October 13: Marcus Aurelius Forgets To Thank His Agent

This is the third Aurelius excerpt of the year, but, owing to the weird way the Daily Reading Guide decided to choose the readings, it's the beginning of the book. And what book worth its salt -- if indeed you paid for books in salt -- doesn't begin with acknowledgments? Although it's more fun, because so against the temperment of Aurelius, to think of it as his Oscar speech:

1. FROM my grandfather Verus [I learned] good morals and the government of my temper.
2. From the reputation and remembrance of my father, modesty and a manly character.
3. From my mother, piety and beneficence, and abstinence, not only from evil deeds, but even from evil thoughts; and further simplicity in my way of living, far removed from the habits of the rich.
4. From my great-grandfather, not to have frequented public schools, and to have had good teachers at home, and to know that on such things a man should spend liberally.

Liberally. Maybe it is an Oscar speech! Note also his dislike of public schools -- proper L.A. showbiz parenting there. Less snarkily, I like his pointing out that his mother abstained from evil thoughts. It's not in this excerpt so much, but I have always liked the Stoic emphasis on how much you creates your own mental weather. I guess I have this dude to thank:

From Maximus I learned self-government, and not to be led aside by anything; and cheerfulness in all circumstances, as well as in illness; and a just admixture in the moral character of sweetness and dignity, and to do what was set before me without complaining.

It occurs to me that, if Maximus was good at the self-government quality, maybe he was bad at the other qualities that Aurelius had to find in other people. Like, Maximus may have been the king at being cheerful during illness, but he was a fanatic for the public schools. You can't have everything. Aurelius himself seems to have a bee in his bonnet against literature: "From Rusticus I learned...to abstain from rhetoric, and poetry, and fine writing," he says, and then, later, he's thankful "that I did not make more proficiency in rhetoric, poetry, and the other studies, in which I should perhaps have been completely engaged, if I had seen that I was making progress in them." We can all agree that self-expression is odious, but I think he takes it a little far here, especially since he turned out to be famous as an author.

August 30: Oh How I Hate To Get Up In The Morning

More this-thing-then-the-other-thing Meditations from Marcus Aurelius today (is this only the second Aurelius excerpt? Looks like). And in this one we learn that M.A.'s natural tendency was to wake up on the wrong side of the empire:

Why then am I dissatisfied if I am going to do the things for which I exist and for which I was brought into the world? Or have I been made for this, to lie in the bedclothes and keep myself warm?
—But this is more pleasant.
—Dost thou exist then to take thy pleasure, and not at all for action or exertion? Dost thou not see the little plants, the little birds, the ants, the spiders, the bees working together to put in order their several parts of the universe? And art thou unwilling to do the work of a human being, and dost thou not make haste to do that which is according to thy nature?
—But it is necessary to take rest also.

Being a philosopher and a Roman emperor, he wins the battle against the snooze button. I'm neither of those things and so I often lose it. Of course snooze technology is much more advanced in our time -- back then, I imagine, there was a member of the Imperial slave staff specially designated for the job, to come back to Aurelius's bedroom every ten minutes or so, and start reciting news headlines, or the popular songs of the day, or maybe just shout "WAKE VP!"

Moving on...this meditation seems kinda environmental:

I go through the things which happen according to nature until I shall fall and rest, breathing out my breath into that element out of which I daily draw it in, and falling upon that earth out of which my father collected the seed, and my mother the blood, and my nurse the milk; out of which during so many years I have been supplied with food and drink; which bears me when I tread on it and abuse it for so many purposes.

On the other hand, this mediation:

I am composed of the formal and the material; and neither of them will perish into non-existence, as neither of them came into existence out of non-existence. Every part of me then will be reduced by change into some part of the universe, and that again will change into another part of the universe, and so on forever.

Might be anti-environmental -- what's the difference between oil in the ground and carbon dioxide in the air? It's all the same stuff. If there's a circle of life then no point on the circle should be more privileged than any other point. Whether you're enjoying the seaside or drowning, same difference!

Finally, an argument against watching cable news:

Such as are thy habitual thoughts, such also will be the character of thy mind; for the soul is dyed by the thoughts.

This is the "wholesome" argument; all of us here spending time on this blog are better people for hanging out with the greats. Well, I hope there's something to that, anyway.

Finally finally, this song isn't really on point, but it does seem kind of cosmic for something written for "Blackbirds of 1933." It's not interesting as a video, but one of the things I like about YouTube is the way people use it as a radio; and besides, it features Lee Wiley, one of my favorites:

August 11: Dude, get stoic'd for this post!

