The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Thursday, February 9, 2023
Wednesday, February 8, 2023
The Great Miseries of War 2
Jacques Callot, The Great Miseries of War 2: Enrolling the Troops (1633)
The Great Miseries of War 1
This series of etchings by Jacques Callot chronicles the horrors of the Thirty Years War (1618-1648), when he saw his own country of Lorraine ravaged, and it serves as a warning for all time.
Jacques Callot, The Great Miseries of War 1: Frontispiece (1633)
Tuesday, February 7, 2023
Dhammapada 292, 293
What ought to be done is neglected, what ought not to be done is done; the desires of unruly, thoughtless people are always increasing.
But they whose whole watchfulness is always directed to their body, who do not follow what ought not to be done, and who steadfastly do what ought to be done, the desires of such watchful and wise people will come to an end.
Plutarch, The Life of Cato the Younger 5
The Basilica Porcia, as it was called, had been dedicated by the elder Cato while he was censor. Here, then, the tribunes of the people were accustomed to transact their business; and as one of the pillars was thought to be in the way of their seats, they determined to take it down or move it to another place.
This brought Cato for the first time, and against his wishes, into the forum; he opposed the tribunes, and was admired for the proof of eloquence and high character which he gave. For his speech had nothing about it that was juvenile or affected, but was straightforward, full of matter, and harsh.
However, a charm that captivated the ear was diffused over the harshness of his sentiments, and the mingling of his character with them gave their austerity a smiling graciousness that won men's hearts.
His voice was sufficiently loud and penetrating to reach the ears of so large a multitude, and it had a strength and tension which could not be broken or worn out; for he often spoke all day without getting tired.
At this time, then, after winning his case, he went back again to his silence and his discipline. He built up his body by vigorous exercises, accustoming himself to endure both heat and snow with uncovered head, and to journey on foot at all seasons, without a vehicle.
Those of his friends who went abroad with him used horses, and Cato would often join each of them in turn and converse with him, although he walked and they rode.
In sickness, he had wonderful patience, as well as self-control; for instance, if he had a fever, he would pass the day alone by himself, admitting no visitor, until he was conscious of lasting relief and the departure of the disease.
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.27
M. And let this be principally considered: that this bearing of pain, which I have often said is to be strengthened by an exertion of the soul, should be the same in everything.
For you meet with many who, through a desire of victory, or for glory, or to maintain their rights, or their liberty, have boldly received wounds, and borne themselves up under them; and yet those very same persons, by relaxing that intenseness of their minds, were unequal to bearing the pain of a disease; for they did not support themselves under their former sufferings by reason or philosophy, but by inclination and glory.
Therefore some barbarians and savage people are able to fight very stoutly with the sword, but cannot bear sickness like men; but the Grecians, men of no great courage, but as wise as human nature will admit of, cannot look an enemy in the face, yet the same will bear to be visited with sickness tolerably, and with a sufficiently manly spirit; and the Cimbrians and Celtiberians are very alert in battle, but bemoan themselves in sickness.
For nothing can be consistent which has not reason for its foundation. But when you see those who are led by inclination or opinion, not retarded by pain in their pursuits, nor hindered by it from succeeding in them, you may conclude, either that pain is no evil, or that, notwithstanding you may choose to call an evil whatever is disagreeable and contrary to nature, yet it is so very trifling an evil that it may so effectually be got the better of by virtue as quite to disappear.
And I would have you think of this night and day; for this argument will spread itself, and take up more room some time or other, and not be confined to pain alone; for if the motives to all our actions are to avoid disgrace and acquire honor, we may not only despise the stings of pain, but the storms of fortune, especially if we have recourse to that retreat which was pointed out in our yesterday’s discussion; for, as if some God had advised a man who was pursued by pirates to throw himself overboard, saying, “There is something at hand to receive you; either a dolphin will take you up, as it did Arion of Methymna; or those horses sent by Neptune to Pelops (who are said to have carried chariots so rapidly as to be borne up by the waves) will receive you, and convey you wherever you please. Cast away all fear.”
So, though your pains be ever so sharp and disagreeable, if the case is not such that it is worth your while to endure them, you see whither you may betake yourself. I think this will do for the present. But perhaps you still abide by your opinion.
A. Not in the least, indeed; and I hope I am freed by these two days’ discourses from the fear of two things that I greatly dreaded.
M. Tomorrow, then, for rhetoric, as we were saying. But I see we must not drop our philosophy.
A. No, indeed; we will have the one in the forenoon, and this at the usual time.
M. It shall be so, and I will comply with your very laudable inclinations.
For you meet with many who, through a desire of victory, or for glory, or to maintain their rights, or their liberty, have boldly received wounds, and borne themselves up under them; and yet those very same persons, by relaxing that intenseness of their minds, were unequal to bearing the pain of a disease; for they did not support themselves under their former sufferings by reason or philosophy, but by inclination and glory.
Therefore some barbarians and savage people are able to fight very stoutly with the sword, but cannot bear sickness like men; but the Grecians, men of no great courage, but as wise as human nature will admit of, cannot look an enemy in the face, yet the same will bear to be visited with sickness tolerably, and with a sufficiently manly spirit; and the Cimbrians and Celtiberians are very alert in battle, but bemoan themselves in sickness.
For nothing can be consistent which has not reason for its foundation. But when you see those who are led by inclination or opinion, not retarded by pain in their pursuits, nor hindered by it from succeeding in them, you may conclude, either that pain is no evil, or that, notwithstanding you may choose to call an evil whatever is disagreeable and contrary to nature, yet it is so very trifling an evil that it may so effectually be got the better of by virtue as quite to disappear.
