Henry David Thoreau 2

The law will never make men free; it is men who have got to make the law free. 

—from Henry David Thoreau, Slavery in Massachusetts 

Dhammapada 365, 366

Let him not despise what he has received, nor ever envy others: a mendicant who envies others does not obtain peace of mind. 

A Bhikshu who, though he receives little, does not despise what he has received, even the gods will praise him, if his life is pure, and if he is not slothful. 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.8

“What,” you say, “am I now to be put on my trial?” 
 
Is another then to have a fever, another to go a voyage, another die, another be condemned? I say it is impossible in a body like ours, in this enveloping space, in this common life, that events of this sort should not happen, one to this man and another to that. 
 
It is your business then to take what fate brings and deal with what happens, as is fitting. 
 
Suppose then the judge says, “I will judge you to be a wrongdoer”; you reply, “May it go well with you! I did my part, and it is for you to see if you have done yours: for the judge's part too, do not forget, has its own danger!" 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5 
 
Many people will implicitly assume that the happy life is meant to be the life without difficulties, and yet I have found that hardship has been a necessary component to anything that has ever been good in me. I say this not because I somehow prefer the suffering, but because the trial itself becomes the very opportunity to earn some peace of mind. 
 
In practice, far removed from any elegant abstractions, there is no such thing as an uncontested serenity, and the man who wishes to seek out an ivory tower is driven more by his fears than he is by his hopes. I have renounced my duty to myself the moment I have made demands for the world to do it my way. 
 
As with any relationship, the connection is mutual, with each part complementing the other. Still, I find myself tempted to pursue a ridiculously contradictory model, where I take the credit when Fortune is gratifying, and I cast the blame when Fortune is disagreeable—my standard of right and wrong changes with the weather. It becomes even more absurd when I nevertheless condemn others around me for doing the exact same thing. 
 
Let me step back from doing their jobs, and then let me finally be consistent about doing mine. A judge, whether he be severe or merciful, will act upon his own conscience, however much I try to influence him, and he will have to face the consequences of his convictions. I, in turn, will have to do exactly the same. Ultimately, he decides nothing about me, and I decide nothing about him; we pay our money, and we make our choices. 
 
“But I have been wronged!” 
 
No, I have faced another who has done a wrong, and I will now determine whether I can bring myself to respond with a right. There is a good reason why the Stoic repeats his mantra over and over: “This is within your power, and this is beyond it, and that is as it should be.” I am only miserable because I am being careless about my business. 
 
Nobility is not a peace from the circumstances, but a peace despite the circumstances: work through them, not against them. 

—Reflection written in 6/2001 

IMAGE: Adolph Tidemand, Scene Before a Magistrate in the Country (c. 1850) 

Death and the Maiden

Marianne Stokes, Death and the Maiden (1908) 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 139

Mental pain is harder to bear than the corporeal. 

IMAGE: Michelangelo, Pieta (1499) 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 6

Slavery is disheartening; but Nature is not so helpless but it can rid itself of every last wrong. 

But the spasms of nature are centuries and ages and will tax the faith of short-lived men. Slowly, slowly the Avenger comes, but comes surely. 

The proverbs of the nations affirm these delays, but affirm the arrival. They say, "God may consent, but not forever." 

The delay of the Divine Justice—this was the meaning and soul of the Greek Tragedy—this was the soul of their religion. 

—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Fugitive Slave Law 

IMAGE: John Simpson, The Captive Slave (1827) 

Maxims of Goethe 37

What I have tried to do in my life through false tendencies, I have at last learned to understand. 

IMAGE: Gerard Seghers, Mary Magdalene Repentant (c. 1630) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.7

How is it then that some external things are described as natural and some as unnatural? It is because we regard ourselves as detached from the rest of the Universe. 
 
For the foot, for instance, I shall say it is natural to be clean, but if you take it as a foot and not as a detached thing, it will be fitting for it to walk in the mud and tread upon thorns and sometimes to be cut off for the sake of the whole body: or else it will cease to be a foot. We must hold exactly the same sort of view about ourselves.
 
What are you? A man. If you regard man as a detached being, it is natural for him to live to old age, to be rich, to be healthy. 
 
But if you regard him as a man and a part of a larger whole, that whole makes it fitting that at one moment you should fall ill, at another go a voyage and risk your life, and at another be at your wit's end, and, it may be, die before your time. 
 
Why then are you indignant? Do you not know that, just as the foot spoke of if viewed apart will cease to be a foot, so you will cease to be a man? 
 
For what is a man? A part of a city, first a part of the City in which gods and men are incorporate, and secondly of that city which has the next claim to be called so, which is a small copy of the City Universal. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5 
 
I was apparently born with an instinct for an objective moral order, since I can remember asking questions about right and wrong from my first conscious moments. It didn’t seem proper to me that an angry old lady was yelling at my parents about a broken washing machine. 
 
