Sort out your thoughts

Be structured and clear when you speak, and keep a well-measured pace, both for the benefit of your listeners and your own: you might run into the danger of talking faster than you can think.

Whoever listens to you wants to be able to follow and to understand. It's your responsibility to take care that they can. And they deserve it that you put some effort into it, if they are taking time and give their attention to what you have to tell. (That is especially so since good listeners have become rare and people are increasingly unable to concentrate and focus; if you are so lucky to have someone who is listening to you, you should well appreciate it.)

Sorting out your ideas is not just a matter of what you believe, or what you would say to yourself. It's not a matter of merely internally structuring your reasoning. It also depends on who it is you talk to. (So the same thing may have to be put differently to different audiences, and differently at different occasions.) Considering your audience nearly always improves your speaking: think about what they may know, what they may think, how they might respond. And it doesn't have to stop with the order of your thoughts, and the vocabulary. Sometimes you will have to be inventive conceptually, coin notions, devise images and metaphors. This way, the audience's listening reflects back on, and so enriches, your thought — this means that the more acute your awareness, and the more intense your responses to your listeners, the broader and deeper will be what you can gain for yourself.

Apart from the benefit that both you and your audience have when you sort out your thoughts, there is a deeper effect. Structured, meaningful conversation is valuable to us, and becomes more so with every instance in which we take part. There is something like a level of quality that a conversation can have, even though it is difficult to measure. The more excellent interactions you engage in (and the more excellent you make them by taking care to express yourself well and in an adequate way that connects with your partner in the interchange), the higher becomes the overall quality of discourse. Especially when philosophy comes into play, this should be a concern close to your heart. The way you discuss philosophical questions, and particularly ethical ones that relate to how one should live, should display a dedication to excellence, a striving for investing our lives with actions and feelings that have been solidified and refined by constant and honest reflection. Take care.

Build on past insight (but make up your own mind)

Over the centuries, there have been entire traditions of philosophy, dedicated to excellence in thinking through things, searching for genuine insight in complicated matters, striving to accommodate results from empirical observation and to eliminate logical and conceptual mistakes. (Also, most of the natural and social sciences which are distinct subjects today have started historically as branches of philosophy.) To study their approaches and compare them with each other is rewarding in itself, even though it takes some time and discipline. It also gives you an idea of where to locate yourself and your views in the space of possible philosophical positions.

In philosophical traditions, such as Stoicism, thinkers have built on each other's work and advanced a coherent system of ideas, suggesting and scrutinizing solutions for problems and inconsistencies on the way. Sometimes elegant and comprehensive theories have evolved from this; sometimes internal tensions between fundamental assumptions have driven permanent re-combination and re-arrangement of elements into new wholes. You'll notice similar patterns in your own reflections. You may also find that you develop an affinity for a particular tradition or school of thought. (Be wary of affinities that were already there before you even started studying them, however. It's doubtful that these have originated from your own considered thought; more probably, they were suggested to you by others' opinion.) Or perhaps you're rather eclectic, picking up ideas from various sources; you can increase the richness of your background that way, of course, but there is also a higher risk of inconsistencies and gaps in it.

In any case, you should decide yourself what to think, however much it will be based on insight learned from others (or books). And it matters for what reasons you accept a view. Beware, for instance, of taking them on mere authority. Even the masters of the field have erred; more frequently, their view may be based on premises you wouldn't agree with; and generally, only an insight which you have reached yourself by thinking through a matter (guided by someone else or not) is a genuine and potentially stable insight: you don't really know what you merely believe because it is someone else's doctrine. A fruitful relationship to a philosophical view won't take the shape of blindly following the lead of a guru — it's rather one of critical examination. It's also a two-sided one: a philosophical position, even one out of a book by a long dead author, benefits from your efforts in trying to understand it, from your interpreting and discussing it with others. Just taking over views on faith does nothing for making them better understood. It merely adds a disciple; but excellence is not measured by counting devotees — it's a much clearer sign if critical minds have systematically reflected on a view and found good reasons to agree. Take care.

Philosophy as good advice

Philosophy has always been an art of conversation. Much of what we know about the thoughts of philosophers in the past we can only read in their books, but rarely have they lived purely reclusive lives, without any contact to others. At the very least they were engaged in a silent discourse with their predecessors; most had teachers, students and like-minded friends whose works they followed, and with whom they have discussed their own ideas; many had lively exchanges with the broader public. Philosophy in general, and reflection on ethical questions in particular, benefits greatly from honest and intense dialogue with those who share our estimation for it.

Especially in important matters, like how one should live, your ways of sharing your insights should reflect the insights themselves. If you think that you have gained by reflecting, then do respect the capacity for reflection in others: accept that they can, and will, think and decide for themselves. You may suggest and advise, but the choices are theirs.

There is more value in advising someone than in missionizing them — it simply shows more respect for the reason and intelligence of who you talk to. It still leaves it their decision what to think, and how to feel. (If, on the other hand, you try to decide for someone else, you attempt to take choices away from them. In a sense, you act to restrain, not to empower them.) And respecting their decision is not just more honest and helpful towards them: if you think about it, it is also more valuable for you. Partly that is because a considerate and respectful attitude towards others is in itself an honorable quality; partly it is because an inability to respect diverging views in others, even if you have good reason to believe them false, might indicate a questionable element in your own personality.

What does it mean if you find yourself hesitant to accept that someone thinks and feels differently than you do? Do you find a delight in getting others converted over to your own position? Do you see this as a game, or contest? Or is there a fear behind it, are you perhaps afraid that their differing views may influence you? An uncertainty may be at work here that you have about your own views, and possibly you should scrutinize them. You may have to correct them; perhaps add some qualifications, make them more nuanced; or you might confirm them, providing them with a firmer basis — in any case, you'll gain from the exercise, and you are better off having done it than you would have been if you'd just ignored your doubts.

If you find yourself compelled to press someone on a subject where you've given advice that hasn't stuck with them: ask yourself why it should be so important to you to change their mind. Take care.