And I would have you think of this night and day; for this argument will spread itself, and take up more room some time or other, and not be confined to pain alone; for if the motives to all our actions are to avoid disgrace and acquire honor, we may not only despise the stings of pain, but the storms of fortune, especially if we have recourse to that retreat which was pointed out in our yesterday’s discussion; for, as if some God had advised a man who was pursued by pirates to throw himself overboard, saying, “There is something at hand to receive you; either a dolphin will take you up, as it did Arion of Methymna; or those horses sent by Neptune to Pelops (who are said to have carried chariots so rapidly as to be borne up by the waves) will receive you, and convey you wherever you please. Cast away all fear.”
So, though your pains be ever so sharp and disagreeable, if the case is not such that it is worth your while to endure them, you see whither you may betake yourself. I think this will do for the present. But perhaps you still abide by your opinion.
A. Not in the least, indeed; and I hope I am freed by these two days’ discourses from the fear of two things that I greatly dreaded.
M. Tomorrow, then, for rhetoric, as we were saying. But I see we must not drop our philosophy.
A. No, indeed; we will have the one in the forenoon, and this at the usual time.
M. It shall be so, and I will comply with your very laudable inclinations.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.27
Constancy, as opposed to caprice, is a mark of being guided by reason, as opposed to being at the mercy of impulse. Let me act with bravery whenever it is right, not merely whenever it is most gratifying.
I notice, for example, how many people are willing to endure pain when it will protect their riches or increase their fame, and yet they will run away when asked to stand up for the dignity of a stranger who can do nothing for them.
Similarly, there is much praise for physical courage, and very little concern for moral courage, out of an ignorance that the former is completely useless without the latter. The guy who’s so tough with himself when it comes to football is no longer so tough with himself when it comes to charity.
I must remember, it is only the virtue of fortitude if strength is in the service of conscience, and so the stability or the variability of man’s actions will reveal much about his deeper values. I am always pleasantly surprised by someone who publicly stands for the truth to a hostile crowd, just as readily as he privately commiserates with his sympathetic friends.
I have now been around long enough to hear politicians change their positions completely from one decade to the next. Once they are called out on this, they explain that their views have “evolved”. Now I’m all for learning and growing, though I will be more inclined to believe it when one of them forms a conviction that happens to go contrary to the prevailing fashion.
Whatever qualities we may admire, all of them must derive from philosophy, for anything of worth can only be understood by means of the very discipline that defines such worth. By focusing on such thoughts, I slowly but surely become as capable of facing torture at the hands of a tyrant as I am at enduring a toothache.
Cicero brings me back to the same principles Nature has been trying to teach me for so long, and yet I have often resisted her, because I would like to have my cake and eat it too. If I truly know where my priorities lie, then there is nothing that can do me any abiding harm. If my sincere goal is to always be the best man I can be, then this pain ceases to be a hindrance, and actually becomes a means for becoming better.
Whether the Stoics are correct in claiming pain is not an evil, or Cicero is correct in claiming it is a relatively insignificant evil, my conclusion still needs to be the same. As my judgment about the integrity of character increases, so my terror at the possibility of pain decreases. Once I foolishly insist it can’t be done, the limits of my estimation have already lowered the bar.
Arion preferred to throw himself into the sea than submit to pirates, and I should stick to my standards before I bow to convenience. I don’t necessarily expect dolphins to save me from drowning, but I can certainly be at peace with a job well done. The rewards are from what I recognize to be within my power.
For the next book, Cicero will turn to the more particular problem of mental suffering, which can often affect us far more deeply than any physical suffering . . . .
Constancy, as opposed to caprice, is a mark of being guided by reason, as opposed to being at the mercy of impulse. Let me act with bravery whenever it is right, not merely whenever it is most gratifying.
I notice, for example, how many people are willing to endure pain when it will protect their riches or increase their fame, and yet they will run away when asked to stand up for the dignity of a stranger who can do nothing for them.
Similarly, there is much praise for physical courage, and very little concern for moral courage, out of an ignorance that the former is completely useless without the latter. The guy who’s so tough with himself when it comes to football is no longer so tough with himself when it comes to charity.
I must remember, it is only the virtue of fortitude if strength is in the service of conscience, and so the stability or the variability of man’s actions will reveal much about his deeper values. I am always pleasantly surprised by someone who publicly stands for the truth to a hostile crowd, just as readily as he privately commiserates with his sympathetic friends.
I have now been around long enough to hear politicians change their positions completely from one decade to the next. Once they are called out on this, they explain that their views have “evolved”. Now I’m all for learning and growing, though I will be more inclined to believe it when one of them forms a conviction that happens to go contrary to the prevailing fashion.
Whatever qualities we may admire, all of them must derive from philosophy, for anything of worth can only be understood by means of the very discipline that defines such worth. By focusing on such thoughts, I slowly but surely become as capable of facing torture at the hands of a tyrant as I am at enduring a toothache.
Cicero brings me back to the same principles Nature has been trying to teach me for so long, and yet I have often resisted her, because I would like to have my cake and eat it too. If I truly know where my priorities lie, then there is nothing that can do me any abiding harm. If my sincere goal is to always be the best man I can be, then this pain ceases to be a hindrance, and actually becomes a means for becoming better.
Whether the Stoics are correct in claiming pain is not an evil, or Cicero is correct in claiming it is a relatively insignificant evil, my conclusion still needs to be the same. As my judgment about the integrity of character increases, so my terror at the possibility of pain decreases. Once I foolishly insist it can’t be done, the limits of my estimation have already lowered the bar.
Arion preferred to throw himself into the sea than submit to pirates, and I should stick to my standards before I bow to convenience. I don’t necessarily expect dolphins to save me from drowning, but I can certainly be at peace with a job well done. The rewards are from what I recognize to be within my power.
For the next book, Cicero will turn to the more particular problem of mental suffering, which can often affect us far more deeply than any physical suffering . . . .
