A Stoic Lion

Abandoned Places 33

Romain Veillon, The Tunnel of Love 

Nature 35

Stockdale on Stoicism 22

As I said, learning to take charge of your emotions is empowering. When you get there, Enchiridion 30 applies: "No one can harm you without your permission." 

And by "harm" Epictetus means, as Stoics always mean, harming your inner self, your self-respect, and your obligation to be faithful. 

He can break your arm or your leg, but not to worry. They'll heal. 

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

IMAGE: Ernst Haas, Homecoming Prisoner, Vienna (c. 1946) 

Dhammapada 217

He who possesses virtue and intelligence, who is just, speaks the truth, and does what is his own business, him the world will hold dear. 

Epictetus, Discourses 1.22.3

In what then does education consist? In learning to apply the natural primary conceptions to particular occasions in accordance with Nature, and further to distinguish between things in our power and things not in our power. 

 

In our power are will and all operations of the will, and beyond our power are the body, the parts of the body, possessions, parents, brothers, children, country, in a word—those whose society we share. 

 

Where then are we to place “the good”? To what class of things shall we apply it? 

 

“To what is in our power.”

 

Does it follow then that health and a whole body, and life are not good, nor children, parents, and country? 

 

No one will bear with you if you say that. Let us then transfer the name “good” to this class of things. Is it possible for a man to be happy if he is injured and fails to win good things? 

 

“It is impossible.” 

 

Can he also find the proper way to live with his fellows? No, how is it possible? 

 

For instance, I incline by nature to my true interest. If it is my interest to have a field, it is also my interest to take it away from my neighbor; if it is my interest to have a robe, it is my interest also to steal it from the bath. 

 

This is the source of wars, factions, tyrannies, plots. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.22

 

If the primary conception is to be applied in specific practice, then I must seek out the distinct natures within things, and how the purpose of each plays a role in the totality of Nature. Like a stubborn man who refuses to accept directions, I will be driving around in circles until I take the time to get my bearings. 

 

If I choose to plant a tree in my yard, all the best intentions in the world will not make it grow. How much light or shade does it need to prosper? Should I give it more or less water? Is it best to prune it back at certain times, or to let its branches grow freely? 

 

The gardener has to learn his craft, by becoming familiar with the nature of his plants, just as every man has to learn to be good, by becoming familiar with the workings of his own nature. 

 

Perhaps we will all nod in agreement, and then mumble some hazy platitudes about how great it is to be “nice”. I’m afraid that won’t be enough, and we are rather called to rolling up our sleeves, breaking a sweat, and getting our hands dirty. 

 

With all the effort required to pursue a professional career, for example, we can hardly think that the task of being human demands any less. Furthermore, the answers we find may not be as convenient as we might have thought. 

 

Once I begin to examine the source of the good within my own nature, I may be surprised at how little the answers fit with most of what I have been taught over the years. 

 

The “important” people tell me I should constantly acquire more property and improve my reputation. In contrast, Nature is urging me to cultivate wisdom and increase my virtues. I have grown accustomed to the caricature of man as a creature of profit and consumption, while I have overlooked the essence of man as a creature made for understanding and love. 

 

There is no great mystery to it, and all that is required is a reflection upon oneself: the distinctive identity of a human being is the power of reason and of will. Where those powers are perfected, all other conditions become secondary. Now why do I continue to care so much for trinkets, while my soul decays? 

 

When I apply these insights to daily living, I will be at odds with many popular assumptions. Tell your friends about how you care more for refining your conscience than you do for extending your life, and they will look at you funny. Express your conviction that compassion outweighs money, and they will slowly back away. Sell all that you possess to commit a single act of charity, and they will try to lock you up. 

 

What is the crucial difference? Some look to what they can do for happiness, while others look to what happens to them or happiness. The one makes you appear the freak, the other gets you a membership at the club. 

 

Pardon my French, but who has the balls to be the freak? The pressure to conform is a root of our tendency to vice, the desire to be coddled is a cause of our mediocrity. 

 

Epictetus hits it right on the mark here. Once I have a hunch about the best way to live, that will fly in the face of fashion. Am I willing to say that I am indifferent to my circumstances? I should expect to be a pariah. Can I bear the cost? Only if I truly know what’s best for me.

 

Otherwise, I will fold to the pressure. I will deny the good in my soul, and I will revert to the habits of playing the usual game. There’s the rub. 

