The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Friday, October 3, 2025
Dio Chrysostom, The Euboean Discourse 1
It chanced that at the close of the summer season I was crossing from Chios with some fishermen in a very small boat, when such a storm arose that we had great difficulty in reaching the Hollows of Euboea in safety. The crew ran their boat up a rough beach under the cliffs, where it was wrecked, and then went off to a company of tomorrow, whose vessel was anchored in the shelter of the spur of rocks near by, and they planned to stay there and work along with them.
So I was left alone, and not knowing of any town in which to seek shelter, I wandered aimlessly along the shore, on the chance that I might find some boat sailing by or riding at anchor. I had gone on a considerable distance without seeing anybody when I chanced upon a deer that had just fallen over the cliff and lay in the wash of the breakers, lapped by the waves and still breathing. And soon I thought I heard the barking of dogs above, but not clearly owing to the roar of the sea.
On going forward and gaining an elevated position with great difficulty, I saw the dogs baffled, running to and fro, and inferred that their quarry, being hard pressed by them, had jumped over the cliff. Then, soon after, I saw a man, a hunter, to judge by his appearance and dress; he wore a beard on his healthy face, and not simply hair at the back of his head in mean and base fashion, as Homer says the Euboeans did when they went against Troy, mocking and ridiculing them, it seems to me, because, while the other Greeks there made a good appearance, they had hair on only half the head.
Now this man hailed me, saying, "Stranger, have you seen a deer running anywhere hereabouts?" And I replied, "Yonder it is this minute, in the surf," and I took him and showed it to him. So he dragged it out of the sea, ripped off the skin with his knife while I lent a helping hand as best I could. Then, after cutting off the hind quarters, he was about to carry them away along with the hide, when he invited me to come along and dine upon the venison with him, adding that his dwelling was not far away.
"And then in the morning," he continued, "after you have rested with us, you shall come back to the sea, since the present is no weather for sailing. Yet do not worry about that," he continued, "I should be content to have the wind die down after full five days, but that is not likely when the peaks of the Euboean mountains are so capped with clouds as you see them now."
And at the same time he asked me whence I came, how I had landed there, and whether the boat had not been wrecked. "It was a very small one," I replied, "belonging to some fishermen who were crossing over, and I, their only passenger, sailed with them on urgent business, but all the same it ran aground and was wrecked."
"Well, it could not easily have been otherwise," he replied; "for see, how wild and rugged the part of the island is that faces the sea. These are what they call the Hollows of Euboea, where a ship is doomed if it is driven ashore, and rarely are any of those aboard saved either, unless, of course, like you they sail in a very light craft. But come and have no fear. Today you shall rest after your trying experience, but tomorrow we shall do our best to get you out safely, now that we have come to know you. You look to me like a man from the city, not a sailor or worker on the land, nay, you seem to be suffering from some grievous infirmity of body, to judge by your leanness."
I followed him gladly without fear of any treachery, since I had nothing but a shabby cloak. Now I had often found in other situations like this—for I was continually roaming about—and I certainly did in this one, that poverty is in reality a sacred and inviolable thing and no one wrongs you; yes, much less than they wrong those who carry the herald's wand. And so I followed without misgiving on this occasion. And it was about five miles to his place.
As we proceeded on our way he told me of his circumstances and how he lived with his wife and children. "There are two of us, stranger," he said, "who live in the same place. Each is married to a sister of the other, and we have children by them, sons and daughters. We live by the chase for the most part and work but a small bit of land. You see, the place does not belong to us: we did not inherit it or get it by our own efforts. Our fathers, though free, were just as poor as we are—hired herdsmen tending the cattle of a wealthy man, one of the residents of the island here, a man who owned many droves of horses and cattle, many flocks, many good fields too and many other possessions together with all these hills.
I followed him gladly without fear of any treachery, since I had nothing but a shabby cloak. Now I had often found in other situations like this—for I was continually roaming about—and I certainly did in this one, that poverty is in reality a sacred and inviolable thing and no one wrongs you; yes, much less than they wrong those who carry the herald's wand. And so I followed without misgiving on this occasion. And it was about five miles to his place.
As we proceeded on our way he told me of his circumstances and how he lived with his wife and children. "There are two of us, stranger," he said, "who live in the same place. Each is married to a sister of the other, and we have children by them, sons and daughters. We live by the chase for the most part and work but a small bit of land. You see, the place does not belong to us: we did not inherit it or get it by our own efforts. Our fathers, though free, were just as poor as we are—hired herdsmen tending the cattle of a wealthy man, one of the residents of the island here, a man who owned many droves of horses and cattle, many flocks, many good fields too and many other possessions together with all these hills.
"Now when he died and his property was confiscated—they say he was put to death by the emperor for his wealth—they at once drove off his stock to be butchered, and in addition to his stock our own few cattle, and, as for our wages, no one has ever paid them. At that time, then, we stayed of necessity at the place where he happened to have had our cattle and had built certain huts and an enclosure of palings for the calves, not very large or strong—just what would do for the summer, I suppose; for in the winter we grazed our cattle in the flat lands, where we had plenty of pasturage and a good deal of hay put up; but in the summer we would drive them into the hills.
