tang dynasty times

happy like god

 

Señor Borges' imaginary friend mentioned an article in the New York Times today, Happy Like God: The Pursuit of Happiness in Troubled Times. I immediately read the article as Borges' friend is someone I take very seriously-- especially when it comes to this topic of happiness. Actually, not all that long ago I received a short missive from my man in Vaud which exuded such a state of "happiness" (as I idealize it at least) that his words left me rather devasted. He knows this, but I actually put my head down and cried my eyes out. "Happy like God" is not a bad expression for every word in his message spoke of a life of conscious-- and conscientious--choices. Choices made to induce a state of balance, tranquility, and --yes-- contemplative calm. From the food he puts in his body to the way he chooses to spend his time (he recently quit facebook in order to spend more time reading in libraries).

 Borges' friend, I feel, is living the Good Life.

The article he pointed to in the NYTimes is written by Simon Critchley (of The Book of Dead Philosophers & Zizek-Critchley debate fame; the latter only if you have absolutely nothing else to do), and revolves around the following quote by Rousseau:

If there is a state where the soul can find a resting-place secure enough to establish itself and concentrate its entire being there, with no need to remember the past or reach into the future, where time is nothing to it, where the present runs on indefinitely but this duration goes unnoticed, with no sign of the passing of time, and no other feeling of deprivation or enjoyment, pleasure or pain, desire or fear than the simple feeling of existence, a feeling that fills our soul entirely, as long as this state lasts, we can call ourselves happy, not with a poor, incomplete and relative happiness such as we find in the pleasures of life, but with a sufficient, complete and perfect happiness which leaves no emptiness to be filled in the soul.

Critchley tells us that, Rousseau is "describing the experience of floating in a little rowing boat on the Lake of Bienne close to Neuchâtel in his native Switzerland."

Our man in Vaud then asks: Our lives are filled with endless distractions, but is the idea of happiness as an experience of contemplation really so ridiculous?

I think not. And yet, I question whether in fact "moments" like the one described above-- moments of joy at "the simple feeling of existence" if such moments would or could ever really be enough. Many of the Readers of these Pages will remember my post on Paradise. When I wrote that post I was under the assumption that, not just me, but that many people wile away their hours imagining paradise. But I was surprised, first by Bill, and then by many other people who wrote to me to tell me that, no, that they found hell far easier to imagine. I think, in fact, it was Bill who remarked that without the imperative of temporality, the pleasures of paradise would quite possibly lose their pleasurability. I wonder... 

For one thing I wonder if a lifetime of back-to-back moments such as the kind Rousseau experienced in his rowing boat would add up to true happiness.

Robert Harrison, too, in a work entirely devoted to this concept of the garden-as-paradise, again and again suggests that we humans are in fact rather devoted to our various human projects. In that way,  suppose I feel like our distractions-- cell phones, car alarms, commuter woes and the traffic in Bangalore-- are in fact a necessary part of the human condition. While we may seek retreat from these distractions into our gardens (real and imaginary), my instinct is that it is the quest for Ithaka that really calls us. Our human fate.

　

 I was just talking to my friend Caesar about this, in fact. He is a man who derives tremendous pleasure-- and indeed happiness (充実感→充实感）-- from his work. And, his happiness, I think, is very closely tied up with a feeling of flourishing. To thrive and to flourish as human happiness-- Csikszentmihalyi's work on flow is interesting. That human beings thrive when they are working on something, "fully immersed in what they are doing.. [and with] a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and success in the process of the activity."

Is this not a really Heideggerean・Confucian notion of happiness? Happiness not as state of mind but as human activity.  Rousseau in his boat expresses what to my mind is a glorious mood. A happy mood or a happy moment. But to point to this as human happiness demands-- or at least it presupposes-- a Cartesian encapsulated Self, that can be somehow be found or uncovered if one peels away all the distractions or obligations of our life. If you see the self as something intrinsically embedded in a world which is not of our choosing and more than I think we would therefore be "thrown" into this world to such an extent that our projects andour various obligations and roles awould be in some very real sense be conflatable to who we really are-- like Odysseus. I mean, would Odysseus have been Odysseus without Ithaka. For whatever it is worth, I think not-- and indeed, I think happiness for Odysseus was none other than the trials and tribulations he experienced on the way home.