 

Where I twist the good into a demand for what isn’t rightly mine, instead of a contentment with what is properly mine, I am no better than an Agamemnon or an Achilles. People want to take from others, and they think it right to force and to seize. They are mistaken—happiness is about being at peace with oneself. 

 

No man who lusts for a worldly profit can ever be a good man. He defines himself by his power over another, when he ought to worry about his self-mastery. Whether he uses stealth or force, whether he is a thief or a robber, he has sold himself out. 

 

Where do all these conflicts and wars come from? From the sum of individuals who have abandoned their own natures, and so have rejected the harmony of Nature. They have done so because they refuse to stand up to wicked men, because they confuse virtue with utility. 

 

Every social ill arises from many millions of small personal choices to care for externals. 

—Reflection written in 3/2001 

IMAGE: Eugene Delacroix, The Horse Thieves (c, 1840)

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 62

Multiply your acts of kindness, and you teach the recipient to return them.

Sticks and Stones

As a reference for Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 3.46: 

I find it remarkable how sayings from long ago are still used today, even as their original contexts are lost to us. 

A stitch in time saves nine. 

Though my mother still mended my worn clothes when I was a pup, I knew of no one else who did so at the time, and I have certainly not seen anyone darning socks for over thirty years. And yet the phrase remains. 

Hang it out with the washing. 

You guessed it, our family never owned a dryer, and one of my childhood chores involved bringing in the the laundry from the clothesline after dinner. I miss that wonderful smell to this day, and I still remember playing with the wooden clothespins. Again, it is a practice almost completely lost in our day and age. 

Just as interesting are the familiar expressions which were once viewed positively, but are now considered to be ignorant or barbaric. 

Spare the rod and spoil the child. 

This perhaps pushes too many buttons, given the way our current culture condemns any form of corporal punishment, and yet behind it is also a deeper point about how the lack of any discipline must inevitably lead to a weakness of character. There is certainly an important line between a reprimand and abuse. 

I will only say that I distinctly recall being spanked exactly two times as a child, and given a slap by my grandmother once, and on each occasion my deplorable behavior completely justified the response. More importantly, I remember the power of those instances so vividly that I have not once repeated those offenses. If you find my suggestion unacceptable, please let us amicably agree to disagree. 

And here is one everyone knows, and most everyone brushes aside as moronic:

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. 

The assumption is now that quite the reverse is true, how the emotional pain caused by words is far more crippling than the physical pain caused by an injury to the body. 

In one sense, this is entirely correct, as I know full well from the bullying I received for many years as a child; it was easier to get punched or kicked than to be insulted and ridiculed. 

Yes, you know who you are. No, don't worry about it, because I have learned to forgive. Just please don't keep doing it to anyone else. 

In another sense, however, our rejection of the old maxim speaks volumes about our abandonment of self-reliance. The Stoic has something to offer here: are you going to surrender to what happens to you, or are you going to have a bit of confidence in your own convictions? 

For all I might try to do in controlling the circumstances, a pain in my flesh is not ultimately within my power. If it comes, it comes; if it comes fiercely, I will clench my fists so hard that I bleed from my palms. Yes, it damn well hurts. What can I do about it? I may not be able to restrain the source, but I can, with due patience, lean to manage its effects, and to transform that bodily suffering into an opportunity for improving my character. 

You'll only laugh at that until you've been there, and you'll only dismiss it until you know why, when your back is against the wall, a strength of awareness and of will is your only way out. 

The passions work a little bit differently. A pain in my soul has always felt far more severe than any of that, and yet I can do far more to tame my feelings than I can to conquer my flesh and blood—I can directly affect how I feel by ordering the way I think. 

Simply put, it feels bad when I decide it is bad. Where I alter the judgments, I then modify the emotions that come from confronting scorn and slander. Am I offended? Let me change what I believe to be offensive. With some effort, the results are remarkable and uplifting. I will not be taken down by the defamation from a man I know to be misguided. 

No, it doesn't happen overnight, as habits only shift with patient practice. No, it does not excuse the hatred offered by another, but it does allow me to rise above the nastiness I come across every day. I should love my neighbor, and I should care about what he thinks, while at the same time my life should not be ruled by the opinions of others. 

I once again try to channel my best Musonius Rufus or Epictetus: is that fellow right to say I am a loser? If so, I owe him my gratitude, and he has rightly called upon me to improve myself. Is he wrong to say I am loser? If so, I should pity his insensitivity, and offer him my compassion instead of my annoyance. 

