Struggling with Circumstances 2

. . . "Diogenes, who was sent as a scout before you, made a different report to us. He says that death is no evil, for neither is it base. He says that fame is the noise of madmen.

"And what has this spy said about pain, about pleasure, and about poverty? He says that to be naked is better than any purple robe, and to sleep on the bare ground is the softest bed, and he gives as a proof of each thing that he affirms his own courage, his tranquillity his freedom, and the healthy appearance and compactness of his body.

" 'There is no enemy' he says, 'all is peace.'

"How so, Diogenes? 'See,' he replies, 'if I am struck, if I have been wounded, if I have fled from any man.'

"This is what a scout ought to be. But you come to us and tell us one thing after another. Will you not go back, and you will see clearer when you have laid aside fear?" . . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long) 

We only fear about the things that we are desperately afraid of losing. Tell me right now what you really love, and I will tell you right now what it is that you fear.

If you wish wealth, power, success, or esteem, you will do anything and everything to acquire these things. Those loves define most all of the people I knew as a young man.

In return, your greatest fear will be all about losing those things you love so much.

Last year, I ran into a college friend. I use the term 'friend' lightly, since we were really just acquaintances. Yet he was very worried about something, and drew me aside in private to discuss what was on his mind.

"Do you remember that time I cheated on my girlfriend?"

I remembered not just one time, but a number of times. It turned out that girlfriend was now his wife.

"Yes," I replied, "but I hoped that was done and over with between both of you, and that you fixed it."

"No. She never knew. And she can never know. You won't tell her, will you?"

I assured him I would never tell her, unless she asked me directly.

He became very angry. I didn't know all the specifics, but it seemed there was trouble brewing in that perfect upper class home. He was worried that a precedent of infidelity would hurt him in a divorce settlement.

Well, there you have it. If he had been like Diogenes, he would have worried more about his loyalty and integrity than about his property.  He would never have worried about his professional reputation, because fame is the noise of madmen.

If I desire none of the things that the world tells me I must desire, I will never fear their loss. I will have no enemies, as long as I am not struggling for the things that they struggle for. I give you your pleasures, you fame, your money, your influence, and I ask nothing from you.

All is peace, because I need not fight for everything that you may think is important.

I am now an older man, and I hope I am somewhat wiser. Your job, your home, your friends, your car, and your vacations do not impress me. I need not fear losing any of those things, because I do not care for them.

I do not care when you take such things from me. Because they are not me.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

Struggling with Circumstances 1

"It is circumstances which show what men are. Therefore when a difficulty falls upon you, remember that God, like a trainer of wrestlers, has matched you with a rough young man.

" ''For what purpose?' you may say, Why, that you may become an Olympic conqueror; but it is not accomplished without sweat. In my opinion no man has had a more profitable difficulty than you have had, if you choose to make use of it as an athlete would deal with a young antagonist.

"We are now sending a scout to Rome; but no man sends a cowardly scout, who, if he only hears a noise and sees a shadow anywhere, comes running back in terror and reports that the enemy is close at hand.

"So now if you should come and tell us, 'fearful is the state of affairs at Rome, terrible is death, terrible is exile; terrible is calumny; terrible is poverty; fly, my friends; the enemy is near', we shall answer, 'Begone, prophesy for yourself; we have committed only one fault, that we sent such a scout.' " . . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

I have often confused courage with aggression. While the latter is the exercise of brute strength, the former is the exercise of conviction.

I have never been the sort of person who is physically brave. I'm actually rather physically pathetic. In my early teenage years, my uncle, an accomplished mountaineer, dragged me on a two week tour of the Austrian Alps. We lived off of the land, climbed peak after peak, and for most of the time we were never below the tree line. It was one of the most wonderful and exhilarating moments of my life.

By the end, he took me up a mountain that was fairly easy for the first few hours, but had a stretch at the end that required some clever free climbing. I did my best, but made the horrible mistake of looking down. I saw 500 meters of empty space below me. I panicked.

Here was a moment, and it is a moment I will never forget. I had my fingers and toes glued to the rock, but my will seemed to give out. For a brief second, I wanted to let go and fall, because the terror was so great. My state of horror and panic was that severe.

And out of nowhere, with no other inspiration or encouragement, I told myself that I was able. I looked up. I made the last few grabs, and before I knew it, I was at the peak at one of the most beautiful places on God's Earth.

Going down was easier.

Courage is never about toughness or physical strength. Do not be deceived. The least of us, in body and mind, can practice fortitude, because it is nothing more than about how we think.

As a child I always worried about the bullies, and whenever they challenged me, whether I could 'take' them.

The courage I learned wasn't about winning the fight by defeating the aggressor. It was always about defeating myself. A few times I was the physical victor, mainly because I had more to lose. Usually, I found myself in the dirt, with a bloody nose, coupled with the ridicule of my peers.