I don't think this lessens such Rousseauesque moments in any way either. For indeed such moments are glorious. That such feelings of timelessless, or "being in the moment" which can come over us in a boat or in a garden are intensely pleasurable and have very uplifting affects on our souls, I think this cannot be denied. Still, I would not call this happiness.

But then again, I could be wrong.

Anyway, I loved that the Rousseau quote comes from what Critchley tells us is Rousseau's third (!!)autobiography, titled, “Reveries of a Solitary Walker.” Philosophers and long walks- is this not a perfect fit? See Conrad's splendid post on walking here, in which he says:

And so when I walk I cannot merely walk; I must walk as Conrad, I must find my own way to walk, my own reasons to walk. This will take time, but even now I have managed a few quirks and motifs: the eye out for datestones, the prosifying ear, and the determination to walk until it grows dark, until the lampadaires spring into light, and then no more.

Conrad, if you read this, I have to tell you your words have been on my mind. You see, I never have walked as Peony. I walk as Tokyo, walk as Hong Kong, walk as LA, walk as beach or riverside. To walk as Peony-- I gotta tell you it is an intriguing thought.

**

Paintings again by Le Thanh Son.

Borges' friend also links to this superb John Williams performance of Bach. I am going to put the music in my music links. But  leave you with this (couldn't even believe it was there on youtube)

Salamanca, in the Northern Capital, left an interesting comment yesterday on my hong kong post, part of which was a really intriguing question about the taxonomy of crowds-- of cities. This post above partly grew out of his question and I wonder if anyone has any other thoughts on crowds and the way we come alive vis-a-vis place.

All the Peonies of Chang'an

  

- For in books are abodes of gold

Re-reading Yasushi Inoue's novel, Tun-Huang, I once again delight in the fact that the author wrote the entire story without ever having set foot in Western China. At that time, of course, no Japanese or European scholars were allowed to travel to the area. And, yet, Tun-Huang remains to my mind the most vivid account of the silk road oasis city ever published.

It is a dream journey.

Inoue has long been one of my favorite Japanese writers-- and this particular novel remains my all-time favorite of his books. As the translator of his other great work of historical fiction-- The Roof Tile of Tempyo-- writes: "Although his works are considered as being historical novels in Japan, artistic historical narrative would be a better description." I think so too, and no where is this more evident than in Tun-Huang.

The story opens faraway from the legendary desert city of the title. Our hero, Chao Hsing-te, has arrived at the Song capital- the city of dreams-- to sit for the Palace Examination.

Yes, he is the son of a scholar. But not all those sitting for the exam were of his background as the imperial examination was open to all males in Chinese society regardless of their social class (with the notable exception of actors, slaves, policemen and the children of prostitutes). This open education system, while it can be traced back all the way to Tang times, really came into functionality during the Song dynasty. This happened right from the start, in fact, with the First Song Emperor Taizu and his systematic subordination of the military. And from that time onward, the scholar-officials saw their numbers and power at Court dramatically increase-- something which continued right down till the end of the imperial system in modern times.

You may say, "Well, I am not much impressed by meritocracies." Well, what was so revolutionary about all this was not just that the system was based on merit (though this was stunningly unique in and of itself as Europe wouldn't see anything similar until well into modern times), but rather that education and individual artistic cultivation came to be given the highest priority-- above political power, money or commerce. To be educated and artistically cultivated were characteristics that money could not buy. And this focus on education was something that came straight from the top!

To impress upon his subjects the importance of education, the narrator in the novel explains that the third Song Emperor Zhenzong personally composed the following poem:

No need to acquire rich lands to increase the family's wealth
For in books are a thousand measure of millet.
No need to build mansions in which to dwell in peace
For in books are abodes of gold
You who would realize your aspirations,
Use the light from your window and recite the Six Classics.