Being surprised at yourself

Sometimes I find myself being surprised at my own actions. It's not a good sign: after all, shouldn't I know myself well enough to be clear about what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it? And yet I frequently realize, immediately after saying something, or making a gesture towards somebody, that I've been acting from impulse, and certainly not an impulse that is in tune with my considered opinion. I look back and have to ask myself what's come over me just a second ago; it's revealing that more often than not, I even hesitate to honestly identify precisely what affect was behind my behavior (they're foolish enough to be ashamed of).

What's so bad about this is not only that it is irritating, experiencing yourself as acting differently than you think you'd act. It's also somewhat shameful: after all, these are still your actions, with all the responsibility that comes from them — you're not excused from the consequences of what you're doing just by saying: "Oh, I didn't mean to do that, it was just an impulse!" An impulse it may have been, but it was your impulse; you have to own up to what flows from it just the same.

And even more importantly: each time you are commanded by an affect you're not making the best out of your possibilities: you're letting weaknesses, bad habits, and external circumstances dictate where it should rather be yourself who is in charge. So you'd better train your reflexes to be in accord with your values and goals; your impulses should be shaped by what is the right thing to do in the situation; you should be motivated from what reflection tells you is the way to go. Take care.

Character and fortune

Things happen. Some of them are initiated and controlled by ourselves, but others just happen. There may be pure chance involved, or the will and influence of someone else; we may be able to see it coming, or it may take us by surprise entirely; possibly we tried to counteract — and failed. The complexity of the world around us (in particular the many other people we deal with all the time) makes our lives unpredictable to some degree. No matter whether we believe that everything is chaotic, a random mess, subject to blind forces constantly colliding and bursting away from each other, or whether we think that there is a strict, deterministic formula by which all of this is unfolding, a would-be spectacle for those in possession of the means to understand the formula, but inscrutable and overwhelmingly perplexing for us: we have no way to be in control of the many things that just happen.

There is one thing, however, which is within the range our powers, and always so: your character doesn't have to be a plaything of the accidents in your life. True, much of it has been molded by events in previous years, key experiences may have formed it much without asking your permission. And what's happened can't be made undone. But at no point you'll be obliged to accept a character thus shaped by influences outside your informed decisions. You can change your character; and there are ways to improve it even against deeply ingrained faults and weaknesses. The future doesn't have to be the same as the past. Fortune has no jurisdiction where your reasoned, conscious will takes charge. Take care.

Welcome reality checks

Do you remember those situations when you were in a dark room and had to grope your way through it, only vaguely sensing where you are, perhaps not even really knowing the right way? And have you noticed how weird it feels when you suddenly realize that you are much closer to the wall than you have assumed for some time? The sudden reality check has an irritating quality, and perhaps that's why we have a slight dislike for it, although it actually is helpful in getting us closer to our goal.

Perhaps you were surprised (I certainly was), when you started reflecting systematically, how quickly and how frequently we can get out of touch with the actual facts in the world. It can happen in many ways: we can fall for foolish hopes and opinions; what we take in about our situation can be colored by false emotions (such as anger and fear); and the ever going autopilot drives us along a path that may have been right once, but isn't so anymore (hasn't been for a while). And here, too, there are reality checks. You can avoid some of them, but not many, and not for a long time.

Why should it be so important to keep connected to reality in what we do, think or feel? Couldn't it be, quite to the contrary, that a few little deceptions would rather help and encourage us, leave us feeling happier, making it easier in general to decide how to act and what to believe? True, we'd go wrong from time to time, but that may be little price to pay for a generally more pervasive (albeit misguided) positive feeling.

Possibly; but it's not principally the balance of pleasure over pain that makes a life good. A life should have a coherent structure, a goal and direction, one or more threads that run through it and hold it all together. There are always more important things to consider than just how you feel at some given moment. And running out of sync with reality puts that life story at a severe risk, not least because it damages your character. Also, accepting delusion in yourself (because it makes it easier for you) would imply that it may be right, under some circumstances, to delude others as well, in order to make it easier for them, to spare them the little nasty tickle of confrontation with reality. And both when you're doing that to yourself and when you're doing it to others, the distancing from reality has a self-reinforcing effect — one lie breeds other lies, one foolish hope leads to another, and giving false emotions free reign only makes them stronger and increases our proclivities to get entangled in them. So we should welcome, even seek out reality checks in what we are doing: a life out of touch with reality is not worth living. Take care.

Attitude

What we're striving for is not something that can be given (or taken away). It's something that you can only take — it's a form of attitude. It is up to you, and you alone, to adopt and keep it. And while there may be no easy way to form your character into one that can do it, while you should expect that only constant work and effort will hold it up even once you've achieved it, something heartening is in that insight, too: just put your mind to it, become determined to get there, and you have made the first step already. It's a substantial step. If you got there, you've taken that attitude for the first time. And you can make it all the way. Take care.

Reflect systematically

Systematic reflection and study of philosophy, the views of the masters of the field, will help you to improve the way you're leading your life. But it's not primarily rules and recipes you are looking looking for. Good philosophy, and reflection, won't give you a prescription directly for how to act or feel in a given situation, although they certainly shape your ability to figure out such things. More importantly, and more fundamentally, they'll give you a background of insights — an extensive, coherent, reliable web of views and attitudes, attuning you to appropriate feelings, guiding you towards effective actions and coherent beliefs.

How does one get there? Skimming philosophical (and other insightful) writings for outstanding quotes that stir some feeling of depth is not a good strategy. Even if insights sometimes are crystallized in a slogan, be wary of those. Good thought can't rest in aphorisms alone (however well-known the name of the author next to it may be). It gets its strength out of careful, systematic coverage of the whole subject, a set of methodically connected elements, put together consistently and elegantly.

Sometimes philosophers sum up insights in pointed and memorable formulations. These can of course only really be understood after working through the arguments and explanations that precede them — they are summaries helpful mainly for keeping the main points in mind when the discussion moves on. So they are just a kind of shortcut, a summary that needs unpacking. Those who have worked through the topic that is summarized so know how to unpack them; but without investing that effort, your understanding remains incomplete and shallow. (That doesn't apply only to this particular sort of knowledge: being able to recite a physicist's formula and actually using it to predict the movements of a physical body are two very different sorts of thing.) What's worse: you're also deceived about your own progress. Being able to quote some catchy one-liners is not yet the same as having the insights expressed in them, even if the one-liners seem plausible to you.