None of that mattered, and it still doesn't matter. Fear is in myself, and as powerful as the feeling may be, I can work with it, and through it.  I do not deny or repress the feelings. I learn to use them to my advantage, as a means to make myself better. I can choose to accept the challenge that Nature has given me, and I will only lose the battle if I betray myself. I win when I have acted rightly, whatever the consequence.

Difficulty indeed causes pain, and it breeds uncertainty. As long as I am certain in my convictions, those feelings are hardly wasted.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)

Even Simpler Stoicism

On Exile 11

. . . "These things I used to repeat to myself and I say them to you now. If you are wise, you will not consider that exile is a thing to be dreaded, since others bear it easily, but evil. It makes wretched every man in whom it is present. And neither of the two necessary alternatives is a just cause for repining.

"For either you were banished justly or unjustly. If justly, how can it be right or fitting to feel aggrieved at just punishment? If unjustly, the evil involved is not ours, but falls upon those who banished us.

If in fact you agree that doing a wrong (as they have done) is the most hateful thing in the world, while suffering a wrong (as has been our fate) in the eyes of the gods and of just men is held a ground not for hate but for help. "

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

If I remember to understand the source of good and evil rightly, then I will also be able to perceive how all other things fall into their rightful place. It isn't the exile, or any circumstance, that harms me, but my own thinking.

Musonius reiterates a common Stoic formula here, and it reveals the logical order of Stoic thinking just as much as it offers a very practical guide to all the alternatives in our daily choices. This is how I usually repeat it to myself. Any hardship or suffering can, of course, replace exile in this case.

Let us say I have been exiled. If I deserved the exile, then I have been rightly punished. It is entirely up to me if I choose to learn from my situation, to improve myself, and to make right whatever it is that I have done wrong.

If I did not deserve the exile, then I have not done wrong, but others have done me wrong. That is still not an evil for me, but for others.

All that remains for me to decide is how I will act toward the evil by another. If I respond in kind, I have made myself as bad as the original offender. That is, however, still entirely on me. If I respond with care, concern, and assistance for the wrongdoers, I now have the wonderful opportunity to transform evil into good, by my own thoughts and actions alone. Whether I 'win' or 'lose' depends upon me, not upon them.

To love our enemies, to do good for those who persecute us, is hardly a pipe dream. Stoic thinking makes very clear how this logically follows from a right apprehension of what is truly good in our lives.

I have long lost track of the number of times I've been pushed around, and I can barely remember when I deserved it, and when I didn't. It hardly matters, because as soon as I use the actions of another as a justification for anger or hate, I've already thrown away the only thing that can make me good, and could perhaps help other people to also become good for themselves.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

Napoleon into Final Exile. . .

Perhaps helpful with the recent entries on the nature of exile, this painting speak volumes. Observe not only the man once strong in power, yet now weak in character, struggling with his fate. Observe also the crew who regard him with a mixture of curiosity, awe, contempt, indifference, and ridicule. They are the Chorus, the very sort of people Bonaparte once ruled with barely a thought.

Written in 8/2013

Image: William Quiller Orchardson, Napoleon on Board the Bellerophon (c. 1880)

On Exile 10

. . . "The reflections which I employ for my own benefit so as not to be irked by exile, I should like to repeat to you. It seems to me that exile does not strip a man entirely, not even of the things which the average man calls goods, as I have just shown. But if he is deprived of some or all of them, he is still not deprived of the things which are truly goods.

"Certainly the exile is not prevented from possessing courage and justice simply because he is banished, nor self-control, nor understanding, nor any of the other virtues which when present serve to bring honor and benefit to a man and show him to be praiseworthy and of good repute, but when absent, serve to cause him harm and dishonor and show him to be wicked and of ill-repute.

"Since this is true, if you are that good man and have his virtues, exile will not harm or degrade you, because the virtues are present in you which are most able to help and to sustain you.

"But if you are bad, it is the evil that harms you and not exile; and the misery you feel in exile is the product of evil, not of exile. It is from this you must hasten to secure release rather than from exile." . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

In typical Stoic fashion, Musonius explains that our confusion arises from what we consider to be 'good' in life. We will grumble and roll our eyes at this, of course, because only philosophers seem to worry about such abstract and obscure questions. This arises, however, from a misunderstanding of true philosophy, which isn't just about thinking well, but ordered primarily toward the fullness of living well.

As the grounded philosophers, like the Stoics, remind us time and time again, there is no more practical and critical matter than understanding the nature of the good. All thought, desire, and action rises or falls with that understanding.

"Average men" will tend to find the good in pleasure, honor, or wealth, and Musonius has explained that we need not even lose those things in a state of exile. Many have indeed increased their fortunes when cast away from home.