Is anything keeping me from living with understanding and love? Only my own choices. Words only hurt when I permit them to do so. 

No one "makes" me happy or sad; I do that for myself. The old adage turns out to not be so stupid after all.      

I need to stop being a victim and leave words where they are. The outside is powerless over my insides, unless I permit it to creep its way in. 

 

Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 3.46

Of having confidence in God when evil words are cast at us 

1. "My Son, stand fast and believe in Me. For what are words but words? They fly through the air, but they bruise no stone. If you are guilty, think how you would gladly amend yourself; if you know nothing against yourself, consider that you will gladly bear this for God's sake. It is little enough that you sometimes have to bear hard words, for you are not yet able to bear hard blows. And wherefore do such trivial matters go to your heart, except that you are yet carnal, and regard men more than you ought? For because you fear to be despised, you are unwilling to be reproved for your faults, and seek paltry shelters of excuses. 

2. "But look better into yourself, and you shall know that the world is still alive in you, and the vain love of pleasing men. For when you flee away from being abased and confounded for your faults, it is plain that you are neither truly humble nor truly dead to the world, and that the world is not crucified to you. But hearken to My word, and you shall not care for ten thousand words of men. Behold, if all things could be said against you which the utmost malice could invent, what should it hurt you if you were altogether to let it go, and make no more account of it than of a mote? Could it pluck out a single hair of your head? 

3. "But he that has no heart within him, and has not God before his eyes, is easily moved by a word of reproach; but he who trusts in Me, and seeks not to abide by his own judgment, shall be free from the fear of men. For I am the Judge and the Discerner of all secrets; I know how the thing has been done; I know both the injurer and the bearer. From Me went forth that word, by My permission this has happened, that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed. I shall judge the guilty and the innocent; but beforehand I have willed to try them both by a secret judgment. 

4. "The testimony of men often deceives. My judgment is true; it will stand, and it shall not be overturned. It commonly lies hid, and only to few in certain cases is it made known; yet it never errs, nor can err, although it seems not right to the eyes of foolish men. To Me, therefore, must men have recourse in all judgment, and must not lean to their opinion. For there shall no evil happen to the just, whatsoever may be sent to him by God. Even though some unjust charge be brought against him, he will care little; nor, again, will he exult above measure, if through others he be clearly vindicated. For he considers that I am He who tries the hearts and reins, who judges not outwardly and according to human appearance; for often in Mine eyes that is found blameworthy which in the judgment of men is held worthy of praise." 

5. O Lord God, O Judge, just, strong, and patient, who knows the frailty and sinfulness of men, be You my strength and my whole confidence; for my own conscience suffices me not. You know what I know not; and therefore ought I under all rebuke to humble myself, and to bear it meekly. Therefore mercifully forgive me as often as I have not done this, and grant me the next time the grace of greater endurance. For better unto me is Your abundant pity for the attainment of Your pardon, than the righteousness which I believe myself to have for defense against my conscience, which lies in wait against me. Although I know nothing against myself, yet I am not hereby justified, because if Your mercy were removed away, in Your sight should no man living be justified. 

Epictetus, Discourses 1.22.2

Such you will find is the conflict between Agamemnon and Achilles. Call them to come forward. 

 

What do you say, Agamemnon? Do you say that what is right and noble ought not to be done? 

 

“Of course it ought.”

 

And what do you say, Achilles? Do you not approve of doing what is noble? 

 

“No, I approve of it above all things.”

 

Now apply these primary notions: and here the conflict begins. 

 

One says, “I ought not to give back Chryseis to her father.” 

 

The other says, “No, you ought.” 

 

Certainly one or other of them wrongly applies the primary notion of right. 

 

Again one says, “Well, if I must give back Chryseis, I must take the prize from one of you.” 

 

The other says, “What, take away my beloved?” 

 

“Yes, yours,” he says. 

 

“Am I alone then to be the loser?” 

 

“But am I alone to have nothing?” 

 

So a conflict arises. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.22

 

It took me some time to warm to the Iliad, as my first impression was that there was too much talking and not enough action. After a few more tries, I came to admire it as an ideal study of the human condition, more than worthy of its reputation as one of humanity’s finest works of art. 

 

It operates on a grand scale, and yet so many of the individual episodes can be considered in themselves, as remarkable snapshots of people both at their best and at their worst. I have a special place in my heart for the final meeting between Hector and Andromache, but the opening events of the story, where Agamemnon and Achilles argue over the division of spoils, come in at a very close second. 

