, his mind delights in evil.

Level 42, "Gresham Blues"

"Where are the lyrics?"

"There are none."

Then how is it music?"

Hmmm. 

One of my old favorites, Level 42, were once known for their funky and fiery instrumentals. As the years passed, they made more of an effort to produce short and sweet pop songs, complete with many words to help us understand what we should think about it. 

They were brilliant at eventually making hits, but I did miss the old jazz-funk vibes. 

So in 1988, they told me that if I bought the CD instead of the LP, I would get a new bonus Level 42 instrumental track. Yes, they would surely be back in form.

As it turned out, the entire album was a reinvention, and the new guitarist, Alan Murphy, added a totally different feel. 

"Gresham Blues" was not the usual slap-and-pop from Mark King's bass, with some rhythmic staccato additions from Mike Lindup's electric piano. This was actually a real jazz tune, both slow and enticing, and it equally had the sounds of melancholy and of hope. 

Oftentimes, notes can say more than words. It was that way for me with this tune.  I'll shut my trap now, and let you find your own meaning in it. 

Level 42, "Gresham Blues" from Staring at the Sun (1988) 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfyE8-h5oUE

Virtue Attacked by Vice

Pierre-Paul Prud'hon, Virtue Attacked by Vice (c. 1795)

 

Stockdale on Stoicism 5

I want to step off the chronology escalator for just a minute and explain what memories of the Enchiridion and Discourses I did have "ready at hand" when I ejected from that plane. 

What I had in hand was the understanding that the Stoic, particularly the disciple of Epictetus who developed this accounting, always keeps separate files in his mind for: 

(a) those things which are "up to him" and (b) those things which are "not up to him;" 

or another way of saying it: (a) those things which are "within his power" and (b) those things which are "beyond his power; " 

or still another way of saying it: (a) those things which are within the grasp of "his will, his free will," and (b ) those things which are beyond it. 

Among the relatively few things that are "up to me, within my power," within my will, are my opinions, my aims, my aversions, my own grief, my own joy, my moral purpose or will, my attitude toward what is going on, my own good, and my own evil. 

Please note: All these things, as are all things of real importance to the Stoic, are matters that apply principally to your "inner self;" where you live.

—from James B. Stockdale, The Stoic Warrior's Triad

Sayings of Ramakrishna 77

So long as no child is born to her, the newly-married girl remains deeply absorbed in her domestic duties. 

But no sooner is a son born, than she leaves off all her household concerns, and no longer finds any pleasure in them. 

On the contrary, she fondles the newborn baby the livelong day, and kisses it with intense joy. 

Thus man, in his state of ignorance, performs all sorts of worldly works, but no sooner does he see the Almighty, than he finds no longer any relish in them. 

On the contrary, his happiness now consists only in serving the Deity and doing His works alone.

IMAGE: Jacob Taaman, Woman and Child (1867)

Seneca, Moral Letters 9.4

Let us now return to the question. The wise man, I say, self-sufficient though he be, nevertheless desires friends if only for the purpose of practicing friendship, in order that his noble qualities may not lie dormant. 

 

Not, however, for the purpose mentioned by Epicurus in the letter quoted above: "That there may be someone to sit by him when he is ill, to help him when he is in prison or in want;" but that he may have someone by whose sickbed he himself may sit, someone a prisoner in hostile hands whom he himself may set free. 

 

He who regards himself only, and enters upon friendships for this reason, reckons wrongly. The end will be like the beginning: he has made friends with one who might assist him out of bondage; at the first rattle of the chain such a friend will desert him.

 

These are the so-called "fair-weather" friendships; one who is chosen for the sake of utility will be satisfactory only so long as he is useful. Hence prosperous men are blockaded by troops of friends; but those who have failed stand amid vast loneliness, their friends fleeing from the very crisis which is to test their worth. 

 

Hence, also, we notice those many shameful cases of persons who, through fear, desert or betray. The beginning and the end cannot but harmonize. He who begins to be your friend because it pays will also cease because it pays. A man will be attracted by some reward offered in exchange for his friendship, if he be attracted by anything in friendship other than friendship itself.