But even if we lose such things, these are hardly complete goods, which are determined by the value of my thoughts and deeds, not by the externals themselves. I can, in any and every circumstance, continue to practice courage, justice, temperance, or wisdom, since such goods are absolute, and depend upon nothing but my judgment. Indeed, losing pleasure, honor, and wealth can even give me an even greater opportunity to act with virtue.

The only thing that is completely good for man is the exercise of virtue, and the only thing that is completely evil for man is the exercise of vice. Happiness or misery hinge upon these two. The evil is never in the circumstances of the exile, or of any supposed misfortune, but in our use of it. We are mistaken when we say that our conditions are evil, but quite right when we see evil in our response. Let us not confuse what is done to us with what we do.

I don't think Musonius wishes to scold us, but rather to encourage us. He reminds us that he too must think through the benefit and harm in his state, and it is only in this way that he does not confuse evil with any circumstance. Our estimation of where we are to find the pure good of our nature, which can be nothing but the exercise of that nature, will be a powerful tool in living well.

Whenever I fell that itch of temptation, of measuring myself by all the worldly trappings, I do much as he suggests, and I can feel the whole viewpoint gradually shift, as if I was seeing the very same things but from a different perspective, from seeing myself from the outside in, to seeing myself from the inside out. There we have yet another instance of the Stoic Turn.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

On Exile 9

. . . "But tell me, my friend, when Diogenes was in exile at Athens, or when he was sold by pirates and came to Corinth, did anyone, Athenian or Corinthian, ever exhibit greater freedom of speech than he?

"And again, were any of his contemporaries freer than Diogenes? Why, even Xeniades, who bought him, he ruled as a master rules a slave. But why should I employ examples of long ago? Are you not aware that I am an exile?

"Well, then, have I been deprived of freedom of speech? Have I been bereft of the privilege of saying what I think? Have you or anyone else ever seen me cringing before anyone just because I am an exile, or thinking that my lot is worse now than formerly?

"No, I'll wager that you would say that you have never seen me complaining or disheartened because of my banishment, for if I have been deprived of my country, I have not been deprived of my ability to endure exile." . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

The Stoic Turn reminds us that the world may provide or deprive us of many things, but only we can can provide or deprive ourselves of our happiness. We are too quick to define our lives by our circumstances, and when those circumstances seem to overwhelm us, we are too quick to surrender.

I enjoy the turn of the phrase here: I may be deprived of my country, but I have not been deprived of my ability to endure exile.

I have often struggled to rightly understand such strength, and over the years I have distinguished between a strength of character and a strength of power.  The former is what Musonius describes, the willingness to depend upon my own virtue as the measure of my life, whatever the externals may be, while the latter is the attempt to use my strength to conquer the externals. Both seem, at first, to take the form of self-reliance,though I would suggest that the real difference between them is one as radical as the difference between freedom and slavery.

My self-reliance hinges upon whether it is truly free of hindrance, and I find that nothing is a greater hindrance than making my life depend upon the order of my circumstances, whether or not I have any apparent power over the things around me.

I should not assume that simply having influence and wealth makes someone only strong in power, but I should assume that he is a man who depends upon being strong in power when he loves those things for their own sake.

The man strong in character may gain or lose power over the world, but he does not allow this to determine the value of his life. The man only strong in power will rise or fall entirely on those terms.  He does not even control himself, because his life is measured by his circumstances, and he does not even control those circumstances, because fortune can just as easily take away what it has given.

Not all people who are strong, are strong in quite the same way.  It is a test of a hardship such as exile that can identify which type of strength we truly possess.

Musonius was himself a man who struggled with exile throughout his life, and we can see by his words and deeds how strong he was in character. I also often think of Napoleon Bonaparte, a man strong in power, but also a man who could not bear exile, because he no longer had power over others. If only he had chosen to rule himself.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

Stoic Visual Aids

Stoicism for Dummies

On Exile 8

. . . "But, you insist, Euripides says that exiles lose their personal liberty when they are deprived of their freedom of speech. For he represents Jocasta asking Polynices her son what misfortunes an exile has to bear. He answers,

" 'One greatest of all, that he has not freedom of speech.'

"She replies,

" ' You name the plight of a slave, not to be able to say what one thinks.'

"But I should say in rejoinder:

" 'You are right, Euripides, when you say that it is the condition of a slave not to say what one thinks when one ought to speak, for it is not always, nor everywhere, nor before everyone that we should say what we think.

" 'But that one point, it seems to me, is not well-taken, that exiles do not have freedom of speech, if to you freedom of speech means not suppressing whatever one chances to think. For it is not as exiles that men fear to say what they think, but as men afraid lest from speaking pain or death or punishment or some such other thing shall befall them.

" 'Fear is the cause of this, not exile. For to many people, nay to most, even though dwelling safely in their native city, fear of what seem to them dire consequences of free speech is present.

