Integrity

There's a perfectly good reason the Catholic Faith is in crisis. No one bothered to listen to someone like Thomas a Kempis.

Archdiocese of Boston and St. Gregory's University, here's lookin' at you. As my daughter likes to say, "Karma's a bitch."

Compassion

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.36

As the Nature of the Universal has given to every rational being all the other powers that it has, so we have received from it this power also.

For as the Universal Nature converts and fixes in its predestined place everything which stands in the way and opposes it, and makes such things a part of itself, so also the rational animal is able to make every hindrance its own material, and to use it for such purposes as it may have designed.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

“You are nothing else but God made small.”

I was told this once, and immediately reared back in surprise. How could someone tell me that I am anything like God? I am imperfect, while God is perfect. I live subject to time, while God is timeless. I am finite, while God is infinite. There is a limit to my knowledge and power, while the knowledge and power of God are limitless. I am a creature, while God is the Creator.

Yet for all of those unfathomable divisions, we still share something so essential in common. I should not have felt so shocked. My being is certainly only a particular extension of God’s universal being, even as my being also participates in something truly wonderful with the Divine. I am given the gift of reason, and I am thereby given the gift of conscious choice.

I should never make myself bigger than I am, and I should also never make myself smaller than I am. In the Old Testament mold, I am in His image and likeness.

Other things move and are moved without awareness, while those things with reason can understand their own actions, and thereby act for themselves.

They are not merely acted upon by circumstances, but are able to make use of their circumstances.

They are not merely ordered by purpose and design, but form their own purpose and design.

They are not merely subject to Providence, but freely cooperate with it.

In raising children, for all of my missteps and blunders, I quickly learned that it is crucial to keep their attention focused. As they grow older and increasingly self-aware, this becomes about more than just keeping them occupied, and transforms into helping them find a sense of meaning in what they do.

When they do something to tidy the house, or prepare dinner, or work in the garden, children may not be doing the best job, and I might be tempted to just do it for them. This defeats the purpose, however, of helping them understand what they should do, and why they should choose to do it. When my little son and daughter would say they were “helping” by handing me my tools while I tried to fix the sink, this was their way of knowing they were playing their part.

Now the parallel of Creator and creature to parent and child is hardly perfect, but there is something helpful for me here. I was slowly taught to walk, to talk, to read, to write, and ultimately, and most importantly, to think and therefore to act on my own. In growing up, I moved from being ruled to learning to rule myself. This is, in a sense, the expression of the Divine spark. It is the gift I am given of sharing in knowledge and freedom.

I am not just made, but I myself become a maker. 

Written in 4/2008

Tao Te Ching 16

The state of vacancy should be brought to the utmost degree, and that of stillness guarded with unwearying vigor. All things alike go through their processes of activity, and then we see them return to their original state. 

When things in the vegetable world have displayed their luxuriant growth, we see each of them return to its root. This returning to their root is what we call the state of stillness; and that stillness may be called a reporting that they have fulfilled their appointed end.

The report of that fulfillment is the regular, unchanging rule. To know that unchanging rule is to be intelligent; not to know it leads to wild movements and evil issues. The knowledge of that unchanging rule produces a grand capacity and forbearance, and that capacity and forbearance lead to a community of feeling with all things.

From this community of feeling comes a kingliness of character; and he who is king-like goes on to be heaven-like. In that likeness to heaven he possesses the Tao. Possessed of the Tao, he endures long, and to the end of his bodily life, is exempt from all danger of decay.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.35

If you have ever seen a hand cut off, or a foot, or a head, lying anywhere apart from the rest of the body, such does a man make himself, as far as he can, who is not content with what happens, and separates himself from others, or does anything unsocial.

Suppose that you have detached yourself from the Natural Unity—for you were made by Nature a part, but now you have cut yourself off—yet here there is this beautiful provision, that it is in your power again to unite yourself.