 

Here we have two heroes squabbling like spoiled children, about which of them has the right of “ownership” over a woman. Chryseis and Briseis had been taken as prizes of war, and have been claimed by Agamemnon and Achilles respectively.

 

A problem arises, however, when Chryseis’s father, a priest of Apollo, unleashes a plague on the Greek army to force his daughter's return. Agamemnon has little choice but to submit, and yet his pride demands that he be compensated for the loss. So as to still feel like he is a big man, he insists that Achilles surrender Briseis to him. 

 

Harsh words are exchanged, violence is contemplated, and Achilles finally gives in, only to have his bitter revenge by now refusing to fight for the Greeks any longer. He sits in his tent and broods. Every other tragedy of the story now unfolds in the context of his stubborn rage. 

 

If the tale sounds familiar, similar things happen every day, in schools, workplaces, and families, even if the scale is not quite so epic. In such cases, everyone appeals to justice, and yet so few seems to have any idea of what it genuinely means to act with justice. The primary conception is there, while its true meaning gets lost in the greed, jealousy, and resentment. 

 

Both Agamemnon and Achilles want what is “good” and to do what is “right”, though they think of these principles simply in terms of their immediate gratification. They are skipping steps in their judgments, hastily coming to conclusions about the application of the good, since they have not given any serious thought to the specific nature of the good. 

 

It is no accident that most of these blunders occur as a result of a double standard, where the good of the one is seen as being isolated from the good of the other. “Who cares about you? It’s about me!” The error is in failing to see how the good must encompass all creatures, at the exclusion of none. 

 

I’d like to feel offended at the deeds of Agamemnon and Achilles, condemning them for their petty wickedness, and then I remember how often I have done much the same. The point of the great story is not that it allows us to point fingers at others, but rather that it challenges us to look more carefully within ourselves. 

—Reflection written in 3/2001 

IMAGE: William Page, The Quarrel of Achilles and Agamemnon (c. 1832) 

Woman Before the Rising Sun

Caspar David Friedrich, Woman Before the Rising Sun (c. 1820)

 

Hans Holbein, The Dance of Death 44: The Blind Man

Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 28

XXVIII.  

Wisdom, you say, is what you must desire,
The only charming blessing you admire,
Therefore be bold and fit yourself to bear
Many a taunt, and patiently to hear
The grinning foolish rable laugh aloud
At you, the sport and pastime of the crowd,
While in like jeers they vent their filthy spleen;
"Whence all this gravity, this careless mien!
And whence of late is this pretender come,
This new proficient, this musheroom,
This young philosopher with half a beard?
Of him, 'till now, we have no mention heard:
Whence all this supercilious pride of late?
This stiff behaviour, this affected gait?"
This will perhaps be said, but be not you
Sullen nor bend a supercilious brow,
Lest thus you prove their vile reproaches true,
Which are but words of course, the excrement,
The usual malice, which alike thy vent
Upon the guilty and the innocent.
But firmly still to what seems best adhere,
As if by heav'n's commands you order'd were
To keep that post, not to be driv'n from thence
By force, much less a scurrilous offence.
Maintain this maxim, and you soon will grow,
The praise and wonder of your scoffing foe:
Forc'd to confess his faults, he'll court you more
Than he reproach'd, or laugh'd at you before.
But if his mock'ry makes you tamely yield,
And quit your noble station in the field,
You merit laughter on a double score,
First for attempting then for giving o'er.

Sayings of Ramakrishna 158

What you wish others to do, do yourself. 

Epictetus, Discourses 1.22.1

Chapter 22: On primary conceptions. 

 

Primary conceptions are common to all men, and one does not conflict with another. 

 

Who among us, for instance, does not assume that the good is expedient and desirable and that we ought in all circumstances to follow and pursue it? 

 

Which of us does not assume that the just is noble and becoming? 

 

At what moment then does conflict arise? It arises in the application of primary conceptions to particular facts; when for instance one says, “He has done well: he is brave,” and another, “No, he is out of his mind.”

 

Hence arises the conflict of men with one another. 

 

Such is the conflict between Jews and Syrians and Egyptians and Romans—not the question whether holiness must be put before all things and must in all circumstances be pursued, but whether it is holy or unholy to eat of swine's flesh. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.22 

 

Back when I first started to dabble in philosophy, this was the sort of chapter I would have rushed through, or perhaps even skipped over. I was eager to get to what I believed were the “interesting bits”, the fiery diatribes about all the pressing issues of the hour. Let’s debate about abortion, or nuclear power, or the minimum wage! That’s the stuff that actually matters! 

