In the early days of trans-oceanic flight the writer worked as pilot delivering mail and passengers over the Andes or across the Sahara. He flew in a primitive plane, literally flying by the seat of his pants, navigating by constellations or peering out the side windows for landmarks like The River Nile. So much sacrifice and dedication to deliver bank statements, pay or quit notices, and dear john kiss-offs. Sure, one part of me wants to roll my eyes at the writer's purple prose. But another part of me - the child of two postal workers - is moved at the nobility of getting the job done despite snow, rain, heat and gloom of night.
I see an aspect of Stoic cosmopolitanism is getting the job done because it's my duty to my community of fellow human beings. I show respect to my colleagues, clients, students, taxpayers, and customers when I do what I ought to do, as well as I can, on time. At work, I have my roles in creating something new and maintaining what is established. This writer claims that these are lasting obligations I have to discharge:
To be a man is, precisely, to be responsible. It is to know shame at the sight of poverty which is not of our making. It is to be proud of a victory won by our comrades. It is to feel, as we place our stone, that we are contributing to the building of the world.
Living according to nature means understanding our human nature, living rationally and tapping the joy that runs in us. Stoic justice and wisdom call for respecting all people and being mindful of the labor that has gone into, for example, the production of a morning cup of java:
An old peasant woman finds her God only through a painted image, or a primitive medallion, or her rosary; we too must hear a simple language if we are to hear truly. And so the joy of being alive was gathered in that aromatic and burning first taste, in that blend of milk, coffee and wheat which brings communion with peaceful pastures, with exotic plantation and with harvests, communion with all the earth.
This, on welcoming adversity to practice embracing emotional and physical discomfort and coming back from setbacks:
The earth teaches us more about ourselves than all the books in the world, because it is resistant to us. Self-discovery comes when man measures himself against an obstacle.
Paraphrasing Epictetus, Hercules would have been a slugabed if he hadn't had all those labors. Damp, cold, grey, disoriented due to time change insomnia - hey, it's winter, after all. Wintry mix will pass, but the courage and moderation cultivated in fighting the winter blahs will persist.
The writer de Saint-Exupéry provides charms, or slogans, that the Stoics suggest I have ready to hand when bogies loom:
Sometimes the storms and the fog and the snow will get you down. But think of all those who have been through it before you, and just tell yourself: “They did it, so it can be done again.
We get only one life, so we’d better pay attention. Slow down. Look at people, places and things with care, with respect. We don’t have to fly over the Andes to get plugged into the universe. We can get that view from above in our own yard:
I used to love that ironic grass in Paraguay, pushing its nose up between the cobblestones of the capital to see, on behalf of the invisible yet always present virgin forest, whether men still hold the city, whether perhaps the hour has come to shove all these stones aside. I loved that form of dilapidation which expresses merely an excess of wealth. But here I was overcome with wonder.
Enough quoting of that sense of wonder. In winter, savor how beautiful the snow is on the trees just before dawn, how still everything is before the world wakes up and starts driving as if there was no such thing as black ice.
Our writer also tells cool adventure stories of survival after crashes, almost dying of thirst, and flying in an Andean cyclone, which are the prime reasons we readers who are kids at heart read flying memoirs. I’ve not read The Little Prince but I have read its descendant in the inspiration genre The Alchemist so for when self-help you can’t help but despise at least a little bit is the only reading that will fit the bill (given the prospect of winter in a Northern place), this is it.
No comments:
Post a Comment