Cosmos 3

Wisdom from the Early Cynics, Diogenes 24

At Olympia, when the herald proclaimed Dioxippus to be victor over the men, Diogenes protested, "Nay, he is victorious over slaves, I over men." 

Still, he was loved by the Athenians. At all events, when a youngster broke up his tub, they gave the boy a flogging and presented Diogenes with another. 

Dionysius the Stoic says that after the Battle of Chaeronea, he was seized and dragged off to Philip, and being asked who he was, replied, "A spy upon your insatiable greed." 

For this he was admired and set free. 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 6.43 

IMAGE: Max Pirner, Diogenes (1893) 

Wisdom from the Early Stoics, Zeno of Citium 64

The reason why the Stoics characterize the perfect good as beautiful is that it has in full all the "factors" required by nature or has perfect proportion. 

Of the beautiful there are, they say, four species, namely, what is just, courageous, orderly, and wise; for it is under these forms that fair deeds are accomplished. 

Similarly there are four species of the base or ugly, namely, what is unjust, cowardly, disorderly, and unwise. 

By the beautiful is meant properly and in an unique sense that good which renders its possessors praiseworthy, or briefly, good which is worthy of praise; though in another sense it signifies a good aptitude for one's proper function; while in yet another sense the beautiful is that which lends new grace to anything, as when we say of the wise man that he alone is good and beautiful. 

—Diogenes Laërtius, 7.100 

IMAGE: Anonymous Italian, Truth and Beauty (c. 1700) 

Stoic Snippets 218

If a man has done wrong the harm is his own. But perhaps he has not done wrong. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 9.38 

Michael Leunig 53

Seneca, Moral Letters 57.5

We therefore come to this question—whether the soul can be immortal. 
 
But be sure of this: if the soul survives the body after the body is crushed, the soul can in no wise be crushed out, precisely because it does not perish; for the rule of immortality never admits of exceptions, and nothing can harm that which is everlasting. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 57 
 
Now when it comes to questions about an afterlife, most of the people I know will dig in their heels. 
 
On the one side are those who insist upon a Heaven so they can bask in their reward, and upon a Hell so they can watch their enemies suffer. 
 
On the other side are those who prefer for it all to be over and done with, because the very prospect of any sort of lasting accountability makes them deeply uncomfortable.
 
And in between, you may find some who focus on the excellence of what they are doing right here and now, and who are at peace with whatever Providence may, or may not, bring their way. 
 
I appreciate how Seneca is not concerned with either proving or disproving some future state, or of debating the particulars of what might ultimately become of us. He is content to know that whatever we are now will certainly be remade into something else. 
 
This is true not only for mind, which participates in the Universal Intelligence that informs all creatures, but also for sensible matter, which is constantly being refashioned from one form into another. Strictly speaking, nothing is ever destroyed, and everything is always born anew. 
 
I do not know what will happen to my own personal consciousness, though I can be assured that it will not go to waste. Within the plan of Providence, I also do not have to agonize over my soul getting stuck, or trampled, or crammed into a corner—its substance is far too rarefied for any of that. 
 
Remember that this letter wasn’t really even about the hereafter, but about how to manage powerful emotions of awe or dread. If the feeling has come to me, it is made to serve its purpose. Now will I run away, or will I engage? Will I finally seek to discover how my own nature is bound to the whole of Nature? The hardship is itself the opportunity. 
 
I need not fear, for my judgments remain within my power. I need not despair, for the Universe is unfolding exactly is it should. 
 
Mortality ceases to be a burden when I recognize how every event or circumstance is tied up in eternity. None of it is exhausted. 

—Reflection written in 5/2013 

IMAGE: Anna Sahlsten, Passage (1894) 

Dhammapada 347

Those who are slaves to passions, run down with the stream of desires, as a spider runs down the web which he has made himself; when they have cut this, at last, wise people leave the world free from cares, leaving all affection behind. 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates 27

At another time the differences between two brothers named Chaerephon and Chaerecrates, both well known to him, had drawn his attention; and on seeing the younger of the two he thus addressed him. 

Socrates: "Tell me, Chaerecrates, you are not, I take it, one of those strange people who believe that goods are better and more precious than a brother; and that too although the former are but senseless chattels which need protection, the latter is a sensitive and sensible being who can afford it; and what is more, he is himself alone, whilst as for them their name is legion. 

"And here again is a marvelous thing: that a man should count his brother a loss, because the goods of his brother are not his; but he does not count his fellow-citizens loss, and yet their possessions are not his; only it seems in their case he has wits to see that to dwell securely with many and have enough is better than to own the whole wealth of a community and to live in dangerous isolation; but this same doctrine as applied to brothers they ignore. 