"It was in this place especially that our fathers made their steadings; for the place sloped in from both sides, forming a ravine, deep and shaded; through the center flowed a quiet stream in which the cows and calves could wade with perfect ease; the water was abundant and pure, bubbling up from a spring near by; and in the summer a breeze always blew through the ravine. Then the glades round about were soft and moist, breeding never a gadfly or any other cattle pest. Many very beautiful meadows stretched beneath tall sparse trees, and the whole district abounded in luxuriant vegetation throughout the entire summer, so that the cattle did not range very far. For these reasons they regularly established the herd there.
"Now our fathers remained in the huts at that time, hoping to hire out or find some work, and they lived on the produce of a very small piece of land which they happened to have under cultivation near the cattle-yard. This was quite enough for them as it was well manured. And having nothing more to do with cattle they turned to hunting, sometimes going alone and at other times with dogs; for two of those which had followed the cattle, after going a long distance and not seeing the herdsmen, had left the herd and returned to the place.
"Now our fathers remained in the huts at that time, hoping to hire out or find some work, and they lived on the produce of a very small piece of land which they happened to have under cultivation near the cattle-yard. This was quite enough for them as it was well manured. And having nothing more to do with cattle they turned to hunting, sometimes going alone and at other times with dogs; for two of those which had followed the cattle, after going a long distance and not seeing the herdsmen, had left the herd and returned to the place.
"These at first merely followed as if out for some other purpose than hunting, and though, when he saw wolves, they would give chase for a distance, yet to boars or deer they would pay no attention whatever. But whenever they sighted a bear, whether early or late, they would rally to the attack, barking and fending him off, as if they were fighting a man.
"And so, from tasting the blood of boars and deer and often eating their flesh, they changed their habits late in life and learned to like meat instead of barley-bread, gorging themselves with it whenever any game was caught and going hungry otherwise, until they finally gave more attention to the chase, pursued with equal zest every animal they sighted, began to pick up the scent and trails in some way or other, and thus changed from shepherd dogs into a sort of late-trained and rather slow hunting dogs.
"Then when winter came on, there was no work in sight for the men whether they came down to town or to a village. So after making their huts tighter and the yard fence closer, they managed to get along and worked the whole of that plot, and the winter hunting proved easier. The tracks were naturally clearer, because printed on the damp ground, and the snow made them visible at a great distance, so that there was no need of a troublesome search, since a high-road, as it were, led to them, and the quarry was sluggish and waited longer. It is possible, besides, to catch hares and gazelles in their lairs.
"In this way, then, our fathers lived from that time on, no longer having any desire for a different kind of life. And they married us their sons to wives, each giving his own daughter. The two old men died about a year ago, counting the many years they had lived, but being still strong and youthful and vigorous of body. Of the mothers mine is yet living." . . .
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.32
M. But with how little is this man himself satisfied! No one has said more on frugality. For when a man is far removed from those things which occasion a desire of money, from love, ambition, or other daily extravagance, why should he be fond of money, or concern himself at all about it?
Could the Scythian Anacharsis disregard money, and shall not our philosophers be able to do so? We are informed of an epistle of his in these words:
“Anacharsis to Hanno, greeting. My clothing is the same as that with which the Scythians cover themselves; the hardness of my feet supplies the want of shoes; the ground is my bed, hunger my sauce, my food milk, cheese, and flesh. So you may come to me as to a man in want of nothing. But as to those presents you take so much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the immortal Gods.”
And almost all philosophers, of all schools, excepting those who are warped from right reason by a vicious disposition, might have been of this same opinion. Socrates, when on one occasion he saw a great quantity of gold and silver carried in a procession, cried out, “How many things are there which I do not want!”
Xenocrates, when some ambassadors from Alexander had brought him fifty talents, which was a very large sum of money in those times, especially at Athens, carried the ambassadors to sup in the Academy, and placed just a sufficiency before them, without any apparatus. When they asked him, the next day, to whom he wished the money which they had for him to be paid: “What!” said he, “did you not perceive by our slight repast of yesterday that I had no occasion for money?”
But when he perceived that they were somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty minas, that he might not seem to treat with disrespect the king’s generosity.
But Diogenes took a greater liberty, like a Cynic, when Alexander asked him if he wanted anything: “Just at present,” said he, “I wish that you would stand a little out of the line between me and the sun,” for Alexander was hindering him from sunning himself.
And, indeed, this very man used to maintain how much he surpassed the Persian king in his manner of life and fortune; for that he himself was in want of nothing, while the other never had enough; and that he had no inclination for those pleasures of which the other could never get enough to satisfy himself; and that the other could never obtain his.