My mother called me “the little philosopher” just after I was born, because I gazed out into the world with an intense yet calm wonder. Would that I had maintained that demeanor! 
 
My deepest regret is that I did not follow through on that promise. The world yelled at me rather loudly, and I sadly submitted. As soon as they put me in school, that socially mandated prison system for children, I enslaved myself to “the rules.” 
 
Which rules? Whose rules? If you are still with me, I suspect we could be very good friends.
 
Even when I began to think for myself, I would make excuses for myself about what was “natural”, and my willingness to accept the stark simplicity of the human good remains a work in progress. 
 
No, the natural is not merely what is easy, or convenient, or gratifying, or popular at the moment. The natural can nether be reduced to relativism, nor considered as some ideal theory. Who I am is the fullness of my identity as a creature of reason and will, placed smack-dab in the middle of my circumstances. 
 
If I treat anything in my life in just an isolated way, I might believe it is best to preserve it at all costs, to lock it away, safe and sound. What I am forgetting is that it is meant to be used, and by being used it is also meant to become battered and bruised. What use is my hand, if it doesn’t develop a few good calluses? What use is my heart if I don’t let it get broken? It is impossible to grasp without strain, and it is impossible to love without loss. 
 
I was not put on this Earth to acquire and consume, or to maintain myself in some pristine condition. I am here to spend myself, to put anything and everything in the service of my power to understand and to love, and then to be content when the last little bit of me has been totally exhausted. To be a worn man, in the service of virtue, is not a failing, but a triumph. 
 
I will feel pain, I will grow weaker, and I will, sooner or later, pass away. For the grasping man, this sounds like a terrible burden, an existential crisis; for the Stoic, or for any man of character, it is a beautiful opportunity to live without hesitation. When I look at the Universe from a moral perspective, there is no such thing as waste. 
 
I try to no longer think like a Kierkegaard, or a Sartre, or a Heidegger, wallowing in anxiety and dread. I know who I am, why I am here, and that it is right for me to fade away, then to be transformed into something new. Once I choose virtue as my end, I am happy to be drained by life, to let my body be expended in the service of the soul. 
 
I have, over the years, developed a love of hats and caps, and to this day I must remind myself not to simply let them hang on the coatrack or in the closet to look pretty. I must wear them, I must let them get frayed, tattered, and faded. Then they have developed character—so it is with a man. The hat should be exposed to the elements, and a man should jump into the fray, to find himself by losing himself. 
 
I am not a creature in seclusion; I am part of a society, not just of this or that tribe, but of a universal community, bound together by the power of the Divine. Each of us has our place in this harmony, and each of us will one day make room for the next citizen. In an odd way, it was reading Epictetus that helped me to finally understand the grand scheme of Augustine’s City of God. 

—Reflection written in 6/2001 

IMAGE: Raoul de Presles. The City of God (c. 1470) 

The Basel Dance of Death 3

Matthäus Merian, The Basel Dance of Death: The Emperor (1616) 

"Lord Emperor with the gray beard,
You have long saved your repentance.
Therefore, do not struggle, you must from here
And dance after my fife's tone." 

"I was able to increase the kingdom considerably,
With war and fight prevented injustice.
Now Death has won over me,
So that I am longer like an emperor." 

The Basel Dance of Death 2

Matthäus Merian, The Basel Dance of Death: The Pope (1616) 

"Come Holy Father, worthy man,
You must have the opening dance with me.
The indulgence will not help you against it,
Nor the double cross and triple crown." 

"I was called holy on earth,
Next to God I had the highest position.
The indulgence has profited me quite well.
Now Death will not spare me."  

The Basel Dance of Death 1

Matthäus Merian, The Basel Dance of Death: The Ossuary (1616) 

"Oh Man, contemplate, and do not despise, 
Here this figure of all creatures. 
Death takes them, early and late, 
Just like the flower in the field fades." 

Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 48

XLVIII. 

There's no great need that you should oft appear 
At shews, or help to crowd the theatre. 
But if it be expected you should be 
Amongst the rest at the solemnity 
Of sacred sports, when 'tis requir'd that all 
Should join to celebrate the festival; 
See with indifference, and lay aside 
Partiality, and wish on neither side; 
And be not more concern'd for what you see 
Than your own quiet and tranquillity. 
Be these your main concern, your greatest care, 
And wish that things may be just as they are, 
And that the victory may fall to him, 
Who gains the day, who doth the garland win; 
For while to neither, to yourself you're kind, 
Nor can you any disappointment find. 
Be not transported, do not laugh aloud, 
Nor roar in consort with the bellowing crowd. 
When the shew's over, when from thence you come, 
Dispute not much concerning what was done; 
As who's the tallest fellow of his hands, 
Who best the lance, who best the sword commands, 
Or whether such a one was fairly slain; 
This is to act th' encounter o'er again, 
But say you out-talk the other, win the prize, 
Are you a jot the better, or more wise? 
You only shew that you admire the sport, 
When there's no tolerable reason for't: 
And why so great a wonder is it made, 
That a man's quick, or dext'rous at his trade? 
That one of greater strength, or greater skill, 
Should get the better? that a sword will kill? 