 

Friendship will indeed be a manifestation of self-sufficiency, if only I remember that it is something that begins from the inside out, not from the outside in. Many will say that they need friends to fill up the emptiness inside of them, but the Stoic desires friends to share something of his own fullness. 

 

Or put another way, there is a difference between thinking that friends will make me happy, and that being happy will help me to love my friends. As is so often the case, I reverse the cause and the consequence. 

 

A great beauty of true friendship will then be in its mutual character, where two become one by means of a complete self-giving. If my aim is to look out for another, and his aim is to look out for me, we both suddenly find that we have now multiplied our benefits, broadening our common opportunities to practice understanding and compassion. 

 

The illusion of a conflict between “mine” and “yours” falls away when there ceases to be any calculation about receiving, and only a commitment to giving remains. The focus must be on what I can do, not on what is done to me. 

 

As a gritty old fellow once told me, “If I watch your back, and you watch mine, then everything is in front of us.”

 

Accordingly, while there was earlier an agreement between the Stoics and the Epicureans that a wise man would seek out friends, there will now sadly be a separation on why he should seek out friends. The motive will distinguish the taker from the giver, such that wanting to be cared for stands apart from wanting to offer care. 

 

Such a divergence can only be expected, where there is such a contrast between the Epicurean goal of pleasure as the highest human good, and the Stoic goal of virtue as the highest human good. This is why making sense of such first principles is so crucial, and hardly just a matter of intellectual noodling. As our priorities go, so go the most practical aspects of our lives. 

 

The hardest, and the most important, lesson I ever had to learn was that someone who only looked out for her own profit and gratification could never be my friend. As painful as that process was, I slowly had to overcome the tendency to cast any blame outwards, and finally take on a responsibility for myself. Other will choose their own paths, while I must choose mine; acceptance must trump resentment. 

 

A misguided commitment will end as poorly as it began, as a form of bargaining and not a commitment at all. I will believe that a convenient circumstance has sealed the bond, only to find that an inconvenient circumstance now breaks it. This is why we can always tell our friends from the parasites when the situation is no longer as satisfying. 

 

“Fair-weather” friends indeed! Now how can I upgrade myself to being an “all-weather” friend?

 

If they came to you through lies and lust, they will leave you for lies and lust. Why should I be surprised? It is still within my power to fix the error in my own estimation, itself due to my own ignorant desire, and nothing else. If I continue to insist upon the utility of what I receive, I am completely missing the point. 

Written in 5/2012

Stoic Snippets 66

Such as are your habitual thoughts, such also will be the character of your mind; for the soul is dyed by the thoughts. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 5.16

Abandoned Places 15

Nature 17

Seneca, Moral Letters 9.3

If you ask how one can make oneself a friend quickly, I will tell you, provided we are agreed that I may pay my debt at once and square the account, so far as this letter is concerned. Hecato says: "I can show you a potion, compounded without drugs, herbs, or any witch's incantation: 'If you would be loved, love.'" 

 

Now there is great pleasure, not only in maintaining old and established friendships, but also in beginning and acquiring new ones. There is the same difference between winning a new friend and having already won him, as there is between the farmer who sows and the farmer who reaps. 

 

The philosopher Attalus used to say: "It is more pleasant to make than to keep a friend, as it is more pleasant to the artist to paint than to have finished painting." When one is busy and absorbed in one's work, the very absorption affords great delight; but when one has withdrawn one's hand from the completed masterpiece, the pleasure is not so keen. 

 

Henceforth it is the fruits of his art that he enjoys; it was the art itself that he enjoyed while he was painting. In the case of our children, their young manhood yields the more abundant fruits, but their infancy was sweeter.

 

I suppose I am what they call an introvert, someone who may well like people very much, but who also quickly loses mental and emotional energy when in company. I need to make an extra effort in a conversation, and so making friends has never been easy; it seems the harder I try, the more difficult it becomes. 

 

And then someone very wise gave me an excellent bit of advice: stop struggling so much to make someone your friend, and just be one yourself. It is precisely as Hecato said, exactly as the Stoics have always preached: practice being good, expecting nothing else, and then you find that you will receive everything you need. 

