#Stoics

[arabdoll]

Every day we all meet ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, uncharitable men. Once you see what sort of person they are, you will realize there is no need to be racked with anxiety that they should hold any particular opinion about you.

Marcus Aurelius

[sictransitgloriamvndi]

“Accept death in a cheerful spirit, as nothing but the dissolution of the elements from which each living thing is composed. If it doesn't hurt the individual elements to change continually into one another, why are people afraid of all of them changing and separating? It's a natural thing. And nothing natural is evil.” - Marcus Aurelius

[389]

Marcus Porcius Cato (the Younger)

[alchemisoul]

* You're not responsible for every thought that comes in and out of your head. They're not necessarily within your control, not initially anyways.

It is within your power, however, to decide which ones you want to hold on to and those you wish to discard.

You're responsible for observing thoughts that flow inward and choosing whether or not you act on them, buy into them, or take ownership of them.

#KnowThyself

#TheWolfYouFeed

#IsTheOneThatWins

[feralprodigy]

“So you want to live ‘according to nature?’ Oh, you noble Stoics, what a fraud is in this phrase! Imagine something like nature, profligate without measure, indifferent without measure, without purpose and regard, without mercy and justice, fertile and barren and uncertain at the same time, think of indifference itself as power – how could you live according to this indifference? Living – isn’t that wanting specifically to be something other than this nature? Isn’t living assessing, preferring, being unfair, being limited, wanting to be different?”

Beyond Good and Evil, Friedrich Nietzsche

[epicforwards]

"If they are wise, do not quarrel with them; if they are fools, ignore them." -- Epictetus

[philosophybitmaps]

[lonelinessfollowsme]

He suffers more than necessary, who suffers before it is necessary.

Seneca

[whileiamdying]

Letters from a Stoic; Seneca's Letter XII, on Old Age

Wherever I turn, I see evidences of my advancing years. I visited lately my country-place, and protested against the money which was spent on the tumble-down building. My bailiff maintained that the flaws were not due to his own carelessness; "he was doing everything possible, but the house was old." And this was the house which grew under my own hands! What has the future in store for me, if stones of my own age are already crumbling? I was angry, and I embraced the first opportunity to vent my spleen in the bailiff's presence. "It is clear," I cried, "that these plane-trees are neglected; they have no leaves. Their branches are so gnarled and shrivelled; the boles are so rough and unkempt! This would not happen, if someone loosened the earth at their feet, and watered them." The bailiff swore by my protecting deity that "he was doing everything possible, and never relaxed his efforts, but those trees were old." Between you and me, I had planted those trees myself, I had seen them in their first leaf. Then I turned to the door and asked: "Who is that broken-down dotard? You have done well to place him at the entrance; for he is outward bound. Where did you get him? What pleasure did it give you to take up for burial some other man's dead?" But the slave said: "Don't you know me, sir? I am Felicio; you used to bring me little images. My father was Philositus the steward, and I am your pet slave." "The man is clean crazy," I remarked. "Has my pet slave become a little boy again? But it is quite possible; his teeth are just dropping out.

I owe it to my country-place that my old age became apparent whithersoever I turned. Let us cherish and love old age; for it is full of pleasure if one knows how to use it. Fruits are most welcome when almost over; youth is most charming at its close; the last drink delights the toper, the glass which souses him and puts the finishing touch on his drunkenness.  Each pleasure reserves to the end the greatest delights which it contains. Life is most delightful when it is on the downward slope, but has not yet reached the abrupt decline. And I myself believe that the period which stands, so to speak, on the edge of the roof, possesses pleasures of its own. Or else the very fact of our not wanting pleasures has taken the place of the pleasures themselves. How comforting it is to have tired out one's appetites, and to have done with them! "But," you say, "it is a nuisance to be looking death in the face!" Death, however, should be looked in the face by young and old alike. We are not summoned according to our rating on the censor's list. Moreover, no one is so old that it would be improper for him to hope for another day of existence. And one day, mind you, is a stage on life's journey.