—Reflection written in in 8/1996
IMAGE: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Arion on a Sea Horse (1855)
_-_Arion_on_a_Sea_Horse_(1855).jpg)
Monday, February 6, 2023
Sunday, February 5, 2023
Chuang Tzu 4.1
"Where are you going to?" asked the Master.
"I will go to Wei" was the reply.
"And with what object?"
"I have heard that the ruler of Wei is in the vigor of his years, and consults none but himself as to his course. He deals with his state as if it were a light matter, and has no perception of his errors. He thinks lightly of his people's dying; the dead are lying all over the country as if no smaller space could contain them; on the plains and about the marshes, they are as thick as heaps of fuel. The people know not where to turn to.
"I have heard you, Master, say, 'Leave the state that is well governed; go to the state where disorder prevails.' At the door of a physician there are many who are ill. I wish through what I have heard from you to think out some methods of dealing with Wei, if peradventure the evils of the state may be cured."
Kung-nì said, "Alas! The risk is that you will go only to suffer in the punishment of yourself! The right method in such a case will not admit of any admixture. With such admixture, the one method will become many methods. Their multiplication will embarrass you. That embarrassment will make you anxious. However anxious you may be, you will not save yourself.
"The perfect men of old first had what they wanted to do in themselves, and afterwards they found the response to it in others. If what they wanted in themselves was not fixed, what leisure had they to go and interfere with the proceedings of any tyrannous man?
"Moreover, do you know how virtue is liable to be dissipated, and how wisdom proceeds to display itself? Virtue is dissipated in the pursuit of the name for it, and wisdom seeks to display itself in the striving with others. In the pursuit of the name men overthrow one another; wisdom becomes a weapon of contention. Both these things are instruments of evil, and should not be allowed to have free course in one's conduct.
"Supposing one's virtue to be great and his sincerity firm, if he does not comprehend the spirit of those whom he wishes to influence; and supposing he is free from the disposition to strive for reputation, if he do not comprehend their minds—when in such a case he forcibly insists on benevolence and righteousness, setting them forth in the strongest and most direct language, before the tyrant, then he, hating his reprover's possession of those excellences, will put him down as doing him injury. He who injures others is sure to be injured by them in return. You indeed will hardly escape being injured by the man to whom you go!
"Further, if perchance he takes pleasure in men of worth and hates those of an opposite character, what is the use of your seeking to make yourself out to be different from such men about him? Before you have begun to announce your views, he, as king and ruler, will take advantage of you, and immediately contend with you for victory. Your eyes will be dazed and full of perplexity; you will try to look pleased with him; you will frame your words with care; your demeanor will be conformed to his; you will confirm him in his views.
"In this way you will be adding fire to fire, and water to water, increasing, as we may express it, the evils which you deplore. To these signs of deferring to him at the first there will be no end. You will be in danger, seeing he does not believe you, of making your words more strong, and you are sure to die at the hands of such a tyrant.
"And formerly Kieh killed Kwan Lung-fang, and Kâu killed the prince Pì-kan. Both of these cultivated their persons, bending down in sympathy with the lower people to comfort them suffering as they did from their oppressors, and on their account opposing their superiors.
"On this account, because they so ordered their conduct, their rulers compassed their destruction—such regard had they for their own fame. Again, Yâo anciently attacked the states of Tshung-kih and Hsü-âo, and Yü attacked the ruler of Hû. Those states were left empty, and with no one to continue their population, the people being exterminated. They had engaged in war without ceasing; their craving for whatever they could get was insatiable.
"And this ruler of Wei is, like them, one who craves after fame and greater substance—have you not heard it? Those sages were not able to overcome the thirst for fame and substance—how much less will you be able to do so! Nevertheless you must have some ground for the course which you wish to take; pray try and tell it to me."
Yen Hui said, "May I go, doing so in uprightness and humility, using also every endeavor to be uniform in my plans of operation?"
"No, indeed!" was the reply. "How can you do so? This man makes a display of being filled to overflowing with virtue, and has great self-conceit. His feelings are not to be determined from his countenance. Ordinary men do not venture to oppose him, and he proceeds from the way in which he affects them to seek still more the satisfaction of his own mind. He may be described as unaffected by the small lessons of virtue brought to bear on him from day to day; and how much less will he be so by your great lessons? He will be obstinate, and refuse to be converted. He may outwardly agree with you, but inwardly there will be no self-condemnation—how can you go to him in this way and be successful?"
Yen Hui rejoined, "Well then; while inwardly maintaining my straightforward intention, I will outwardly seem to bend to him. I will deliver my lessons, and substantiate them by appealing to antiquity. Inwardly maintaining my straightforward intention, I shall be a co-worker with Heaven.
"When I thus speak of being a co-worker with Heaven, it is because I know that the sovereign, whom we style the son of Heaven, and myself, are equally regarded by Heaven as Its sons. And should I then, as if my words were only my own, be seeking to find whether men approved of them, or disapproved of them? In this way men will pronounce me a sincere and simple boy. This is what is called being a co-worker with Heaven.
"Outwardly bending to the ruler, I shall be a co-worker with other men. To carry the memorandum tablet to court, to kneel, and to bend the body reverentially—these are the observances of ministers. They all employ them, and should I presume not to do so? Doing what other men do, they would have no occasion to blame me. This is what is called being a fellow-worker with other men.
"Fully declaring my sentiments and substantiating them by appealing to antiquity, I shall be a co-worker with the ancients. Although the words in which I convey my lessons may really be condemnatory of the ruler, they will be those of antiquity, and not my own.
"In this way, though straightforward, I shall be free from blame. This is what is called being a co-worker with antiquity. May I go to Wei in this way, and be successful?"
"No indeed!" said Kung-nì. "How can you do so? You have too many plans of proceeding, and have not spied out the ruler's character. Though you firmly adhere to your plans, you may be held free from transgression, but this will be all the result. How can you in this way produce the transformation which you desire? All this only shows in you the mind of a teacher!"