Delphic Maxims 48

Φιλόσοφος γίνου 

Become a seeker of wisdom 

IMAGE: Salomon Koninck, A Philosopher (c. 1640) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.6

In the same way the weaver does not make fleeces, but devotes himself to dealing with them in whatever form he receives them. 
 
Sustenance and property are given you by Another, who can take them away from you too, yes, and your bit of a body as well. 
 
It is for you, then, to take what is given you and make the most of it. 
 
Then if you come off without harm, others who meet you will rejoice with you in your safety, but the man who has a good eye for conduct, if he sees that you behaved here with honor, will praise you and rejoice with you: but if he sees a man has saved his life by acting dishonorably, he will do the opposite.
 
For where a man can rejoice with reason, his neighbor can rejoice with him also. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5 
 
I notice more and more how I initially believe that people are vexing me because they are not minding their own business, and then I have a humbling insight that my frustration comes precisely from me not minding my own business. Dare I say that Nature has a sense of humor when she teaches me her lessons? 
 
As much as I might long to be a captain of industry, managing the whole supply chain from start to finish, what if I am simply meant to be a weaver? While I may sometimes feel the urge to become an esteemed scholar, there is just as much dignity in perusing a single line, in embracing it, and in living that little bit both thoroughly and anonymously. 
 
More isn’t necessarily better; better is better. The value in a life is not about what we receive, but about what we choose to do with what we receive. Some things will be given, while some things will be taken away, and the liberty of leaving all of that to Providence is what makes a true responsibility for myself possible. 
 
Much is revealed by how others react to both my windfalls and my hardships. If their praises and revelries rise or fall according to the comings and goings of Fortune, I should be wary, for, however good their intentions, they are deeply confused about the greater and the lesser. If they only wish to partake of my possessions, they will not be true friends. 
 
In contrast, those who first look to the content of my character, regardless of which way the wind blows, will be the companions worth pursuing. They are happy for my virtues, and saddened by my vices, such that they always follow a moral compass, not the divining of a worldly prosperity. They will not fail me, as long as they cling to an essential human measure. 
 
While there will inevitably be conflict when people are competing over prizes, there can be absolute agreement when people are cooperating toward a common end, where there is no shortage of blessings. One can share in the honor of the other, since a good man also finds joy in the good of his neighbor, and they can then celebrate together. 

—Reflection written in 6/2001 

IMAGE: Marianne Stokes, The Weaver (1917) 

William Hogarth, A Rake's Progress 7

Though I have thankfully never been in prison, I spent some time working in prison ministry during my Wilderness Years, and the experience is indelibly burned into my brain. 

However cold and brutal the physical surroundings might be, I noticed that the most powerful effect it had on the inmates was a nagging feeling of hopelessness, which, if not deliberately managed, could easily lead to a sort of insanity. Even those who looked forward to an imminent release were consumed by this dread, as if they somehow suspected that being back on the outside still could not redeem them. 

Tom has been locked up for his debts, and I imagine he is finally realizing that he has passed the point of no return. His "wife" will only scold him, while Sarah faints from the awareness that he will never be the father and the husband she had once hoped for, and that there is absolutely nothing she can now do for him. 

The very idea of a debtor's prison, where there is little prospect of ever escaping from a vicious cycle, might seem cruel to us, and yet I would argue that most forms of contemporary punishment still remain as the infliction of one harm for another harm. Tom cannot pay the jailer his fees, and he cannot pay the boy bringing him ale. 

Tom is clutching at straws, desperate to find a way out, as a rejection letter from a publisher shows. His cellmates are also on the verge of madness, one who is writing a book about solving the national debt, though he ironically cannot manage his own, and another who is engaged in all sort of experiments. 

The odd harness with the wings, over the bed, is surely a reference to Icarus, and tells us how these prisoners' dreams of escape are just as doomed. 

William Hogarth, A Rake's Progress VII: The Prison (1734) 

James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 14

14. 