Our span of life is divided into parts; it consists of large circles enclosing smaller. One circle embraces and bounds the rest; it reaches from birth to the last day of existence. The next circle limits the period of our young manhood. The third confines all of childhood in its circumference. Again, there is, in a class by itself, the year; it contains within itself all the divisions of time by the multiplication of which we get the total of life. The month is bounded by a narrower ring. The smallest circle of all is the day; but even a day has its beginning and its ending, its sunrise and its sunset. Hence Heraclitus, whose obscure style gave him his surname, remarked: "One day is equal to every day." Different persons have interpreted the saying in different ways. Some hold that days are equal in number of hours, and this is true; for if by "day" we mean twenty-four hours' time, all days must be equal, inasmuch as the night acquires what the day loses. But others maintain that one day is equal to all days through resemblance, because the very longest space of time possesses no element which cannot be found in a single day, – namely, light and darkness, – and even to eternity day makes these alternations more numerous, not different when it is shorter and different again when it is longer. Hence, every day ought to be regulated as if it closed the series, as if it rounded out and completed our existence.

Pacuvius, who by long occupancy made Syria his own, used to hold a regular burial sacrifice in his own honour, with wine and the usual funeral feasting, and then would have himself carried from the dining-room to his chamber, while eunuchs applauded and sang in Greek to a musical accompaniment: "He has lived his life, he has lived his life!" Thus Pacuvius had himself carried out to burial every day. Let us, however, do from a good motive what he used to do from a debased motive; let us go to our sleep with joy and gladness; let us say: “I have lived; the course which Fortune set for me/Is finished. And if God is pleased to add another day, we should welcome it with glad hearts. That man is happiest, and is secure in his own possession of himself, who can await the morrow without apprehension. When a man has said: "I have lived!", every morning he arises he receives a bonus.”

“But now I ought to close my letter. "What?" you say; "shall it come to me without any little offering? "Be not afraid; it brings something, – nay, more than something, a great deal. For what is more noble than the following saying of which I make this letter the bearer: "It is wrong to live under constraint; but no man is constrained to live under constraint." Of course not. On all sides lie many short and simple paths to freedom; and let us thank God that no man can be kept in life. We may spurn the very constraints that hold us.  "Epicurus," you reply, "uttered these words; what are you doing with another's property?" Any truth, I maintain, is my own property. And I shall continue to heap quotations from Epicurus upon you, so that all persons who swear by the words of another, and put a value upon the speaker and not upon the thing spoken, may understand that the best ideas are common property. Farewell.”

— Seneca

Excerpt From "Letters from a Stoic" by Seneca. This material may be protected by copyright.

[arabdoll]

Strong mind suffer without complaining while weak minds complain without suffering.

[luminisimago]

Dai Pensieri a se stesso, Marco Aurelio.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Tim Bissell discovers Marcus Aurelius: “Death had never been an easy hill for me. I looked upon it with unease and climbed it (and we’re all climbing it, every day, without pause) with unalloyed dread. Thoughts of death—my own, certainly, but everyone else’s too—often gave me night terrors so intense that I had to get out of bed and walk around the house, touching things to ground myself. I eventually learned a calming trick, devised for me by the one and only therapist I’ve ever consulted. Unfortunately the trick stopped working after a while, at which point I decided to let the terror happen when it happened. To try to live in it. Lying there, terrified, I’d whisper to myself, Just be brave.”

[Time Is a Violent Stream :: by Tom Bissell :: On losing a father and finding Stoicism ::  Harpers Magazine]  

[alchemisoul]

It's certainly less observed but at least equally true of the character of someone who whether by dumb luck, inheritance, or the fruits of their own labor become hyper successful professionally, or acquires high levels of economic status.

Think of someone you know and marinate on who they might become if they ascended to a "fuck you money" level of income tax bracket.

How might they behave when they are no longer forced to choose their battles and were not bound to the diplomatic necessities of those who must preserve their reputation and livelihood, and answer to employers and authorities while lacking access to top tier legal representation and connections?

Who are you, who do you become, when you're on the summit looking down?

That's who you are now.

Who you truly are is who you would be if you could afford to get away with it.

[thepursuitofunderstanding]

Pleasures, when they go beyond a certain limit, are but punishments.

Marcus Aurelius 

[teachanarchy]

When is anger justified? A philosophical inquiry - Delaney Thull