What, then, is wrong with you? I tell you, it is this, that you have neglected and corrupted that part of you, whatever it may be, with which we feel desire or aversion, and the impulse to act or not to act. Neglected in what way? By letting it remian ignorant of the true nature of the good, to which it was born, and of the nature of evil, and of what it has as its own and what is not its own.
~ Epictetus
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To thrive amid unprecedented amounts of novelty, we must shift from being mere seekers of the new to being connoisseurs of it.
~ Winifred Gallagher
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Like an ape, you imitate whatever you see, and one thing after another is sure to please you, but no longer to please you as soon as it becomes familiar. For you have never entered upon anything with due consideration, nor after examining the whole matter carefully and systematically, but always approach things in a random and poorly motivated manner.
~ Epictetus
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When you think that one of your ideas is a billion dollar one, remember the S-logo. Your idea is probably not as unique as you think it is. After a game-chasing [sic] insight strikes you, focus on how well you can execute upon that idea instead.
~ Chris Bailey from, Your ideas aren’t that unique – Chris Bailey
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I agree and I will go farther: An idea alone is worthless. It becomes increasingly valuable only if one thinks through the second-order, (and third and so on,) effects. Only when one thinks about how the idea connects to everything else one knows. Only when the idea has been connected to, and tested against, reality.
A good idea has some real, objective—others see the effect too and their observations agree—effect in the world. That part is trivially easy; “I think moving this chair is a good idea!” and then move the chair. But to be a good idea, it must also create value which can be traded, (in the most general sense,) with others. Moving the chair out of someone’s way is a good idea. Moving it to make them trip is not.
I can easily become trapped in my own thoughts. So many ideas! So many possibilities! But instead of ruminating in a whirlwind of worthless ideas, if I pick one, think it through, and then stand up to go make it happen— Magic. Efficacy for the win.
ɕ
You know, Phaedrus, that is the strange thing about writing, which makes it truly correspond to painting. The painter’s products stand before us as though they were alive. But if you question them, they maintain a majestic silence. It is the same with written words. They seem to talk to you as though they were intelligent, but if you ask them anything about what they say from a desire to be instructed they go on telling just the same thing forever.
~ Socrates
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I’m away at a parkour event this weekend, lots of walking and playing and jumping. One session was a discussion of fear, and of consequences. And one particular question for discussion was, “When do you stop?” People raised lots of ideas—good ideas, wise ideas… lots of things I was in agreement about.
But I was also thinking, “Wait. Why do I have to decide that?”
I know I’ve certainly faced decisions about stopping. Work, play, relationships, sports, parkour practices (ask me about the time I climbed across a train station outside of Paris,) … yes, deciding if, when and why to stop is an obvious question.
If I think about two paths—perhaps diverging in the woods, if you like that imagery—an hour’s hike along the path of one choice, I might decide I’m going the wrong way. There’s one of those when-to-stop decisions. But the mistake was an hour before, where the paths diverged.
This business venture: what if I had truly been committed, and had planned clearly the way we’d know when to stop? The question is gone. This relationship: could it be planned, or could two people be so honest, that the question doesn’t appear? This parkour jump, at the end of an exhausting day of training: why am I standing here, right now? If I’d planned better, could I have gotten all the same benefit, but a few minutes before right-now, I’d have moved to something else?
Might it be possible to still have challenge, commitment, growth, love, spontaneity, and humor… without ever having to decide, “should I stop this now?”
ɕ
When you have considered all these things with care, then, if you think fit, approach philosophy, and be willing to give up all of this in exchange for serenity, freedom and an undisturbed mind. Otherwise, do not come near; do not, like children, be at one time a philosopher, later a tax-collector, then a rhetorititian, and then one of Caesar’s procurators. These things are not compatible. You must be one man, either good or bad. You must cultivate either your own ruling faculty or externals, and apply yourself either to things within or those outside; that is, you must assume either the attitude of a philosopher or that of a layman.
~ Epictetus
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It can be hard to say no. It means refusing someone, and often it means denying yourself instant gratification. The rewards of doing this are uncertain and less tangible. I call decisions like this “first-order negative, second-order positive.” Most people don’t take the time to think through the second-order effects of their choices. If they did, they’d realize that freedom comes from the ability to say no.
~ Shane Parrish from, Break the Chain: Stop Being a Slave
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I think the “slavery” [to things, to money, to “more”] metaphor is inappropriate, but philosophers from Epictetus and earlier have been using it, so it’s entrenched. “Freedom” is mentioned in the pull-quote, and the metaphor also appears in the article. None the less, it connects a few different ideas together and gives good guidance if you’re new to the ideas. (Or if you could use a wee refresher.)
For me, the last vestiges of the yearning—as Wu Hsin put it—is the yearning for experiences. I am quite often restless. I often joke: “I do not idle well.” In my series on parkour-travel I even mentioned the idea of, when spare time exists, move towards the next scheduled-thing, and kill time there. I believe this yearning springs from my bias to action. As a counter-practice, I like to pause—often seemingly randomly—to remind myself: If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.
That phrase can get tossed around lightly, but there’s deep wisdom in it. Once I understand that this is in fact nice, right now, then when I realize that I wasn’t—just then, in the moment—feeling how nice it is… then the second part of the phrase has power: I don’t know what is. Put another way:
If I know what is nice, then this is.
ɕ
Tell me and I’ll forget;
~ Chinese proverb
Show me and I may remember;
Involve me and I’ll understand.
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