Tun-Huang opens up the day before our hero, Chao Hsing-te, is about to face this last exam. He had arrived at the capital from his hometown in Hunan province in the spring of 1026 and had done brilliantly. Out of 33,000 candidates, only 500 were chosen to go on to the final top exam in the three level system-- and Chao had been one of them. His future looked very bright and he had every reason to be on top of the world.

During Song times, this final examination was supervised directly by the Emperor. Those few who passed became known as “presented scholars” (or jinshi). This degree was similar to having obtained a doctorate in today's parlance, but in effect was far more prestigious-- Not to mention far more difficult to oobtain. Indeed, in the long history of this examination system, there is many a story of a poor man’s son and his stunning rise to stardom after having obtained this degree, for the holders of the jinshi degree became the luminous elite of their day.

First feted at the Palace, those with the top scores-- the season’s cream of the crop-- were posted at Court, either to assist at the Hanlin Academy or to serve as advisors to the Emperor, with the rest of the candidates being scattered at different posts throughout the empire. Because education was given such an esteemed place in Chinese society, these scholars were held in tremendous awe. Rising to the top level of this rigorous examination system required literally half a lifetime, and the scholars who were able to graduate at the top were assured brillinat futures. In a land where literacy was a rarity to say the least, that these men could not only read and write, but could compose letters and poems of such impossible elegance and beauty as to be valued as works of fine art led them to be seen as viewed as larger than life by the general population-- much like the Hollywood movie stars of America today. Stars who also hold political power, that is.

Chao is aware of all of this and has very high hopes-- as well as high aspirations. On the day of the final exam-- the most important day of his life-- he waits outside the Examination Hall along with several dozen other final candidates. It was a warm, early fall day and as he waits for his name to be called, the unthinkable happens. He falls asleep. Dreaming that he is giving his final oral examination in the presence of the Emperor, he is given the question of arguing on Ho Liang's Frontier Security Proposal for dealing with the barbarians along China's western border. 

The Hsi-hsia (or Xixia 西夏) were a Tibetan people who formed a large military threat along China's western edges. As this was the corridor that ran along the silk road into Central Asia, it was very strategically important that China contain control over their frontier garrisons there. The Xixia were becoming more and more of a threat as they raided Chinese-occupied towns and forts in the disputed gray areas, and China was becoming increasingly more concerned. Ho Liang's proposal had taken a hard line, and in his dream, Chao Hsing-te gave an impassioned-- and yet brilliant-- oral argument for why Ho Liang's approach remained the only logical strategy.

Unfortunately, rather then ending in accolades, Chao Hsing-te awoke to find himself laying face-down under the great huai tree in the courtyard of the examination hall. He had fallen aspeep and missed his examination altogether! His future was over before it had even begun. Rejected, he leaves the courtyard, thinking of a famous poem by Meng Chiao:

Elated by the spring breeze
My horse quickens its pace
In but one short day
Do I view all the peonies of Chang'an

Meng Chiao (or Meng Jiao of Pink Floyd fame) had composed the poem in celebration of finally passing the Palace Examination at the age of 50. With that passing result, all in the blink of an eye had changed for Meng. For Chao Hsing-te, everything had changed as well.

The narrator of the story remarks that, "For Hsing-te there would be no peonies." For, indeed, all his high aspirations "had been reduced to the ashes of a dream."

But then something amazing happens. Walking home in a daze, Chao finds himself in the marketplace outside the city walls. The alleys are lined with shops selling hot noodles and dumplings and the smell of oil makes him realize he is hungry. At that moment he catches sight of a woman who is being sold in the marketplace. The man who is selling her announces that he plans to sell her piecemeal-- and to add impact to his words proceeds to cut off two of her fingers. Chao is amazed that the beautiful woman does not cry out in any way. Without thinking, he shouts that he will buy her, and handing over the money walks away, saying, "you are free." We now made to understand that our hero is perhaps not the complete fool we may have thought he was slumbering away in the Emperor's courtyard!

Rushing after him, she hands him a piece of paper and says, "This is all I have, take it." Looking at the writing on the paper, he realized that it is not a language he has ever seen before so he demands to know what it says. She explains that, since she cannot read she doesn't know for sure but she thinks it may state her name and place of birth. With that, she turns and disappears in the teeming crowd of the dark marketplace.

