On Discipline
On Discipline, or Self-Command
"Discipline" has a two-fold sense; as a verb, it refers to the act of disciplining others, or of the application of order, rule and reason to oneself. The noun, "discipline", referring to a shared or collective rule, perhaps does best in uniting both senses, e.g. the discipline of the Rule of St. Benedict is gradually internalised. Its relevance to public life is best summarised by the dictum that no man can be a fit master of others, without being master of himself.
In religion, discipline occupies a central place in both the ethical and cultic realms, thus the rite of Mass, for Catholics, is normally (and normatively) celebrated according to a certain rite (e.g. Missa normativa) and the Church's discipline constrains clerics and laymen to participate as a matter of the Divine Law, which to disobey deliberately is mortal sin. Christianity, in general, is conspicuous for the importance it gives to formal, public worship in a way seldom, if ever, found in paganism. In Japan, perhaps the only modern pagan country, the efficacy of Shinto rites is not dependent upon the attendance of the faithful on a regular timetable (unlike, perhaps, the rhythms of the Church calendar, which assumes the obligation of the faithful to attend high days and holy days) and the notion of the necessity of attendance, as if this legitimates or validates the rite.
In religion, we thus find a combination of internal and external discipline that, ideally, should complement and reinforce each other. There is much in Christian religiosity that can be imitated without compunction, but the aim of pagan religious discipline differs. The aim of pagan discipline (or at least of the Divine Church of Jupiter) is to forge and sustain the four cardinal virtues (practical judgement; fortitude; temperance; and, justice) and the life of the philosophical, contemplative man. Although such a life is disciplined and, at points, ascetic, it does not seek asceticism as an end in itself, which is typical of Christianity as validation for sanctity, which is conformity (however wasteful or pointless) with the sect's precepts.
Pagan discipline is thus not mere conformity; this point cannot be emphasised enough. There is little command in self-command, when that merely follows a norm without further justification. Monks, for example, follow a rule no matter what the effect on their health, their spirit of their achievement, for it is an end in itself. Although there is nothing to prevent pagan monks (arguably, Buddhist monks are such a phenomenon), the role of discipline for pagans is much different, being directed towards wholly natural goods such as health, peace, knowledge and achievement.
With these ends in mind, the ancient writers did not counsel a general hedonism (even the Epicureans argued for a balance, rather than mere self-indulgence) but, rather, moderate use of pleasures in tandem with a certain renunciation of desire. The goal of this was to free the mind, as much as possible, from perturbation. For the Stoics, in particular, the value accorded to most things was, as we'd say today, in the mind and thus the discipline of perception and thought was paramount; the phenomena of the external world could only really be valued by firm control over the internal world. Evident in such works as the divine Marcus' Meditations is the preoccupation with aligning one's mind and emotions to the divine Logos ("The Word"). Pleasure, but also pain, are eschewed as far as human nature will allow, for these are the most primal marks of mortality and human weakness.
What are we to make of such an approach today? Human life is now much less pained, at least physically, than it was even one or two hundred years ago. Yet, still, the temptation is to indulge carnal nature in pleasure, at the expense of higher qualities. In one sense, though, the approach of Aurelius is too severe. The Roman devotion to duty confined the Emperor to interminable campaigns and the camps of war, but man is no less served in the less dreary pursuits of thought and philosophy by which, indeed, the Divine Marcus still speaks. Human mortality requires that thought is continually renewed, until the voice that yields the fruit of its seed is forever hushed and returned to the bosom of the gods.
The discipline of a virtuous life has quite clear marks; studiositas (dedication to study, both formal and informal); a moderate, if real prosperity; and, a growing firmness in the approach and work one adopts. As well as the mental life (which has primacy), a good life is marked by attention to one's health, in the knowledge that, one day, it must fail, whether in youth or old age. While making the most of our nature, we must also be reconciled to its limitations as part of our condition. We are not the deathless ones, but neither are we the beasts. Our excellence, if any, flourishes but briefly but it is perhaps all the more brilliant for that.
A profound discipline will be conscious of the time and the context in which it lives, with its chief marks and orientation. In a turbulent but prosperous time, such as ours, it will be alert to the dangers of dissipation and of false prophets. It will read the supporters and opponents of its own opinions, just as it maintains a "decent respect for the opinions of mankind", while being wary of the temptations of tyrants, oligarchies and mobs. It will "put not its trust in princes", while recognising the just authority of laws and institutions. It will be at home with writers ancient and modern, as well as with the heat and burden of the day.
To conclude; the discipline of paganism is moderate and salutary, restraining desires in conformity with reason and peace of mind. Combining respect for authority with independence of mind, it can judge all things equitably and well. Discipline is thus a precious gift that must be nurtured and honoured.