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.26
M. Do we not observe that where those exercises called gymnastic are in esteem, those who enter the lists never concern themselves about dangers? That where the praise of riding and hunting is highly esteemed, they who practice these arts decline no pain? What shall I say of our own ambitious pursuits or desire of honors? What fire have not candidates run through to gain a single vote?
Therefore Africanus had always in his hands Xenophon, the pupil of Socrates, being particularly pleased with his saying, that the same labors were not equally heavy to the general and to the common man, because the honor itself made the labor lighter to the general.
But yet, so it happens, that even with the illiterate vulgar an idea of honor is of great influence, though they cannot understand what it is. They are led by report and common opinion to look on that as honorable which has the general voice.
Not that I would have you, should the multitude be ever so fond of you, rely on their judgment, nor approve of everything which they think right: you must use your own judgment. If you are satisfied with yourself when you have approved of what is right, you will not only have the mastery over yourself, which I recommended to you just now, but over everybody, and everything.
Lay this down, then, as a rule, that a great capacity, and lofty elevation of soul, which distinguishes itself most by despising and looking down with contempt on pain, is the most excellent of all things, and the more so if it does not depend on the people and does not aim at applause, but derives its satisfaction from itself.
Besides, to me, indeed, everything seems the more commendable the less the people are courted, and the fewer eyes there are to see it. Not that you should avoid the public, for every generous action loves the public view; yet no theater for virtue is equal to a consciousness of it.
Therefore Africanus had always in his hands Xenophon, the pupil of Socrates, being particularly pleased with his saying, that the same labors were not equally heavy to the general and to the common man, because the honor itself made the labor lighter to the general.
But yet, so it happens, that even with the illiterate vulgar an idea of honor is of great influence, though they cannot understand what it is. They are led by report and common opinion to look on that as honorable which has the general voice.
Not that I would have you, should the multitude be ever so fond of you, rely on their judgment, nor approve of everything which they think right: you must use your own judgment. If you are satisfied with yourself when you have approved of what is right, you will not only have the mastery over yourself, which I recommended to you just now, but over everybody, and everything.
Lay this down, then, as a rule, that a great capacity, and lofty elevation of soul, which distinguishes itself most by despising and looking down with contempt on pain, is the most excellent of all things, and the more so if it does not depend on the people and does not aim at applause, but derives its satisfaction from itself.
Besides, to me, indeed, everything seems the more commendable the less the people are courted, and the fewer eyes there are to see it. Not that you should avoid the public, for every generous action loves the public view; yet no theater for virtue is equal to a consciousness of it.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.26
Wherever any merit is to be won, it cannot be done without effort and sacrifice, and it almost seems as if those who judge pain to be the worst of evils would only consider a life to be fair if it is marked by ease and entitlement.
If it is going to be rewarding, it is going to hurt. An athlete knows it, and even a politician knows it, and there is no achievement so ordinary or so obscure that it is not made worthy by a hard fight for the virtues.
I take special note of Xenophon’s saying, as passed on by Scipio Africanus, on who carries the heavier burdens in this world. It is far more difficult, and therefore far more noble, to do what is right when you don’t have the adulation of the crowd to lighten the load.
I might initially think that a “great” man must exclusively travel in “great” circles, yet I am then sadly confusing a scale of circumstances for a scale of character. If, for better or for worse, I were ever to win fame, I must understand why the degree of the praise should follow from the value of the deed, not the value of the deed from the degree of the praise. I am quick to get these tangled up, and thereby define excellence improperly.
Even the humblest people, tempted by the illusion that they must be admired in order to be good, will find themselves moved by the power of public opinion. Now as much as we cannot help but be social animals, we must do our best to first rely on our own sound judgments, our essence as rational animals.
To get swept up in popularity can only end up in slavery; to rigorously form a conscience that rises above pain makes me the king of my castle, however modest.
Many of my peers admire actors because they are handsome, or musicians because they are stylish, or businessmen because they are rich, or politicians because they are powerful. More and more, I find myself admiring those who stand their ground regardless of such accidental qualities. Yes, they may have it harder, but as a result they also have it better.
I seek them out around me, and I also look to those who came before me. Both Xenophon and Scipio speak to me through their constant striving for integrity over utility.
Xenophon stayed with his compatriots when the Ten Thousand were ruined and abandoned in Babylon, and he honored Socrates when opinion went against him.
Scipio treated his enemies with respect, wishing to make friends before he had to fight, and he even defended the exiled Hannibal when the Romans wished to finally destroy him.
Virtue gets compromised when I worry about putting on a show for the audience.
Wherever any merit is to be won, it cannot be done without effort and sacrifice, and it almost seems as if those who judge pain to be the worst of evils would only consider a life to be fair if it is marked by ease and entitlement.
If it is going to be rewarding, it is going to hurt. An athlete knows it, and even a politician knows it, and there is no achievement so ordinary or so obscure that it is not made worthy by a hard fight for the virtues.
I take special note of Xenophon’s saying, as passed on by Scipio Africanus, on who carries the heavier burdens in this world. It is far more difficult, and therefore far more noble, to do what is right when you don’t have the adulation of the crowd to lighten the load.
I might initially think that a “great” man must exclusively travel in “great” circles, yet I am then sadly confusing a scale of circumstances for a scale of character. If, for better or for worse, I were ever to win fame, I must understand why the degree of the praise should follow from the value of the deed, not the value of the deed from the degree of the praise. I am quick to get these tangled up, and thereby define excellence improperly.
Even the humblest people, tempted by the illusion that they must be admired in order to be good, will find themselves moved by the power of public opinion. Now as much as we cannot help but be social animals, we must do our best to first rely on our own sound judgments, our essence as rational animals.
To get swept up in popularity can only end up in slavery; to rigorously form a conscience that rises above pain makes me the king of my castle, however modest.
