Tag: behavior

When we see just once a child losing its innocence, the concept we have of man cannot remain. Here, something unspeakable happens, with much effort symbolized, but which no words can specify. We remember Eden, we regret it, but the regret itself is dubious, because it is difficult to classify the experience as entirely bad. In the child, something is lost; but something is gained. The previous state certainly does not return, which is why there seems to be a kind of condemnation for the experience. But if it brings with it some sorrow and nostalgia, it opens up a new dimension. When the child loses its innocence, it begins to become consequential; and it is from this moment that merit can flourish.

The fact that orientalism has become fashionable in the West in the last century and, as is to be expected of fashions, has corrupted the virtues of its object, has not changed the fact that, for the Westerner, the Orient can be extremely instructive and even enchanting. Because, despite the fashions, the contrasts remain and, despite the fashions, the lessons remain. This positive side, more than ever, must be emphasized; perhaps it must even be admitted that, thanks to fashion, there are now a number of translations that would have been unthinkable two centuries ago. Ancient wisdom has the advantage of solidity: it can be distorted as much as one likes, but the texts remain as they are.

It is hard to imagine how a minimally upright personality can be consolidated without cultivating loyalty. Because without it, everything dissolves. The founding consistency of a personality is the little bit of loyalty it has. It is that immutable, sure thing, that essence that time accentuates, that line that cannot be crossed without disfigurement. It is around it that everything else develops; without it, no virtue can sustain itself and is limited to be sporadic whatever good that comes along.

The most damaging thing about fame seems to be that it clouds the judgment so sneakily, so imperceptibly that, viewed from a distance, the famous seem to have lost track of himself. In the face of this, vanity is a detail. Paul Johnson’s book comes to mind once again—a book that seems to have been written so as never to stray from memory. We think of those, and others, to whom fame has given its treacherous embrace, and we see how destructive it has been to their conscience, how ugly it seems to us the manifestation of the very high concept they had of themselves in front of others. Sometimes the most common criticism of the Stoics is nothing more than temperamental implication: a Marcus Aurelius, when compared to a Rousseau, is much more than a great sage.