" 'However, the courageous man, in exile no less than at home, is dauntless in the face of all such fears; for that reason also he has the courage to say what he thinks equally at home or in exile.'

"Such are the things one might reply to Euripides." . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

Exile need not deny us prosperity or reputation, and most importantly it need not deny us happiness, because our happiness depends upon what we do, not upon what is done to us.

It may still, however, remove something else that is very dear to us, our freedom of speech. Is it not a curse to be hindered from speaking our minds, from voicing our thoughts and feelings? To suppress such a liberty is surely hard to bear?

I need to consider in what way anyone can limit my words, or any of my thoughts or actions, for that matter. Another person can certainly threaten me, intimidate me, punish me, restrain me physically, or even do me physical or emotional harm. A person can even end my life. What no one can do, however, is control my own judgment and decisions. These are entirely up to me, and even if I were to be harmed or killed for them, I am the one who has still made the choice.

It isn't the threat made by someone that hinders me, but rather my fear of the consequences of the threat. Now fear is a powerful emotion, but as long as I am still able to reason, I am able to make of it whatever I will.

Musonius is simply pointing us back to a basic tenet of Stoicism, the distinction between what is within and beyond my power. It is the gravity of the punishment that worries me when I choose not to speak my mind.

How much I fear the loss of something tells me precisely how deeply I value it. If you tell me I will lose my property or reputation, that I will be punished by being locked away or even killed, I will gladly curtail my freedom of speech, or of any action, if I care for wealth, honor, or my body more than I care for my love of truth and honesty. If, however, I understand that all worldly goods are simply granted by fortune, while virtue is my highest good that is completely within my power, the decision will become quite a bit easier.

I cringe with shame when I think of the times I should have spoken out, but buttoned my lip because I feared losing status or position. For a people so enamored of our freedom of thought and expression, we are remarkably docile and cowardly when we are threatened with losing power or influence.

I can no longer count the times I've heard people says something like "I really don't want to do this, but I don't have a choice." Actually, we always have a choice, and what we really mean is that we may think something is wrong, but we are willing to suspend our power to act out of a fear of the consequences.

"But I could lose my job!" Alright then, you've lost your job. But what have you lost by not standing up for what is right and fair? We sell our souls for trinkets.

Only the Stoic recognition that our own virtue is our highest good can help me to understand that my own failure to live rightly is the only thing I need to fear. Anything else is just a reshuffling of our circumstances, of things that were beyond my power to begin with. This is a powerful tool in practicing courage.

Written in 8/2013


Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

Why worry?

On Exile 7

. . . "Furthermore, it is not at all necessary for exiles to suffer ill repute because of their banishment, since everyone knows that many trials are badly judged and many people are unjustly banished from their country, and that in the past there have been cases of good men who have been exiled by their countrymen, as for example from Athens Aristides the Just and from Ephesus Hermodorus, because of whose banishment Heraclitus bade the Ephesians, every grown man of them, go hang themselves.

"In fact some exiles even became very famous, as Diogenes of Sinope and Clearchus, the Lacedaemonian, who with Cyrus marched against Artaxerxes, not to mention more. How, pray, could this condition in which some people have become more renowned than before be responsible for ill-repute?" . . . 

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

We should also not assume that exile must bring with it a loss of reputation. Like wealth and power, for some it may even increase in their new circumstances.

Also like wealth and power, fame is something that is in itself indifferent, and we should never assume that Musonius is measuring the value life by such standards in themselves. Nevertheless, even as we should know that our circumstances are never the measure of a good life, we should never see changes of time and place as burdens. They are always opportunities for virtue, whether Providence gives us fortune or takes it away.

We rightly often tie reputation together with wealth and power, and for good reason. Such external things can be a blessing or a curse, dependent entirely upon our estimation and use of them. I do wonder, however, if reputation is somewhat more fickle than wealth or power. It was always easier to convince myself that money or influence were hardly important, but I have had a harder time not caring whether or not I am liked.

I am usually able to convince myself that my bank account is not the measure of my character, but I will still feel the pull of being respected. Now I don't think I have ever been popular in any context, but it does feel deeply comforting to be respected, hurtful to be frowned upon. I remind myself of two important facts.

First, I should hardly avoid honor, just as I should not avoid wealth or power in themselves, or anything that is indifferent. But I should ask myself not only whether I am liked, but what sort of person is doing the liking. It is hardly to my credit to be respected by a a greedy or dishonest man, but I should take note if I am respected by a just and honest man.

Second, it isn't the respect of others that makes me good, but other good men will recognize me if I am good. I suspect that many famous people of the past were good precisely because they didn't seek honor, and that it turn is exactly the reason decent people ended up honoring them. They say that love comes when you aren't looking for it, and I wonder if the same is true of repute. As soon as I want it, I'm not doing it right.