"Again, if a man have the means, he will purchase domestic slaves, because he wants assistants in his work; he will acquire friends, because he needs their support; but this brother of his—who cares about brothers? It seems a friend may be discovered in an ordinary citizen, but not in a blood relation who is also a brother. 

"And yet it is a great vantage-ground towards friendship to have sprung from the same loins and to have been suckled at the same breasts, since even among beasts a certain natural craving, and sympathy springs up between creatures reared together. Added to which, a man who has brothers commands more respect from the rest of the world than the man who has none, and who must fight his own battles." 

Chaerecrates: "I daresay, Socrates, where the differences are not profound, reason would a man should bear with his brother, and not avoid him for some mere trifle's sake, for a brother of the right sort is, as you say, a blessing; but if he be the very antithesis of that, why should a man lay his hand to achieve the impossible? "

Socrates: "Well now, tell me, is there nobody whom Chaerephon can please any more than he can please yourself; or do some people find him agreeable enough?" 

Chaerecrates: "Nay, there you hit it. That is just why I have a right to detest him. He can be pleasing enough to others, but to me, whenever he appears on the scene, he is not a blessing—no! but by every manner of means the reverse." 

Socrates: "May it not happen that just as a horse is no gain to the inexpert rider who essays to handle him, so in like manner, if a man tries to deal with his brother after an ignorant fashion, this same brother will kick?" 

Chaerecrates: "But is it likely now? How should I be ignorant of the art of dealing with my brother if I know the art of repaying kind words and good deeds in kind? But a man who tries all he can to annoy me by word and deed, I can neither bless nor benefit, and, what is more, I will not try." 

Socrates: "Well now, that is a marvelous statement, Chaerecrates. Your dog, the serviceable guardian of your flocks, who will fawn and lick the hand of your shepherd, when you come near him can only growl and show his teeth. Well; you take no notice of the dog's ill-temper, you try to propitiate him by kindness; but your brother? 

"If your brother were what he ought to be, he would be a great blessing to you—that you admit; and, as you further confess, you know the secret of kind acts and words, yet you will not set yourself to apply means to make him your best of friends."

Chaerecrates: "I am afraid, Socrates, that I have no wisdom or cunning to make Chaerephon bear himself towards me as he should." 

Socrates: "Yet there is no need to apply any recondite or novel machinery. Only bait your hook in the way best known to yourself, and you will capture him; whereupon he will become your devoted friend."

Chaerecrates: "If you are aware that I know some love-charm, Socrates, of which I am the happy but unconscious possessor, pray make haste and enlighten me." 

Socrates: "Answer me then. Suppose you wanted to get some acquaintance to invite you to dinner when he next keeps holy day, what steps would you take?"

Chaerecrates: "No doubt I should set him a good example by inviting him myself on a like occasion." 

Socrates: "And if you wanted to induce some friend to look after your affairs during your absence abroad, how would you achieve your purpose?"  

Chaerecrates: "No doubt I should present a precedent in undertaking to look after his in like circumstances." 

Socrates: "And if you wished to get some foreign friend to take you under his roof while visiting his country, what would you do?" 

Chaerecrates: "No doubt I should begin by offering him the shelter of my own roof when he came to Athens, in order to enlist his zeal in furthering the objects of my visit; it is plain I should first show my readiness to do as much for him in a like case."  

Socrates: "Why, it seems you are an adept after all in all the philters known to man, only you chose to conceal your knowledge all the while; or is it that you shrink from taking the first step because of the scandal you will cause by kindly advances to your brother? 

"And yet it is commonly held to redound to a man's praise to have outstripped an enemy in mischief or a friend in kindness. Now if it seemed to me that Chaerephon were better fitted to lead the way towards this friendship, I should have tried to persuade him to take the first step in winning your affection, but now I am persuaded the first move belongs to you, and to you the final victory."

Chaerecrates: "A startling announcement, Socrates, from your lips, and most unlike you, to bid me the younger take precedence of my elder brother. Why, it is contrary to the universal custom of mankind, who look to the elder to take the lead in everything, whether as a speaker or an actor." 

Socrates: "How so? Is it not the custom everywhere for the younger to step aside when he meets his elder in the street and to give him place? Is he not expected to get up and offer him his seat, to pay him the honour of a soft couch, to yield him precedence in argument? 

"My good fellow, do not stand shilly-shallying,  but put out your hand caressingly, and you will see the worthy soul will respond at once with alacrity. Do you not note your brother's character, proud and frank and sensitive to honour? He is not a mean and sorry rascal to be caught by a bribe—no better way indeed for such riff-raff. No! gentle natures need a finer treatment. You can best hope to work on them by affection."

Chaerecrates: "But suppose I do, and suppose that, for all my attempts, he shows no change for the better?"