God has allowed this to no other part, after it has been separated and cut asunder, to come together again. But consider the kindness by which He has distinguished man, for He has put it in his power not to be separated at all from the Universal. And when he has been separated, He has allowed him to return, and to be united, and to resume his place as a part.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

Over the years, what I have perceived as being the greatest pain, and what has fed the Black Dog more than anything else, is my feeling that I have been separated from others. This could take the form of being put down, ridiculed, or deceived by people, but mostly I felt hurt by being shunned and ignored when I was no longer thought of as being useful or convenient. Seeing myself abandoned by someone else, I would assume I was somehow cut off from sharing in being human.

My mistake was always the same. I believed that my fellows could exile me from living well, when in fact their actions only divided them from humanity, and never actually did anything to isolate me.

Even if they chose to walk away, I could choose to stay right where I was. Even if they chose to hate, I could still choose to love. Even if they chose to reject, I could still choose to embrace. Only I can decide whether or not I will play my part within the whole.

When Marcus Aurelius speaks of man as a being by nature social, I never understand this in the shallow sense of seeking to be liked, or winning affection, or playing for status in some clever game. I understand it rather in the sense that as a rational creature, I can freely choose to pursue what is good, and to consciously share this with every other rational creature.

We are only completely ourselves in cooperation with one another. Another may remove himself from this harmony, but that absence should encourage me in my place all the more.

And whenever I have been so foolish as to cut myself off from the human whole, my reason and choice can always still allow me to rejoin the human whole. What has been broken can still be made right, since only my judgment needs to be altered to restore my own contribution to the balance.

While I still live, I can still return to the fold. I have today, but not necessarily tomorrow, so let me do this while I can.

I was sometimes confused by the urgency with which people working the Twelve Steps would commit themselves to the Ninth Step, making amends to others. I came to understand that a good part of this dedication followed from recognizing our responsibility to rejoin the human family.

No one ever really casts me out, even as I cast myself out when I reject my seat at the table. I am no more complete than a severed limb when I allow myself to become detached from the rest of humanity, and I should be grateful that no miracle of modern medicine is necessary for me to reattach myself. 

Written in 4/2008

Ecclesiastes 1:12-15

[12] I the Preacher have been king over Israel in Jerusalem.
[13] And I applied my mind to seek and to search out by wisdom all that is done under heaven; 
it is an unhappy business that God has given to the sons of men to be busy with.
[14] I have seen everything that is done under the sun; 
and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind. 
[15] What is crooked cannot be made straight, 
and what is lacking cannot be numbered.

Wisdom

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.34

Receive wealth without arrogance, and be ready to let it go.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I will regularly get flak for encouraging Stoic thinking, sometimes because I’m not explaining it properly, but at other times because people choose to misunderstand it. I no longer know how many times, for example, I’ve been told that Stoicism is cold and emotionless, or that Stoicism denies pleasure, or that Stoicism simply means not caring.

I can only remind myself that Stoicism has allowed me the greatest pleasures, and helped me to embrace my emotions, and demanded of me that I care for others as deeply as I care for myself.

Another one of these misconceptions is that Stoics despise wealth, or renounce possessions, or condemn worldly prosperity. Not at all. The sincere Stoic, at least of the traditional variety, is instead indifferent to these things, because they are not the measure of a good life. He neither desires them for their own sake, nor rejects them for their own sake. To be indifferent to something in the Stoic sense is not to consider it worthy or unworthy in itself, but to find worth either in its presence or its absence.

I squirm a bit when I see hipster Stoics use indifference as a way to be dismissive, and then I must correct myself by fixing my squirming instead of trying to fix anyone else.

A man is not better or worse because he is rich or poor; his character will shine through under either condition.

Has Fortune given me opulence and luxury? Yes, I will take it, and I may even prefer it or not prefer it, but I will not allow it to define me. It is an occasion, like any other, to practice the art of living well.

Has Fortune given me simplicity and poverty? Yes, I will take it, and I may even prefer it or not prefer it, but I will not allow it to define me. It is an occasion, like any other, to practice the art of living well.

I have known poor men who want to be rich, and rich men who want to be poor, even as every good man I’ve ever known will be content with either condition. Yes, this is foolishness to the man who merely lusts for himself. It is also wisdom to the man who truly loves himself.