**

This is how it always is, is it not? One's fate. There is no rythmn nor reason. Like with all human passion, everything happens in the blink of an eye; these moments which change our lives. 

**

Gone completely out of his mind is the exam-- something which had up till that moment been the very purpose of his life. Now, only one thought occupies him-- that piece of paper. Desiring to know more, he takes it to the Minister of Rites and begs to be told what language it is. The Minister is stumped. The characters are, he says, "worthless imitations of our Chinese characters." And, he then mutters asking Chao how he came to possess the scrap of paper, that he astounded that barbarians actually had their own script. Not much was known of the Xixia people and their language, but Chao resolves to find out everything there is to know, and henceforth immediately sets out for the border of the empire.

Tun-huang is the story of one man's fate. It is also the story of the great Buddhist kingdom of Dunhuang (Tun-huang). Indeed, some have said that the real hero of the book is the city itself.Tun-huang presents one imagined version (Yasushi Inoue's) of how it came to pass that the vast hoard of legendary documents came to be hidden in the library cave at Dunhuang. Hidden for over a thousand years, these documents continue to fascinate-- indeed they caused the creation of a new field of study, called Dunhuangology. In fact, it may never be known under what circumstances the documents were hidden away in the library and this is almost as fascinating perhaps as the documents themselves.

Perhaps more than anything, however, this story -- like all Inoue's novels-- is one that attempts to portray the pathos caused over the realization that oftentimes our lives have no real impact.

Or so it can seem at the time.

Just like the Japanese monk Gogyo, in The Roof Tile of Tempyo, who spends his entire life translating all the great sutras of China into Japanese only to see the countless volumes of his life's work wash overboard during a storm at sea as he journeys back to Japan, Chao too lives to realize that the great task he has set himself-- his life's work-- amounted to "nothing but an eddy in the broad flow of time." Yet, while this was how Chao's fate seemed at the time, indeed, the seeming failures of our individual lives can in time come to have enormous impact on history. And, inconsequential or not, Chao-- like Gogyo--- never waivered as one door closed and another opened. To perservere even in the face of the knowledge that nothing will come of it. "An eddy in the broad flow of time"-- this will always hold greater interest to me than a Hollywood underdog story. I wonder why that is?

**

I am trying to get a hold of the DVD(video?) of the 1988 movie, called The Silk Road, which was based on the novel and which I heard was one of the first Sino-Japanese films ever made.  

between mountains and the sea (山海间)

A great Emperor, he spent the remainder of his days in a cold Manchurian prison-- not far from present-day Harbin. Many of you will recall his last poem; a poem which continues to haunt me.

  

 Swallow Mountain Pavilion
 I tell of the sorrow of partings upon partings
 To a pair of swallows
 Who refuse to understand

 The heavens are so faraway; the earth so faraway
 Separated by countless rivers and countless mountains
 Oh, where is that old Palace?

 How can I ever forget that old Palace?
 Sometimes I visit in dreams
 And yet all alone
Sometimes I am even unable to dream

There between mountains and the sea, my man is unable to even dream. And, on many a dreamless afternoon, he and I would engage in silent conversations, like those famous conversations that had occurred between Marco Polo and the Great Khan hundreds of years later. 

Sitting by an open window, the frigid, northern wind would blow in us, and I would imagine asking him questions that he would imagine answering. Wiling away our cold days together, we engaged in unending imaginary conversations in this way.  

Sometimes we would talk of empire.

If we could go back in time and dream up a more perfect political philosophy, what would our empire have been like? What kind of state would create the greatest happiness for the largest number of people.That this should be our aim, we both silently agreed. He had by this time given up his predilection for daoist philosophy. While it sounds good, it was a potential disaster in terms of politics. Confucianism seemed a more sound and promising philosophy, he said, on which to found an empire. And so, we proceededed from there.

It remains my opinion that he was a man who could think outside the box. Often going against the prevailing tide, he found himself often behind one after another cause célèbre. Perhaps it could be said that he agreed with me that it was the second generation of rights that should be given priority. Water, food, health care, education, safety-- and safety nets-- for the entire population, some might call our empire paternalistic. Maybe. Anyway, it was always fun to discuss the details.