Could the Scythian Anacharsis disregard money, and shall not our philosophers be able to do so? We are informed of an epistle of his in these words:
“Anacharsis to Hanno, greeting. My clothing is the same as that with which the Scythians cover themselves; the hardness of my feet supplies the want of shoes; the ground is my bed, hunger my sauce, my food milk, cheese, and flesh. So you may come to me as to a man in want of nothing. But as to those presents you take so much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the immortal Gods.”
And almost all philosophers, of all schools, excepting those who are warped from right reason by a vicious disposition, might have been of this same opinion. Socrates, when on one occasion he saw a great quantity of gold and silver carried in a procession, cried out, “How many things are there which I do not want!”
Xenocrates, when some ambassadors from Alexander had brought him fifty talents, which was a very large sum of money in those times, especially at Athens, carried the ambassadors to sup in the Academy, and placed just a sufficiency before them, without any apparatus. When they asked him, the next day, to whom he wished the money which they had for him to be paid: “What!” said he, “did you not perceive by our slight repast of yesterday that I had no occasion for money?”
But when he perceived that they were somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty minas, that he might not seem to treat with disrespect the king’s generosity.
But Diogenes took a greater liberty, like a Cynic, when Alexander asked him if he wanted anything: “Just at present,” said he, “I wish that you would stand a little out of the line between me and the sun,” for Alexander was hindering him from sunning himself.
And, indeed, this very man used to maintain how much he surpassed the Persian king in his manner of life and fortune; for that he himself was in want of nothing, while the other never had enough; and that he had no inclination for those pleasures of which the other could never get enough to satisfy himself; and that the other could never obtain his.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.32
I pause for a moment when Cicero tells me how any decent philosopher will revere the virtue of temperance, and why he will gladly wave aside the temptation of riches. I must remember that he is referring to the man of mindfulness and integrity, not to the polished professional, to someone who rises up to the task instead of merely basking in the title. Whenever I confuse the two, I consider their respective attitudes toward promotions, and I am immediately set straight.
Even Epicurus, which for Cicero is saying quite a lot, had the good sense to be indifferent to money. Whatever their disagreements about the first principles of human nature, those who look beyond the appearances will learn how negligible our circumstances become when contrasted with our judgments. The Epicurean may still be caught up in his pleasure and pain, but he at least knows to become the master of his pleasure and pain.
I am grateful to find anecdotes like these, since the stories I read in the newspapers or watch on the evening news are little more than homages to people who became wealthy, or grievances from people who wish they could become wealthy. Whatever membership card he happens to carry, the sage knows how to operate on a completely different level, where the contents of his conscience come before the contents of his bank account. His commitment seems effortless to the rest of us, because of the depth to his understanding: he grasps the reasons why he was made for the virtues, making all the rest feel paltry.
If I dare to say such things out loud, the critics will insist I am demanding the impossible.
“How is anyone supposed to live that way?”
Simply. It involves swapping the usual assumptions about means and ends.
“You’d have to be rich first, before you could stop caring about money!”
Yes, you would indeed have to be rich, but not in the customary commodities. This is about a fundamental change in values, not about modifying a consumer lifestyle.
Anacharsis acquired a power that few of us are willing to wield, an invulnerability to the sway of others, by choosing to not to care for the same distractions they hold so dear. If I am not impressed by cash, or by luxuries, or by titles, what grip can you have on me? You have nothing I want, and you cannot take away what I already have; neither bribery nor threats will force me to submit.
Xenocrates demonstrated how the man who stands on principle doesn’t need to be jerk about it. He offered a subtle lesson instead of making a scene, and when that didn’t work, he accepted a nominal gift, just large enough not cause offense, yet not so large as to place him under any obligations. There is a certain knack to being magnificent in one’s humility.
Diogenes, on the other hand, never much worried about being objectionable, perhaps because he realized how the offense is ultimately a reflection on the one who feels the violent outrage. If I had my ducks in a row, I would pity an Aleander of Macedon or a King of Persia, not sell my soul by seeking their favors. The happy life only becomes impossible on account of my conceit.
I pause for a moment when Cicero tells me how any decent philosopher will revere the virtue of temperance, and why he will gladly wave aside the temptation of riches. I must remember that he is referring to the man of mindfulness and integrity, not to the polished professional, to someone who rises up to the task instead of merely basking in the title. Whenever I confuse the two, I consider their respective attitudes toward promotions, and I am immediately set straight.
Even Epicurus, which for Cicero is saying quite a lot, had the good sense to be indifferent to money. Whatever their disagreements about the first principles of human nature, those who look beyond the appearances will learn how negligible our circumstances become when contrasted with our judgments. The Epicurean may still be caught up in his pleasure and pain, but he at least knows to become the master of his pleasure and pain.