If something comes my way, I should accept it with humility. When something is taken away, I should continue as if nothing was different, with no resentment or demands. What I have is not who I am. Who I am should make noble use of anything I have, as much as of anything I do not have. 

Written in 4/2008

The Art of Peace 5

If you have not
Linked yourself
To true emptiness,
You will never understand
The Art of Peace.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.33

It is your duty to order your life well in every single act; and if every act does its duty as far as is possible, be content; and no one is able to hinder you so that each act shall not do its duty.

“But something external will stand in the way!”

Nothing will stand in the way of your acting justly, and soberly, and considerately.

“But perhaps some other active power will be hindered!”

Well, but by acquiescing in the hindrance and by being content to transfer your efforts to that which is allowed, another opportunity of action is immediately put before you, in place of that which was hindered, and one which will adapt itself to this ordering of which we are speaking.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

When I was teaching a junior high school class, I had a student who was quite a handful. I once sat down with him and his mother, and I suggested that just because he felt angry or offended by something, didn’t mean he needed to lash out, to insult others, or to push them around.

“Maybe if someone has treated you poorly, you could teach him a lesson, not by punching him in the mouth, but by treating him well?”

The young fellow grew red in the face. “What the f@#k does that mean?”

The mother was a bit more civilized about it, and scolded him for his foul language, but said something much the same. “How can you expect him to control how he feels?”

I could hardly hope that the kids would bother to think, when the adults who told me what to do would also not bother to think.

I suspect I knew right there and then that I was never going to find any real acceptance as a teacher. It was only going to be a matter of time before I would end up on the chopping block, for boldly suggesting that the act of suffering what was wrong was never an excuse for doing what was wrong.

I struggle with this challenge as much as any fellow. I may use my environment as an excuse to behave poorly, and I may say that I had to do it, or that I was given no other choice, or that I was made to act as I did. One of my favorite pathetic phrases is “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

And even as I say it, I know that I am deceiving myself. I don’t have to do anything, I am always given a choice, and no one else makes me act in any way at all. If it is the right thing to do, I should proceed without hesitation. If it is the wrong thing to do, I should stop immediately. That is hardly difficult, even as I make it difficult for myself, because I wish to dodge my own responsibility.

There is no obstacle to living a good life, not a single one, except my own judgment. There is no reason at all for me not to love, or to accept, or to show sympathy, except my own judgment. I am a creature of reason, and therefore of free will. I order my own actions.

If someone stands in the way of my action, he may well alter the external consequence, but he has not in any way altered my internal disposition.

If someone takes away my very power to act upon what is outside of me, he may well hinder the effect, but he has in no way hindered the righteousness of the cause.

Yes, if I offer you the hand of friendship, you may cut off my hand. Yet I have still chosen to offer friendship. Yes, if I give you my heart, you may well break it. Yet I have still chosen to give you my heart.

As long as I have life and awareness, I am my own master. Take away my life and awareness, and you have killed me, but even how I face that very loss, at that last moment, is still within my power.

I once said something similar to my daughter, when she was only at the tender age of nine, while we she sat with me in our yard.

“So bad guys never really win?” she asked curiously.

I puffed at my pipe for a moment to get my answer right. The smoking of a pipe offers that wonderful benefit of reflection. “Maybe on their terms, but never on your terms.”

I hope she will get that. It took me most of my life to get that. 

Written in 3/2016

Dhammapada 30

By earnestness did Maghavan, Indra, rise to the lordship of the gods. People praise earnestness; thoughtlessness is always blamed. 

Boethius, The Consolation 3.9

“Though the rich man with greed

heaps up from ever-flowing streams

the wealth that cannot satisfy,

though he deck himself with pearls from the Red Sea's shore,

and plough his fertile field with oxen by the score,

yet gnawing care will never in his lifetime leave him,

and at his death his wealth will not go with him,

but leave him faithlessly.”