Epictetus, the Stoic who isn't Marcus Aurelius, concentrates on the only two things a philosopher ought to concentrate on:

1) How best to bear the catastrophic misfortunes that are our fate, and 

2) table manners.

I would say the catastrophe/table manners ratio is about 60:40, and that makes sense if you think about it -- you eat every day, but how many times will your philosophy shop in the stoa be overrun by Macedonians? Twice, maybe?

For point 1, take saying CLXXXVI, which might also be titled How To Drown:

It is hard to combine and unite these two qualities, the carefulness of one who is affected by circumstances, and the intrepidity of one who heeds them not. But it is not impossible: else were happiness also impossible. We should act as we do in seafaring.

“What can I do?”—Choose the master, the crew, the day, the opportunity. Then comes a sudden storm. What matters it to me? my part has been fully done. The matter is in the hands of another—the Master of the ship. The ship is foundering. What then have I to do? I do the only thing that remains to me—to be drowned without fear, without a cry, without upbraiding God, but knowing that what has been born must likewise perish. For I am not Eternity, but a human being—a part of the whole, as an hour is part of the day. I must come like the hour, and like the hour must pass!

Now, you might think, with the knowledge of our drowning ever in front of us, Epictetus wouldn't mind if we cut loose once in a while, like, say, our buddy hooked us up with a case of Cutty that had the labels upside down. Not hardly, says Mr. E., proving that the E does not stand for Excitement:

Take what relates to the body as far as the bare use warrants—as meat, drink, raiment, house and servants. But all that makes for show and luxury reject.

That's point two -- don't let folks catch you not being Stoic.  But if Epictetus, in order to be a killdread, is also a killjoy (he warns against trying to get laughs, says people lose respect for you, but I swear he was looking somewhere else when he said it), at least he's not one of these ostentatious killjoys who's going to tell you how much they lost on Atkins or who raises an eyebrow when you order a beer at lunch:

When you have brought yourself to supply the needs of the body at small cost, do not pique yourself on that, nor if you drink only water, keep saying on each occasion, I drink water! And if you ever want to practise endurance and toil, do so unto yourself and not unto others.

Note it's how to behave at table again; more generally, of course, lots of people aren't like this -- they want everything they do to be known.  Similarly, some people also have great appetites for success, or just feel alive surfing the great bipolar waves of triumph and defeat.  Stoicism, which shuns this, isn't a good philosophy for winners.  In a way it's a philosophy designed to console you after you get the outcomes that arise from following it:

When you visit any of those in power, bethink yourself that you will not find him in: that you may not be admitted: that the door may be shut in your face: that he may not concern himself about you. If with all this, it is your duty to go, bear what happens, and never say to yourself, It was not worth the trouble!

Almost Eeyore-y, really.  

Two more excerpts to close, both of which struck close to home.   The first is about housekeeping:

When Xanthippe was chiding Socrates for making scanty preparation for entertaining his friends, he answered:—“If they are friends of ours, they will not care for that; if they are not, we shall care nothing for them!”

As someone who lives in the House of Stacked-Up Magazines, it's nice to know that we keep house Socratically. And second: 

If death surprise me thus employed, it is enough if I can stretch forth my hands to God and say, “The faculties which I received at Thy hands for apprehending this thine Administration, I have not neglected. As far as in me lay, I have done Thee no dishonour. Behold how I have used the senses, the primary conceptions which Thou gavest me. Have I ever laid anything to Thy charge? Have I ever murmured at aught that came to pass, or wished it otherwise? Have I in anything transgressed the relations of life? For that Thou didst beget me, I thank Thee for that Thou hast given: for the time during which I have used the things that were Thine, it suffices me. Take them back and place them wherever Thou wilt! They were all Thine, and Thou gavest them me.”

August 7: My Dinner With Socrates

Some dolmades, Socrates? Spanakopita? They have a retsina here that will make your eyes pop asymmetrically...I'm sorry, what?:

For the body is a source of endless trouble to us by reason of the mere requirement of food; and also is liable to diseases which overtake and impede us in the search after truth: and by filling us so full of loves, and lusts, and fears, and fancies, and idols, and every sort of folly, prevents our ever having, as people say, so much as a thought.

Just the hemlock for you, then. You know when they say, "name your poison," it's only an expression, right? Are you sure, though? I mean, it's your last meal, you ought to have something you can enjoy.