If you're serious about reflection, and philosophy, they way to go is via systematic study. The rewards are plenty, but it takes effort and determination. It also takes courage: you will quickly find that even a long tradition of clever people hasn't so far exhausted all the paths of thinking through things. What those aphorisms mentioned earlier, in their overt well-roundedness and terseness, hide from view is that there still are many questions, more than there are answers, and that your own reflective insight is at least as helpful and important as that which has already been found and written down centuries ago. Take care.

Living longer

Desires are always desires for something — normally something you currently don't have (or don't have enough of, in your view). What you desire is also something that you value, that you think is good for you, that is worth having. You can desire something even when you know you can't get it; but you never desire something you do not really want. A case in point is the desire for a longer life. It is very common, but that doesn't make it sensible, of course. And that, in turn, throws a dubious light on the supposed value of living longer.

The trouble is: when you are in a situation where you desire a longer life, it is typically very late already. You're looking back on a stretch of your life time that you now think should have been different; you'd now like to rewind to its beginning, and relive it. If you were satisfied with your life so far, you wouldn't want to have any time from it back for living through it again, and differently.

You might want to object to this: it does seem conceivable for someone to look back fully satisfied onto their past life, not wanting to change a single day of it, feeling that it was the best life they could possibly have had — and simply want it to go on, fulfilling as it has been so far. What could be even better than being able to look back on a fulfilled life, if not looking at a future that will be equally fulfilling for quite some further time (instead of being over sometime soon)?

Imagine someone who has dedicated his life to experiencing as many pleasures as possible, an adventurer in life style, a lover of good meals, pleasant places, exciting company, a hunter of the most exquisite tastes, a collector of beauty, a connoisseur of the joys of life. Would not someone who has arranged his entire life around this goal, and successfully, wouldn't someone like that plausibly just wish to be able to experience it for some more time? Wouldn't the most plausible desire in that situation be to be able to continue with it?

I don't think so. In part, that is because pleasures aren't infinite — they can't be prolonged indefinitely without loss of intensity and attraction. (This applies both to single episodes of pleasant experience and series' of tasting the same kind of pleasure again and again.) Part of what makes pleasures appealing, especially those of the sensual type, that is, the pleasures of food, drink or sex, is the charm of the new, the allure of the unknown, the surprise factor. But once you've had them, and had them twice, thrice, and often, they quickly lose much of their attractiveness and become stale, gray and heavily in need of replacement, or some supplement of new stimulants.

Increasing the intensity may help for a while, but the potential of this move is equally constrained. At the latest, when biological limits come into play even the most pleasant feeling can tip over and transform into pain or disgust at what has been sweet and agreeable just before. (It's not by accident that the heroes of the aesthetic life are inevitably pictured as ending in ennui and disgust with their surroundings after pursuing it too long, and too exclusively. And that is not to mention the physical exhaustion and damaged health that tend to come with it as well.)

Partly, then, the life of pleasure is not of the sort that one will likely wish to go on with — quite the contrary. Since it arises out of neediness and the longing for ever more and higher intensity, it is virtually guaranteed to end in deep dissatisfaction. The painful craving for the new and the stronger will increase up to the point where it can't be stilled any more. (And neither, at that time, can there be any viable path back to a modest level.) More generally, something very similar goes for lives that center around the striving for money, fame or power.

Partly, also, someone who has aimed all his life for things which depend as heavily on good fortune and a favorable environment as pleasure, wealth or celebrity would have to admit to himself that he must have been lucky to the extreme if he can say that he was even mostly successful with it. We all know only too well how unreliable the circumstances of our lives normally are, and it's really unlikely that, in the real world, anybody can enjoy the best of luck for most of his time. If someone actually did look back on a long, lucky life with not even a distraction by the accidents that usually happen, the least thing on his mind would be the expectation that this extraordinary exemption could be prolonged for another extended period, tempting fate just further.

If it isn't for the prolongation of a misdirected life built on the pursuit of external things, what motives could one have for desiring to live longer, to get some more time? Except for the short phases in our lives when we actually know how long we still have (such as in cases of terminal illness, or more generally when we get to the point where we feel that our last moment has arrived), it seems not even a coherent idea. Consider: "I don't know how long I still have; maybe decades, maybe just a couple of years, or I might even die tomorrow in a car crash — but however long it is, I wish I had six months more." That doesn't make any sense.

People may have such a desire at the end of an unsuccessful life. Looking back, it may seem to them that they still have unfinished business, that they haven't reached their goals, that there are mistakes to be corrected, bad deeds to be rectified. But how realistic is that? If what has gone wrong was due to external circumstances, then once more: Why do you suppose a few additional months or years wouldn't just give you more of the same? Chances are mostly against you. You behave like a compulsive gambler, standing at the roulette table, after having lost everything, and just trying to extract some loan from a friend. "I just need a few more tries, I'm so close..." (evidently, you aren't). On the other hand, if the failures in your past were of your own making, if you have made the wrong choices, taken bad decisions, indulged your weaknesses too much and too often, then again: you had so many chances already to become better in leading a life. Why didn't you? You knew from the beginning there wouldn't be a second take, you knew there was only one life, you knew it had to end some day. If you hadn't ignored all that studiously as long as you could, your standing would be much better now. Your chance was then; but now it is gone.

From all this it seems that the desire for a longer life, widespread though it may be, invariably emerges from a misguided approach to leading one's life. The question remains, then, if and how those who do it right, and do it well, will be free of that desire. I think it must be so. Living a good life is not something that scales with its length: it won't become better just by taking longer; nor is there anything to fear about its end, whenever it comes. Take care.

