Book 4, Letter 4 Part 2 of 5 To Xenophon, on love and war

I don't feel like I need to comment here about the status of women as possessions in the ancient world. I think that it is well enough understood, that anything I might add to the topic will be redundant, so this letter is not going to be a comparative history discussion.

I want to talk about the nature of love and beauty and so I will begin here...

"So you think, Cyrus, that the beauty of any human creature can compel a man to do wrong against his will? Surely if that were the nature of beauty, all men would feel its force alike. [10] See how fire burns all men equally; it is the nature of it so to do; but these flowers of beauty, one man loves them, and another loves them not, nor does every man love the same.

The common expression, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which Araspas seems to be putting forth is a good place to begin. He suggests that if it were a force of nature, then it would affect all in a like fashion, but does not one man feel hunger while another is satisfied? Does one not feel cold while the other is warm? Natural forces are not felt alike by all creatures, and so while beauty is perhaps not as universal as rain, or cold, it is a force of nature. It seems acceptable to suggest that nature selects for beneficial adaptations, and that beauty, though experienced subjectively, is an adaptation of nature that serves the reproduction of the species. But that is not the only need that it serves. The beauty of nature makes me feel at peace, and there is nothing quite like the scattering of autumn leaves that puts me in a frame of mind to write poetry. Beauty moves the heart and the body and the mind, it inspires and motivates. Beauty can be ferocious as well, and we can stand in fearful awe of the beauty of another person. Beauty when seen can make us feel ugly by comparison, can make us feel hungry to explore, to navigate the unknown paths of a forest when the shadows and light are just so as to make inaudible music from drifting pollen in the sunlight.

I think that beauty is a universal force of nature, felt differently by all, but a force nonetheless.

But that is not the end of the discussion...

For love is voluntary, and each man loves what he chooses to love... ...each man loves to himself alone, and according as he chooses, just as he chooses his cloak or his sandals.

"Then," said Cyrus, "if love be voluntary, why cannot a man cease to love when he wishes? I have seen men in love," said he, "who have wept for very agony, who were the very slaves of those they loved, though before the fever took them they thought slavery the worst of evils.

Love makes slaves of us all, and yet we think slavery to be the worst of evils. I think that I live in an age driven by passions, and the value of one's felt experience is considered to be a moral pursuit, one that serves the highest functions of human destiny. To deny one's feelings is to deny human nature, the consequences of which are a mixture of stomach ulcers, mental illness and cancer. The link between the emotional body and the physical body is well understood: stress is the biggest killer, so the common wisdom goes.

But it is this notion that a man may choose what he loves that really makes me itch to talk this through. Of course there are the 'pray away the gay' religious groups who heartily believe that a person can deny the urges of their body and make themselves love what does not come to them naturally. They believe that love can be trained, and that some kinds of love are harmful, while others are natural. This is a notion I believe to be both fallacious and deeply harmful, but that isn't really what you're talking about are you Xenephon.

But the nobler type of man, the true gentleman, beautiful and brave, though he desire gold and splendid horses and lovely women, can still abstain from each and all alike, and lay no finger on them against the law of honour.

What you're talking about is greed, lust, an insatiable hunger that never knows satisfaction and will seek to feed it's starving heart regardless of law, honour, or even benefit. This I think is the place where a man can love ugliness, and come to love his own ugliness, his own pursuit of power justifying the harm caused along the way. This is the dark love, this is the slavery that does not free a man from the shackles of loneliness, as love should, but rather seeks only possession.

Perhaps I did need to talk about the state of women as possessions after all. However, I think it is plain that my topic covers much more than a man's love of women (or a woman's love of men, or whatever other combination of genders you care to name). This is about the love of possessions. Certainly in your day, Xenophon, humans were possessions all the time. The slave trade was not just a business, it was an every day part of everyone's life, there were no moral considerations to be made about a human being's status as a possession. That was the truth. Slaves were owned.

So, do we who love, and becomes slaves of love, become the possessions of that spirit?

Does LOVE own us?

Or is it true that a man can choose what he loves? Can he break his own heart, break the chains of his own desire, and love only what is virtuous? Love itself seems to have no patience for incarceration, and seeks only the liberty of its own free movement. Are we the slaves of freedom?

Actually, I wrote something recently that relates to this. It's part of a new story... 

https://zebulonstoryteller.bandcamp.com/album/the-creature-2020-home-studio-album

Can a slave ever love a master? I mean, I loved you, I lived for you...

You loved me, you wrote our names in the book love

on the bed of love

and in a better sort of heaven maybe we...

...angels of forgiveness and mercy that we were for each other, could have forgiven ourselves

There is something inside me, monstrous, something, irrational, untamable,

a part of me that can only live if it lives free, is only beautiful if it knows no boundaries, no borders, no fears, it is a wild horse, a proud lion, a two headed jackal

a story that only makes sense if it has no ending

*

There is a part of me that can only live, if it lives free, is only beautiful if it has no boundaries...

