Raimondi, The Virtues: Charity

Marcantonio Raimondi, Charity (c. 1520) 

Raimondi, The Virtues: Hope

Marcantonio Raimondi, Hope (c. 1520) 

Raimondi, The Virtues: Faith

Marcantonio Raimondi, Faith (c. 1520) 

Raimondi, The Virtues: Justice

 

Marcantonio Raimondi, Justice (c. 1520) 

Raimondi, The Virtues: Temperance

 

Marcantonio Raimondi, Temperance (c. 1520) 

Raimondi, The Virtues: Fortitude

 

Marcantonio Raimondi, Fortitude (c. 1520) 

Raimondi, The Virtues: Prudence

 

Marcantonio Raimondi, Prudence (c. 1520) 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 10

It may be objected: before giving his companions lessons in politics Socrates had better have taught them sobriety. 

Without disputing the principle, I would point out that a teacher cannot fail to discover to his pupils his method of carrying out his own precepts, and this along with argumentative encouragement. 

Now I know that Socrates disclosed himself to his companions as a beautiful and noble being, who would reason and debate with them concerning virtue and other human interests in the noblest manner. 

And of Critias and Alcibiades I know that as long as they were companions of Socrates even they were temperate, not assuredly from fear of being fined or beaten by Socrates, but because they were persuaded for the moment of the excellence of such conduct. 

Perhaps some self-styled philosophers may here answer: "No, the man truly just can never become unjust, the temperate man can never become intemperate, the man who has learnt any subject of knowledge can never be as though he had learnt it not." 

That, however, is not my own conclusion. It is with the workings of the soul as with those of the body; want of exercise of the organ leads to inability of function, here bodily, there spiritual, so that we can neither do the things that we should nor abstain from the things we should not. 

And that is why fathers keep their sons, however temperate they may be, out of the reach of wicked men, considering that if the society of the good is a training in virtue so also is the society of the bad its dissolution. 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.2 

 

Alpine Scene

Gustave Doré, Alpine Scene (1865) 

The Wisdom of Solomon 13:10-19

[10] But miserable, with their hopes set on dead things, are the men
who give the name "gods" to the works of men's hands,
gold and silver fashioned with skill,
and likenesses of animals,
or a useless stone, the work of an ancient hand.
[11] A skilled woodcutter may saw down a tree easy to handle
and skilfully strip off all its bark,
and then with pleasing workmanship
make a useful vessel that serves life's needs,
[12] and burn the castoff pieces of his work
to prepare his food, and eat his fill.
[13] But a castoff piece from among them, useful for nothing,
a stick crooked and full of knots,
he takes and carves with care in his leisure,
and shapes it with skill gained in idleness;
he forms it like the image of a man,
[14] or makes it like some worthless animal,
giving it a coat of red paint and coloring its surface red
and covering every blemish in it with paint;
[15] then he makes for it a niche that befits it,
and sets it in the wall, and fastens it there with iron.
[16] So he takes thought for it, that it may not fall,
because he knows that it cannot help itself,
for it is only an image and has need of help.
[17] When he prays about possessions and his marriage and children,
he is not ashamed to address a lifeless thing.
[18] For health he appeals to a thing that is weak;
for life he prays to a thing that is dead;
for aid he entreats a thing that is utterly inexperienced;
for a prosperous journey, a thing that cannot take a step;
[19] for money-making and work and success with his hands
he asks strength of a thing whose hands have no strength. 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 64

Happy is the voyage that brings the good together. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 27.2

I keep crying out to myself: "Count your years, and you will be ashamed to desire and pursue the same things you desired in your boyhood days. Of this one thing make sure against your dying day—let your faults die before you die. 

 

“Away with those disordered pleasures, which must be dearly paid for; it is not only those which are to come that harm me, but also those which have come and gone. Just as crimes, even if they have not been detected when they were committed, do not allow anxiety to end with them; so with guilty pleasures, regret remains even after the pleasures are over. 

 

“They are not substantial, they are not trustworthy; even if they do not harm us, they are fleeting. Cast about rather for some good which will abide. But there can be no such good except as the soul discovers it for itself within itself. 

 

“Virtue alone affords everlasting and peace-giving joy; even if some obstacle arises, it is but like an intervening cloud, which floats beneath the sun but never prevails against it." 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 27

 

Whatever I genuinely tell myself, I can further submit as a contribution to my fellows. On what should my thinking be focused? On that which abides, on the very foundation of any happy life, on the indomitable elements of character. 

 

For all that can be ripped from my possession, what remains completely mine? Any one of us, however varied our circumstances or preferences, is enriched by such reflection. 

 

This wonderful passage by Seneca has become one of my “go-to” points of reference. One line from the beginning, and one line from the end, are now etched into my memory, such that I appeal to them during those critical instances when I feel I am losing control of myself: 

 

Let your faults die before you die. . . . 