What's in a wish

The world is full of well-meant wishes. We receive them from our parents and children, our lovers and friends, from our colleagues and from distant relatives. What they wish is normally something they deem good for us (although they may sometimes not expect us to also see the goodness in question — sometimes people know better, or think they know better, than ourselves what is good for us). And there are wishes of the opposite kind: those for something bad to happen to us. You can tell your enemies from what ills they hope your future will have in store for you. (Strictly speaking, there is a third sort of wishes: the kind that isn't really advantageous for you, but rather for the person who does the wishing. But even though they have the formal structure of wishing something, these are really a form of manipulation rather than genuine wishes. Let's not consider them here.)

If the content of a wish, that which is wished to someone, is either a good or a bad thing in the view of the wisher, then those wishes show us much about what people think is good for us, or bad. They do not tell us, however, what really is good or bad for us. How could they? They're just a mirror of people's opinions. (And the most common cause for those are yet other opinions; even in cases where at the end of such a transmission through many heads there was a genuine insight once, that's most likely been watered down, distorted, and connected with many wrong ideas on the path on which it was passed on.)

So what should we make of those commonly wished things: a long life, a successful career, beauty and fame, influence and power, status and wealth? If they are what people's wish implies, then they must be good for us. And likewise: death and disease, failure and poverty — are they then as bad for us as our enemies's ill wishes would mean?

All these wishes are for something uncertain and unstable, their fulfillment depending on accident, on people's whims and prejudices — but rarely on yourself. What's worse, they turn out to lead onto the wrong track often enough. Have you never met one of those unfortunate enough to have sacrificed everything for their career, only to realize how much their loved ones mattered to them when it was too late? Have you never seen the bitter remorse of someone who destroyed his integrity for the all-overriding goal of being at the pinnacle — of getting the top job, making the front page, beating them all and be champion? Whatever it was, it's highly probable that it was once the content of some benevolent wishes; repeated often enough, it came to look like a real good, something worth achieving, something precious, more valuable than anything else. That was what it seemed to be. (And it's not just the sirens of friendly wishes; we're just as prone to take the furies of enemy wishes to mean too much to us. The path away from fearful things can become as treacherous as the path towards questionable goods.)

Curiously enough, it's rarely that people include such things as a good character, successful relationships, and insight in the nature of things with their good wishes. If nothing else makes us suspicious, this should. (Suspicious of the goodness of what's in their wishes, of course; not suspicious of your friends. They certainly do not intend to harm you; but we can honor their intention to wish something that is good even when we understand that, contrary to what they think, it isn't.)

As so often, you better trust in your own judgment, your considered thought, when trying to figure out what in fact is good and what is bad. Don't take received opinion for granted, even when it flows from the good intentions of your loved ones. Take care.

Dying

Sometimes, when we want to help someone to find into a reflective mode, we ask questions such as: "If you knew you had only three weeks more to live, what would you do?". Of course, this is not about what people actually plan for their last days in life (who would have that sort of a plan?) — it's rather intended to encourage them to reflect on what is really important to them. The assumption is that, with only a few weeks more to go, they will get clear about their real priorities, and no longer spend any of that precious time on anything but that which matters most to them. (And thinking a step further, having found an answer to that question, they might realize that the same applies to the last year, or the last decade of their life, and in the end, they should treat the entire rest of their time that they still have left in the same way: figure out their real priorities and pursue them, and nothing else.)

Thinking about our own death has this power to forcefully remind us that we only have a limited stretch of time, and so it can help us concentrating our minds on finding the best possible way of living. There are many stories of people for whom a close encounter with death has changed, and focused, their lives: an accident they barely survived, a dangerous illness that left them hovering in uncertainty whether they would die from it for a time, the untimely death of a close friend or relative. These episodes make a deep fact about us more vivid than theoretical considerations could. They blast away the illusion that we often build (supported by many social habits that ensure that we don't reflect much on these things): that we are safe, at least for now; that we still have time, much time; that we may ignore the awful fact about ourselves — that our turn will come, and possibly sooner rather than later. Even the events in these stories, however, leave different paths open to people. Some of them revert soon to the old illusion; some, the more admirable of them, don't, and apply the lesson they have learned to the remainder of their life.

But then, there comes a moment when all the additional paths are shut down, one by one — there is a final stretch of time in all our lives when death is imminent, and inevitable. For some, it arrives quickly and as a surprise, in the middle of some activity; for others, it approaches quite predictably with old age, and usually with many frailties of the body. In any case, for everyone, there is a phase of dying in our lives.

Although people sometimes reflect on the possibility of their death, few seem to think about dying. (If they do, that's usually dominated by fears; and even those fears are probably less concerned with dying itself but rather with the pain that may be involved.) A bad sign is it when people even at that time suppress all thought of death. Trying to continue life as usual, anxiously avoiding all occasions for thinking about one's last moments, displaying studied outward lack of concern — in fact they surrender to an illusion. And how could living under an illusion be a good thing, in fact, how could choosing to live under an illusion be a wise choice? If in all the other phases of your life the best attitude is one of constant reflection, of actively shaping the developments in your world, then must this not also apply to this particular stage? Deceiving yourself about what remains in store for you would be the opposite of everything you might have achieved in your efforts to live a good life; now of all times you abandon your will to be in charge, and leave yourself over to cheap self-deception?

Being able to think and talk about death in this last period of one's life is a sign of strength of character, and courage. It's certainly not easy; living well is particularly hard during that phase. It is probably no exaggeration to say that this needs life-long preparation: part of this preparation is the continuous effort to reflect, and navigate your life as optimally as possible (under whichever circumstances you encounter); another part is getting clear about the nature of death, and its meaning for us as beings whose time is limited. Only so you can build the ability to endure those final moments calmly and serenely. The way you're dying will tell a lot about the way you have lived your life. Take care.

Don't waste your good advice

Giving advice can be a good thing. I say that it can be, but not that it always is, because it actually isn't in all instances a good thing. There must be a genuine interest in the other person, a clear intention of helping them to achieve their goals; for your advice to be good it is required that you have taken some time to listen to them, have made an effort to understand them, have ascertained that you really have something to say, that indeed you have the competence to help. Otherwise, how could you be sure that what looks like well-meant mentoring isn't rather an attempt to use the other person for promoting your own purposes, or that you aren't just talking because you like to hear your own words?