I found a companion for my life when I began to measure the worth of a person by thoughts and deeds, and not by shallow images. I also found that person at a point when I finally understood that I did not need to be recognized to be whole. Life can be funny like that. 

Above all else, be charged with a love of wisdom and a commitment to character. Sometimes this may end up making me poor and scorned, at other times it may make me rich and revered. And if fortune does indeed give me money or fame, let me be certain I am receiving it for the right reasons, and making use of it in the right way.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

On Exile 6

. . . "Let me add that men who are worth anything not only easily manage well so far as the necessities of life are concerned, when they are in exile, but many acquire great fortunes.

"At any rate Odysseus, in worse plight than any exile one may say, since he was alone and naked and shipwrecked, when he arrived among strangers, the Phaeacians, was nevertheless able to enrich himself abundantly.

"And when Themistocles was banished from home, going to people who were not only not friendly, but actual enemies and barbarians, the Persians, he received a gift of three cities, Myus, Magnesia, and Lampsacus, as a source of livelihood.

"Dio of Syracuse too, deprived by Dionysius the tyrant of all his possessions, when he was banished from his country waxed so rich in exile that he raised a mercenary army, went with it to Sicily, and freed the island of the tyrant.

"Who, then, if he were in his right mind, looking at these cases would still maintain that banishment is the cause of want for all exiles?" . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

I must remember not to swing between extremes, from loving fortune to despising fortune. Musonius had just told us that exile will hardly remove us from the necessities of life, for we do not need luxuries to live well. This does not mean, however, that exile will inevitably deprive us of any wealth, power, or honor. Quite the contrary, it could be an occasion to add greatly to our fortune. New situations could reveal new opportunities, and we can still use those opportunities to live well.

Exile will not necessarily make me rich or poor, just as staying at home will not necessarily make me rich or poor. I should never assume that a change of place or circumstance will lead me to poverty. Musonius gives three examples of men who ended up quite the opposite, richer and more powerful than they had been before.

So what will it be? Should I only worry about the necessities, or should I also pay heed to the luxuries? The answer, of course, is yes, but in different senses. All things of fortune, all things external to us, must be viewed as being indifferent. This does not mean that they do not matter, but how they matter depends entirely upon our judgment and use of them. We must never desire them for their own sake, but only ask how we can employ them well.

Exile could make me poorer, and the only thing that matters is how I live in those circumstances, because poverty does not measure the quality of my virtue. Exile could also, as it did above, make me far richer, and the only thing that matters is how I live in those circumstances, because wealth does not measure the quality of my virtue.

Years ago, I had met a kindly musician at a local Irish pub. I was bemoaning how I had foolishly chosen a vocation that would forever leave me one paycheck from the street. He understood, because his vocation was even leaner, as he didn't even get a paycheck, and was only one gig from the street.

But he smiled at me, and said, "I figured long ago that if the Good Lord made me poor, I'd be a good poor man, and if the Good Lord made me rich, I'd be a good rich man. Now I'm not sure which of those would be harder."

Whether exiles brings poverty or riches, and it could well bring either, Nature only asks that I make good use of whatever I have been given.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

On Exile 5

. . . "It is not true, moreover, that exiles lack the very necessities of life. To be sure men who are idle and unresourceful and unable to play the part of a man are generally in want and without resources even when they are in their own country, but energetic and hard working and intelligent men, no matter where they go, fare well and live without want.

"We do not feel the lack of many things unless we wish to live luxuriously:

" 'For what do mortals need beside two things only,
The bread of Demeter and a drink of the Water-carrier,
Which are at hand and have been made to nourish us?' " . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

I used to misread this years ago, assuming Musonius  meant that anyone can find worldly success anywhere, since a clever mind, hard work, and dedication will always get the job done. If I just put my mind to it, I can achieve anything.

Distinguish. We are so familiar with the usual mantra, that we can be anything we want to be be, as long as we just believe in ourselves. Lawyer, doctor, astronaut, real estate tycoon, President of the United States? All are within reach.

Let us define what we mean by success. The man who craves a success of power, glory, and wealth most certainly can't do that at all, because these things are not within his power. He depends more upon the circumstances of the world than his own effort in such a case, and he becomes 'successful' in direct proportion to how much he enslaves himself.

That is, however, not the sort of success or happiness that Musonius would encourage.

Note how Musonius says that the man in exile can still find the necessities, and will not be in want. He even tells us that this has nothing to do with living luxuriously.

So what are the necessities of survival? The most basic food, clothing, and shelter will do. Nothing fancy is necessary. Anything else is extraneous. As long as I live and breathe, I can practice wisdom and virtue. That is the sort of 'success' that Musonius would encourage.