Is that part of me the Spirit of Love? Does that spirit live within me, sharing the body that I share with my children, my family, friends, my music, my writing, my art? Am I the slave of that spirit, or does it set me free to know happiness, balance, struggle and conflict? Is this a hint of what Araspas later describes as the theory of the twin soul, the two part contest within each person between virtue and vice?

I am a man, and these are the questions I ask you Xenophon.

I ask them as I read, and for your wisdom I am both grateful and humbled.

Book 4, Letter 4 Part 1 of 5 To Xenophon, on love and war

Dear Xenophon,

I have been re-reading Cyropaedia: the Education of Cyrus.

I've never needed to quote from such a long, complete section of anyone's work in order to discuss it, but your storyteller's nature strings one idea to another, and through the voices of your lively young characters, a powerful and peculiar philosophy is revealed.

So I will begin in Book V; in this part of your story, Cyrus has won a great battle, and is in the early stages of dividing up the booty, first of which is the women.

BOOK V

[C.1] Such were the deeds they did and such the words they spoke.

Then Cyrus bade them set a guard over the share chosen for Cyaxares, selecting those whom he knew were most attached to their lord, "And what you have given me," he added, "I accept with pleasure, but I hold it at the service of those among you who would enjoy it the most."

At that one of the Medes who was passionately fond of music said, "In truth, Cyrus, yesterday evening I listened to the singing-girls who are yours to-day, and if you could give me one of them, I would far rather be serving on this campaign than sitting at home."

And Cyrus said, "Most gladly I will give her; she is yours. And I believe I am more grateful to you for asking than you can be to me for giving; I am so thirsty to gratify you all."

So this suitor carried off his prize. [2] And then Cyrus called to his side Araspas the Mede, who had been his comrade in boyhood. It was he to whom Cyrus gave the Median cloak he was wearing when he went back to Persia from his grandfather's court. Now he summoned him, and asked him

to take care of the tent and the lady from Susa. [3] She was the wife of Abradatas, a Susian, and when the Assyrian army was captured it happened that her husband was away: his master had sent him on an embassy to Bactria to conclude an alliance there, for he was the friend and host of

the Bactrian king. And now Cyrus asked Araspas to guard the captive lady until her husband could take her back himself. [4] To that Araspas replied, "Have you seen the lady whom you bid me guard?"

"No, indeed," said Cyrus, "certainly I have not."

"But I have," rejoined the other, "I saw here when we chose her for you. When we came into the tent, we did not make her out at first, for she was seated on the ground with all her maidens round her, and she was clad in the same attire as her slaves, but when we looked at them all to discover the mistress, we soon saw that one outshone the others, although she was veiled and kept her eyes on the ground. [5] And when we bade her rise, all her women rose with her, and then we saw that she was marked out from them all by her height, and her noble bearing, and her grace, and the beauty that shone through her mean apparel. And, under her veil, we could see the big tear-drops trickling down her garments to her feet. [6] At that sight the eldest of us said, 'Take comfort, lady, we know that your husband was beautiful and brave, but we have chosen you a man to-day who is no whit inferior to him in face or form or mind or power; Cyrus, we believe, is more to be admired than any soul on earth, and you shall be his from this day forward.' But when the lady heard that, she rent the veil that covered her head and gave a pitiful cry, while her maidens lifted up their voice and wept with their mistress. [7] And thus we could see her face, and her neck, and her arms, and I tell you, Cyrus," he added, "I myself, and all who looked on her, felt that there never was, and never had been, in broad Asia a mortal woman half so fair as she. Nay, but you must see her for yourself."

[8] "Say, rather, I must not," answered Cyrus, "if she be such as you describe."

"And why not?" asked the young man.

"Because," said he, "if the mere report of her beauty could persuade me to go and gaze on her to-day, when I have not a moment to spare, I fear she would win me back again and perhaps I should neglect all I have to do, and sit and gaze at her for ever."

[9] At that the young man laughed outright and said:

"So you think, Cyrus, that the beauty of any human creature can compel a man to do wrong against his will? Surely if that were the nature of beauty, all men would feel its force alike. [10] See how fire burns all men equally; it is the nature of it so to do; but these flowers of beauty, one man loves them, and another loves them not, nor does every man love the same. For love is voluntary, and each man loves what he chooses to love. The brother is not enamoured of his own sister, nor the

father of his own daughter; some other man must be the lover. Reverence and law are strong enough to break the heart of passion. [11] But if a law were passed saying, 'Eat not, and thou shalt not starve; Drink not, and thou shalt not thirst; Let not cold bite thee in winter nor heat inflame thee in summer,' I say there is no law that could compel us to obey; for it is our nature to be swayed by these forces. But love is voluntary; each man loves to himself alone, and according as he chooses, just as he chooses his cloak or his sandals."