Socrates: "At the worst you will have shown yourself to be a good, honest, brotherly man, and he will appear as a sorry creature on whom kindness is wasted. But nothing of the sort is going to happen, as I conjecture. My belief is that as soon as he hears your challenge, he will embrace the contest; pricked on by emulous pride, he will insist upon getting the better of you in kindness of word and deed. 

"At present you two are in the condition of two hands formed by God to help each other, but which have let go their business and have turned to hindering one another all they can. You are a pair of feet fashioned on the Divine plan to work together, but which have neglected this in order to trammel each other's gait. 

"Now is it not insensate stupidity to use for injury what was meant for advantage? And yet in fashioning two brothers God intends them, methinks, to be of more benefit to one another than either two hands, or two feet, or two eyes, or any other of those pairs which belong to man from his birth. 

"Consider how powerless these hands of ours if called upon to combine their action at two points more than a single fathom's length apart; and these feet could not stretch asunder even a bare fathom; and these eyes, for all the wide-reaching range we claim for them, are incapable of seeing simultaneously the back and front of an object at even closer quarters. But a pair of brothers, linked in bonds of amity, can work each for the other's good, though seas divide them." 

—from Xenophon, Memorabilia 2.3 

IMAGE: Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger, Portrait of Two Brothers (1586) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 57.4

Do you suppose that I am now referring to the Stoics, who hold that the soul of a man crushed by a great weight cannot abide, and is scattered forthwith, because it has not had a free opportunity to depart? That is not what I am doing; those who think thus are, in my opinion, wrong. 
 
Just as fire cannot be crushed out, since it will escape round the edges of the body which overwhelms it; just as the air cannot be damaged by lashes and blows, or even cut into, but flows back about the object to which it gives place; similarly the soul, which consists of the subtlest particles, cannot be arrested or destroyed inside the body, but, by virtue of its delicate substance, it will rather escape through the very object by which it is being crushed. 
 
Just as lightning, no matter how widely it strikes and flashes, makes its return through a narrow opening, so the soul, which is still subtler than fire, has a way of escape through any part of the body. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 57 
 
The Stoics described the whole Universe as being composed of matter, and yet they employed this term in a far broader and deeper sense than the crude atomism of the Epicureans. 
 
Yes, we can certainly speak of the more base substance of sensible bodies, which are merely acted upon, yet we must not overlook the presence of the more subtle substance of mind, which is the very principle behind all action. The difference between the two is like that of a stone compared to the aether. 
 
So when Seneca asks if souls can somehow be “trapped” by weight, it would be as if we speculated whether a mind can be dispersed by a strong wind. In the fullness of reality, there are many grades and degrees of existence, and the scope of the greater is far beyond the limitations of the lesser. 
 
In a contemporary sense, for example, we would rightly think it foolish when a man tries to split the atom by banging some sticks together. So too, consciousness, which the Stoics often spoke of as being like a primordial fire, is far too refined to be contained in a box. 
 
I think of how the followers of Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus used to bicker over the latter’s use of the term “spiritual matter”, even as it was quite clear that both thinkers were discussing precisely the same modes of being. The nuances of the terms are only there to serve us in the discovery of a shared truth. 
 
In all, I need not be troubled that the falling piano or the ravenous rats can flatten or mutilate my soul, in that all change is simply the transformation from one state to another; both the passive matter of my body and the active matter of my mind will “go” precisely where the order of Nature intends for them to go. 
 
My fears are unfounded, for as with the teachings of Stoic ethics, this type of thing cannot be restricted by that type of thing. My judgments are not subject to the confines of the flesh, unless, of course, I freely choose to bind myself to them. 

—Reflection written in 5/2013 

IMAGE: Philipp Otto Runge, Birth of the Human Soul (c. 1806) 

The Liberal Arts 9

 

Giovanni dal Ponte, The Seven Liberal Arts (c. 1435)

The Liberal Arts 8

Biagio d'Antonio da Firenza, The Hill of Knowledge/Allegory of the Liberal Arts (c. 1480)

The Liberal Arts 7

Philosophy Presenting the Seven Liberal Arts to Boethius (14th century)

The Liberal Arts 6

Sandro Botticelli, Young Man Before the Seven Liberal Arts (c. 1484)

The Liberal Arts 5

Nikolaos Gyzis, The Liberal Arts and Their Spirits (1880)

The Liberal Arts 4

Niccolo Giolfino, The Liberal Arts (c. 1520)

The Liberal Arts 3

Andrea di Bonaiuto, Triumph of St. Thomas and Allegory of the Sciences (c. 1365)

The Liberal Arts 2

Grammar—language 

Dialectic—language in reasoning 

Rhetoric—language in persuasion 

Arithmetic—number 

Geometry—number in space  

Music—number in time 

Astronomy—number in space and time  

Philosophy and the Seven Liberal Arts, from the Hortus Deliciarum of Herrad of Landsberg (12th century)

The Liberal Arts 1

While a liberal arts model can take on a variety of specific forms, depending upon time and circumstance, we are well advised to keep the basic framework of the trivium and quadrivium in mind. They are not “subjects” in the contemporary sense, or compartmentalized topics to be covered by predetermined outcomes, but rather integrated methods of learning, which proceed in an orderly manner. In the simplest of terms, the trivium teaches us how to speak, think, and write with truth and beauty, while the quadrivium inspires us to examine any and all subjects by describing and explaining their structure and harmony.