Here is the even deeper beauty of it all. Let's say you also take my food, water, or shelter, and tell me that I must now die as a failure.

No, I can, by being energetic and resourceful in the true sense, live well until my dying day, whether it be at this moment or in years to come. It all depends on what we mean by living well. That is true even if you hold a gun to my head. The 'Stoic Turn' shifts the value of life around, and replaces all things external with things internal, distinguishes the things that are means from the true ends.

Exile must not make me weaker or worse, precisely because a good man needs very little outside of himself to live with moral excellence. If even those basic means are lost, then he can also die with excellence. This is a win/win situation, because you can't take it from him.

In the larger picture, the when, where, or how will make little difference at all. The good man can be good wherever, whenever, or however he lives. Exile will not change it.

What happens when we remove all the luxuries from a morally weak man? He becomes even weaker, and demands all the more loudly to be treated rightly. What happens when we remove all the luxuries from a morally strong man? He becomes even stronger, and quietly treats others rightly all the more.

I was always suspicious when, as a child, I was told that I could be whatever I wanted to be, and only my dreams were my limits. This is not because I am a cynic, but because I think I already saw an important distinction. I can learn to rule myself, but it is vanity and foolishness to dream to rule the world.

An exile understands this, because that reality has been forced upon him. The world is not, and should not, conform to our wishes. The man who is truly energetic, hard working, and intelligent makes himself happy through estimation, not through circumstance.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

A clever observation ;-)

Stoic Music 9

I grew up with the music of Howard Jones, and it took me many years to realize how much he influenced the way I saw things. My understanding is that Jones is a Buddhist. No problem there, because I have always thought there was so much in common between the Buddha and the Stoic tradition.

This is as Stoic as it gets:

When lightning strikes and troubles seem to block my way
I'll change the way I look at it and I will say
Let's see this as a golden opportunity
I'll be the change that I would like to see

Written in 12/2016

Howard Jones, "Joy", from  Engage (2015)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yj6eAOQHzxs

I See the rain is falling happy on the ground
Reminding me the sun is sometimes not around
They say the clouds will pass when winter turns to spring
My heart just sees the storm clouds gathering

A distant voice is shouting out across the sea
While all my futures are collapsing in on me
To hold the torch for someone else to see the road
To take the weight to lighten up the load

Joy is when are our hearts go light you'll find
That they have always heard the word too
And a blessing

Joy between the laughter and the tears
Joy between the good luck and the hard times
We'll be there to see it through
Forever moving forward

When lightning strikes and troubles seem to block my way
I'll change the way I look at it and I will say
Let's see this as a golden opportunity
I'll be the change that I would like to see

Joy is when are our hearts go light you'll find
That they have always heard the word too
And a blessing

Joy between the laughter and the tears
Joy between the good luck and the hard times
We'll be there to see it through
Forever moving forward

On Exile 4

. . . "In fact, there have been cases where exile was an absolute blessing as it was to Diogenes, who by his exile was transformed from an ordinary citizen into a philosopher, and instead of sitting idly in Sinope, he busied himself in Greece, and in the pursuit of virtue came to surpass the philosophers.

"To others who were in poor health as the result of overindulgence and high living, exile has been a source of strength because they were forced to live a more manly life. We even know of some who were cured of chronic ailments in exile, as for instance, in our day Spartiacus, the Lacedaemonian, who suffered long from a weak chest and for this reason was often ill from high living, but when he stopped living a life of luxury, he ceased to be ill.

"They say that others addicted to high living have got rid of gout, although they were previously completely bed-ridden by the disease—people whom exile compelled to become accustomed to living more simply and by this very thing were brought back to health.

"Thus it appears that by treating them better than they treat themselves, exile helps rather than hinders health both of body and of spirit" . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

Let us not assume that any circumstance we consider unfamiliar or uncomfortable must be a burden. Change can be good, and change can be bad, and the only difference lies within our own judgment and action.

Though I wouldn't wish Musonius' claims to seem like they came from a travel brochure, I can attest to the power he describes. I owe much of my own health, mental and physical, to a change of location, simply because it offered me a change of opportunity. It wasn't a formal exile, imposed either from within or from without at that point, nor was it the agent of any change. It was not something that changed me, but was the occasion for me to help me change myself. Philosophically, it was a material cause for my own efficient cause.

If I wake in the morning, and I see nothing familiar about me, I can easily fall into despair. We all know that feeling, in a new place, of not knowing where we are. Even if jumped in my car and drove non-stop, I would have been two or three days from anything even remotely familiar. People spoke, thought, and acted very differently, and no one knew me. In one sense, I was a completely new person.

This can be horrifying, but it can also be redeeming. The estimation will make all the difference. At the very least, it wiped the slate clean, and removed past temptations. At the very best, it was an invitation to see myself as myself, and not as ruled by my layers of conditions.