I am grateful to find anecdotes like these, since the stories I read in the newspapers or watch on the evening news are little more than homages to people who became wealthy, or grievances from people who wish they could become wealthy. Whatever membership card he happens to carry, the sage knows how to operate on a completely different level, where the contents of his conscience come before the contents of his bank account. His commitment seems effortless to the rest of us, because of the depth to his understanding: he grasps the reasons why he was made for the virtues, making all the rest feel paltry.
If I dare to say such things out loud, the critics will insist I am demanding the impossible.
“How is anyone supposed to live that way?”
Simply. It involves swapping the usual assumptions about means and ends.
“You’d have to be rich first, before you could stop caring about money!”
Yes, you would indeed have to be rich, but not in the customary commodities. This is about a fundamental change in values, not about modifying a consumer lifestyle.
Anacharsis acquired a power that few of us are willing to wield, an invulnerability to the sway of others, by choosing to not to care for the same distractions they hold so dear. If I am not impressed by cash, or by luxuries, or by titles, what grip can you have on me? You have nothing I want, and you cannot take away what I already have; neither bribery nor threats will force me to submit.
Xenocrates demonstrated how the man who stands on principle doesn’t need to be jerk about it. He offered a subtle lesson instead of making a scene, and when that didn’t work, he accepted a nominal gift, just large enough not cause offense, yet not so large as to place him under any obligations. There is a certain knack to being magnificent in one’s humility.
Diogenes, on the other hand, never much worried about being objectionable, perhaps because he realized how the offense is ultimately a reflection on the one who feels the violent outrage. If I had my ducks in a row, I would pity an Aleander of Macedon or a King of Persia, not sell my soul by seeking their favors. The happy life only becomes impossible on account of my conceit.
—Reflection written in 3/1999
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Thursday, October 2, 2025
Epictetus, Golden Sayings 185
The Rainy Day
"The Rainy Day"
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
IMAGE: Vincent van Gogh, Rain (1889)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.31
M. For even as trading is said to be lucrative, and farming advantageous, not because the one never meets with any loss, nor the other with any damage from the inclemency of the weather, but because they succeed in general; so life may be properly called happy, not from its being entirely made up of good things, but because it abounds with these to a great and considerable degree.
By this way of reasoning, then, a happy life may attend virtue even to the moment of execution; nay, may descend with her into Phalaris’s bull, according to Aristotle, Xenocrates, Speusippus, Polemon; and will not be gained over by any allurements to forsake her. Of the same opinion will Calliphon and Diodorus be; for they are both of them such friends to virtue as to think that all things should be discarded and far removed that are incompatible with it.
The rest seem to be more hampered with these doctrines, but yet they get clear of them; such as Epicurus, Hieronymus, and whoever else thinks it worthwhile to defend the deserted Carneades: for there is not one of them who does not think the mind to be judge of those goods, and able sufficiently to instruct him how to despise what has the appearance only of good or evil. For what seems to you to be the case with Epicurus is the case also with Hieronymus and Carneades, and, indeed, with all the rest of them; for who is there who is not sufficiently prepared against death and pain?
I will begin, with your leave, with him whom we call soft and voluptuous. What! Does he seem, to you to be afraid of death or pain when he calls the day of his death happy; and who, when he is afflicted by the greatest pains, silences them all by recollecting arguments of his own discovering?
And this is not done in such a manner as to give room for imagining that he talks thus wildly from some sudden impulse; but his opinion of death is, that on the dissolution of the animal all sense is lost; and what is deprived of sense is, as he thinks, what we have no concern at all with. And as to pain, too, he has certain rules to follow then: if it be great, the comfort is that it must be short; if it be of long continuance, then it must be supportable.
What, then? Do those grandiloquent gentlemen state anything better than Epicurus in opposition to these two things which distress us the most? And as to other things, do not Epicurus and the rest of the philosophers seem sufficiently prepared? Who is there who does not dread poverty? And yet no true philosopher ever can dread it.
By this way of reasoning, then, a happy life may attend virtue even to the moment of execution; nay, may descend with her into Phalaris’s bull, according to Aristotle, Xenocrates, Speusippus, Polemon; and will not be gained over by any allurements to forsake her. Of the same opinion will Calliphon and Diodorus be; for they are both of them such friends to virtue as to think that all things should be discarded and far removed that are incompatible with it.
The rest seem to be more hampered with these doctrines, but yet they get clear of them; such as Epicurus, Hieronymus, and whoever else thinks it worthwhile to defend the deserted Carneades: for there is not one of them who does not think the mind to be judge of those goods, and able sufficiently to instruct him how to despise what has the appearance only of good or evil. For what seems to you to be the case with Epicurus is the case also with Hieronymus and Carneades, and, indeed, with all the rest of them; for who is there who is not sufficiently prepared against death and pain?
I will begin, with your leave, with him whom we call soft and voluptuous. What! Does he seem, to you to be afraid of death or pain when he calls the day of his death happy; and who, when he is afflicted by the greatest pains, silences them all by recollecting arguments of his own discovering?