 

Virtue alone affords everlasting and peace-giving joy; even if some obstacle arises, it is but like an intervening cloud, which floats beneath the sun but never prevails against it. 

 

I imagine it will only be a matter of time, assuming I am given more time, before the sentences in between are also available for instant recall. Practice makes perfect. 

 

They say that youth is wasted on the young, and it is true in the sense that inexperience will lead to horrible blunders, but it is false in the sense that those horrible blunders themselves become the opportunities to grow in sobriety and wisdom. Providence and Nature never permit anything to go to waste. 

 

Accordingly, while I cannot change the mistakes of my past, this does not mean I should pretend that they didn’t happen. No, the good man owns what he did, and he fixes it to the best of his ability—this is precisely why he has become better. 

 

Shame and regret do not have to be crippling—they are transformed into something productive whenever an offense is mended, or a wrong has finally been made right. Only the person without an informed conscience arrogantly dismisses a debt. I must clean up after myself, putting some order to the mess I have made, and then the cringing and the self-deception can pass away. 

 

It was a grave mistake to permit myself to be seduced by shallow things; it is now a great victory to leave them behind. 

 

A priceless lesson is learned: when I think and act with virtue as the priority, I suddenly find myself at peace. Yes, it’s that easy. 

—Reflection written in 10/2012 

Sayings of Ramakrishna 160

The petals of the lotus drop off in time, but they leave scars behind. 

So when true knowledge comes egoism goes off, but its traces remain. These, however, are not at all active for evil. 

The Art of Peace 86

Your spirit is the true shield. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 27.1

Letter 27: On the good which abides 

 

"What," say you, "are you giving me advice? Indeed, have you already advised yourself, already corrected your own faults? Is this the reason why you have leisure to reform other men?" 

 

No, I am not so shameless as to undertake to cure my fellow men when I am ill myself. I am, however, discussing with you troubles which concern us both, and sharing the remedy with you, just as if we were lying ill in the same hospital. 

 

Listen to me, therefore, as you would if I were talking to myself. I am admitting you to my inmost thoughts, and am having it out with myself, merely making use of you as my pretext. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 27 

 

Though I am by disposition deeply private, what many would call an introvert, I nevertheless find myself drawn to impassioned discussions about the meaning and value of this life. While I can usually go it alone with the little things, I somehow instinctively know how deeply we need to support one another when it comes to the big things.

 

As both Aristotle and Marcus Aurelius remind us, a rational nature must also be a social nature. 

 

But then I may find myself in trouble, for I have too often abandoned a love of cooperation in favor of a lust for bickering. Wherever a shared commitment to a universal truth is replaced by an angry confrontation aimed at winning dominance over another, we are no longer engaged in a discussion. Let me walk away before I get wrapped up in all the bitterness. 

 

I seek the sort of argument where we join forces to arrive at a conclusion from the premises, not the sort of argument where there is yelling and outrage. 

 

In such a violent climate, friendly advice is easily confused with dismissive reproach, and the act of reaching out is mistaken for an invasion of space. Once I catch myself placing my own benefit in opposition to that of anyone else, it’s time to stop pointing fingers and to start offering a helping hand. I can call it justice all I want, yet it will only be justice when my victory no longer demands his defeat. 

 

Just because he offers a suggestion, it does not necessarily mean he is diminishing me or elevating himself. We all have our flaws, and none of us will improve without admitting how we are in it together. Pride is always at the root of taking a correction as a recrimination. 

 

I am especially moved by Seneca’s image of two sick people recovering side by side, for however different the symptoms may be, the common road back to health unites them in their purpose. 

 

I still have a hazy memory of being about four or five, and my mother and I were terribly sick at the same time. Many years later, only a few months after we were married, my wife and I were bedridden together for over a week, her with the chicken pox and me with the nastiest case of the stomach flu I have ever known. In both cases, going through it jointly made the burden so much more bearable. 

 

When they have been wounded in battle, soldiers can finally stop worrying about the killing and get back to the task of living. 

 

Whatever is thought or said between friends should be taken as a blessing for both and as a bane for neither. Where a man is not yet my friend, I should attend to that deficiency before I lay my cards on the table. If he doesn’t know that I am on his side, he will likely take my proposals as accusations. 

—Reflection written in 10/2012 

IMAGE: Erich Heckel, Two Wounded Soldiers (1914)

Columns

M.C. Escher, Doric Columns (1945)

Stoic Snippets 148

No man is tired of receiving what is useful. 

But it is useful to act according to Nature. 

Do not then be tired of receiving what is useful by doing it to others. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.74 

IMAGE: Emile Renouf, The Helping Hand (1881) 

Sayings of Heraclitus 60

God is day and night, winter and summer, war and peace, surfeit and hunger; but he takes various shapes, just as fire, when it is mingled with spices, is named according to the savor of each. 