In one particularly frigid Manchurian morning, I brought up the topic of Epicurean philosophy as something promising for our empire. Extemporized an argument I thought would persuade him I mentioned that:

In fact, hedonism comes from a root meaning honey-- that pleasures are sweet...... To say that life should be full of pleasure-- as the ancient hedonists said-- is NOT the same thing as claiming that our every desire and hunger should be satisfied (as the modern Americans do, right?) 

Epicurus had his Garden school, around the time of Aristotle's Lyceum and Plato's Academy... and while Plato and Arristotle sought to found a moral system on political virtues, Epicurus sought to found a moral system on social virtues-- not unlike Confucius, perhaps?
 
Epicurus focused on friendship and brotherhood rather than family-- but the focus was on increasing overall happiness and pleasure through the *limiting* and *refining* of one's own desires with the great social virtues being consideration for others and suavitas. It is this last virtue that I have been particularly drawn to with regard to our own project.

Don't you agree that our empire should be a place where people enjoy delicious wines and cheeses; where people engage in thinking; where philosophers have a part in ruling? 
 

**

I had such high hopes for my argument-- but in fact he only ended up all the more recalitrant. 

Who provides the material foundations for philosophers? Isn't it 10000 farmers for every intellectual, as Mao put it? Shouldn't we be perturbed with injustice and seek the improve the world politically? And responsibilities to needy members of the family seem to have dropped out of the picture, as we discussed earlier? It's fine to be epicurians on the weekends, so to speak, but that's about all our Empire would tolerate.

 As always he is correct. For I too think that the ultimate aim of rulership ought to be the provision of what to my mind are the true inalieable rights of all citizens: health, safety and education. However, with Mao in mind, in the same way that Rome had its Stoics and Epicureans, so too did the China of my man's times have its Confucians as well as its scholars and literati 文人. Without the cultivation of certain so-called elite social virtues in at least some part of the population, I wonder if a descent into Maoist anti-intellectualism or American philistinism is not inevitable? It's like what the Northern Song Minister said about our friend Mi Fu:

“Mi Fu is the kind of person we must have one of, but cannot afford to have two of!”

Whether it be Stoicism or Confucianism, I wonder if too much focus on duty and virtue as obligation would not be just as disasterous a project as too much focus on pleasure. Everything interesting in life is always in the details and cultural or aesthetic cultivation is perhaps the only thing that can really ensure the generating of certain types of ethical sensibilities (not to mention the preservation and continuation of cultural legacy) will be represented in any population. In that way, I do believe strongly that-- yes, even if it's just on the weekends-- that Republicanism demands the personal literati-style aesthetic cultivation of its citizens (friends, Romans and countrymen). For it will always be the artists, philosophers and poets, as Harrison says, who will be the people to unmask "society's self-serving fictions... and false idols."

 

知者樂水 仁者樂山 知者動 仁者靜 知者樂 仁者壽
The wise delight in water while the virtuous delight in the mountains.
A wise person is active and enjoys change while a virtue person seeks serenity and enjoys long life (accepting this as they come)

In an enlightened empire, both the wise and the virtuous are necessary. (All the Japanese glosses on this passage that I looked at do not position virtue above wisdom but rather stress that both types of people serve a necessary function in the world).

Imagining myself telling him all this, I close my eyes and imagine him nodding his head in agreement.

**

For more on Epicurean virtues: In Epicurus' Garden.

On my ipod: Entitled Opinions: Virgil (Archives: Oct. 25, 2005) From Republicanism to Empire-- I highly recommend this particular program, though I stand by my opinion that Aeneas is a terrible wet blanket. Yes, Aeneas certainly did cry-- as a later great poet once described:

And the sea became a sea of tears.
But, as one knows, precisely at the moment
of despair, the auspicious wind begins to blow.

And the great man left Carthage.

However, remaining the Stoic par excellance, so intent was Pious Aeneas to carry out his duty, that his actions were in the end over-thought, hard-boiled and not sensitive to the situation. Which is to say he could have done with a bit more Epicurean cultivation-- especially when it came to letting Dido down more easily!