 

I may object, that this all sounds wonderful, but am I supposed to honestly think that people will suddenly respect me once I respect them? 

 

No, not at all. Many will still lie to me, steal from me, or abandon me, but they are not the ones who are even capable of being friends from their end. If I choose to act with character, then others who follow wisdom and virtue will recognize who I am, and I will have their trust, as they have mine. They are the only ones whose opinions should matter in my estimation. 

 

We are quite busy in trying to win new friends, and quite lazy in keeping them, but I suppose this is because of what Seneca describes, how there is often more excitement and passion in the former than in the latter. This appeals to souls that are moved by a craving for something new instead of being at peace with something timeless, those who are slaves to immediate gratification instead of masters of their own judgments. 

 

If my intentions in offering friendship are sincere and pure, then it will not even occur to me that gaining it does not also necessitate nurturing it. Like the shallow people who go from one sexual conquest to another, selfish people have their so-called friends come and go. They do not understand that the thrill of the chase will give way to a much deeper commitment, the joy of constancy. 

 

The sort of love that matters, where the giving is itself the reward, is at the root of a friendship that is completely unconditional. There is nothing to stand in the way of its continuation, because there are no terms or balance sheets attached. 

 

My own children are still young, so I am still in the midst of that fiery and dramatic stage of helping to form them, and yet I always do so in the hope that they will one day be willing to give of themselves without hesitation. That will have made it all worthwhile, the lasting results of the labor. 

Written in 5/2012

IMAGE: Joshua Reynolds, Allegory of Friendship (1760)

Dhammapada 115

And he who lives a hundred years, not seeing the highest law, a life of one day is better if a man sees the highest law.

Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 3.29

How when tribulation comes we must call upon and bless God

1. Blessed be Your Name, O Lord, for evermore, who has willed this temptation and trouble to come upon me. I cannot escape it, but have need to flee unto You, that You may succor me and turn it unto me for good. Lord, now am I in tribulation, and it is not well within my heart, but I am sorely vexed by the suffering which lies upon me. And now, O dear Father, what shall I say? I am taken among the snares. Save me from this hour, but for this cause came I unto this hour, that You might be glorified when I am deeply humbled and am delivered through You. Let it be Your pleasure to deliver me; for what can I do who am poor, and without You whither shall I go? Give patience this time also. Help me, O Lord my God, and I will not fear how much soever I am weighed down.

2. And now amid these things what shall I say? Lord, Your will be done. I have well deserved to be troubled and weighed down. Therefore I ought to bear, would that it be with patience, until the tempest be overpast and comfort returns. Yet is Your omnipotent arm able also to take this temptation away from me, and to lessen its power that I fall not utterly under it, even as many a time past You have helped me, O God, my merciful God. And as much as this deliverance is difficult to me, so much is it easy to You, O right hand of the most Highest.

Seneca, Moral Letters 9.2

And mark how self-sufficient he is; for on occasion, he can be content with a part of himself. If he loses a hand through disease or war, or if some accident puts out one or both of his eyes, he will be satisfied with what is left, taking as much pleasure in his impaired and maimed body as he took when it was sound. 

 

But while he does not pine for these parts if they are missing, he prefers not to lose them. In this sense the wise man is self-sufficient, that he can do without friends, not that he desires to do without them. When I say "can," I mean this: he endures the loss of a friend with equanimity.

 

But he need never lack friends, for it lies in his own control how soon he shall make good a loss. Just as Phidias, if he loses a statue, can straightway carve another, even so our master in the art of making friendships can fill the place of a friend he has lost.

 

As much as the wise man finds his happiness by relying on his own character, he will still seek out friends. I might even say that because the wise man finds his happiness by relying on his own character, he will then further wish to share of himself with others. 

 

This can only make sense when I understand that friendship is desirable for what can be given from within, not merely for what can be received from without, and that love itself is therefore an action that expresses a complete commitment of oneself. 

 

I may not need what a friend can do for me to find contentment, but I certainly wish for the opportunity to do something for both of us to become better. 