[12] "Then," said Cyrus, "if love be voluntary, why cannot a man cease to love when he wishes? I have seen men in love," said he, "who have wept for very agony, who were the very slaves of those they loved, though before the fever took them they thought slavery the worst of evils. I have seen them make gifts of what they ill could spare, I have seen them praying, yes, praying, to be rid of their passion, as though it were any other malady, and yet unable to shake it off; they were bound hand and foot by a chain of something stronger than iron. There they stood at the beck and call of their idols, and that without rhyme or reason; and yet, poor slaves, they make no attempt to run away, in spite of all they suffer; on the contrary, they mount guard over their tyrants, for fear these should escape."

[13] But the young man spoke in answer: "True," he said, "there are such men, but they are worthless scamps, and that is why, though they are always praying to die and be put out of their misery and though ten thousand avenues lie open by which to escape from life, they never

take one of them. These are the very men who are prepared to steal and purloin the goods of others, and yet you know yourself, when they do it, you are the first to say stealing is not done under compulsion, and you blame the thief and the robber; you do not pity him, you punish him.

[14] In the same way, beautiful creatures do not compel others to love them or pursue them when it is wrong, but these good-for-nothing scoundrels have no self-control, and then they lay the blame on love. But the nobler type of man, the true gentleman, beautiful and brave, though he desire gold and splendid horses and lovely women, can still abstain from each and all alike, and lay no finger on them against the law of honour. [15] Take my own case," he added, "I have seen this lady

myself, and passing fair I found her, and yet here I stand before you, and am still your trooper and can still perform my duty."

[16] "I do not deny it," said Cyrus; "probably you came away in time. Love takes a little while to seize and carry off his victim. A man may touch fire for a moment and not be burnt; a log will not kindle all at once; and yet for all that, I am not disposed to play with fire or look on beauty. You yourself, my friend, if you will follow my advice, will not let your own eyes linger there too long; burning fuel will only burn those who touch it, but beauty can fire the beholder from afar, until he

is all aflame with love."

[17] "Oh, fear me not, Cyrus," answered he; "if I looked till the end of time I could not be made to do what ill befits a man."

"A fair answer," said Cyrus. "Guard her then, as I bid you, and be careful of her. This lady may be of service to us all one day."

[18] With these words they parted. But afterwards, after the young man saw from day to day how marvellously fair the woman was, and how noble and gracious in herself, after he took care of her, and fancied that she was not insensible to what he did, after she set herself, through her attendants, to care for his wants and see that all things were ready for him when he came in, and that he should lack for nothing if ever he were sick, after all this, love entered his heart and took possession, and it

may be there was nothing surprising in his fate. So at least it was.

So, Xenophon, now I think I am ready to talk about your story,

though I hardly know where to start … … …

Book 4, Letter 3, Part 3 of 3 To Epictetus: on the big question

This week, I have been pondering how best to assist a young niece of mine who has begun asking the big questions, including the big one that seems to underlie all the others: What's the point? 

I'm not coming to you for answers on this, not straight away, but as usual, I find an answer for myself by simply opening your book.  There is a danger, I think, in searching for answers with an expectation that the answers can be given to you by a teacher.

Least of all in philosophy.

Chapter 15

What philosophy promises

When a man was consulting him (Epictetus) how he should persuade his brother to cease being angry with him, Epictetus replied: 

Philosophy does not propose to secure for a man any external thing. If it did philosophy would be allowing something which is not within its province. For as the carpenter's material is wood, and that of the statuary is copper, so the matter of the art of living is each man's life. 

"What then is my brother's?" 

That again belongs to his own art; but with respect to yours, it is one of the external things, like a piece of land, like health, like reputation. But Philosophy promises none of these.  "In every circumstance I will maintain," philosophy says, "the governing part conformable to nature." 

Whose governing part? 

"His in whom I am," she says.

"How then shall my brother cease to be angry with me?" 

Bring him to me and I will tell him. But I have nothing to say to you about his anger.

When the man, who was consulting him, said, "I seek to know this-
how, even if my brother is not reconciled to me, shall I maintain
myself in a state conformable to nature?" 

Nothing great, said Epictetus, is produced suddenly, since not even the grape or the fig is. If you say to me now that you want a fig, I will answer to you that it requires time: let it flower first, then put forth fruit, and then ripen. Is, then, the fruit of a fig-tree not perfected suddenly and in one hour, and would you possess the fruit of a man's mind in so short a time and so easily? 

Do not expect it, even if I tell you. 

Answers to the big questions do not come quickly.  They grow inside us one day at a time.  My niece will find her way, and I will drink coffee with her, and play music with her, and try to be her friend.  The road she must tread is her own.