Even from this brief reflection on what makes giving advice to others a good thing it is plain that this is an activity, something we engage in: we exercise our own personality in doing so. (As compared to handing out something, some 'wisdom stuff', as if it had been lying around in the attic until somebody came and collected it; advice is no ready-made stuff at all, it's constituted only by your active involvement.) Consider this parallel: when I give a book as a present, I do so only when I have read the book myself (and found it worthwhile), and more importantly, when I have satisfied myself that this particular book would be of interest and value to the person whom I'm giving it — after all, trusting my choice, they will spend a considerable amount of time reading it, and perhaps invest some thought or emotion in it. So I'd better not be thoughtless about what I choose: just giving them something that I've glanced at quickly at the bookstore and liked the cover is out of the question. And my choices tell something about me as well: they express my views about the receiver, and what I think may be valuable and interesting for them. (We inevitably expose a little bit of our own self at these occasions, which requires some trust, don't you think? Think about what that tells you about people whose presents show no thoughtfulness at all, presents they might have given to anyone, and quite possibly have done so, time and again.)

Even when it doesn't cost you a lot, you should carefully consider whom, and how often, you do give advice. By this I don't mean one should engage in horsetrading: it's not that you should give your advice only if you get something in return. And in general I don't think we should be selective: whether you help others should not depend on who they are; advice should not be misused as an instrument to promote some and disadvantage others. If you use your help selectively like that, then you do merely treat it as an instrument. (And as I have explained, the way you dispense advice reflects on your own character: not too well, in this case.) So I'm not saying you should give good advice only to your friends and family, but not to strangers, on account of it being a scarce resource. (Because it isn't.)

But there is a point at which you may suspend, even abandon your giving advice — and that's when you realize that you are talking to deaf ears. Advising someone is an interaction, it degenerates when there is no response; and so degenerates your ability to engage in it; that ability needs the constant feedback from the recipients. If there is no response, and you still continue over and over again to try to help, this will in the end blunt your skill in giving good advice.

The response I mean is not necessarily that they follow your recommendations. They may think it over and decide not to — and that's fine. It is not necessary that the person you counsel always does what you advise them to do, always thinks what you suggest they should think. So whether they follow your advice is up to them; it's their responsibility, and it's their decision. There's a difference between advising and missionizing. And there are good reasons to put some trust in their reason as well as in your own. Another matter, though, is whether they listen to, and appreciate your recommendations. If that's not happening, you better stop giving them. Take care.

Losing control

What about those people who claim that they "like to lose control" (or, in a variant, "enjoy being at the edge of losing control")? Sometimes one can be carried away by an emotion (like anger), an activity (e.g. involving sex, or dangerous situations), or a physiological stimulant (such as drink or drugs). How can something like this be valued, or even seem to be of value? What could be attractive in these episodes where one is being swept out of control?

What feels pleasant about this experience, I think, is a certain sense of relief, or escape — from the task of deciding what to think and how to act, from the responsibility of bringing your activities in harmony with your goals, in short: from your own self. What makes it even more attractive is that you are nonetheless acutely aware of what happens; as compared to sleeping, for example, you are still consciously experiencing what is going on, how it feels, even how it may affect others near you. But you are not strictly yourself anymore: although in a sense you are still responsible for what you do, the whole point of not being in control is that things take care of themselves (for better or worse), that it is no longer you who is in charge even of your own behavior, let alone developments in general.

But what sort of a participant makes that you? Not one who can be trusted, being pushed around by something else as you are; not one who is in touch with reality, since you have temporarily subscribed to the illusion of exemption from responsibility for your beliefs, feelings and actions; not one who can claim credit for anything beneficial that might emerge from the events. The only thing you get out of the whole affair is a transitory psychological state of questionable significance.

Of course, whole world views have been formulated that assign a rather deep importance to it: the experience of losing control to stronger forces puts your own being in perspective, it demonstrates to you how small and powerless you actually are, how meaningless all your striving really is within that vast, cold and inhospitable universe into which we all are thrown. And of course, if you are one of those rare people who can endure that glimpse of insight in the real proportions of your own significance, that is a distinction rather than a sign of weakness. Or so the theory goes.

But what is this if not an attempt to invoke high-flown language to exculpate an indulgence: it's always easier to lose yourself than change yourself; it's easier to escape for a while to where you don't have to face the fact that it's your actions that have made you what you are; it's easier to believe that the sensations you are fed make your life well-lived than to define and achieve your goals yourself. A fondness for the experience of losing control is a weakness of character.

Losing control is not the same as taking risks. Risks can be known and calculated in advance, and there doesn't have to be anything uncontrolled in a high-risk activity. Of course, to the extent an activity is risky, it is not in one's control — that is the very meaning of a risk. But when properly managed, the possible losses and dangers resulting from the risk are taken into account and accepted, normally because they are offset by the benefits that might be gained from the situation. Deliberately taking risks is precisely not a case of losing control — if anything, it is a more controlled way of dealing with things than simply not factoring in any risk in one's expectations. Some people may tend to take higher risks than others, but if they choose to do so because of greater opportunities, that's a specific way of exercising choice, and on that level, they are actually very much in control.

True enough, it is not always possible to be fully in control — we all know it isn't; in some cases it can be unreasonable, even downright self-destructive, to obsessively cling to the desire to keep in charge — sometimes we simply can't. We all have to learn to cope with these situations (and with our retrospective realizing what has happened, our experiencing us as acting in away against, or despite, ourselves). But there is a difference between accepting them and embracing them, between being able to endure them and actively seeking and enjoying them.

Enjoying to lose control, then, is a character fault. On the other side of the spectrum, being afraid of losing control seems to be faulty as well. This is not, of course, because losing control is after all not such a bad thing. Rather, it is because fearing something that should be up to you anyway is unwise. If it is up to you to keep in control, then you should do so — what would be the point of being afraid then? If you have reason to expect you won't be in control in some future situation, then you should think about how to avoid this, if at all possible, or else you must accept it. There seems to be no point at which fearing the future situation looks as if it may contribute anything useful. Take care.