 

Yet it didn’t take me too long to see how we were usually going in circles, or talking past one another, or confusing our passion for clarity. Most every argument wasn’t really an argument in the logical sense, but was rather a rhetorical flourish standing in for a demonstration. We vaguely agreed on doing the right thing, and then hastily jumped to all sorts of wildly diverging demands.

 

It was easy to insist that the opponent was either an imbecile or a fascist, though it just made us become more ignorant or pig-headed. Unless we were merely going to yell until we were blue in the face, we needed to find the missing piece 

 

This is why chapters like this are essential. Demonstrations work from prior premises, and it is impossible to keep going backwards to infinity. At some point, we must arrive at first principles, propositions that are most certainly true, but need not themselves be proven, as they are self-evident. They do not call for naïve assumption or blind belief—they are the very preconditions for any awareness of reality, and to deny them is a contradiction in terms. 

 

Epictetus rightly chooses two of the most obvious examples: 

 

Desire is, by its nature, for what is beneficial, and aversion is, by its nature, for what is harmful. Twist the terms all you like, and still no one consciously chooses what he thinks is bad for him. 

 

Similarly, justice is taken as a universal condition of human relationships, such that no one claims to act unfairly, even as everyone grumbles about being treated unfairly. Surely if it is good, it must also be taken as lawful. 

 

The gaping hole is thus revealed. The “general idea” is postulated, and then suddenly particular rules are dictated. In between them we neglect to make a connection, to show how the latter follows from the former in an orderly manner. 

 

In other words, yes, we all want what is good and just. Yet now they might say that cavity searches on every second Tuesday evening are necessary for the security of the homeland. How did we get from one to the other? 

 

To live in virtue, it is not enough to propose a fuzzy concept, and then to attach a list of preferences to the ambiguous ideal. As much as I enjoy smoked kippers or Marmite on toast, I do not presume to impose them as a required diet on my fellows. 

 

Let me define a term clearly, and then let me apply it precisely. To know the “good” is to consider the common identity of human nature; to implement the “good” is to discern how it is present in the widest possible range of instances. Where I have no grasp of who I am, I am clueless about what to do. 

 

Of course fortitude is a virtue—the lion is more noble than the scaredy-cat. That statement is meaningless, however, without an understanding of the ends worth fighting for, and the means by which to do so. We squabble and scratch at one another when we fail to join the principles together with the practices.

 

Look at how many people say they love God and love their neighbors, and then they cast out the infidels who eat at the wrong restaurants. Goodness, justice, bravery, and piety exist within the complete context of a whole, not as shallow soundbites. 

 

Will you still tell me that philosophy is a luxury, when rigorous reflection is necessary for every conceivable human task? The thinking must be united to the discipline. 

—Reflection written in 3/2001 

Stoic Snippets 146

It is a ridiculous thing for a man not to fly from his own badness, which is indeed possible, but to fly from other men's badness, which is impossible. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.71 

Vanitas 58

Matthias Withoos, Vanitas (c. 1680) 

Chuang Tzu 2.7

The Tâo at first met with no responsive recognition. Speech at first had no constant forms of expression. Because of this there came the demarcations of different views. 

Let me describe those demarcations—they are the Left and the Right; the Relations and their Obligations; Classifications and their Distinctions; Emulations and Contentions. These are what are called "the Eight Qualities." 

Outside the limits of the world of men, the sage occupies his thoughts, but does not discuss about anything; inside those limits he occupies his thoughts, but does not pass any judgments. 

In the Khun Khiû, which embraces the history of the former kings, the sage indicates his judgments, but does not argue in vindication of them. Thus it is that he separates his characters from one another without appearing to do so, and argues without the form of argument. 

How does he do so? The sage cherishes his views in his own breast, while men generally state theirs argumentatively, to show them to others. Hence we have the saying, "Disputation is a proof of not seeing clearly." 

The Great Tâo does not admit of being praised. The Great Argument does not require words. Great Benevolence is not officiously benevolent. Great Disinterestedness does not vaunt its humility. Great Courage is not seen in stubborn bravery. 

The Tâo that is displayed is not the Tâo. Words that are argumentative do not reach the point. Benevolence that is constantly exercised does not accomplish its object. Disinterestedness that vaunts its purity is not genuine. Courage that is most stubborn is ineffectual. 