 

It has only been the stark reality of facing loss that has taught me to come to terms with what I need, and with who I should choose to be. I have confused many things that were preferable with things that were necessary, and I have expected my peace of mind to be provided by certain circumstances, instead of practicing the good in all circumstances. 

 

To have externals ripped away may cause me pain, and yet it will only bring about a deeper suffering when I fail to recognize that I already contain the fullness of being myself. 

 

I thought I required her affection, or this set of honors, or that box of playthings, and I could not imagine myself without them; how quickly it can all change, and how critical it now is to not demand anything from others, while simultaneously offering everything of myself. 

 

I was once horrified when my uncle had to have a foot amputated, and I prepared myself to offer whatever kind and comforting words I could possibly say, expecting him to be deeply distraught. To my surprise, he was his usual cheerful self when I next spoke to him, and he asked me why I sounded so baffled. 

 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could manage it as easily as you have.”

 

“It’s just a foot! There are all sorts of other bits left, you know, and they can’t cut out the bits that really matter!”

 

Those words have stuck with me over the years, as a reflection of appreciating where to find true human dignity and worth. 

 

Surely, given the choice, he would have wished to keep the foot instead of losing it, and yet he was completely willing to be happy in either case. It is much the same when it comes to keeping a friend or losing a friend. The key will be in seeing all events, however initially disturbing, as occasions to find new ways to do what is right. 

 

I at first smirk a bit when Seneca says it is easy to find new friends, since I am usually dismissed or overlooked by others, and I then try desperately to somehow make a better impression. It may be effortless to gather people around you if you are gifted with wit and charm, but some of us struggle with these qualities.

 

I feel a twinge of resentment stirring inside of me, and that is usually a sign that I am judging too hastily and selfishly. No, I am only feeling that way because I am still unclear about what it means to be a friend, worried more about the getting than the giving. 

 

Not everyone I come across will treat me well, and yet I have it within my power to act with respect and compassion toward absolutely anyone I come across. There will no difficulty at all in finding people to love, only a difficulty when I arrogantly wish to force them to do what I want. 

Written in 5/2012

Washerwomen in the Ruins of the Colosseum

Hubert Robert, Washerwomen in the Ruins of the Colosseum (c. 1760)

 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 76

Milk and water, when brought into contact, are sure to mix so that the milk can never be separated again. 

So if the neophyte, thirsting after self-improvement, mixes indiscriminately with all sorts of worldly men, he not only loses his ideals, but his former faith, love, and enthusiasm also die away imperceptibly. 

When, however, you convert the milk into butter, it no longer mixes with water, but floats over it. 

Similarly, when the soul once attains Godhead, it may live in any company, without ever being affected by its evil influences.

Seneca, Moral Letters 9.1

Letter 9: On philosophy and friendship
 
You desire to know whether Epicurus is right when, in one of his letters, he rebukes those who hold that the wise man is self-sufficient and for that reason does not stand in need of friendships. This is the objection raised by Epicurus against Stilpo and those who believe that the Supreme Good is a soul which is insensible to feeling.
 
We are bound to meet with a double meaning if we try to express the Greek term "lack of feeling" summarily, in a single word, rendering it by the Latin word “impatientia”. For it may be understood in the meaning the opposite to that which we wish it to have. What we mean to express is, a soul which rejects any sensation of evil; but people will interpret the idea as that of a soul which can endure no evil. 
 
Consider, therefore, whether it is not better to say "a soul that cannot be harmed," or "a soul entirely beyond the realm of suffering." There is this difference between ourselves and the other school: our ideal wise man feels his troubles, but overcomes them; their wise man does not even feel them. 
 
But we and they alike hold this idea—that the wise man is self-sufficient. Nevertheless, he desires friends, neighbors, and associates, no matter how much he is sufficient unto himself.
 
I have gradually discovered another annoying weakness in myself, where a commitment to mental rigor and moral discipline will tempt me to also take on a cold an uncaring distance; I slip from the extreme of being haphazard in my feelings to the extreme of being dismissive of my feelings. 
 
