Suave in Calm High Places
Suave, Latin for “pleasant” or “sweet,” is the word Lucretius (99-55 BCE) uses in his De Rurum Natura to talk about two ways of life: One of constant struggle and the other of sweet calm. Here’s a translation:
“Sweet it is, when on the great sea the winds are buffeting the waters, to gaze from the land on another’s great struggles; not because it is pleasure or joy that any one should be distressed, but because it is sweet to perceive from what misfortune you yourself are free. Sweet is it, too, to behold great contests of war in full array over the plains, when you have no part in the danger. But nothing is more gladdening than to dwell in the calm high places, firmly emplaced on the heights by the teaching of the wise, whence you can look down on others, and see them wandering here and there, going astray as they seek the way of life, in strife matching their wits or rival claims of birth, struggling night and day by surpassing effort to rise up to the height of power and gain possession of the world.”*
Living by contrast is rather common. When we are embroiled in strife, we look to the high calm places with longing. When we are enveloped by sweet peacefulness, we look about to see turmoil either to pity or to sigh indifferently. We live a self-imposed contrast that raises two questions: How do we strive without incurring strife? And how do we live in the calm high places without being bored?
In reality, strife comes to all of us, but those who struggle night and day “to rise up to the height of power and gain possession of the world” are the authors of many problems, including their own. No one has ever acquired possession of the world for long, not Xerxes, not Alexander, not Attila, not Tamerlane, not Napoleon, not Hitler.
Places of strife are as ubiquitous as the air, and calm high places are, of course, an ideal, as are unfailing wisdom and all-wise individuals. But we hold onto the notion of that ideal sweet calm place, particularly during times of strife. As John Dryden framed it in verse,
“How blessed is he, who leads a country life,
Unvex’d with anxious cares, and void of strife!
Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage,
Enjoy’d his youth, and now enjoys his age:
All who deserve his love, he makes his own;
And, to the lov’d himself, needs only to be known.”
Every place, even one in some ideal “country” setting, has the potential for strife as soon as two or more gather. You could climb into the mountains of Nepal, find the proverbial wise man sitting on a rock at the top of the mountain, and listen to or share wisdom. As you descend the mountain, you will probably say to yourself, “Was I at peace because of the thin air of the place? While I was up there did I miss, just a bit, of course, the daily turmoil to which I have become accustomed?” Are you guessing that the only sweet calm place is within? That’s what many “wisemen” have told us.
Were we born for strife but taught some unattainable ideal of calm? Are the calm high places beyond reach or beyond any extended visit? If you get there, if you find that calm high place, will you stay?
*Suave, mari magno turbantibus aeuora ventia,
E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem;
Non quia vexari quemquamst iucunda voluptas,
Sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cernere suave est.
Suave etiam belli certamina magna tueri
Per campos instructa tua sine parte pericli.
Sed Nil dulcius est, bene quam munita terere
Edita doctrina sapientum temple serena,
Despicere unde queas alios passimque videre
Errare atque viam palantis quaerere vitae,
Certare ingenio, contendere nobilitate,
Noctoes atque dies niti praestante labore
Ad summas emergere opes rerumque potiri.
Suave, Latin for “pleasant” or “sweet,” is the word Lucretius (99-55 BCE) uses in his De Rurum Natura to talk about two ways of life: One of constant struggle and the other of sweet calm. Here’s a translation:
“Sweet it is, when on the great sea the winds are buffeting the waters, to gaze from the land on another’s great struggles; not because it is pleasure or joy that any one should be distressed, but because it is sweet to perceive from what misfortune you yourself are free. Sweet is it, too, to behold great contests of war in full array over the plains, when you have no part in the danger. But nothing is more gladdening than to dwell in the calm high places, firmly emplaced on the heights by the teaching of the wise, whence you can look down on others, and see them wandering here and there, going astray as they seek the way of life, in strife matching their wits or rival claims of birth, struggling night and day by surpassing effort to rise up to the height of power and gain possession of the world.”*
Living by contrast is rather common. When we are embroiled in strife, we look to the high calm places with longing. When we are enveloped by sweet peacefulness, we look about to see turmoil either to pity or to sigh indifferently. We live a self-imposed contrast that raises two questions: How do we strive without incurring strife? And how do we live in the calm high places without being bored?
In reality, strife comes to all of us, but those who struggle night and day “to rise up to the height of power and gain possession of the world” are the authors of many problems, including their own. No one has ever acquired possession of the world for long, not Xerxes, not Alexander, not Attila, not Tamerlane, not Napoleon, not Hitler.
Places of strife are as ubiquitous as the air, and calm high places are, of course, an ideal, as are unfailing wisdom and all-wise individuals. But we hold onto the notion of that ideal sweet calm place, particularly during times of strife. As John Dryden framed it in verse,
“How blessed is he, who leads a country life,
Unvex’d with anxious cares, and void of strife!
Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage,
Enjoy’d his youth, and now enjoys his age:
All who deserve his love, he makes his own;
And, to the lov’d himself, needs only to be known.”
Every place, even one in some ideal “country” setting, has the potential for strife as soon as two or more gather. You could climb into the mountains of Nepal, find the proverbial wise man sitting on a rock at the top of the mountain, and listen to or share wisdom. As you descend the mountain, you will probably say to yourself, “Was I at peace because of the thin air of the place? While I was up there did I miss, just a bit, of course, the daily turmoil to which I have become accustomed?” Are you guessing that the only sweet calm place is within? That’s what many “wisemen” have told us.
Were we born for strife but taught some unattainable ideal of calm? Are the calm high places beyond reach or beyond any extended visit? If you get there, if you find that calm high place, will you stay?
*Suave, mari magno turbantibus aeuora ventia,
E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem;
Non quia vexari quemquamst iucunda voluptas,
Sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cernere suave est.
Suave etiam belli certamina magna tueri
Per campos instructa tua sine parte pericli.
Sed Nil dulcius est, bene quam munita terere
Edita doctrina sapientum temple serena,
Despicere unde queas alios passimque videre
Errare atque viam palantis quaerere vitae,
Certare ingenio, contendere nobilitate,
Noctoes atque dies niti praestante labore
Ad summas emergere opes rerumque potiri.
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