Many of my peers admire actors because they are handsome, or musicians because they are stylish, or businessmen because they are rich, or politicians because they are powerful. More and more, I find myself admiring those who stand their ground regardless of such accidental qualities. Yes, they may have it harder, but as a result they also have it better.
I seek them out around me, and I also look to those who came before me. Both Xenophon and Scipio speak to me through their constant striving for integrity over utility.
Xenophon stayed with his compatriots when the Ten Thousand were ruined and abandoned in Babylon, and he honored Socrates when opinion went against him.
Scipio treated his enemies with respect, wishing to make friends before he had to fight, and he even defended the exiled Hannibal when the Romans wished to finally destroy him.
Virtue gets compromised when I worry about putting on a show for the audience.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGES:
Adrien Guignet, The Retreat of the Ten Thousand (c. 1843)
Andrea del Verrocchio, Scipio Africanus (c. 1468)
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Saturday, February 4, 2023
Delphic Maxims 9
Intend to marry
IMAGE: Pietro Benvenuti, The Wedding of Hercules and Hebe (1829)
._Hall_of_Hercules_in_Palazzo_Pitti_(Florence).jpg)
Friday, February 3, 2023
Sayings of Ramakrishna 196
So does God see everyone, but no one sees Him until the Lord reveals Himself to him in His mercy.
Wisdom from the Bhagavad Gita 56
11. Beset with immense cares ending only with death, regarding gratification of lust as the highest, and feeling sure that that is all;
12. Bound by a hundred ties of hope, given over to lust and wrath, they strive to secure by unjust means hoards of wealth for sensual enjoyment.
13. "This today has been gained by me; this desire I shall obtain; this is mine, and this wealth also shall be mine in future.
14. "That enemy has been slain by me, and others also shall I slay. I am the lord, I enjoy, I am successful, powerful and happy.
15. "I am rich and well-born. Who else is equal to me? I will sacrifice, I will give, I will rejoice." Thus deluded by ignorance,
16. Bewildered by many a fancy, covered by the meshes of delusion, addicted to the gratification of lust, they fall down into a foul hell.
17. Self-conceited, haughty, filled with the pride and intoxication of wealth, they perform sacrifices in name, out of ostentation, disregarding ordinance;
18. Possessed of egoism, power, insolence, lust and wrath, these malignant people hate Me, the Self within, in their own bodies and those of others.
19. These malicious and cruel evildoers, most degraded of men, I hurl perpetually into the wombs of Asuras only, in these worlds.
20. Obtaining the Asurika wombs, and deluded birth after birth, not attaining to Me, they thus fall, O son of Kunti, into a still lower condition.
21. Triple is this gate of hell, destructive of the self—lust, anger and greed; therefore one should forsake these three.
22. The man who has got beyond these three gates of darkness, O son of Kunti, practices what is good for himself, and thus goes to the Goal Supreme.
23. He who, setting aside the ordinance of the Shâstra, acts under the impulse of desire, attains not to perfection, nor happiness, nor the Goal Supreme.
24. So let the Shâstra be your authority in ascertaining what ought to be done and what ought not to be done. Having known what is said in the ordinance of the Shâstra, you should act here.
—Bhagavad Gita, 16:11-24
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.25
M. You may ask, How the case is in peace? What is to be done at home? How we are to behave in bed?
You bring me back to the philosophers, who seldom go to war. Among these, Dionysius of Heraclea, a man certainly of no resolution, having learned fortitude of Zeno, quitted it on being in pain; for, being tormented with a pain in his kidneys, in bewailing himself he cried out that those things were false which he had formerly conceived of pain.
And when his fellow disciple, Cleanthes, asked him why he had changed his opinion, he answered, “That the case of any man who had applied so much time to philosophy, and yet was unable to bear pain, might be a sufficient proof that pain is an evil; that he himself had spent many years at philosophy, and yet could not bear pain: it followed, therefore, that pain was an evil.”
It is reported that Cleanthes on that struck his foot on the ground, and repeated a verse out of the Epigonae:
“Amphiaraus, hear’st thou this below?”
He meant Zeno: he was sorry the other had degenerated from him.
But it was not so with our friend Posidonius, whom I have often seen myself; and I will tell you what Pompey used to say of him: that when he came to Rhodes, after his departure from Syria, he had a great desire to hear Posidonius, but was informed that he was very ill of a severe fit of the gout; yet he had great inclination to pay a visit to so famous a philosopher.
Accordingly, when he had seen him, and paid his compliments, and had spoken with great respect of him, he said he was very sorry that he could not hear him lecture.
“But indeed you may,” replied the other, “nor will I suffer any bodily pain to occasion so great a man to visit me in vain.”
On this Pompey relates that, as he lay on his bed, he disputed with great dignity and fluency on this very subject: that nothing was good but what was honest; and that in his paroxysms he would often say, “Pain, it is to no purpose; notwithstanding you are troublesome, I will never acknowledge you an evil.”
And in general, all celebrated and notorious afflictions become endurable by disregarding them.
You bring me back to the philosophers, who seldom go to war. Among these, Dionysius of Heraclea, a man certainly of no resolution, having learned fortitude of Zeno, quitted it on being in pain; for, being tormented with a pain in his kidneys, in bewailing himself he cried out that those things were false which he had formerly conceived of pain.
And when his fellow disciple, Cleanthes, asked him why he had changed his opinion, he answered, “That the case of any man who had applied so much time to philosophy, and yet was unable to bear pain, might be a sufficient proof that pain is an evil; that he himself had spent many years at philosophy, and yet could not bear pain: it followed, therefore, that pain was an evil.”
It is reported that Cleanthes on that struck his foot on the ground, and repeated a verse out of the Epigonae:
“Amphiaraus, hear’st thou this below?”
He meant Zeno: he was sorry the other had degenerated from him.
