What Xenophanes told Xenocrates

SH: Is “Do watcha gotta do” a spin-off of Ignatius of Loyola’s dictum?

GPT: That’s an intriguing connection.

Ignatius of Loyola’s dictum — â€śAge quod agis” (“Do what you are doing”) — enjoins mindfulness and wholehearted attention to one’s present task. It is a call to disciplined focus and sincerity of purpose.

The vernacular â€śDo watcha gotta do” shares only a superficial resemblance. Its meaning is pragmatic rather than spiritual: “Do what you must” or “Take whatever action is necessary.” It often implies resignation or necessity rather than concentrated intentionality.

So while both expressions urge action, Loyola’s maxim emphasizes deliberate presence, whereas the colloquial phrase emphasizes pragmatic compulsion. If anything, the latter could be viewed as a secular or even fatalistic spin-off â€” but more by folk coincidence than by descent or conscious echo.

If â€śDo watcha gotta do” is said to a reluctant executioner — someone torn between moral hesitation and perceived duty — it acquires a tone closer to Loyola’s â€śAge quod agis.” Not in its Jesuit sense of mindful devotion, but in its existential one: a summons to resolute action in the face of inner conflict.

Both expressions then converge on accepting necessity and acting decisively, though they still diverge in moral register. Loyola’s maxim sanctifies the act by aligning it with divine purpose — “do fully and conscientiously what your role requires, under God.” The street idiom, by contrast, strips away the theology and leaves only the naked imperative: do it, because it must be done.

So in the mouth of one urging a hesitant executioner, the phrase becomes a vulgarized echo of Loyola’s dictum — shorn of sanctity but retaining its austere fatalism.

SH: All depends whether you consider sanctity high-mindedness or hocus pocus, superego or superstition…

GPT: Once the sanctity in Loyola’s maxim is naturalized — read not as divine ordination but as the internalized voice of conscience, discipline, or principle — the distinction between â€śAge quod agis” and â€śDo watcha gotta do” collapses further.

The Jesuit’s exhortation and the street injunction become two dialects of the same psychology: each urging the alignment of will with necessity, the quelling of hesitation in the moment of action. The difference then lies only in register and framing â€” whether one construes that inner imperative as the voice of God, of conscience, or of causal determinism.

So yes, whether one hears it as high-mindedness or hocus pocus depends on one’s metaphysics — or perhaps, more modestly, on which accent of necessity one happens to find most credible.

File:Dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra (6124590103).jpg

Free Will

Ibsen’s The Lady from the Sea is about the human sense of freedom. Ellida fell in love with a sailor on a brief port call when she was young. They became “engaged” and symbolically married by throwing their rings into the sea, and he said he would come back for her and leaves. As time goes by she becomes obsessed with the sea, feeling as if she is married to the sea, and part of the sea. 

This is the 19th century and women are dependent on men for their sustenance, and there are still widely shared feelings about the inviolateness of marriage vows. Ellida marries a widower, a kindly doctor, with two daughters, and bears a son, who dies very young (age 3). Ellida is distraught at his loss. She is close to the older daughter, Bolette, but the younger daughter, Hilde, rejects her, and is childishly rude to her, because she feels Ellida is rejecting her. 

The older daughter’s aging former-tutor comes to visit; he is in love with his former pupil. She, on the other hand, is just yearning to learn, about life, and the world. 

There is also a young man, in frail health, not expected to live long. He is yearning to become an artist, and naively contemplating courting the older daughter. But he is also contemplating (perhaps unrealistically) going away to become an artist. 

The sailor returns, as promised. Ellida had told the doctor, when he was courting her, that there had been someone in her past. He had accepted it and not pursued it further. She now tells him the full story about the “engagement” and “marriage”, and the sailor’s vow to return, and her vow to wait for him. But in the meantime it had been discovered that he had killed the captain (for an unknown reason) and fled, and Ellida had thought he was gone forever, or had perished. That was what was underlying her passion for the sea; she also felt that her son had eyes like him, and the sea.

So Ellida is yearning for her lover, and for the sea that embodies him and her yearning. She ceased physical relations with her husband at the death of her son, because she felt his death was a punishment for breaking her vows to the sailor in marrying the doctor for survival, vows which she feels she has kept in her heart, and has never stopped yearning for the sailor, and their sea. 

The sailor, who has never stopped yearning for Ellida, has returned, hoping she would fulfill her vow. The young, frail man is yearning to go off into the world and become an artist, and then return to marry. The aging tutor is yearning for the older daughter, his pupil, to return his love and marry him. The older daughter is yearning to go into the world to learn, but does not have the material means, The younger daughter is just toying with the frail young man; she is still yearning for maternal love, from Ellida, having lost her own mother.  

Ellida needs freedom to discover her own decision, otherwise she is bound by the love of the sailor, her vow to him (and herself) and her vows to her husband (who is good, and loves her selflessly, despite her past, their lost child, and her physical withdrawal from him). He struggles internally (he had naively thought that the man in her past had been the aging tutor), and then, according to his nature, he grants Ellida her moral freedom, and this enables her, in the last moment, to break her vow to the sailor. 

In a microcosm, the same happens with the older daughter and the aging tutor: He proposes to her, she declines, because she does not love him; he says he accepts to show her the world nevertheless, with only the hope that she might one day learn to love him. She senses that he really means this, and accepts it, without vows. 

The frail young artist, who had seemed to be courting the older daughter, cheerfully declares to the younger daughter that once he has become an artist, he may return and court her instead, because she is closer to his age. 

Everyone sees that the doctor, who had been ready to leave his beloved lifelong home and region with Ellida in the hope that it might cure her of her obsession with the sea (and the sailor), is close to Ellida again, and she to him. She finally shows love to the petulant younger daughter, who needed it most, and immediately reciprocates.