Stability and value

The really valuable things in our lives, such as friendship, love, and integrity of character, cannot be bought. And while that may be a platitude, it's worth reflecting on why it should be so. That they cannot be bought means that you can't get them in exchange for something else, like money, favorable behavior to someone, or pleasure; there cannot be such a deal, because the latter things are not equivalent, they're not nearly as valuable. And why are they? Perhaps because they can expire, or be taken away from you; they will get stale, and at any time, they are at some risk. (They can also expose you to risk, by awakening envy and hatred in others who lust after them.) And look at it the other way round: you wouldn't sell anything that has true value for something like money or fame. (Would you give away the lives or the happiness of your children for wealth or celebrity?)

Some things you can only achieve yourself. That's why they are so valuable: once you have achieved them, you know exactly what you have in them, they don't depend on anything, or anyone, but yourself. And again, these cannot be compared to (or exchanged with) other, external goods, precisely because they don't have that kind of value: they're transient, unreliable, and at risk.

You can delegate tasks that are expected of you; you can hire people who can do things you can't (sing at your parties, sort out your tax paperwork, find you a nice apartment, ...); you can buy many pleasures. But you can't delegate forming your character; you can't hire someone to make sense of your life for you (or perhaps you can, but then how would you know it is really for your own good, and not his?); you can't buy the joy that comes only from acting well — and knowing, feeling that you do so. Take care.

Be straightforward with yourself (and in good time)

Yes, I have suggested more than once that you carefully reflect — take your whole life into view, from the beginning to the end, think about what sort of person you want to be, and how this would have to show in the way you are living. Is it all how it should be? Are you doing what you can to improve it? It doesn't matter what you tell me, of course. You have to satisfy yourself that you are doing well. Are you doing well?

Remember, it won't do to try and fool yourself — all that will just lose you time, precious time. When your final moment comes, you won't believe it anymore, even if you do now. You will simply see through your own devices of deception (nobody else knows how to do that as well as you do). And it'll be too late then to change. Take care.

Gaining control

On one of my bookshelves, I have a bust of Socrates. From time to time I walk by that shelf and my eyes fall on the sculpture. Whenever this happens, I take a moment and reflect on what I'm doing right then. What would Socrates have to say about it? Would I do the same thing, and do
it in the same way, if he were standing beside me, watching me?

Sometimes this brief meditation makes me rethink my plans. At other times, I simply go on without any alteration. But on the whole, I've changed: the habit helps me to step out of the flow of daily life, reflect more often on what I'm doing, thinking, feeling — and if necessary, adjust. It ascertains that the contents of my reflections are applied frequently and consistently.

In this function, it is not unlike a control technique as used in many areas of engineering. But there is more to it than that: it also shapes my relationship with myself, the way I interact with the tendencies and dispositions that shape my character (for the better and worse).

For example, I have experienced my 'inner voice' becoming more clearly audible: I'm better aware of my thoughts in a given situation. And much to my own surprise, what this inner voice has to say isn't always good, that is, it's really not well thought-out many, many times. It's
simply bad advice. But, astonishingly, more often than not, the better options are clearly recognizable. (Or to put it differently, I know better than my inner voice by far — but how can that be the case, seeing that it is my inner voice?) And sadly enough, I've still found myself following it's corrupt counsel again and again.

Since I'm more alert to this nearly inaudible whispering, since I've started forcing it out into the open, I have gained control, bringing my own considered thinking back to guide my feelings and actions. That's easier now: I can actually consider what it says, challenge it — and correct it, with all the determination and firmness that is required. You should know your inner voice, and shape it, if at all possible. Take care.

Death, pain and nausea

It can't be denied: when we think about life as a whole, we have to look some nasty truths in the face. (And despite the ugly grin we encounter, we shouldn't shrink from doing so.) Pain and suffering can befall us at any moment, and even without them, constraints and restrictions are placed on us wherever we go, whatever we do; the never-ending grind of everyday work and the numbing routine of our many duties can create a feeling of nausea; finally, there is the certainty that death will come (we don't even know when and how) and rob us of all the things we have vainly sought, all the fame and money, our reputation and good looks. (Death, in another instance, can also take away those who we love.)

When confronting the unfavorable elements of our lives, there is always a risk of doing too much, and a danger of doing too little. When future trouble looms, for instance: will you simply acknowledge the possibility, but then go on unimpressed? Or will you spend endless moments in fearful anticipation? There is no point, of course, in worrying about something that hasn't happened yet (provided that you do not have an effective means for preventing it from happening). But one thing is not to worry, another is having the strength not to repress all thought of it, not to try and convince yourself that this particular thing won't happen to you after all.

And again, does it seem a good idea to you simply to ignore the fact that you'll have to die, at some time? Do you believe it wise to keep up the illusion that you still have an infinite, or at least a very long time before you? Such an attitude will only provide you with excuses for postponing what you'd better start doing at once: getting your life on the best track that you can think of, with as much reflection as you can put into it, right now. Of course, don't paralyze yourself either; don't let the fact that your days are running out prevent you from making good use of them. (It's overdoing it by far to make it your every third thought.) However late in your life you've started the serious business of reflection, it's never too late to change yourself.

It's an equally important quality of character to endure life as it is. To accept reality takes courage, especially at times when reality is gray and monotonous. (There will be other times, when the seas of life are full of excitement and surprise — but how could it possibly be always like that?) It's also a responsibility. The world is not a show, and there is no program-maker, charged with entertaining you. It's not a mere spectacle for you to be consumed. It's a place where you have a part to play, a job to do, a helping hand to offer. If you don't make it worthwhile, nobody will do it for you; but once you've started, you will be surprised how much help you suddenly receive, and how often your efforts are appreciated.

Even at parties, if that analogy helps, the worst guests are of that bad-tempered variety who think they are entitled to being entertained, and see it as the host's fault if they don't enjoy themselves. They're not funny, they're not interesting, and they're no good party citizens. Consider carefully whether you really want to play the equivalent role for all the people in your life. If you are bored with reality, you ought to check your attitude; there's nothing wrong with the world, but quite possibly with your expectations. Take care.