But it was not so with our friend Posidonius, whom I have often seen myself; and I will tell you what Pompey used to say of him: that when he came to Rhodes, after his departure from Syria, he had a great desire to hear Posidonius, but was informed that he was very ill of a severe fit of the gout; yet he had great inclination to pay a visit to so famous a philosopher.
Accordingly, when he had seen him, and paid his compliments, and had spoken with great respect of him, he said he was very sorry that he could not hear him lecture.
“But indeed you may,” replied the other, “nor will I suffer any bodily pain to occasion so great a man to visit me in vain.”
On this Pompey relates that, as he lay on his bed, he disputed with great dignity and fluency on this very subject: that nothing was good but what was honest; and that in his paroxysms he would often say, “Pain, it is to no purpose; notwithstanding you are troublesome, I will never acknowledge you an evil.”
And in general, all celebrated and notorious afflictions become endurable by disregarding them.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.25
While I do find great encouragement in a variety of martial examples, I’m afraid I do not possess the disposition of Plato’s Auxiliaries, who are gifted with a particular excellence of the spirited soul. I can be scrappy if I need to be, but I wasn’t born to be much of a brawler.
How is someone to conquer pain without going out on the battlefield? While they hardly appear as grand, the mundane struggles of the everyman are just as real, and overcoming such suffering will be just as critical to finding any happiness. What is the meek, bookish sort expected to do?
To offer some insight on the matter, Cicero tells us about two Stoic philosophers. While both could talk the talk, it ultimately turned out only one of them was willing to walk the walk.
I first read about Dionysius of Heraclea in Diogenes Laërtius, where he is given the unflattering moniker of “the Renegade”. Dionysius at first followed the Stoic School of Zeno, but then became ill, and fled to the hedonist teachings of the Cyrenaics.
Diogenes Laërtius said his disease was in his eyes, while Cicero placed it in his kidneys, but in either case we find a man who could not bring himself to love virtue first, and thus be indifferent to pleasure and pain, on account of concrete suffering.
Diogenes says that Dionysius fell in with a licentious crowd, and eventually took his own life by starvation. His response to Cleanthes speaks volumes about the insidious force of our human weaknesses:
“Look! I’m a trained philosopher, and I couldn’t get a handle on this pain thing, so that means no one has the moxie to do so! Of course pain is an evil, otherwise I would have licked it!”
It just goes to show how even an expert philosopher is prone to putting the cart before the horse.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. I fear Dionysius made a terrible mistake, but I am sympathetic with his dilemma. How often have I cried out that my agony was unbearable, cursed the gods, and then barely escaped by some reprieve of fortune, which had absolutely nothing to do with me? Only the steady formation of daily habits has made my current pains tolerable, and still I remain tempted to tap out.
In contrast, Posidonius of Apameia shows me how mistaken I am in underestimating my capacities. I have never suffered from gout, but I am told it is one of the most excruciating ailments there can be. I have read enough history to know of the many aristocrats who dealt with the torture by sitting motionless in a dark and quiet room, drinking themselves into oblivion.
And yet instead of hiding away, Posidonius welcomed the company of Pompey, happy to discuss Stoic philosophy, and he remained firm in his conviction that his pain could do him no harm. Insist upon the primacy of the virtues, in all that you think, say, or do, and then the suffering is transformed from a burden into an opportunity.
So just as the mindset of Dionysius was the cause of his defeat, so the mindset of Posidonius was the cause of his victory. It is as possible on a sickbed as it is on the battlefield.
While I do find great encouragement in a variety of martial examples, I’m afraid I do not possess the disposition of Plato’s Auxiliaries, who are gifted with a particular excellence of the spirited soul. I can be scrappy if I need to be, but I wasn’t born to be much of a brawler.
How is someone to conquer pain without going out on the battlefield? While they hardly appear as grand, the mundane struggles of the everyman are just as real, and overcoming such suffering will be just as critical to finding any happiness. What is the meek, bookish sort expected to do?
To offer some insight on the matter, Cicero tells us about two Stoic philosophers. While both could talk the talk, it ultimately turned out only one of them was willing to walk the walk.
I first read about Dionysius of Heraclea in Diogenes Laërtius, where he is given the unflattering moniker of “the Renegade”. Dionysius at first followed the Stoic School of Zeno, but then became ill, and fled to the hedonist teachings of the Cyrenaics.
Diogenes Laërtius said his disease was in his eyes, while Cicero placed it in his kidneys, but in either case we find a man who could not bring himself to love virtue first, and thus be indifferent to pleasure and pain, on account of concrete suffering.
Diogenes says that Dionysius fell in with a licentious crowd, and eventually took his own life by starvation. His response to Cleanthes speaks volumes about the insidious force of our human weaknesses:
“Look! I’m a trained philosopher, and I couldn’t get a handle on this pain thing, so that means no one has the moxie to do so! Of course pain is an evil, otherwise I would have licked it!”
It just goes to show how even an expert philosopher is prone to putting the cart before the horse.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. I fear Dionysius made a terrible mistake, but I am sympathetic with his dilemma. How often have I cried out that my agony was unbearable, cursed the gods, and then barely escaped by some reprieve of fortune, which had absolutely nothing to do with me? Only the steady formation of daily habits has made my current pains tolerable, and still I remain tempted to tap out.
In contrast, Posidonius of Apameia shows me how mistaken I am in underestimating my capacities. I have never suffered from gout, but I am told it is one of the most excruciating ailments there can be. I have read enough history to know of the many aristocrats who dealt with the torture by sitting motionless in a dark and quiet room, drinking themselves into oblivion.
And yet instead of hiding away, Posidonius welcomed the company of Pompey, happy to discuss Stoic philosophy, and he remained firm in his conviction that his pain could do him no harm. Insist upon the primacy of the virtues, in all that you think, say, or do, and then the suffering is transformed from a burden into an opportunity.