Yes, I know this means I’m not yet doing it quite right, and so it serves as a healthy reminder that my reason must never stifle my sensitivity, and that my concern for my own improvement can never exclude others. 
 
I want to say that I must avoid becoming insensible, and that I must never forget that I need to have friends, and yet Seneca here tells me that I must be very careful about how I understand such terms. The distinctions are not just about technical nitpicking, but get to the very heart of what it means to become properly self-sufficient. 
 
Schools of philosophy will just as often overlap and include one another as they conflict and exclude one another; to find that common ground has long been a great joy for me, as it points to what we can all share. In this particular case, Seneca tries to discover some unity, in different senses, with both the Epicureans and the Megarians. 
 
Behind the history is a set of related questions: What does it mean to rely on my own good, instead of depending on the good of other things? Is friendship a necessary part of that good? If I am my own ruler, should I embrace affection, or should I separate myself from it completely? 
 
I may have bitten off more than I can chew here, so I will try to take it slowly. 
 
If all I require to be happy is my own judgment and action, then it may at first seem that whether I share intimate bonds with others is irrelevant, and attending to my passions will be a pointless diversion. Here is where I can sadly start turning myself into a brain in a vat, instead of a whole person. 
 
Let me distinguish. Whether I call it being indifferent, or insensible, or resilient to my feelings, I must determine if I mean that those feelings are a part of me that must be ordered, and understood in their rightful place, or something alien that must be rejected. Seneca and Epicurus argued for the former, while Stilpo argued for the latter. 
 
It is again like the old Mr. Spock problem from classic Star Trek: It seemed clear that the fellow had feelings, especially being half human, and yet there was some confusion, depending on the plot of the week, if the Vulcans sought to properly tame them, or to totally excise them. 
 
As much as it may bring out the ire of other fans, itself an emotion, I suggest that Spock was both the most logical character on the show, as well as the most compassionate character on the show. Yes, the Stoic in me is waving his flag. 
 
The assumption is often that the higher must deny the lower, a false dichotomy, when it is quite possible for the higher to include the lower, and to give it a greater meaning and purpose. I am not a creature of feeling or of reason, but a creature of both feeling and of reason, where the impression is made to be in harmony with the judgment. 
 
My Stoicism must never become a merely cerebral matter, one that imposes yet another illusory and restrictive division upon Nature. If Nature made me that way, she did so for a darn good reason, joining a mind and a will to a body charged with passions. What a wonderful combination! There is such great danger in it, as well as such great promise in it. 
 
For the Stoic chooses, with all of his conviction, to not permit his suffering to destroy him. He knows he can make something better of it, and thereby rise above it. This is radically different from a Stilpo, who wishes to imagine that the suffering didn’t exist in the first place. 
 
It will be the same with desire and longing. There is acceptance, and there is denial. There is learning to be the master, and there is wishing the matter away. 
 
Many traditions can agree on wisdom being at the root, even as they diverge on the breadth of the branches. 

Written in 5/2012

Hans Holbein, The Dance of Death 27: The Astrologer

 

Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 11

XI.

Be not transported with too great a sense
Of any outward object's excellence;
For should the pamper'd courser which you feed,
Of swiftest heels, and of the noblest breed,
Though sense of vigour, strength of oats and hay
From his full manger turn his head, and say,
"Am I not beautiful, and sleek, and gay!"
'Twere to be borne in him, the speech might suit
The parts and education of the brute:
But when with too much pleasure you admire
Your horse's worth, and vainly boast his sire,
And tire us out with endless idle prate
About his crest, his colour, or his gait;
'Tis plain you think his owner fortunate.
You're proud he's yours, and vainly claim as due
What to the beast belongs, and not to you.
Too plainly is your selfish folly shewn,
Adding your horse's virtues to your own,
Well then; perhaps you'll ask, "What's yours of these
Dear outward things, that seem so much to please?"
Why nothing but the use: if then you chuse
What's truly good, what is not so, refute:
If the well-chosen good you rightly use
As nature's light informs you, then alone

You may rejoice in something of your own.