Serious joy

Some pleasures leave a bad aftertaste. Or rather: almost every sort of pleasure can leave a bad aftertaste, often because you've had too much of it, or because you had it at the wrong time, in the wrong circumstances. So they are not unqualifiedly desirable all the time, are they? Strangely enough, although there seems to be some natural drive towards pleasant activities, there seems no equivalent tendency to stop at the right time, before the pleasure gets stale and flips into some sort of dégoût.

It feels good, however, in a deeper and more satisfactory way, when you're at ease with yourself, comfortable with what you're doing, when what you are doing is the right thing in the circumstances. It's not only that you are more successful in your undertakings. It means experiencing the world differently. And while this perhaps lacks the intensity and the thrill of the slightly uncontrollable that some pleasures could give you, it never becomes stale, and it doesn't have the unhealthy drive towards more and more.

Such steadiness and reliability is the mark of true value. A clear conscience, good intentions, well chosen actions, and a healthy disrespect for the fruits of chance and accident: you'll need these to actually plan and lead your own life, in contrast to those who are just letting themselves drift away in search of what is pleasant and nice. Reflect, and make it clear to yourself what you want to do with your live; and then go for it, and make sure you stay on course. You'll be rewarded with being at ease with yourself, your life and all the world, at any time ... and just feeling good with it.

This is a condition that goes deep (deeper than all the pleasures that there are). But even though it is a form of joy, you won't get it by throwing yourself where the fun is; you'll have to work for it. Take care.

Presence and vigilance

Are you actually present in your life? Or are you merely there, drifting, as it were, through it? Where are you, and what is your part, when important decisions that affect you are made? How often are you driving them, and how often are you being driven by someone or something else? And is it in your hands, and of your making, when things are taking place? Can you ascertain a timing that benefits you?

Living your own life, being in charge of it, requires your presence, and vigilance; take action only when you can do it appropriately and with optimal effect — but when the time has come, put your mind to it, and be decisive, quick and forceful.

What the right times and best courses of action are depends on many factors: you won't find a recipe for leading your life. There are no general rules prescribing for arbitrary circumstances what to think and do, there is no standard behavior that always fits, no attitude that's right no matter what happens. And just in case you were wondering: I'm not saying that there won't be a right thing to do, a correct view of what's going on, or an adequate way of feeling about it; there usually is — it's just that we have no simple and unfailing means to find out which it would be at a given time, in a given situation. Finding out requires judgment, good sense and a willingness to decide.

But just as the art of reflection is well worth studying and perfecting, so is the craft of putting the results of your reflections into effect. And possibly even more important than that: your actual responses must be consistent with what you've come to think from your reflections. Presence and vigilance must extend over your own actions, they're not just for what happens around you. Take care.

Quell ambition

There are worthier things to pursue than your career. Once you have started reflecting on the real priorities in your life, you will probably find that putting time and energy into your job excessively will hinder and harm your doing the things that really matter.

Ambition — the desire for higher career levels, for greater reputation and ever more power and influence — is insidious. It will never be satisfied; it is self-perpetuating; whenever you reach one of your career goals, that very success will breed more ambition. It's especially menacing because you're already deep into that spiral. You may have started reflecting on what's really important in your life, but your ambitions make it hard to follow through on the results of these thoughts. The voice of ambition within yourself constantly reminds you of existing demands, commitments you've made, goals you have already chosen (before you started reflecting on the bigger picture).

Ambition will never be satisfied. You must put a conscious stop on it. It's just as with all the other forms of desire: desires for sensual pleasures, material wealth, and celebrity. They're all insatiable, and become more and more so whenever you yield to them. Don't try to satisfy desires — correct them. If you suffer from unfulfilled ambitions — then better stop those ambitions; rein in expectations, your own and those of others. Replace them with a striving for something more worthwhile: turn all your efforts on reflection and philosophy; and bring any insights that you gain to bear on living well. You've only got that single life. Take care.

Sense of direction

There is something called an irritable mood: everything, even the smallest thing, irks you. It could be the grumpy behavior of your neighbor, a bill that turns out larger than you had hoped, unexpected rain, or simply something that somebody says. Whatever it is, when you're in that mood, it annoys you. But you know that there are other times when you greet all these things with a smile, and deal with them cheerfully. These are the times when you are happy, when everything is all right, when you are in harmony with yourself, the people around you, and the world on the whole. (If you don't like the 'harmony' metaphor, insert your own favorite one here.)

These conditions that we call moods have an equivalent when we look at our lives as a whole. What we're doing, day by day, belongs to a thousand different projects. Some of them are small (such as getting the car washed at the weekend), and some are bigger (finding a new job, for instance). And though we may succeed in many of them, we can't always win — so there are setbacks, and sometimes there's defeat. It doesn't really matter how often you win and how often you lose, however. In fact, have you noticed that some people seem to have everything, seem to be successful all the time, seem to win any fight they pick — and yet they're never really contented, sometimes get even angry when they can't get their way in some minor affair? What they don't have is this: a sense of direction in their life, something that gives their projects significance. Those who have managed to bring that sense of direction into their lives are in the equivalent of the happy mood I've talked about. It doesn't really matter to them if they cannot always win — but every time they do win they know and feel they have made a step forward in their life. As long as they can taste that, they're immune to the occasional knock back — they'll just stand up again.

You may have noticed that I didn't say that people 'find' a sense of direction. That's not by accident. A sense of direction in your life can't be found — it's not yet there, prepared for you by someone else. You have to build it for yourself. Take care.

Spotlight and circumstances

Don't invest effort in trying to manipulate other people's perception, or judgment, of your way of living. You had to do that when you went for a career, where others could influence how successful you would become. But this is exactly what you're getting away from now; make yourself independent of that. If your goal is to improve yourself and your decisions, beliefs, actions and feelings, then success depends on you alone, not on others, and therefore it's immaterial what they think about you.

What goes for the assessing eye of would-be superiors applies to more respectful recognition equally. If you've done something noticeable in your life, as most of us have in one way or another, then expectations may already weigh on you. Shed them. Don't invest energy in keeping up a prominence that would have been short-lived anyway (if history is any guide to such things).