And this is not done in such a manner as to give room for imagining that he talks thus wildly from some sudden impulse; but his opinion of death is, that on the dissolution of the animal all sense is lost; and what is deprived of sense is, as he thinks, what we have no concern at all with. And as to pain, too, he has certain rules to follow then: if it be great, the comfort is that it must be short; if it be of long continuance, then it must be supportable.
What, then? Do those grandiloquent gentlemen state anything better than Epicurus in opposition to these two things which distress us the most? And as to other things, do not Epicurus and the rest of the philosophers seem sufficiently prepared? Who is there who does not dread poverty? And yet no true philosopher ever can dread it.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.31
It is impossible to make it through the day without a concept of what is “good”, and yet we will be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to define it with more than a blank stare. Though our words might fail us, to be aware of what we want, and why we might want it, is surely a matter of some importance.
And for all of our wishing, we will hardly expect everything to be absolutely perfect, being quite willing to tolerate some unpleasant bits slipping their way into a general picture of contentment. In practice, I suppose it is a matter of proportion, the lesser parts being outweighed by the greater whole, or, in a strictly Stoic manner, the hardships becoming the very opportunities for excellence.
The investor takes some losses here, while he wins more profits there. The farmer abandons this field to vermin, and that field to drought, and through his toil he still brings home an adequate harvest. The other day, I thoroughly enjoyed a steak dinner, even if the baked potato was slightly cold. I worry that this becomes a slippery slope of constantly fretting over a balance sheet, but I recognize why most of us will settle for a blended model of happiness, uncertain if we are capable of anything purer.
And even when the philosophers speak of the good as a mixture of many components, it inevitably ends up being virtue that has to come out on top, however else they express their goals. When push comes to shove, is it not character that allows us to endure pain with courage, and to face death with dignity? Where is the benefit of extensive riches if they are not employed with prudence? What is the satisfaction in refined luxuries if they are not guided by temperance? In any case, who will ever find peace without the balance of justice?
As for those thinkers who focus on the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain, they must always fall back on the power of understanding as a measure for the most gratifying acts, which once again makes the appetites subservient to the intellect. Our feelings, therefore, no longer define what is good, and it is rather our knowledge of the good that ends up defining the worth of our feelings.
I am hesitant to dump the Epicureans in with the “soft” crowd, since their behavior often revealed an incredible capacity for self-discipline. Indeed, their sort of “hedonism” is a far cry from the excesses commonly associated with the term, and the true sensualists I have met, of the unbridled type, have also swiftly brought themselves to total misery, precisely because they lack any kind of filter to their desires. If they manage to survive the ordeal, they are likely to seek out a far more restrained and responsible form of fulfillment.
How odd that one philosopher would claim to need the goods of fortune, and yet he distances himself from his circumstances when he recognizes their frailty. How strange that another philosopher would embrace the primacy of his passions, but then he turns around to praise moderation and sacrifice.
It is almost as if any pursuit of wisdom, however diverse and roundabout, cannot help but gradually arrive at the hunch that every other value in this life somehow hinges upon the merit of the virtues.
It is impossible to make it through the day without a concept of what is “good”, and yet we will be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to define it with more than a blank stare. Though our words might fail us, to be aware of what we want, and why we might want it, is surely a matter of some importance.
And for all of our wishing, we will hardly expect everything to be absolutely perfect, being quite willing to tolerate some unpleasant bits slipping their way into a general picture of contentment. In practice, I suppose it is a matter of proportion, the lesser parts being outweighed by the greater whole, or, in a strictly Stoic manner, the hardships becoming the very opportunities for excellence.
The investor takes some losses here, while he wins more profits there. The farmer abandons this field to vermin, and that field to drought, and through his toil he still brings home an adequate harvest. The other day, I thoroughly enjoyed a steak dinner, even if the baked potato was slightly cold. I worry that this becomes a slippery slope of constantly fretting over a balance sheet, but I recognize why most of us will settle for a blended model of happiness, uncertain if we are capable of anything purer.
And even when the philosophers speak of the good as a mixture of many components, it inevitably ends up being virtue that has to come out on top, however else they express their goals. When push comes to shove, is it not character that allows us to endure pain with courage, and to face death with dignity? Where is the benefit of extensive riches if they are not employed with prudence? What is the satisfaction in refined luxuries if they are not guided by temperance? In any case, who will ever find peace without the balance of justice?
As for those thinkers who focus on the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain, they must always fall back on the power of understanding as a measure for the most gratifying acts, which once again makes the appetites subservient to the intellect. Our feelings, therefore, no longer define what is good, and it is rather our knowledge of the good that ends up defining the worth of our feelings.
I am hesitant to dump the Epicureans in with the “soft” crowd, since their behavior often revealed an incredible capacity for self-discipline. Indeed, their sort of “hedonism” is a far cry from the excesses commonly associated with the term, and the true sensualists I have met, of the unbridled type, have also swiftly brought themselves to total misery, precisely because they lack any kind of filter to their desires. If they manage to survive the ordeal, they are likely to seek out a far more restrained and responsible form of fulfillment.