With gratitude and respect.

Morgan.

PS.
There is a comic strip about you....

https://existentialcomics.com/philosopher/Epictetus

Book 4, Letter 3, Part 2 of 3 To Epictetus: How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the consequences.

A day passes of labour in the garden. My work is devoted to the creation and maintenance of beauty. It is a strange and wonderful job to have. Solitary for the most part, but today I took my ten year old son with me. We cut the lawns together we pulled weeds, we trimmed roses. We ate lunch in the tiny brick workers' cottage by the creek. Beyond the screen of hedges and trees, the farm is busy with workers, gathering in the hay, weeding among the pumpkin crop and planting new grape vines. The land is alive with rejuvenation.

Epictetus, now in the evening, while my children watch cartoons and eat ice-cream, I sit by lamp-light, writing, your book open upon my lap.

I read chapter 9: How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the consequences.

If the things are true which are said by the philosophers about the
kinship between God and man, what else remains for men to do then
what Socrates did? Never in reply to the question, to what country
you belong, say that you are an Athenian or a Corinthian, but that
you are a citizen of the world. For why do you say that you are an
Athenian, and why do you not say that you belong to the small nook
only into which your poor body was cast at birth? Is it not plain
that you call yourself an Athenian or Corinthian from the place which
has a greater authority and comprises not only that small nook itself
and all your family, but even the whole country from which the stock
of your progenitors is derived down to you? He then who has observed
with intelligence the administration of the world, and has learned
that the greatest and supreme and the most comprehensive community
is that which is composed of men and God, and that from God have descended
the seeds not only to my father and grandfather, but to all beings
which are generated on the earth and are produced, and particularly
to rational beings- for these only are by their nature formed to have
communion with God, being by means of reason conjoined with Him- why
should not such a man call himself a citizen of the world, why not
a son of God, and why should he be afraid of anything which happens
among men? Is kinship with Caesar or with any other of the powerful
in Rome sufficient to enable us to live in safety, and above contempt
and without any fear at all? and to have God for your maker and father
and guardian, shall not this release us from sorrows and fears?

Epictetus, I was raised Catholic, so now as an adult, I have very little patience for the 'One nation under God' idea. I have seen enough to understand that the world doesn't work that way, for even worshippers of the same God make war upon one another. Belief in God does not, or rather, has not, created a unity among men greater than that created by any other idea – be that political, religious, scientific, or philosophic.

Just as friendship with Caesar does not indemnify one against the trials of life, so too, does kinship with God not release us from sorrow or fear. For we who believe suffer the same as those who do not, we hunger, we fear, we experience loss and pain and all the slings and arrows of fortune.

For nothing can protect us from these things, and we should not expect to be protected.

But Morgan, I did not say that God can protect us from the world, you are leading us off into the weeds. I said that God can release us from sorrows and fears. Listen:

When you have been well filled to-day, you sit down
and lament about the morrow, how you shall get something to eat. Wretch,
if you have it, you will have it; if you have it not, you will depart
from life. The door is open. Why do you grieve? where does there remain
any room for tears? and where is there occasion for flattery? why
shall one man envy another? why should a man admire the rich or the
powerful, even if they be both very strong and of violent temper?
for what will they do to us? We shall not care for that which they
can do; and what we do care for, that they cannot do. How did Socrates
behave with respect to these matters? Why, in what other way than
a man ought to do who was convinced that he was a kinsman of the gods?
"If you say to me now," said Socrates to his judges, "'We will acquit
you on the condition that you no longer discourse in the way in which
you have hitherto discoursed, nor trouble either our young or our
old men,' I shall answer, 'you make yourselves ridiculous by thinking
that, if one of our commanders has appointed me to a certain post,
it is my duty to keep and maintain it, and to resolve to die a thousand
times rather than desert it; but if God has put us in any place and
way of life, we ought to desert it.'" Socrates speaks like a man who
is really a kinsman of the gods. But we think about ourselves as if
we were only stomachs, and intestines, and shameful parts; we fear,
we desire; we flatter those who are able to help us in these matters,
and we fear them also.

Oh, so it is the part of myself that IS GOD, that is free from the suffering caused by fear. Fear takes its root in the body, and to dwell upon the sufferings of the body is to dwell as a slave to those needs. But, to dwell upon the holiest part of ourselves, to stay focussed upon the duties we each feel we are honour bound to keep, that may deliver us. For we may feel pain, but savour it, for the price of our great work must of necessity, never come at an easy price. All great work is hard work.

Perhaps Morgan, you should read more of my book before we talk again. It is difficult to discuss my ideas in isolation from one another. The maxims of a philosophy are no substitute for real, deep study. You must read every day, and you must understand what you have read, and you must keep reading, and absorb into your life the teachings of the great philosophers. Then, when you have lived with these ideas for a long time, you should come back and we can talk.