Between Mountains and the Sea, I leave you with the Dido & Aeneas water ballet again here and below the Akhmatova poem, is the Chunqiu (Spring & Autumn) video, Between the Mountains and the Sea:

 

11

I abandoned your shores, Empress,
against my will.
-- Aeneid, Book 6

Don't be afraid -- I can still portray
What we resemble now.
You are a ghost -- or a man passing through,
And for some reason I cherish your shade.

For awhile you were my Aeneas --
It was then I escaped by fire.
We know how to keep quiet about one another.
And you forgot my cursed house.

You forgot those hands stretched out to you
In horror and torment, through flame,
And the report of blasted dreams.

You don't know for what you were forgiven ...
Rome was created, flocks of flotillas sail on the sea,
And adulation sings the praises of victory.

--Anna Akhmatova1962
Komarovo

 

 

in epicurus' garden (with caesar)

 

A great friend of this blog, I used to call him Epicurus. Not that I knew all that much about the ancient philosopher; only knowing that Epicurean philosophy was dear to his heart. And as he is dear to my heart, I suppose it was only natural that my friend's interest would become somehow my own. With "my Epicurus" in mind, I have been utterly delighted to read about the ancient philosopher and his Garden School of Philosophy in Robert Harrison's Gardens: An Essay on the Human Condition. 

Many of You may have grown quite tired of my complaining about people who seem to be unable to do anything else but report the news. I like to call it the "what I did last weekend" syndrome. There is a whole lot of reporting, complaining and opinions being stated (but rarely argued)... But what about some old-fashioned storytelling? Sometimes I even begin to doubt whether real conversation even any longer exists....

This is what, of course, first drew me to Caesar-- the way he lingered in delight to tell me about a love affair. Robert Harrison's book too does this: lingering in great delight to tell a story. It meanders in rare sensuality and in great triumph too. And reading it is like being rained on by flowers. 

**

A garden. To achieve this place of aesthetic pleasure and moral cultivation-- Harrison suggest that perhaps more than anything, it is "structure" that is the necessary ingredient. For no matter how natural the garden may aim to be, without some "form" it would never truly become a garden, would it? There must be "katachi" (form, design)-- and this is as true of tea ceremony, theater, dance, the arts, as it is with love, friendship, anything significant that we wish to cultivate in fact requires some kind of form, don't you agree?

So, then, what was the underlying structure of the garden of Epicurean philosophy? Well, rather than virtue or knowledge, Epicurean philosophy posited that the aim of our lives should be happiness or joy. But what is happiness? Epicurus insisted that human happiness is achieved through the attainment of a state of ataraxia (Ἀταραξία): serentity or an absence of anxiety→　安心. This is, a state which-- unlike Buddhist Enlightenment-- is a path with no arrival. And, therefore, it requires, in the words of one French scholar,

“an effort lasting every minute of one’s life"

Gernet, in in these words above, had been referring to the Confucian project and explained that,

"by control of the smallest details of conduct, by observation of the rules of life in society (i), by respect for others and for oneself and by the sense of reciprocity (shu)”

I wonder if something similar couldn't be said of Epicurean philosophy-- that the aim of achieving happiness, or ataraxia, required an effort which would last a lifetime; and demanded the cutivation of certain social virtues which included both the measure or limiting of one's own desires with a profound respect and consideration of others.

Like Confucianism, Epicurean philosophy is very this-worldly. And there was also a strong emphasis on Friendship. Epicurus famously stating that it is better to have someone to eat with than to have something to eat; as if to say that we are nothing without friendship. Friendship.