—from Book 3, Poem 3

Now most people I know will tell me that they have always understood such a claim, which is why I scratch my head when most people also live in exactly the contrary way. Where is the obstacle to putting the theory into practice, or is it perhaps simply a matter of mouthing certain words that we don’t really believe in? Where is the disconnect between our thinking and our living?

We will all proceed in our own distinct ways, so there can be no blanket statements here. Yet I see my fellows, and while a certain bunch are just liars, plain and simple, others are sincerely confused.

It becomes no better when a conscience is constantly in struggle with the pressures of the world. The conflict is, in my own experience, the deepest and most critical within everything I see around me. Shall I define myself by who I truly am within myself, or by what I think I possess outside of myself?

I was raised as a Roman Catholic, thankfully in a manner that stressed love over conformity, willing commitment over blind rules, but in the many years I have heard people preach to me about the riches of spirit over the riches of money, I see them doing the complete opposite.

My wife and I have worked for the Church, in one way or another, directly or indirectly, for most of our adult lives. We worry that we are being too cynical, but we always seem to return to the recognition that far too many people who say they are “Christian” are concerned with something quite different. God and neighbor, religion and morality, are for them a means to the end of worldly convenience and profit.

I could write a whole book, quite a long one at that, about all our experiences, and how these experiences made us question ourselves. It would be quite a dreary book, however, and while those who already choose to know would have no need to read it, those who choose not to know would never even bother with it.

The only way I can explain the obstacle, and only from my own thinking, is based on two aspects.

First, we tend to love what is more immediate over what is more ultimate. I think it will make me feel better now instead of later, and I think it is better because it tugs at the brutal power of my gut, instead of the subtle power of my understanding.

Second, we tend to learn that we can get away with lying, both to others and to ourselves. I see others do it all the time, and they seem to succeed. So why shouldn’t I do the same? Lies end up being quite cheap.

I will often put on one face for the world, even as I am despondent inside. My disconnect comes from somehow believing that the former can smother the latter. Yet what I proudly say is mine, is hardly mine at all. 

Written in 9/2015

Temperance

Epictetus, Golden Sayings 73

Give me but one young man, who has come to the School with this intention, who stands forth a champion of this cause, and says, "All else I renounce, content if I am but able to pass my life free from hindrance and trouble; to raise my head aloft and face all things as a free man; to look up to heaven as a friend of God, fearing nothing that may come to pass!" 

Point out such a one to me, that I may say, "Enter, young man, into possession of that which is your own. For your lot is to adorn Philosophy. Yours are these possessions; yours these books, these discourses!"
 
And when our champion has duly exercised himself in this part of the subject, I hope he will come back to me and say: "What I desire is to be free from passion and from perturbation; as one who grudges no pains in the pursuit of piety and philosophy, what I desire is to know my duty to the Gods, my duty to my parents, to my brothers, to my country, to strangers."

"Enter then on the second part of the subject. It is yours also."

"But I have already mastered the second part; only I wished to stand firm and unshaken—as firm when asleep as when awake, as firm when elated with wine as in despondency and dejection."

"Friend, you are verily a God! You cherish great designs." 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.32

Augustus' court, wife, daughter, descendants, ancestors, sister, Agrippa, kinsmen, intimates, friends; Areius, Maecenas, physicians, and sacrificing priests—the whole court is dead.

Then turn to the rest, not considering the death of a single man, but of a whole race, as of the Pompeii; and that which is inscribed on the tombs—the last of his race.

Then consider what trouble those before them have had that they might leave a successor; and then, that of necessity some one must be the last. Again, here consider the death of a whole race.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

Once again, another Stoic reminder of our mortality, the repetition being so necessary because we need to do more than just vaguely and abstractly understand how everything is passing, but we need to see around us, at each and every moment, that what the world considers so noble is really just a foolish vanity.

Only then can the practice live up to the principle of embracing what is truly good in life, acting with virtue for each and every moment.

Once again, I need to be very careful about turning this healthy indifference to fame and glory into a morbid preoccupation with pain and loss, because my Black Dog, who has now been with me for almost two decades, tempts me into seeing only what is bad, where I should be rejoicing in what is good.