How odd that one philosopher would claim to need the goods of fortune, and yet he distances himself from his circumstances when he recognizes their frailty. How strange that another philosopher would embrace the primacy of his passions, but then he turns around to praise moderation and sacrifice.
It is almost as if any pursuit of wisdom, however diverse and roundabout, cannot help but gradually arrive at the hunch that every other value in this life somehow hinges upon the merit of the virtues.
—Reflection written in 3/1999
IMAGE: Jan Brueghel the Younger, Adam at Work in the Field (c. 1650)
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Wednesday, October 1, 2025
Sayings of Ramakrishna 272
By mere disputation you shall never succeed in convincing another of his error.
When the grace of God descends on him, everyone will understand his own mistakes.
IMAGE: Luca Giordano, Theologians Disputing (c. 1680)
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.30
M. These, then, are the opinions, as I think, that are held and defended—the first four are simple ones: “that nothing is good but what is honest,” according to the Stoics; “nothing good but pleasure,” as Epicurus maintains; “nothing good but a freedom from pain,” as Hieronymus asserts; “nothing good but an enjoyment of the principal, or all, or the greatest goods of nature,” as Carneades maintained against the Stoics—these are simple, the others are mixed propositions.
Then there are three kinds of goods: the greatest being those of the mind; the next best those of the body; the third are external goods, as the Peripatetics call them, and the Old Academics differ very little from them. Dinomachus and Callipho have coupled pleasure with honesty; but Diodorusthe Peripatetic has joined indolence to honesty. These are the opinions that have some footing; for those of Aristo, Pyrrho, Herillus, and of some others, are quite out of date.
Now let us see what weight these men have in them, excepting the Stoics, whose opinion I think I have sufficiently defended; and indeed I have explained what the Peripatetics have to say; excepting that Theophrastus, and those who followed him, dread and abhor pain in too weak a manner.
The others may go on to exaggerate the gravity and dignity of virtue, as usual; and then, after they have extolled it to the skies, with the usual extravagance of good orators, it is easy to reduce the other topics to nothing by comparison, and to hold them up to contempt. They who think that praise deserves to be sought after, even at the expense of pain, are not at liberty to deny those men to be happy who have obtained it. Though they may be under some evils, yet this name of happy has a very wide application.
Then there are three kinds of goods: the greatest being those of the mind; the next best those of the body; the third are external goods, as the Peripatetics call them, and the Old Academics differ very little from them. Dinomachus and Callipho have coupled pleasure with honesty; but Diodorusthe Peripatetic has joined indolence to honesty. These are the opinions that have some footing; for those of Aristo, Pyrrho, Herillus, and of some others, are quite out of date.
Now let us see what weight these men have in them, excepting the Stoics, whose opinion I think I have sufficiently defended; and indeed I have explained what the Peripatetics have to say; excepting that Theophrastus, and those who followed him, dread and abhor pain in too weak a manner.
The others may go on to exaggerate the gravity and dignity of virtue, as usual; and then, after they have extolled it to the skies, with the usual extravagance of good orators, it is easy to reduce the other topics to nothing by comparison, and to hold them up to contempt. They who think that praise deserves to be sought after, even at the expense of pain, are not at liberty to deny those men to be happy who have obtained it. Though they may be under some evils, yet this name of happy has a very wide application.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.30
I believe it was Descartes who suggested that there is no statement so strange, that some philosopher has not said it. Now those who know me are well aware that I have little patience for Descartes, perhaps the worst expression of the Enlightenment, a fellow who took it upon himself to reinvent the wheel, but in this case, he does have a good point. I will qualify, however, that the title does not necessary grant the authority: true philosophers, those who count, will flock together like birds of a feather.
Where there are open minds and generous hearts, as opposed to haughty pontificating and petty bickering, philosophy cannot help but seek out the universal and the necessary, what we share in common over any personal preferences. If a disagreement is about a matter of emphasis, proper distinctions can clarify the terms, and if it does come down to a conflict of principles, a sincere discussion always brings us closer to a resolution.
I will propose that philosophers only fight after they have abandoned reason, for whatever is reasonable cannot admit of contradiction. The clash of schools and factions does not reflect poorly on the prospects for wisdom, only on our failure to heed its calling. For all of my attachments to Marcus Aurelius or Thomas Aquinas, my service to the truth comes first, a proposition both thinkers would have immediately understood.
Cicero offers four alternative definitions of the good, and he also reiterates three possible settings for the good. Generally speaking, we will find broadly similar divisions in our own time, from those who continue to stress the content of character, to those who are concerned with the balance of pleasure and pain, to those who are content with a skeptical pragmatism. Some of us look to our possessions, some of us attend to our bodies, and some of us nurture our souls. With all of these options, and their various modifications, how are we to find a common ground?