How singular is the thing called pleasure, and how curiously related to pain, which might be thought to be the opposite of it; for they never come to a man together, and yet he who pursues either of them is generally compelled to take the other.

I suppose that's true; when I have some of the baklava here, it goes straight to my hips. Speaking of desserts, it appears that you're a big fan of pie in the sky in the sweet by and by:

For I am quite ready to acknowledge... that I ought to be grieved at death, if I were not persuaded that I am going to other gods who are wise and good (of this I am as certain as I can be of anything of the sort) and to men departed (though I am not so certain of this), who are better than those whom I leave behind...

"Better than those you leave behind?" I can't say but I resemble that remark, especially when I'm so looking forward to the lamb shank (which I had them roast using the Socratic method), and you're in such a Puritanical mood. I know, it's the hemlock talking, but still:

In this present life, I reckon that we make the nearest approach to knowledge when we have the least possible concern or interest in the body, and are not saturated with the bodily nature, but remain pure until the hour when God himself is pleased to release us. And then the foolishness of the body will be cleared away and we shall be pure and hold converse with other pure souls, and know of ourselves the clear light everywhere...

Look, I've been in line at Disneyland, so I know well that the body is often no prize, but I wish you wouldn't be hating on it so much. What if you find out that your Olympians have been replaced by three cheap Middle Eastern guys ? I'll see if I can get them to bring over a heat lamp; you seem cold.

You like this place? Epicurus told me about it.

June 14: Crito and the Man

It's probably pronounced "Cry-to," isn't it? I'm too in love with this cheesy joke to check.

Having previously watched the admirable, yet dickish, Socrates immolate himself for his principles in the "Apology," we now turn to the Holy Saturday of the Socratic passion, the Crito.

The Crito is like the travel day in the World Series of Martyred Philosophers, for it takes place between the trial and the execution, and is itself an argument for inaction. Indeed it can be summarized like this:

Crito: Golly, Socrates, don't you want to escape?
Socrates: No.

Done!

Actually it begins in a more literary way:

Socrates. WHY have you come at this hour, Crito? it must be quite early.
Crito. Yes, certainly.
Soc. What is the exact time?
Cr. The dawn is breaking.
Soc. I wonder the keeper of the prison would let you in.
Cr. He knows me because I often come, Socrates; moreover, I have done him a kindness.
Soc. And are you only just come?
Cr. No, I came some time ago.
Soc. Then why did you sit and say nothing, instead of awakening me at once?

(his is funnier if you cast Grandpa Simpson in your head in the role of Socrates.

The detail of Socrates sleeping -- to show how peaceful he is even as the deal is going down -- is choice. But once Socrates wakes up and does his deep knee bends, etc. this kind of back-and-forth ends, and we have "Socratic dialogue," which means that Socrates says one thousand words and Crito says three, and Crito, like a good Socratic straight-man, throws Socrates batting-practice fastballs, e.g., "Are you not afraid that if you escape hence we may get into trouble with the informers for having stolen you away, and lose either the whole or a great part of our property; or that even a worse evil may happen to us?" Or, my favorite, that Socrates should escape because "the many" -- and you get the sense that Plato can't even write that without shuddering -- will think that Crito could have helped him escape, but decided not to.

To me the question Crito should ask is, "Don't you think this whole business is rather self-serving on your part? Aren't you basically engineering your own martyrdom in order to prove how much better you are than the rabble?" It's answerable, I think (Socrates is going to death as a form of civil disobedience, perhaps) but Plato prefers the softball questions.

My favorite part is at the end, after Socrates gives a 920-word speech, Crito says: "I have nothing to say, Socrates." Of course not.

May 19: Stoic's turn

The last few days have been days of alternation in the Daily Reading Guide. Friday and Sunday we had tales and adventures -- talking owls, and dancing flowers, and children and kings and gay students (old-fashioned use of "gay," although I suspect new-fashioned use would also apply). And on Saturday and Monday old men, in the harsh Mediterranean light, tell us that it is all bullshit. This, plus math, is about the sum total of the human experience.

Today's crusty old man is the Stoic Epictetus and some of his golden sayings. When I was a youth I was attracted to Stoicism, because what teenager doesn't need to hear its essential message of "sit down and shut up"? Or as Epictetus puts it:

Above all, remember that the door stands open. Be not more fearful than children; but as they, when they weary of the game, cry, “I will play no more,” even so, when thou art in the like case, cry, “I will play no more,” and depart. But if thou stayest, make no lamentation.