Though everything comes around again, each generation has its own special fads and quirks. The veneration of materialist science, which reduces human value only to biology and instinct, has been one of the trends of my time.

I remember the excitement one my friends felt when he discovered the idea that the purpose of human life, and of all life, was just to pass on our genetic codes to our offspring, for the sake of the survival of the species. This helped him rest assured that even if he fell to some predator, or died from a wasting disease, or simply faded away into old age, at least his genes would live on.

I hardly wanted him to feel miserable, but I thought about the fact that not only will each individual pass away, like Augustus and his court, but also, sooner or later, the whole race will pass away. Marcus Aurelius raises the stakes here. One of us will inevitably be the last of our kind. Will that have made all the efforts to survive, from generation to generation, pointless? Will that make the life of that last man worthless?

The whole point is, of course, that it hardly matters how long we are rich, or for what time we are remembered, or for how many years we survive, or for how many generations our descendants survive. None of that is for us to give to ourselves, and it will of necessity be taken away. It is therefore hardly reliable, and offers no real or certain comfort.

Whether Augustus is now alive or dead, or whether his descendants are alive or dead, or whether his fancy mausoleum stands today or will be swallowed up by the earth tomorrow is neither here nor there.

What difference does it make to him now if his name is praised on some monument, or some stones were put together to honor him in death?

Did he live well, with a commitment to character, in the time that he lived, regardless if he was an emperor or a beggar, the founder of a dynasty or the last of his kind? That will be the only thing that can make him, or make anyone, be great. 

Written in 4/2008

IMAGE: The Mausoleum of Augustus in Rome

Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 1.2

Of thinking humbly of oneself

1. There is naturally in every man a desire to know, but what profits knowledge without the fear of God? Better of a surety is a lowly peasant who serves God, than a proud philosopher who watches the stars and neglects the knowledge of himself. He who knows himself well is vile in his own sight; neither regards he the praises of men. If I knew all the things that are in the world, and were not in charity, what should it help me before God, who is to judge me according to my deeds?

2. Rest from inordinate desire of knowledge, for therein is found much distraction and deceit. Those who have knowledge desire to appear learned, and to be called wise. Many things there are to know which profit little or nothing to the soul. And foolish out of measure is he who attends upon other things rather than those which serve to his soul's health. Many words satisfy not the soul, but a good life refreshes the mind, and a pure conscience gives great confidence towards God.

3. The greater and more complete your knowledge, the more severely shall you be judged, unless you have lived holy. Therefore be not lifted up by any skill or knowledge that you have; but rather fear concerning the knowledge which is given to you. If it seems to you that you know many things, and understand them well, know also that there are many more things which you know not. Be not high-minded, but rather confess your ignorance. Why desire you to lift yourself above another, when there are found many more learned and more skilled in the Scripture than you? If you will know and learn anything with profit, love to be yourself unknown and to be counted for nothing.

4. That is the highest and most profitable lesson, when a man truly knows and judges lowly of himself. To account nothing of one's self, and to think always kindly and highly of others, this is great and perfect wisdom. Even should you see your neighbor sin openly or grievously, yet you ought not to reckon yourself better than he, for you know not how long you shall keep your integrity. All of us are weak and frail; hold you no man more frail than yourself.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.31

Speak both in the Senate and to every man, whoever he may be, appropriately, not with any affectation. Use plain discourse.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

Sometimes I am drawn to fancy words because I think that their beauty and grace will help me to discover the truth. But more often than not, I am drawn to fancy words because they allow me to seem clever while also hedging my bets, or to sound really good without really being good at all.

Language is like any tool, capable of being used for right, as much as it can be abused for wrong. Give me reason, and give me speech, and I will find all sorts of ways to be noble or base, divine or brutal. The value of words is only as good as the value of the character behind the words; what I say matters only in relation to what I honestly intend.