While the bookworm in me wishes to get wrapped up in the history, including a fancy chart with all these names, my most pressing need is to make better sense of my daily priorities. I can already appreciate how our external and bodily goods are relative to, and therefore measured by, our moral worth, and I further hope that Cicero can help me to understand more of why it is virtue that binds together anything else I might consider to be a benefit. Happiness may be broad, but it cannot be vague.
I believe it was Descartes who suggested that there is no statement so strange, that some philosopher has not said it. Now those who know me are well aware that I have little patience for Descartes, perhaps the worst expression of the Enlightenment, a fellow who took it upon himself to reinvent the wheel, but in this case, he does have a good point. I will qualify, however, that the title does not necessary grant the authority: true philosophers, those who count, will flock together like birds of a feather.
Where there are open minds and generous hearts, as opposed to haughty pontificating and petty bickering, philosophy cannot help but seek out the universal and the necessary, what we share in common over any personal preferences. If a disagreement is about a matter of emphasis, proper distinctions can clarify the terms, and if it does come down to a conflict of principles, a sincere discussion always brings us closer to a resolution.
I will propose that philosophers only fight after they have abandoned reason, for whatever is reasonable cannot admit of contradiction. The clash of schools and factions does not reflect poorly on the prospects for wisdom, only on our failure to heed its calling. For all of my attachments to Marcus Aurelius or Thomas Aquinas, my service to the truth comes first, a proposition both thinkers would have immediately understood.
Cicero offers four alternative definitions of the good, and he also reiterates three possible settings for the good. Generally speaking, we will find broadly similar divisions in our own time, from those who continue to stress the content of character, to those who are concerned with the balance of pleasure and pain, to those who are content with a skeptical pragmatism. Some of us look to our possessions, some of us attend to our bodies, and some of us nurture our souls. With all of these options, and their various modifications, how are we to find a common ground?
While the bookworm in me wishes to get wrapped up in the history, including a fancy chart with all these names, my most pressing need is to make better sense of my daily priorities. I can already appreciate how our external and bodily goods are relative to, and therefore measured by, our moral worth, and I further hope that Cicero can help me to understand more of why it is virtue that binds together anything else I might consider to be a benefit. Happiness may be broad, but it cannot be vague.
—Reflection written in 3/1999
Tuesday, September 30, 2025
Monday, September 29, 2025
Stoic Snippets 271
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.12
IMAGE: Johann Rudolf Byss, The Feast of the Gods (1734)
Sunday, September 28, 2025
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.29
A. Indeed I cannot; but I should be glad to prevail on you, unless it is troublesome (as you are under no confinement from obligations to any particular sect, but gather from all of them whatever strikes you most as having the appearance of probability), as you just now seemed to advise the Peripatetics and the Old Academy boldly to speak out without reserve, “that wise men are always the happiest”—I should be glad to hear how you think it consistent for them to say so, when you have said so much against that opinion, and the conclusions of the Stoics.
M. I will make use, then, of that liberty which no one has the privilege of using in philosophy but those of our school, whose discourses determine nothing, but take in everything, leaving them unsupported by the authority of any particular person, to be judged of by others, according to their weight.
And as you seem desirous of knowing how it is that, notwithstanding the different opinions of philosophers with regard to the ends of goods, virtue has still sufficient security for the effecting of a happy life—which security, as we are informed, Carneades used indeed to dispute against; but he disputed as against the Stoics, whose opinions he combated with great zeal and vehemence.
I, however, shall handle the question with more temper; for if the Stoics have rightly settled the ends of goods, the affair is at an end; for a wise man must necessarily be always happy. But let us examine, if we can, the particular opinions of the others, that so this excellent decision, if I may so call it, in favor of a happy life, may be agreeable to the opinions and discipline of all.
M. I will make use, then, of that liberty which no one has the privilege of using in philosophy but those of our school, whose discourses determine nothing, but take in everything, leaving them unsupported by the authority of any particular person, to be judged of by others, according to their weight.
And as you seem desirous of knowing how it is that, notwithstanding the different opinions of philosophers with regard to the ends of goods, virtue has still sufficient security for the effecting of a happy life—which security, as we are informed, Carneades used indeed to dispute against; but he disputed as against the Stoics, whose opinions he combated with great zeal and vehemence.
I, however, shall handle the question with more temper; for if the Stoics have rightly settled the ends of goods, the affair is at an end; for a wise man must necessarily be always happy. But let us examine, if we can, the particular opinions of the others, that so this excellent decision, if I may so call it, in favor of a happy life, may be agreeable to the opinions and discipline of all.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.29
The Auditor now seems more confident in the claim the virtue is sufficient for happiness, though he also offers a further question, which will occupy the remainder of the book. Cicero has argued that philosophers from many different schools can agree on how a life of wisdom must also be a happy life, but what are we to make of their countless disputes? Is it really possible for such diverse, and often conflicting, models to find a common ground?