So just as the mindset of Dionysius was the cause of his defeat, so the mindset of Posidonius was the cause of his victory. It is as possible on a sickbed as it is on the battlefield.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGES: Depictions of Dionysius of Heraclea and Posidonius of Apameia, from Crabbes Historical Dictionary (1825)
Thursday, February 2, 2023
Stoic Snippets 184
No longer let your breathing only act in concert with the air which surrounds you, but let your intelligence also now be in harmony with the Intelligence which embraces all things.
For the Intelligent power is no less diffused in all parts and pervades all things for him who is willing to draw it to him, than the aerial power for him who is able to respire it.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.54
Wednesday, February 1, 2023
Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 16
Someone dropped a loaf of bread and was ashamed to pick it up; whereupon Diogenes, wishing to read him a lesson, tied a rope to the neck of a wine jar and proceeded to drag it across the Ceramicus.
He used to say that he followed the example of the trainers of choruses; for they too set the note a little high, to ensure that the rest should hit the right note.
Most people, he would say, are so nearly mad that a finger makes all the difference. For, if you go along with your middle finger stretched out, some one will think you mad, but, if it's the little finger, he will not think so.
Very valuable things, said he, were bartered for things of no value, and vice versa. At all events a statue fetches three thousand drachmas, while a quart of barley flour is sold for two copper coins.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.35
Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 56
This is why Zeno was the first (in his treatise On the Nature of Man) to designate as the end "life in agreement with nature" (or living agreeably to nature), which is the same as a virtuous life, virtue being the goal towards which nature guides us.
So too Cleanthes in his treatise On Pleasure, as also Posidonius, and Hecato in his work On Ends.
Again, living virtuously is equivalent to living in accordance with experience of the actual course of nature, as Chrysippus says in the first book of his De Finibus; for our individual natures are parts of the Nature of the whole Universe.
And this is why the end may be defined as life in accordance with nature, or, in other words, in accordance with our own human nature as well as that of the Universe, a life in which we refrain from every action forbidden by the law common to all things, that is to say, the right reason which pervades all things, and is identical with this Zeus, lord and ruler of all that is.
And this very thing constitutes the virtue of the happy man and the smooth current of life, when all actions promote the harmony of the spirit dwelling in the individual man with the will of him who orders the Universe.
Diogenes then expressly declares the end to be to act with good reason in the selection of what is natural.
Archedemus says the end is to live in the performance of all befitting actions.
—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.87-88
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.24
M. What! They who would speak louder than ordinary are they satisfied with working their jaws, sides, or tongue or stretching the common organs of speech and utterance? The whole body and every muscle is at full stretch if I may be allowed the expression; every nerve is exerted to assist their voice. I have actually seen the knees of Marcus Antonius touch the ground when he was speaking with vehemence for himself, with relation to the Varian law.
For, as the engines you throw stones or darts with throw them out with the greater force the more they are strained and drawn back; so it is in speaking, running, or boxing—the more people strain themselves, the greater their force.
Since, therefore, this exertion has so much influence—if in a moment of pain groans help to strengthen the mind, let us use them; but if they be groans of lamentation, if they be the expression of weakness or abjectness, or unmanly weeping, then I should scarcely call him a man who yielded to them.
For even supposing that such groaning could give any ease, it still should be considered whether it were consistent with a brave and resolute man. But if it does not ease our pain, why should we debase ourselves to no purpose? For what is more unbecoming in a man than to cry like a woman?
But this precept which is laid down with respect to pain is not confined to it. We should apply this exertion of the soul to everything else. Is anger inflamed? Is lust excited? We must have recourse to the same citadel, and apply to the same arms. But since it is pain which we are at present discussing, we will let the other subjects alone.
To bear pain, then, sedately and calmly, it is of great use to consider with all our soul, as the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we are naturally desirous (as I said before, but it cannot be too often repeated) and very much inclined to what is honorable, of which, if we discover but the least glimpse, there is nothing which we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to attain it.
From this impulse of our minds, this desire for genuine glory and honorable conduct, it is that such dangers are supported in war, and that brave men are not sensible of their wounds in action, or, if they are sensible of them, prefer death to the departing but the least step from their honor.
The Decii saw the shining swords of their enemies when they were rushing into the battle. But the honorable character and the glory of the death which they were seeking made all fear of death of little weight.
Do you imagine that Epaminondas groaned when he perceived that his life was flowing out with his blood? No; for he left his country triumphing over the Lacedaemonians, whereas he had found it in subjection to them. These are the comforts, these are the things that assuage the greatest pain.
For, as the engines you throw stones or darts with throw them out with the greater force the more they are strained and drawn back; so it is in speaking, running, or boxing—the more people strain themselves, the greater their force.
Since, therefore, this exertion has so much influence—if in a moment of pain groans help to strengthen the mind, let us use them; but if they be groans of lamentation, if they be the expression of weakness or abjectness, or unmanly weeping, then I should scarcely call him a man who yielded to them.
For even supposing that such groaning could give any ease, it still should be considered whether it were consistent with a brave and resolute man. But if it does not ease our pain, why should we debase ourselves to no purpose? For what is more unbecoming in a man than to cry like a woman?
But this precept which is laid down with respect to pain is not confined to it. We should apply this exertion of the soul to everything else. Is anger inflamed? Is lust excited? We must have recourse to the same citadel, and apply to the same arms. But since it is pain which we are at present discussing, we will let the other subjects alone.
To bear pain, then, sedately and calmly, it is of great use to consider with all our soul, as the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we are naturally desirous (as I said before, but it cannot be too often repeated) and very much inclined to what is honorable, of which, if we discover but the least glimpse, there is nothing which we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to attain it.
From this impulse of our minds, this desire for genuine glory and honorable conduct, it is that such dangers are supported in war, and that brave men are not sensible of their wounds in action, or, if they are sensible of them, prefer death to the departing but the least step from their honor.