We often get reflections about the whole of our lives going only when we are already in the middle of the action. We always start somewhere, and we're not responsible for where that is; but once started, we are in charge, and from there on it is our responsibility to get things right and steer the best course available, away from the more or less random starting point, towards the goals we have found, or are in the process of finding, when we reflect. Take care.

The winds of carnival

At certain times of the year, it's difficult not to be washed away by the exuberant festivities. Everybody is held captive by the flurry of activities; some rituals are so integral to people that you would be regarded as a social outsider in not recognizing them. Everybody does it, everybody enjoys it. What defective upbringing did you have that you don't?

These things ruthlessly demand our attention, time and energy; so if you have started reflecting philosophically on your life, meanwhile (and why else would you still be reading this?), then you're probably asking yourself what attitude to take towards them. Are these necessary elements of social life in which we have to engage? Or a nexus of pointless rituals and blatant excuses for yielding to bad habits, to drinking, bawling, wasting time? Should one try to be fully abstinent and thus exercise the greatest possible self-control; or should one take part demonstratively, but with good measure? Which ability is more valuable: to keep your ways even in the face of the strongest blasts, or to exercise balanced judgment and find the right degree of participation? Take care.

When to start doing philosophy

So you're going to start doing philosophy once you've secured your standard of living? You'll just make sure you have a sufficiently secure basis before you dedicate your life to reflecting, and improving yourself (as opposed to pursuing your career, and improving your bank account)? All in good time, I hear you saying: there is a time for action, and another for reflection (which is sometime later).

Let's trace our reasoning carefully here. If you think you should first secure a certain standard of living before even starting reflection on the goals of your life, then you have made one decision already: whatever else, whichever other goals might turn out to be important, that level of living well ranks higher. (You've also already taken for granted that the way you are building your career right now is the optimal way to do that.) Is that really how you see your priorities?

Consider also that all the time, energy and resources you've put into reaching your desired standard of living are lost for whatever those other goals might have been. Suppose your life happens to end just at the moment when you finally get there. Would you, in this case, say that you have spent your time wisely, that you've invested it in the most important cause that there was (namely, your standard of living)?

And are you sure that you can, and should, only then begin reflecting when these matters are settled? Imagine how things will look to you when you actually have reached that level, the one of which you now think that there you will stop, that there you won't want more, that there you will no longer postpone reflection on your real goals. What, in this situation, will compel you to actually stop, what will enable you to resist the desire for getting to an even higher standard before you get down to those other things, what will guarantee that you don't use the exactly same argument again which you're using now for not getting down to the real business of your life? (And what happens when, after you've started to reflect and go after your real goals, you fall back to some lower standard? Will you have to return to working on your career in that case?)

How was it some years ago: when you were on a lower standard of living? Since then, you've made progress in that area: you are now on a higher level than you were then. Why isn't that improvement enough, then? You might have said, at that earlier time, the same thing you're saying now. You might have argued that you wanted to get to some higher standard first, before starting something like philosophizing. Well — now you're there. So why not get down to it right away? Take care.

Don't substitute words for actions

Do you know that sort of person who is constantly pouring out advice, telling you all the time what should or shouldn't be done, and why? (You may suspect I'm of that sort, too - and presumably you're not that far off the mark. But at least I can say in my defense that I work quite hard on actually living by my views and put them to the test first, before I start recommending.)

It's far more easy to reflect and have some insights about how one should live than actually putting them into action. However easy or difficult it may be, though: it's what we're doing the reflection for. Remember why you started it: to live a good life means doing the right thing, as often as possible. And knowing what's the right thing (and knowing how often it is really possible to do it) is something to be supported and trained by philosophical reflection.

But just having those insights is not enough. They must be verified, and cemented by constant efforts, daily thought and action (which is actually more and harder work than just getting to the insights and agreeing to them). How can you be sure, each and every day, that you are still in tune with what you saw when you were reflecting? How can you satisfy yourself that you are actually following the guidance and principles of reason - unless you practice constant, close examination of all your views and actions?

And note that what you examine shouldn't be the things you're telling other people. That will only make you one of those talkers I mentioned. You have to monitor your actions, question your views, examine your feelings. Find out how you are, in fact, leading your life, and whether it matches what you'd tell others. Take care.

How to look into the future

It happens that I let an entire afternoon pass without getting anything useful done: because of something that is about to happen the next day, and that somehow looks very important to me, seizes my mind. It may be an important day at work, or a meeting with someone whom I'd really like to get to know more closely - generally something that will likely have some substantial influence on my life for at least some time. In such situations, it's terribly difficult for me to think of anything else but what will happen tomorrow. Even if I force myself to try and do something sensible, I quickly find myself back thinking about that other thing. (It's not something I'm proud of; sometimes I even get angry at myself later, but that's of course not helpful in the least.)

If you know that state of mind, you have perhaps wondered what is happening there. How can one actually know what one should do, have the time, be not blocked or hindered by anything - and still not do it? And it's not as if it would make any difference either. Tomorrow's events won't be changed by one's brooding for hours about them in advance. Of course, if the expected event is something that needs preparation, then one is well advised to prepare; but even if everything is prepared as much as it needs to be, there is no change in how it feels in those situations I'm referring to.

What holds us prisoners in such situations are emotions: we're hoping for something, or fearing something. They get their power from the importance that we assign those future events. (Remember, it happens only if it's going to have a considerable impact on how my life will go for a while.) And it's no accident either that they arise normally when we expect the outcome as something that isn't completely up to ourselves. A lot of painful emotion arises from our seeing ourselves as depending on events that we cannot control: those that come about by blind chance, or the actions of others, even things we might have been able to influence if we had only known about them earlier. Our fears and hopes are directed towards these.

This isn't good tactics: we should concentrate on the things that we can achieve: caution, and acting well when the moment comes. If you look back to similar situations in your past, you will notice that things happened which you couldn't influence, but those you don't take into account when you ask yourself how well you did, at the time. What counts is only what you actually did, given things were as they were. It will be the same in the future - what really is important is what you make of the situation, what you will feel, think and do.

So if you want to know how to best look towards a significant future event: instead of focusing on uncontrollable future things (hoping for or fearing them), you should rather focus on yourself, and what you're focusing on. Take care.