"Discipline" has a two-fold sense; as a verb, it refers to the act of disciplining others, or of the application of order, rule and reason to oneself. The noun, "discipline", referring to a shared or collective rule, perhaps does best in uniting both senses, e.g. the discipline of the Rule of St. Benedict is gradually internalised. Its relevance to public life is best summarised by the dictum that no man can be a fit master of others, without being master of himself.
In religion, discipline occupies a central place in both the ethical and cultic realms, thus the rite of Mass, for Catholics, is normally (and normatively) celebrated according to a certain rite (e.g. Missa normativa) and the Church's discipline constrains clerics and laymen to participate as a matter of the Divine Law, which to disobey deliberately is mortal sin. Christianity, in general, is conspicuous for the importance it gives to formal, public worship in a way seldom, if ever, found in paganism. In Japan, perhaps the only modern pagan country, the efficacy of Shinto rites is not dependent upon the attendance of the faithful on a regular timetable (unlike, perhaps, the rhythms of the Church calendar, which assumes the obligation of the faithful to attend high days and holy days) and the notion of the necessity of attendance, as if this legitimates or validates the rite.
In religion, we thus find a combination of internal and external discipline that, ideally, should complement and reinforce each other. There is much in Christian religiosity that can be imitated without compunction, but the aim of pagan religious discipline differs. The aim of pagan discipline (or at least of the Divine Church of Jupiter) is to forge and sustain the four cardinal virtues (practical judgement; fortitude; temperance; and, justice) and the life of the philosophical, contemplative man. Although such a life is disciplined and, at points, ascetic, it does not seek asceticism as an end in itself, which is typical of Christianity as validation for sanctity, which is conformity (however wasteful or pointless) with the sect's precepts.
Pagan discipline is thus not mere conformity; this point cannot be emphasised enough. There is little command in self-command, when that merely follows a norm without further justification. Monks, for example, follow a rule no matter what the effect on their health, their spirit of their achievement, for it is an end in itself. Although there is nothing to prevent pagan monks (arguably, Buddhist monks are such a phenomenon), the role of discipline for pagans is much different, being directed towards wholly natural goods such as health, peace, knowledge and achievement.
With these ends in mind, the ancient writers did not counsel a general hedonism (even the Epicureans argued for a balance, rather than mere self-indulgence) but, rather, moderate use of pleasures in tandem with a certain renunciation of desire. The goal of this was to free the mind, as much as possible, from perturbation. For the Stoics, in particular, the value accorded to most things was, as we'd say today, in the mind and thus the discipline of perception and thought was paramount; the phenomena of the external world could only really be valued by firm control over the internal world. Evident in such works as the divine Marcus' Meditations is the preoccupation with aligning one's mind and emotions to the divine Logos ("The Word"). Pleasure, but also pain, are eschewed as far as human nature will allow, for these are the most primal marks of mortality and human weakness.
What are we to make of such an approach today? Human life is now much less pained, at least physically, than it was even one or two hundred years ago. Yet, still, the temptation is to indulge carnal nature in pleasure, at the expense of higher qualities. In one sense, though, the approach of Aurelius is too severe. The Roman devotion to duty confined the Emperor to interminable campaigns and the camps of war, but man is no less served in the less dreary pursuits of thought and philosophy by which, indeed, the Divine Marcus still speaks. Human mortality requires that thought is continually renewed, until the voice that yields the fruit of its seed is forever hushed and returned to the bosom of the gods.
The discipline of a virtuous life has quite clear marks; studiositas (dedication to study, both formal and informal); a moderate, if real prosperity; and, a growing firmness in the approach and work one adopts. As well as the mental life (which has primacy), a good life is marked by attention to one's health, in the knowledge that, one day, it must fail, whether in youth or old age. While making the most of our nature, we must also be reconciled to its limitations as part of our condition. We are not the deathless ones, but neither are we the beasts. Our excellence, if any, flourishes but briefly but it is perhaps all the more brilliant for that.
A profound discipline will be conscious of the time and the context in which it lives, with its chief marks and orientation. In a turbulent but prosperous time, such as ours, it will be alert to the dangers of dissipation and of false prophets. It will read the supporters and opponents of its own opinions, just as it maintains a "decent respect for the opinions of mankind", while being wary of the temptations of tyrants, oligarchies and mobs. It will "put not its trust in princes", while recognising the just authority of laws and institutions. It will be at home with writers ancient and modern, as well as with the heat and burden of the day.
To conclude; the discipline of paganism is moderate and salutary, restraining desires in conformity with reason and peace of mind. Combining respect for authority with independence of mind, it can judge all things equitably and well. Discipline is thus a precious gift that must be nurtured and honoured.
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