We must be careful here, I think, because the romanticizing of 'starting over' can just as easily be an escape as it can be an opportunity. I perceive the difference as subtle but important. Running away from my problems isn't running really away from them at all, but actually running away from myself, from my responsibility to live well. But accepting what life will bring me, a new place, new people, and new circumstances can, when viewed rightly, be a true rediscovery of oneself. That can help me to be responsible for myself.

A new place will never be a cure, but it can be a means to a cure. I will, of course, uncover new problems, new struggles, and new conflicts, but a breath of fresh air can revive the soul.

Though I spent many of my younger days in New England, I had curiously become a fan of country music. I was rather alone in this love among my social circle, and I could clear a room if I wanted to be alone just by playing an album by Randy Travis, Alan Jackson, or Ricky Skaggs.

Then one day I walked into a diner in Texas, and all those same songs I loved were playing on the jukebox, and the customers sang along. I actually felt at home among strangers, and we discussed how we liked to eat our grits. I was far from home, and I didn't know a soul, but I oddly felt at home among total strangers. It was a new day.

No, the South didn't save my soul, but it helped me to rebuild. It didn't cure all that ailed me, but it helped me to manage the ailments. I will still feel as sick as a dog, but this dog found some new bones to chew. As some of my new friends might say, it ain't half bad.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

On Exile 3

. . . "Therefore, just as a man who was living in his own country but in a different house from the one where he was born would be thought silly and an object of laughter if he should weep and wail because of this, so whoever considers it a misfortune because he is living in another city and not the one where he happens to have been born would rightly be considered foolish and stupid.

"Furthermore, how should exile be an obstacle to the cultivation of the things that are one's own and to the acquisition of virtue, when no one was ever hindered from the knowledge and practice of what is needful because of exile?

"May it not even be true that exile contributes to that end, since it furnishes men leisure and a greater opportunity for learning the good and practicing it than formerly, in that they are not forced by what only seems to be their fatherland into performing political duties, and they are not annoyed by their kinsmen nor by men who only seem to be their friends, who are skillful in fettering them and dragging them away from the pursuit of better things?" . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

My own personality is one with a very vivid memory, a powerful sense of nostalgia, and an inclination to reflect upon the meaning of anything and everything. Combine this with the melancholy of my youth, and then the Black Dog of my later years, and you have a truly explosive mixture.

I have been learning, however, to direct those dispositions rightly.

My memory can be a blessing, and not a curse, because I have a storehouse of experience.

My nostalgia can be a blessing, and not a curse, because it can help me to see things from a broader viewpoint.

My reflective nature can be a blessing, and not a curse, because it encourages me to actually be a philosopher in life.

Even my melancholy can be a blessing, and not a curse, because I can see it not as sadness alone, but at what I think is its true root, sensitivity. And sensitivity is the root of compassion.

Yes, even the Black Dog can be seen as a blessing. As much as it has hurt, day by day, year by year,  I can no longer imagine myself without the ability to fight it, and to conquer it.

For someone of my constitution, to be taken away from a place I have loved seems like a death sentence. All of my thoughts and feelings are so closely tied to a room, a house, or a city, that I immediately feel lost without them.

It is only when I can turn my judgment around that I see the real picture. All those people, places, or things that have meant so much to me were, in the end, not me. They helped me to live well, but they never defined me.

If I understand myself rightly, it is foolish to say that I am defined by my environment. Where I live is far less important than how well I live. The place does not make me, but I make the place.

Exile can even be seen as a wonderful opportunity. I can have a clean slate. All the baggage is gone, and the years upon years of residue, of blind assumptions, of poor habits, of stale living can be washed away. I can now see more clearly who I am, and also who my friends really were.

The trick is not to cling to the past, or to worry about the future. The Stoic life discards neither the past nor the future, but asks how living now can be redeemed through the former, and fulfilled in the latter.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

On Exile 2

. . . "Tell me, is not the universe the common fatherland of all men, as Socrates held? Well, then, you must not consider it really being banished from your fatherland if you go from where you were born and reared, but only being exiled from a certain city, that is if you claim to be a reasonable person.

"For such a man does not value or despise any place as the cause of his happiness or unhappiness, but he makes the whole matter depend upon himself and considers himself a citizen of the city of God which is made up of men and gods. Euripides speaks in harmony with this thought when he says,

" 'As all the heavens are open to the eagle's flight
So all the earth is for a noble man his fatherland.' ' . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

I have always struggled with the temptations of provincialism. I grew up with both a strong sense of tribal identity, Irish, Austrian, Catholic, as well as a strong sense of human solidarity. These two would often falsely appear to be in conflict over the years.

I needed only to understand that the lower does not conflict with the higher, but can exist within it, in harmony.

I am impressed by how much our progressive age stresses the universality of the human condition, demands equal rights, and seeks to break down barriers.