Dhammapada 218

He in whom a desire for the Ineffable has sprung up, who is satisfied in his mind, and whose thoughts are not bewildered by love, he is called urdhvamsrotas—carried upwards by the stream. 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.47

A. More prolix than was necessary? Certainty not, in my opinion. For I was induced, by the former part of your speech, to wish to die; but, by the latter, sometimes not to be unwilling, and at others to be wholly indifferent about it. But the effect of your whole argument is, that I am convinced that death ought not to be classed among the evils.

 

M. Do you, then, expect that I am to give you a regular peroration, like the rhetoricians, or shall I forego that art?

 

A. I would not have you give over an art which you have set off to such advantage; and you were in the right to do so, for, to speak the truth, it also has set you off. But what is that peroration? For I should be glad to hear it, whatever it is.

 

M. It is customary, in the schools, to produce the opinions of the immortal Gods on death; nor are these opinions the fruits of the imagination alone of the lecturers, but they have the authority of Herodotus and many others. 

 

Cleobis and Biton are the first they mention, sons of the Argive priestess; the story is a well-known one. As it was necessary that she should be drawn in a chariot to a certain annual sacrifice, which was solemnized at a temple some considerable distance from the town, and the cattle that were to draw the chariot had not arrived, those two young men whom I have just mentioned, pulling off their garments, and anointing their bodies with oil, harnessed themselves to the yoke. 

 

And in this manner the priestess was conveyed to the temple; and when the chariot had arrived at the proper place, she is said to have entreated the Goddess to bestow on them, as a reward for their piety, the greatest gift that a God could confer on man. 

 

And the young men, after having feasted with their mother, fell asleep; and in the morning they were found dead. 

 

Trophonius and Agamedes are said to have put up the same petition, for they, having built a temple to Apollo at Delphi, offered supplications to the God, and desired of him some extraordinary reward for their care and labor, particularizing nothing, but asking for whatever was best for men. 

 

Accordingly, Apollo signified to them that he would bestow it on them in three days, and on the third day at daybreak they were found dead. 

 

And so they say that this was a formal decision pronounced by that God to whom the rest of the deities have assigned the province of divining with an accuracy superior to that of all the rest. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.47

 

I detect a certain cynicism about classically eloquent language these days, and I wonder if this fashion has something to do with the lowered status of a thinker like Cicero. I am immediately wary of fine rhetoric divorced from sound reasoning, but a beauty of expression joined together with a mastery of truth is a wondrous thing to behold. If it is built upon universal wisdom, then a moving presentation that tugs at the heartstrings can only inspire the soul all the more. 

 

And so as Cicero comes to the close of this first book, he pulls out all the stops with the poetic phrases and the stirring tales. While the story about Diagoras and his sons in the previous chapter had me a little choked up, the mention of Cleobis and Biton easily brings on the waterworks. 

 

As much as I wish to share such touching narratives with others, I can usually only manage it in writing. I learned this lesson the hard way a year ago, when I tried to read Hector’s farewell to Andromache and Astyanax from the Iliad out loud to a class; it was an ugly sight. 

 

Even if you don’t have a soft spot for the dramatic, look at the account of Cleobis and Biton as a sort of microcosm of an entire life. We all find ourselves thrown into certain circumstances, and so we are faced with unexpected challenges. Now the only question will be whether we rise up to do what is right, or if we shrug our shoulders and crawl away into a corner. Whether that happens over a single day or over eighty years, it makes little difference. 

 

Cleobis and Biton took the place of the missing oxen, and so they honored their mother, and they further honored the goddess Hera. Most importantly, they honored themselves—no man can become greater than when he humbles himself in total service. 

 

Only the man who demands to receive more from a life lived with excellence, as if he were owed some additional gratification, would not be quite content to go to sleep for the last time after such a distinguished effort. As always, it boils down to a choice between caring for what we do or caring for what is done to us. The eclectic Cicero is not a hardcore Stoic, but her sure sounds like one here. 

 

I had never come across the story about Trophonius and Agamedes before I read it in this text, though it only confirms the very same lesson: dying well becomes a fulfillment for anyone who has committed to living well. 

 

From this perspective, death is certainly not an evil, and may even be transformed into a relief from the burdens of fortune, when we elect to cling to virtue instead of prosperity or longevity. 

 

When one of my favorite professors retired, one of the last forced out by a ridiculous bureaucratic age limit, I nervously asked him what he would now do with his time. 

 

“I have a few loose ends to wrap up, and then I’m ready to finally go for a ride in a hearse!” 

 

You had to see his wicked Irish grin to know that he said it with an absolute peace in his mind and a complete joy in his heart. 

 

I need to seek out more people like him; they still make them, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find them, since they don’t cry out for attention. 

—Reflection written in 6/1996 

IMAGES: 

Jean Bardin, Cleobis and Biton with Cydippe in front of Hera's Temple (1764) 

Thomas Blanchet, Cleobis and Biton (c. 1660)

Nicolas-Pierre Loir, Kleobis and Biton (c. 1649)

Adam Müller, Kleobis and Biton (1830)