These five seem to be round and complete, but they tend to become square and immovable. Therefore the knowledge that stops at what it does not know is the greatest. Who knows the argument that needs no words, and the Way that is not to be trodden? 

He who is able to know this has what is called "The Heavenly Treasure House." He may pour into it without its being filled; he may pour from it without its being exhausted; and all the while he does not know whence the supply comes. This is what is called "The Store of Light." 

Therefore of old Yâo asked Shun, saying, "I wish to smite the rulers of Tsung, Kwei, and Hsü-âo. Even when standing in my court, I cannot get them out of my mind. How is it so?" 

Shun replied, "Those three rulers live in their little states as if they were among the mugwort and other brushwood—how is it that you cannot get them out of your mind? Formerly, ten suns came out together, and all things were illuminated by them—how much should your virtue exceed all suns!" 

IMAGE: Natalya Koutikhina, Ten Suns (2020) 

Dhammapada 212-216

From pleasure comes grief, from pleasure comes fear; he who is free from pleasure knows neither grief nor fear. 

From affection comes grief, from affection comes fear; he who is free from affection knows neither grief nor fear. 

From lust comes grief, from lust comes fear; he who is free from lust knows neither grief nor fear. 

From love comes grief, from love comes fear; he who is free from love knows neither grief nor fear. 

From greed comes grief, from greed comes fear; he who is free from greed knows neither grief nor fear. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 26.3

I was just intending to stop, and my hand was making ready for the closing sentence; but the rites are still to be performed and the travelling money for the letter disbursed. And just assume that I am not telling where I intend to borrow the necessary sum; you know upon whose coffers I depend. 

 

Wait for me but a moment, and I will pay you from my own account; meanwhile, Epicurus will oblige me with these words: "Think on death," or rather, if you prefer the phrase, on "migration to heaven."

 

The meaning is clear—that it is a wonderful thing to learn thoroughly how to die. You may deem it superfluous to learn a text that can be used only once; but that is just the reason why we ought to think on a thing. When we can never prove whether we really know a thing, we must always be learning it.

 

"Think on death." In saying this, he bids us think on freedom. He who has learned to die has unlearned slavery; he is above any external power, or, at any rate, he is beyond it. What terrors have prisons and bonds and bars for him? His way out is clear. 

 

There is only one chain which binds us to life, and that is the love of life. The chain may not be cast off, but it may be rubbed away, so that, when necessity shall demand, nothing may retard or hinder us from being ready to do at once that which at some time we are bound to do. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 26

 

In my usual contrary way, I always preferred John Drake from Danger Man to any of the James Bond stories, though there are still moments from the Bond films that have made an impression on me. One of these was the theme song from Timothy Dalton’s first appearance in 1987’s The Living Daylights, performed by the Norwegian synth-pop band A-ha, who were quite popular at the time. 

 

As with most Bond songs, the lyrics were sufficiently cryptic to have them mean whatever you liked, but there was one line that has remained stuck in my head now for over twenty years: 

 

Set your hopes up way too high 

The living's in the way we die 

 

Quite unintentionally, so many of my philosophical musings have returned right back to that point. For all the magnificent goals of fame and fortune, what will any of it matter when I can’t come to terms with the fact that it must all go away? Where I fail to be happy with the way I die, I fail to be happy with the way I live. 

 

What a clever question: if I only have to die once, but I have to live every day, why bother preparing for my departure? 

 

What a thoughtful reply: the value of the whole can only be put to the test as it arrives at its completion, and that will only happen once. It is best to practice daily, since there will be no do-overs; all the training is for the sake of a single mission. 

 

My happiness is my own when I possess myself, and I possess myself when my thoughts and deeds are not subject to any circumstances beyond my control. I must be wary, therefore, of being ruled by my cravings for pleasure or popularity, and most of all I must master my fear of death. Where I do not determine myself by the presence or absence of things, I do not allow myself to be alarmed by the possibility of their loss. 

 

Mere survival is not the point of living—living with responsibility and integrity is the point of living. An indifference to dying is a requisite for an exercise of the virtues, because otherwise the virtues will readily submit to the lure of comfort and convenience. 

 

True freedom comes from within, and if my mind and will are not bound to those petty anxieties about the trappings of the body or the duration of its existence, then no one else can make me a slave. 

 

In telling us to be ready for death at any moment, the Stoics are calling us to embrace a complete liberty of the soul. 

—Reflection written in 10/2012

A-ha, "The Living Daylights", 1987 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXM4eIoPZUU