These are good things. But have you noticed how we continue to entrench ourselves even further in our pigeonholes, how we identify more and more with our race, our class, our creed? A few years back, I was awkwardly told that I was not going to be invited to an event, because it involved Latino pride.

"I respect if I'm not welcome. But why can't I celebrate that with you?"

"You're not Latino, so you could never understand. We need to find our own equality. You need to stay away and back off."

Replace that label with any other, and we'd still have the same problem.

I'm sorry, but we can't have equal dignity for all persons when all we do is draw attention to our differences. Find brotherhood, find solidarity. None of us are special because of the color of our skin, how much we earn, or whatever church or social club we happen to attend.

Musonius reminds us that our humanity is not defined by where we came from, or where we might happen to live. Sadly, the very same people who tell us that there should be no differences often happen to be the first to insist upon them. Diversity is a pointless concept if it does not ground itself in unity.

I was once arguing with a Massachusetts Health and Human Services bureaucrat about housing one of our clients. I insisted that the housing project she had chosen for him would be a bad idea, because it was, put bluntly, a crack den.

"Oh stop, it's a great place to live! We're all working together to make Boston a better city, and we're cleaning it up. He'll be fine!"

"Would you live there, instead of in your million dollar home in Wellesley?"

"Well, that's hardly the point."

Yes, it is the point. If we're working together, we'll live together, and we won't divide races, classes, or creeds. Universality is not universal if it admits of exceptions. Place, time, or circumstance do not alter universal humanity.

The Stoic is always truly cosmopolitan. That does not mean that he shops at the right stores, or follows the best international fashions. It means that he recognizes himself as a citizen of the world. All the narrow politics and ideology aside, there are no borders between human beings. For all of our differences in background, we are all pretty much the same.

This is why my Catholic friends all consider me to be a hippie, but I have no problem with that label. Labels don't define me, but my humanity does. All creatures are creatures of God, and all have their inherent dignity.There can be no snubbing or exclusion of our neighbors.

Exile from one place to another, or from one situation to another, or even from one class to another, should never be a problem. I will define myself by my character, not by your labels.

Place or circumstance don't define me, so there really is no exile at all.

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860):

On Exile 1

"Hearing an exile lament because he was living in banishment, Musonius consoled him in somewhat the following way.

"Why, he asked, should anyone who was not devoid of understanding be oppressed by exile? It does not in any way deprive us of water, earth, air, or the sun and the other planets, or indeed, even of the society of men, for everywhere and in every way there is opportunity for association with them.

"What if we are kept from a certain part of the earth and from association with certain men, what is so dreadful about that?

"Why, when we were at home, we did not enjoy the whole earth, nor did we have contact with all men; but even now in exile we may associate with our friends, that is to say the true ones and those deserving of the name, for they would never betray or abandon us; but if some prove to be sham and not true friends, we are better off separated from them than being with them." . . .

--Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

We no longer practice the formal punishment of exile, as the Ancients did. I sometimes speculate whether we're missing something useful from the past. In one of my few clever moments, I suggested that if someone misbehaves at a party, you would surely ask him to leave, before locking him in the basement, or killing him.

In the last year, I've learned to deal with my own informal exile. I spent almost two decades growing up in a neighborhood outside of Boston. It took me another decade to recognize that I was harming myself, and the people I loved, by ever coming back. Some things had changed over which I had no power.

Upon re-reading this passage of Musonius recently, I recognized how my own thoughts and feelings reflected the situation he described. I have felt sadness, anger, and hopelessness. I felt I had a right to be in my old home, and I resented the people I thought had driven me from it.

Stoicism, however, has taught me to worry more for my own actions than about the actions of others. Nothing good will come from my whining and moping. Nothing will drive me away from what is good, unless I allow it to do so. What Musonius has to say applies just as much to those of us exiled now, for one reason or another, as it does to those exiled by law in the times of Greece and Rome.

Does being in one place or another change who I am? Does it deny me the needs of living? Does it still allow me to practice the virtues of wisdom, temperance, fortitude, and justice? If I can still do these things, what reason do I have to be miserable?

But surely I have lost my friends, those dearest to me? No, because a real friend will remain a dear friend, regardless of circumstance. The love and support we can offer one another will not alter because of time, distance, or situation. One of my only true friends is someone I have not seen for over thirty years, but we continue to care for one another. I have family in Austria I have not seen in almost as long, but we love one another without condition.

No, those friends that leave you because you are far away from them, or because you are no longer useful or convenient to them as soon as the wind changes, those people were never your friends.

Your exile has not taken your friends, because a friend cannot be taken, but has simply taught you how little you meant to them. Exile has done you a favor. 

Written in 8/2013

Image: Domenico Peterlini, Dante in Exile (c. 1860)