When I was first formally introduced to philosophy, I was taught a stale routine about the tension between Plato and Aristotle, such that it took me many years to look beyond this narrow assumption of dissonance. When I later discovered the subtle beauty of Aquinas, the partisans told me I must now side with the Peripatetics, and look down my nose at the Academics, but I disappointed them by viewing the work of St. Thomas as a synthesis of all that had come before, not as one school in combat with the others.
Doubt should be a tool, not an obstacle, so while I am deeply wary of radical skepticism, Cicero’s sort of hesitation, that of the “New Academy”, seems far more reasonable to me, concerned with practicality over ideology. I also find the refusal to be tied to this or that “-ism” remarkably refreshing, as I do indeed worry about the Stoic tendency toward pompous pontification; as a recovering reactionary, I’m sensitive to that sort of thing.
It is said that Boethius, the author of The Consolation of Philosophy, a book which is quite possibly responsible for saving my life, intended to translate all the works of Plato and Aristotle from Greek into Latin, and then to write an account of how these two systems were, with proper qualifications and distinctions, compatible and complementary. I wonder what might have happened to our Western culture if he had achieved this, and how well this would have served the cause of a common Wisdom Tradition.
We too often forget how philosophy is a universal calling, which ought to transcend our petty bickering about our selfish preferences. If our human nature is indeed the same, our problems will also be essentially the same, and our solutions will center around the same first principles, regardless of class, race, or creed. My colleagues dismiss Cicero as a philosophical lightweight, even as I find him to be a champion of common sense.
A few years back, I casually started to collect images of how the world perceived philosophers, not to produce some fancy work of scholarship, but to help myself understand something more about who I was meant to be. There were a few depictions of the noble intellectual hero, yet also a slew of nasty caricatures, mockeries of those self-absorbed idiots with their heads in the clouds.
There was, however, one that spoke to me immensely, a 19th century advertisement for beer; I will post it online one of these days if I can ever find a digital copy. A rather common man sits in peace on a crate, smoking his pipe and writing out his thoughts, totally oblivious to any worldly diversions or anxieties. I would like to imagine that the open-minded and amiable philosopher Cicero has in mind is this sort of fellow.
Wisdom, and its ensuing happiness, are bigger than our provincial squabbles.
The Auditor now seems more confident in the claim the virtue is sufficient for happiness, though he also offers a further question, which will occupy the remainder of the book. Cicero has argued that philosophers from many different schools can agree on how a life of wisdom must also be a happy life, but what are we to make of their countless disputes? Is it really possible for such diverse, and often conflicting, models to find a common ground?
When I was first formally introduced to philosophy, I was taught a stale routine about the tension between Plato and Aristotle, such that it took me many years to look beyond this narrow assumption of dissonance. When I later discovered the subtle beauty of Aquinas, the partisans told me I must now side with the Peripatetics, and look down my nose at the Academics, but I disappointed them by viewing the work of St. Thomas as a synthesis of all that had come before, not as one school in combat with the others.
Doubt should be a tool, not an obstacle, so while I am deeply wary of radical skepticism, Cicero’s sort of hesitation, that of the “New Academy”, seems far more reasonable to me, concerned with practicality over ideology. I also find the refusal to be tied to this or that “-ism” remarkably refreshing, as I do indeed worry about the Stoic tendency toward pompous pontification; as a recovering reactionary, I’m sensitive to that sort of thing.
It is said that Boethius, the author of The Consolation of Philosophy, a book which is quite possibly responsible for saving my life, intended to translate all the works of Plato and Aristotle from Greek into Latin, and then to write an account of how these two systems were, with proper qualifications and distinctions, compatible and complementary. I wonder what might have happened to our Western culture if he had achieved this, and how well this would have served the cause of a common Wisdom Tradition.
We too often forget how philosophy is a universal calling, which ought to transcend our petty bickering about our selfish preferences. If our human nature is indeed the same, our problems will also be essentially the same, and our solutions will center around the same first principles, regardless of class, race, or creed. My colleagues dismiss Cicero as a philosophical lightweight, even as I find him to be a champion of common sense.
A few years back, I casually started to collect images of how the world perceived philosophers, not to produce some fancy work of scholarship, but to help myself understand something more about who I was meant to be. There were a few depictions of the noble intellectual hero, yet also a slew of nasty caricatures, mockeries of those self-absorbed idiots with their heads in the clouds.
There was, however, one that spoke to me immensely, a 19th century advertisement for beer; I will post it online one of these days if I can ever find a digital copy. A rather common man sits in peace on a crate, smoking his pipe and writing out his thoughts, totally oblivious to any worldly diversions or anxieties. I would like to imagine that the open-minded and amiable philosopher Cicero has in mind is this sort of fellow.
Wisdom, and its ensuing happiness, are bigger than our provincial squabbles.
—Reflection written in 3/1999
IMAGE: The Philosopher, advertising proof for ABC Lager Beer, Boston MA (c. 1880)
Saturday, September 27, 2025
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