This below is Robert Harrison telling us about Boccaccio's basic Epicurean morality; Yes, human life is rife with pain and misfortune, and as we strive toward increasing joy as much as we can, we do this not just for ourselves, but rather strive to increase overall joy in the world by bringing both pleasure and support to those around us. This is, says Harrison, the minimal moral imperative according to Boccaccio:

To be human means to vulnerable to misfortune and disaster. It means periodically to find oneself in need of help, comfort, distraction, or edification.Our condition is for the most part an affair of the everyday, not of the heroic, and our minimal ethical responsibility to our neighbor, according to Boccaccio's humanism, consists not in showing him or her the way redemption but in helping him or her get through the day. This help may take modest forms, not the least of which is rendering the sphere of social interactions more pleasurable through wit, decorum, storytelling, fellowship, conversation, courtesy, and socialibility. To add to the pleasure of life: that is the arche, or first principle of Boccacio's humanism, which is not the triumphalist humanism of later eras (which saw humankind as the glory of all creation) but the civil humanism of neighborly love. 

**



 

I have lately been thinking of Cleopatra and her carpet.

Remember when the Egyptian Queen first met the love of her life, Caesar? She was snuck in to his palace hidden in a rolled up carpet?  It is funny that that image of a woman being unfurled from a carpet before an emperor is somehow cross-cultural (ancient Rome, or concubines in Qing dynasty China, etc).

You can see two different Hollywood versions of the scene here and can judge for yourselves. But, I think everything we need to know about their love affair can be glimpsed in that first moment when Caesar pauses and really looks at her. Of course, I say this with the idea that I have been thinking so much about lately of Really Looking at what is right in front of you as the essential factor in virtue.

Tumbling out of the carpet, she landed at his feet and at that precise moment Caesar paused to really looked and listen to the Queen of Egypt. An Epicurean through and through, Caesar would remind her again and again and again that no matter what happened in Egypt-- even in the midst of great confusion or suffering-- one must still strive to find pleasure in daily life. Easier said than done, she thought. But Caesar was a delightful conversationist and had a fairly amusing sense of humor as well. All attributes of Roman suavitas-- and true friendship. To delight in the moment, but not just that-- to be like Caesar, she realized the trick is to enjoy the moment in a refined and measured manner based on the gratitude of all the blessings that one has received in the past; for Epicurean philosophy demands patience for the present, hope for the future based wholly on our ability to feel gratitude for the past: 

The life of the fool is marked by ingratitude and apprehension; the drift of his thought exclusively toward the future-- Epicurus

 

With Epicurus' words echoing in my head (and Caesar's teasing bringing a smile to my face), I realize that for many years now, this has been nothing if not my very own life: the life of the fool. 

 

**

The Villa of Papyri.

It contained one of the great Epicurean libraries of antiquity. Originally owned by Caesar's father-in-law, the villa was centered around an inner atrium. Full of art, books and cultivated vegetables and flower gardens, it was known as the finest villa in the resort town of Herculanean. With its library and spectacular view of the sea, I think it it is safe to say that it must have been a gathering place for the great thinkers and artists of the time. Of course, the life of the villa would end tragically with the volcanic eruption of Vesuvius in 79 a.d.

Fast forward to the 1970s when JP Getty decided to make public his fabulous art collection in 1974, he would do so in a building modeled on the ancient Villa of Papyri. And so, a replica of a roman villa sits atop one of the most beautiful hills in Malibu. Containing one of the finest art collections in America, it harkens back to the days of Rome-- to a villa that itself was full of its own longings for antiquity--looking back toward the glories of ancient Greek. In our future-focused worldview, we often forget that for much of human history, people posited the golden age, not in the promises of the future but as having already existed-- in the past (復古). Therefore, religious thinkers and philosphers looked back into antiquity in search of exemplery models that could be useful to the problems of present-day people. Full of tomes of classical knowledge, the villa received its name for the famed papyrus scrolls kept in its library. The Villa of the Papyrus scrolls.

A few years ago, Robert Harris used the villa in his book Pompeii. Indeed, most of the action of the novel takes place right there in the Villa Papyri. By that time, it had changed hands and belonged to a Roman aristocrat who used it for his holiday retreat. In the final scene of the novel, Harris describes Pliny the Elder, a friend and frequent visitor of the villa, who deciding that the smoke and rumbling of Vesuvius was a sign that the volcano was about to blow, tries to save the library in vain. As the bellowing becomes increasingly deafening, he tries to organize a bold rescue attempt by boat. But as he makes his way toward the villa, the volcano explodes and all is lost.