λοιπὸν οὖν σύνες εἰς τίνας σεαυτὸν κατατάσσεις: ἐκεῖνος μὲν γὰρ πάντως σοι καλῶς χρήσεται ὁ τὰ ὅλα διοικῶν καὶ παραδέξεταί σε ὡς μέρος τι τῶν συνεργῶν καὶ συνεργητικῶν, ἀλλὰ σὺ μὴ τοιοῦτο μέρος γένῃ, οἷος ὁ εὐτελὴς καὶ γελοῖος στίχος ἐν τῷ δράματι, οὗ Χρύσιππος μέμνηται. 

Every one is worked into the Universal Purpose in some manner. Therefore in fine consider well with whom you join and range yourself. For the Ruler of all things assuredly and in every case will make use of you to the full, and assign you a part among those who work under his rule and help it on. But become no such part as is expressed in the paltry and ridiculous line in the play which Crysippus mentions. For, says he, as comedies include ridiculous epigrams which in themselves are bad, yet contribute a certain grace to the whole work, so you may reproach wickedness in itself, but it is not useless to other things.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.42 

14. 

Ay, go you shall, and that full swift enough! 

Your sole will but affects what way you keep 

Your place in ranks that throng unto the bluff 

Where every one shall take the hardy leap. 

This all-hail host, the army of the Lord, 

Marshals in order so immense and wide 

It doth amaze me as some monstrous horde, 

Because the whole is not by me descried. 

Bethink you then how you will pass along, 

Whether under the high commandery of the day 

Advisedly, obedient and strong, 

Or skulk in vain to be a run-a-way. 

For you straight up like men shall march your lot, 

Or dragged at chariot wheels go where you ’d not. 

IMAGE: Ludovico Carracci, Allegory of Providence (1604) 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 236

The heavier scale goes down and the lighter one rises up. 

So the man of merit and ability is always humble, but the fool is always puffed up with vanity. 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.5.5

In that sense Socrates knew how to play the game.
 
“What do you mean?”
 
He knew how to play in the court. “Tell me, Anytus,” said he, “in what way you say that I disbelieve in God. What do you think that divinities are? Are they not either children of the gods, or the mixed offspring of men and gods?” 
 
And when Anytus agreed, he said, “Who then do you think can believe in the existence of mules and not in asses?” He was like one playing at ball. 
 
What then was the ball that he played with? Life, imprisonment, exile, taking poison, being deprived of his wife, leaving his children orphans. These were the things he played with, but none the less he played and tossed the ball with balance. 
 
So we ought to play the game, so to speak, with all possible care and skill, but treat the ball itself as indifferent. A man must certainly cultivate skill in regard to some outward things: he need not accept a thing for its own sake, but he should show his skill in regard to it, whatever it be. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5 
 
A game need not be taken as a frivolous thing, or as a boastful thing. The ways in which we play are reflections of the ways in which we live, and while I know it makes me sound like an old fuddy-duddy, I remain convinced that good sportsmanship is nothing but a more casual expression of genuine character. 
 
There is also the wonderful association of finding an innocent pleasure in a game, just as we should find the deepest joy in life as a whole. Now we often think of Socrates as a rather serious fellow, and yet, with the notable exception of a few moments in righteous indignation, I observe that he had such a playful personality. Yes, he went through life as if were like a game, in all the best senses. 
 
Most importantly, Socrates understood what was at stake in the game, and how the circumstances of his life were just vehicles for the improvement of his soul. He knew how to toss the ball, and he was adept at estimating how it might be thrown back. In any case, victory in the game was for him rather different than it is for most of us. We usually expect fame and fortune, while he only sought decency and integrity. 
 
You may look at the scorecard, but I, for one, choose not to be so interested in the numbers. Anyone who plays with virtue, and who is happy to leave the ball wherever it eventually falls, can be considered a victor in this life. 
 
We’re all expected to have a certain hushed reverence for Socrates, though I have found that most people, when pushed, will admit that they can’t stand the fellow. Yes, he can seem rather cocky and irreverent, but what really makes us so uncomfortable is that he was sincerely indifferent about all the things we are taught to cherish so deeply. Money, or reputation, or a long life were not the be-all and end-all of his existence. 
 

This makes us squirm, because he is calling us out, like the coach who has just caught us at cheating. We know that he knows that we can be so much better. Virtue is the skill of realizing when to take a hold of the ball, and when to let it go. 

—Reflection written in 6/2001 

Solitude

"Ode on Solitude" 

Alexander Pope (1688-1744) 

Happy the man, whose wish and care 

  A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air, 
  In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
  Whose flocks supply him with attire, 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
  In winter fire. 

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 
  Hours, days, and years slide soft away, 
In health of body, peace of mind, 
  Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night; study and ease 
  Together mix'd; sweet recreation, 
And innocence, which most does please, 
  With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 
  Thus unlamented let me die; 
Steal from the world, and not a stone 
  Tell where I lie. 

Vanitas 83

Harmen Steenwijck, Vanitas Still Life (c. 1640)