Affectation is never honest, because it seeks to impress. It becomes a game, where the players all know they didn’t mean a single thing they said, even as they will proudly insist on their own integrity. It is language for appearance, never for content, and it is expression for the sake of winning approval, never for the sake of doing what is right.

It is hypocrisy, plain and simple. It is sadly the way of the go-getter, who will gladly condemn others as hypocrites, while he is a hypocrite himself. It is lying in the worst sense, not out of panic, fear, or immediate convenience, but out of coldly calculated self-interest.

With the prevalence of all of that, how can I possibly tell the difference between honesty and deceit, whether in others or in myself? Old phrases are as good a test as any:

Put your money where your mouth is. Walk the walk instead of just talking the talk. Actions speak louder than words.

Whenever I prate on about justice, and decency, and respect, whatever I say will only be as powerful as what I do. How often have I seen the self-righteous say one thing, and then do another? That’s a poor measure, however, because that’s all about other people. How often, more properly, have I myself said one thing, and then done another?

Fancy words will only tempt me to be drawn to grandstanding instead of commitment. I can make the package as attractive as I like, but if the content is manure, it still remains manure.

So let me keep the words as simple, direct, and unassuming as they can possibly be. Let me also make the deeds as sincere, committed, and loving as they can possibly be. Whether it looks good should be completely secondary to whether it is good. 

Written in 4/2008

Tao Te Ching 15

The skillful masters of the Tao in old times, with a subtle and exquisite penetration, comprehended its mysteries, and were deep also so as to elude men's knowledge. As they were thus beyond men's knowledge, I will make an effort to describe of what sort they appeared to be.

Shrinking looked they like those who wade through a stream in winter; irresolute like those who are afraid of all around them; grave like a guest in awe of his host; evanescent like ice that is melting away; unpretentious like wood that has not been fashioned into anything; vacant like a valley, and dull like muddy water.

Who can make the muddy water clear? Let it be still, and it will gradually become clear. 

Who can secure the condition of rest? Let movement go on, and the condition of rest will gradually arise.

They who preserve this method of the Tao do not wish to be full of themselves. It is through their not being full of themselves that they can afford to seem worn and not appear new and complete.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.30

Wipe out your imaginations by often saying to yourself:

Now it is in my power to let no badness be in this soul, nor desire, nor any perturbation at all; but looking at all things I see what is their nature, and I use each according to its value.

Remember this power that you have from Nature.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

The mind will sometimes become cluttered, or build up a thick residue, the accumulation of too many diversions, a disordered mess of vivid impressions and gripping illusions. Whenever I am beginning to be mastered by my desires and fears more than I am the master of them, it’s time for a good housecleaning.

This hardly needs to be seen as a chore, but can become a profound relief, the lifting of a burden or the clearing of a clouded vision.

What is it that’s getting in the way? All sorts of imaginings, whether dark or alluring, that I am confusing with what is real. I am confronted with a memory, and it may seem too much to bear, or I am grabbed by a passion, and it may appear too strong to resist, or I am worried about what may still come, and it may be telling me that there is no good way out.

This is all quite misleading, because nothing will have power over my own judgment, unless I decide to let it do so. What is so overwhelming about that recollection, or longing, or terror? Something may alter my circumstances, or hinder my body, but my mind has rule over itself, and can determine for itself whether a situation is an obstacle or an opportunity.

The trick behind the housecleaning is actually quite simple, though I will often make it more difficult for myself than it has to be. I can look at what is troubling me, and I can distinguish between what it is within itself, and what it is that I have chosen to make of it. I will usually find that the difference between these two is quite great.

Now I can toss aside what I have imagined, and be left with the reality. It will now not feel so painful, or irresistible, or inevitable. Within Nature, it plays its rightful part, and if I can accept it for what it is, I can come to terms with it. How can I now make this useful for the strength of my own virtue? Each and every state of affairs provides me with that option.

There are all sorts of things well beyond my control, but how I choose to think about something, and therefore to determine what it will mean to me, is not one of those things.

I can remember that whenever I clean the junk out of the old attic, and get rid of the old baggage. 

Written in 4/2008

Courage