Education in the trivium, from the ancient world to the present day, asks the student to proceed to master letters, i.e. to become literate, by degrees: first by mastering grammar, then by applying one’s mind to the study of logic, then by combining these studies into the art of rhetoric. These “ways” of free-thinking into intellectual liberty progress from language itself to thought itself, and then (and only then) to argument, since argument combines structures of language with structures of thought in an unassuming, unaffected, and hence compelling manner.

Intersecting with the student’s immersion in the arts of the trivium should be the crossroads of the sciences. Viewed through the lens of liberal education, however, not just any sciences can take the place of the quadrivium, the mastery of which requires, once again by degrees, the study of number per se (arithmetic), number spatially conceived (geometry), number temporally grasped (music, with an emphasis on interval, balance, proportion, and harmony), and all of the above combined into a single, unified whole, traditionally represented in the subject of astronomy, in which number is instantiated in itself as well as in time and in space (thereby combining the “virtues” of arithmetic, music, and geometry, respectively). 

—11/2015 

Maerten de Vos, Allegory of the Seven Liberal Arts (1590)

 

Stoic Snippets 217

Enough of this wretched life and murmuring and apish tricks! 

Why are you disturbed? What is there new in this? What unsettles you? 

Is it the form of the thing? Look at it. Or is it the matter? Look at it. But besides these there is nothing. 

Towards the gods then, now become at last more simple and better. It is the same whether we examine these things for a hundred years or three. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 9.37 

Howard Jones, Dream into Action 6

I was so taken by the music to this song, especially the arrangement and instrumentation, that I shamefully admit it took me a few listens to realize it was about the sins of the meat industry. 

This is neither the time nor the place to argue all the pros and cons of vegetarianism. My own view, as usual, tends to annoy both sides, since I have an aversion to any tribal allegiance at the expense of a shared humanity. 

Yet what Mr. Jones managed to do was to make me think with him, and it is rare for a musician, or any public figure, to manage that. When someone talks down to us, it can only breed fear and resentment. 

As much as I can enjoy a good steak, the rarer the better, I do know that simply reducing any value to my immediate pleasure is hardly a moral stand. 

Now I might further insist that my body needs the meat, and offer all sorts of evidence from biology or history, and yet I see, time and time again, those around me who live in health and vitality on a diet that excludes meat completely. 

Yes, it does seem rather odd that we write cutesy children's stories about the very animals we put on our dinner plates. Douglas Adams understood this with one of his best bits in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, the "Dish of the Day". 

Isn't is perfectly natural for creatures to die and to be consumed by other creatures? Certainly. But that does not mean Nature intends for us to be cruel, and I can use no other word to describe the way most of the food industry treats its livestock. Thought the animal may not understand it, we should know better. 

You tell me you didn't personally slaughter the beast? Perhaps that is something you could take upon yourself, and see how you would manage it. In any event, a participation, however seemingly remote, does not remove our accountability. In paying money for it, we play our own parts. 

I once saw the inside of a corporate slaughterhouse, and only my weekly visits to a state prison were more disturbing to me. I don't have to call it murder to find it abhorrent.  I contrast it with the way my uncle snared a rabbit, then quickly and quietly dispatched it before I even noticed what he had done. 

Enough of that. It's a great song, in a style that only the early 80's could produce, and it manages to inspire meaningful thought at the same time. That piano riff has been dancing around in my head now for over twenty years! 

—5/2007 

A few words of commentary from Howard Jones: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qM8RKr2p0ko&list=OLAK5uy_mN2Ly6tKSy0y1d0klY_kza9FHOfbzzJ5E&index=11

And the song itself: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqAhBjAkRPo&list=OLAK5uy_mN2Ly6tKSy0y1d0klY_kza9FHOfbzzJ5E&index=12

Howard Jones, "Assault and Battery" from Dream into Action (1985) 

The lives were taken 

For feasts at the table 
A life of misery 
Ending with a shock 

Brutal murder (brutal murder) 
All hands to the slaughter 
Mass torture 
All hands to the knife 

And I can hear the screams 
With the knife, the jolt, the wring 
They must follow in our dreams 
Carrying a twisted sting 

Children's stories with their farmyard favourites 
At the table in a different disguise 

Don't talk to me of health 
Or something someone else will do 
We're talking about the act 
Of taking life for me and you 

And I hear their screams . . .