The Decii saw the shining swords of their enemies when they were rushing into the battle. But the honorable character and the glory of the death which they were seeking made all fear of death of little weight.
Do you imagine that Epaminondas groaned when he perceived that his life was flowing out with his blood? No; for he left his country triumphing over the Lacedaemonians, whereas he had found it in subjection to them. These are the comforts, these are the things that assuage the greatest pain.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.24
While the soul and the body can clearly be identified as two distinct principles of life, in practice their actions are always closely bound together. Whenever I sense or I feel, the mind will take notice, and whatever my judgment, the flesh will offer its response. As long as I have the higher directing the lower, and not the reverse, it is natural for mental excitement to express itself in the form of physical excitement.
A great orator employs his whole body to convey his message, just as a great warrior channels the strength of his conviction into the strength of his limbs. However quirky our dispositions may be, the external effect is proper and healthy if it reflects an internal virtue. Look to the signs that reveal something about the workings of the man.
There is no shame in blushing when the topic itself is rightly shameful. There is no weakness in tears when they flow from an appreciation of the good and the beautiful. If a hand quivers, that tension can now be harnessed for action, just as any anxiety can always be refocused. There is crying out, and then there is crying out, and the difference is entirely in the content of character.
None of this will make much sense, however, if we remain ignorant of the virtues as the primary goal of human life, and so an appeal to nobility will fall on deaf ears when we trade only in pleasures. In order to be moved by any of Cicero’s rhetorical flourishes, I must first get my thinking in order, to understand why the value of feelings is relative to the value of actions.
In our current post-modern condition, many people like to mock a calling to the moral life, just as they are keen on rolling their eyes at the praise of piety. The cause of both symptoms is the same, a crippling cynicism about meaning or value beyond immediate gratification. There can be no sacrifice, or reverence, when there is nothing bigger in our estimation than convenience and luxury.
I only become able to bear pain if I am aware of a higher human vocation, of something for which to suffer, even to die for; unless I embrace such a task, concepts like honor or glory are reduced to empty phrases, to be tossed about by rascals and rogues.
Like any time or place, Rome had its scoundrels, and like any time or place, Rome also had its heroes. The family of the Decii stood out to Cicero not because of their power or wealth, but because of their willingness to face hardship in service to the Roman people. I seek out such people here and now, though I do not find them in the usual places.
Epaminondas is the sort of fellow who deserves greater attention in our day and age. In seeking to free Thebes from Spartan dominance, he had already won a great battle at Leuctra, and a decade later he met his enemies one final time at Mantinea. Though mortally wounded by a spear thrust, he clung to life long enough to learn of the Theban victory.
“It is time to die,” he said upon hearing the news.
The story has it that a companion was overcome by grief, exclaiming how tragic it was that Epaminondas would pass away childless.
“No, by Zeus,” Epaminondas replied. “I leave behind two daughters, Leuctra and Mantinea, my victories!”
Another version has his last words as “I have lived long enough. I die unconquered.”
Cicero, or the Stoic, or any decent person can surely not help but be inspired by someone who chooses gratitude over grievance.
While the soul and the body can clearly be identified as two distinct principles of life, in practice their actions are always closely bound together. Whenever I sense or I feel, the mind will take notice, and whatever my judgment, the flesh will offer its response. As long as I have the higher directing the lower, and not the reverse, it is natural for mental excitement to express itself in the form of physical excitement.
A great orator employs his whole body to convey his message, just as a great warrior channels the strength of his conviction into the strength of his limbs. However quirky our dispositions may be, the external effect is proper and healthy if it reflects an internal virtue. Look to the signs that reveal something about the workings of the man.
There is no shame in blushing when the topic itself is rightly shameful. There is no weakness in tears when they flow from an appreciation of the good and the beautiful. If a hand quivers, that tension can now be harnessed for action, just as any anxiety can always be refocused. There is crying out, and then there is crying out, and the difference is entirely in the content of character.
None of this will make much sense, however, if we remain ignorant of the virtues as the primary goal of human life, and so an appeal to nobility will fall on deaf ears when we trade only in pleasures. In order to be moved by any of Cicero’s rhetorical flourishes, I must first get my thinking in order, to understand why the value of feelings is relative to the value of actions.
In our current post-modern condition, many people like to mock a calling to the moral life, just as they are keen on rolling their eyes at the praise of piety. The cause of both symptoms is the same, a crippling cynicism about meaning or value beyond immediate gratification. There can be no sacrifice, or reverence, when there is nothing bigger in our estimation than convenience and luxury.
I only become able to bear pain if I am aware of a higher human vocation, of something for which to suffer, even to die for; unless I embrace such a task, concepts like honor or glory are reduced to empty phrases, to be tossed about by rascals and rogues.
Like any time or place, Rome had its scoundrels, and like any time or place, Rome also had its heroes. The family of the Decii stood out to Cicero not because of their power or wealth, but because of their willingness to face hardship in service to the Roman people. I seek out such people here and now, though I do not find them in the usual places.
Epaminondas is the sort of fellow who deserves greater attention in our day and age. In seeking to free Thebes from Spartan dominance, he had already won a great battle at Leuctra, and a decade later he met his enemies one final time at Mantinea. Though mortally wounded by a spear thrust, he clung to life long enough to learn of the Theban victory.
“It is time to die,” he said upon hearing the news.
The story has it that a companion was overcome by grief, exclaiming how tragic it was that Epaminondas would pass away childless.
“No, by Zeus,” Epaminondas replied. “I leave behind two daughters, Leuctra and Mantinea, my victories!”
Another version has his last words as “I have lived long enough. I die unconquered.”
Cicero, or the Stoic, or any decent person can surely not help but be inspired by someone who chooses gratitude over grievance.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGE: Banjamin West, The Death of Epaminondas (1773)
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