And the other Stoic point -- that we should try to create our own mental weather, rather than allow others to create it -- is a useful one to hear, too:

“Say then, what are things indifferent?”
“Things that are not in our power.”
“Say then, what follows?”
“That things which are not in our power are nothing to me.”
“Say also what things you hold to be good.”
“A will such as it ought to be, and a right use of the things of sense.”

You could say it's "if life gives you lemons, make lemonade," but that's not it exactly. It's more like, "If life gives you lemons, try to concentrate on how unnecessary fruits are." Lemonade implies the hope of refreshment; Stoicism wants you to accept the futility of ever being refreshed.

May 17: Socrates, founder of Western know-it-allism.

In addition to his philosophical work, Socrates was also a great midfielder.

I suppose the first thing one could say about Socrates is that he is kind of a dick. Here we have his famous Apology, where he has been found guilty of youth-corruption and proposes that, as a penalty, he be fully subsidized by the state -- as if he were a coal company or something. And then, breaking it down for the jury, he says:

I had not the boldness or impudence or inclination to address you as you would have liked me to address you, weeping and wailing and lamenting, and saying and doing many things which you have been accustomed to hear from others, and which, as I say, are unworthy of me...I would rather die having spoken after my manner, than speak in your manner and live.

As Macaulay said, "The more I read about Socrates, the less I wonder that they poisoned him." (A quote I got from a very good article here.)

But you can see why Socrates was the Jesus of Cool for intellectuals that didn't love Jesus . Us bookish types are always tempted by a sense of superiority; half the fun of being clever is being cleverer than. But it's not as much fun for the people who are being lorded over, some of whom are physically or financially stronger, so one learns a certain becoming modesty, when to hide one's light, how to avoid being killed by one's peers.

Socrates doesn't do any of this. Not only does he more or less dare the jury to kill him, he says they'll be sorry:

And I prophesy to you who are my murderers, that immediately after my death punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will surely await you...For I say that there will be more accusers of you than there are now; accusers whom hitherto I have restrained.

And his brazenness, not to mention his straight-up manliness at taking his punishment -- which, come to think of it, he did mention -- becomes kind of admirable:

For which reason also, I am not angry with my accusers, or my condemners; they have done me no harm, although neither of them meant to do me any good; and for this I may gently blame them.

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways—I to die, and you to live. Which is better, God only knows.

"God only knows...Or maybe I do," he forgot to add.

UPDATE: My dad (who was a teacher and administrator) adds in an e-mail: "I remain a skeptic about the efficacy of the Socratic method. I didn't like Socrates when he did it, and I disagreed with Education gurus when they extolled it. It seems to me that what is actually learned in the process is how clever the "Socratic" interlocutor is rather that the lesson to be learned in the Q&A. Besides to make the "method" work requires a good straight man and they are hard to find."

Apr 6: Marcus Aurelius, smoker

That's how I came to think of him in today's excerpt, anyhow. I remember reading him in high school and really enjoying it, but the idea of fighting emotion is probably pretty appealing when you're an adolescent and that's something you have too much of:

What then art thou doing here, O imagination? go away, I entreat thee by the gods, as thou didst come, for I want thee not. But thou art come according to thy old fashion. I am not angry with thee: only go away.

Now, after decades of exhortation to become a better writer, person, etc. (has it been decades? Yep.) I feel like I see what Aurelius is up to. He's like a smoker -- if he just keeps heckling himself enough, all his dreams will come true:

It is in thy power to live free from all compulsion in the greatest tranquillity of mind, even if all the world cry out against thee as much as they choose, and even if wild beasts tear in pieces the members of this kneaded matter which has grown around thee...

And if he were doing all this stuff he's talking about, when would he have time to write to tell himself to do it?

The other thing that struck me about this passage is the sheer randomness of it. Apparently being Emperor really cuts into the organizing-your-material time. So you get juxtapositions like this:

59. Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and it will ever bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig.
60. The body ought to be compact, and to show no irregularity either in motion or attitude.

It's like, "I should concentrate on the eternal truths. And, maybe grow a mustache." And there's also:

61. The art of life is more like the wrestler’s art than the dancer’s, in respect of this, that it should stand ready and firm to meet onsets which are sudden and unexpected.

Really? Or is it more like the bear-eater's art, in respect of this, that some days you eat the bear and some days the bear eats you. (Stoically, of course.)