
Stoicism On Fire
by Chris Fisher
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Beyond the Individual: An Interview with Will Johncock – Episode 64
Apr 3, 2023
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Exploring Encheiridion 21 – Episode 63
Oct 5, 2022
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A Conscious Cosmos – Episode 62
Apr 20, 2022
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Exploring Encheiridion 20 – Episode 61
Mar 30, 2022
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Remembering Dirk Mahling – Episode 60
Mar 23, 2022
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| Date | Episode | Description | Length | ||||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 4/3/23 | Beyond the Individual: An Interview with Will Johncock – Episode 64 | An interview with Will Johncock, author of Beyond the Individual: Stoic Philosophy on Community and Connection. | — | ||||||
| 10/5/22 | Exploring Encheiridion 21 – Episode 63 | Set before your eyes every day death and exile and everything else that looks terrible, especially death. Then you will never have any mean thought or be too keen on anything. (Ench 21) That’s an interesting list: death, exile, and everything else that looks terrible. We can all relate to death and other things that look terrible. However, there is no modern equivalent to Roman exile. To full appreciate the inclusion of exile in this list, we need to understand that exile was a form of capital punishment under Roman law. It was an alternative to the death penalty. Sometimes, a person was allowed to choose exile instead of being put to death. That was considered voluntary exile. In other cases, people were banished and involuntarily removed from Roman territories. Musonius Rufus, Epictetus, and Seneca were all exiled at different times. It was not uncommon for philosophers to be exiled because they were often considered a threat to those in power. Why? Because philosophy taught people to think for themselves and have an allegiance to truth instead of political authority. We don’t fear exile today. Those with political power or far-reaching social influence may fear getting canceled in modern times. For some, that may be just as frightening as exile was in ancient times. Nevertheless, I suspect the list of terrible things in Encheiridion 21 would be different if Epictetus were teaching today. He might say: Set before your eyes every day death and social ostracism, pandemics, government lockdowns, inflation, high gas prices, exploding houses costs, recession, the war in Ukraine, mass immigration, mass shootings, high crime, racism, sexism, and everything else that looks terrible, especially death. Then you will never have any mean thought or be too keen on anything. The last sentence of Encheiridion 21 offers two extremes we can avoid if we practice setting death and everything else that looks terrible before our eyes daily. However, the phrase “mean thought” seemed a little vague to me, so I looked at every translation of the Encheiridion I have to see if they would provide some insight. Have any mean thought be too keen on anything A.A. Long Have any abject thought Yearn for anything W.A. Oldfather Harbour any mean thought Desire anything beyond due measure Robin Hard Entertain any abject thought Long for anything excessively Keith Seddon Think of anything mean Desire anything extravagantly George Long Have any abject thought Desire anything to excess Robert Dobbin Do you see the pattern here? In this passage, Epictetus is referring to aversions and desires. This lesson is another, among many, in which Epictetus reminds us that true freedom is internal. Freedom cannot be dependent on externals. When we fear external events and circumstances, we tend to blame others. We blame the other political party, another race of people, the opposite sex, those who have what we think we deserve, those with religious beliefs and lifestyles different from ours, etc. Those aversions tend to create abject and mean thoughts toward others. Likewise, those aversions typically entail excess desires for circumstances to be different. Before anyone concludes that Epictetus is preaching quietism here, look at the language. Epictetus did not instruct his student not to desire a change in circumstances. The English translations tell us not to be too keen on anything, yearn for anything, desire anything beyond measure, desire anything in excess, etc. As Stoics, we should desire and work for change leading toward a virtuous end. However, if your desire for change produces mean and abject thoughts toward those who disagree with you, you are a slave to your passions. You desire something excessively when you allow yourself to hate others you believe are preventing you from attaining it. Lesson 1 So, what is the message of Encheiridion 21? I think we can derive two important lessons from this short passage. The first is pretty obvious. Encheiridion 21 is a reminder to practice Premeditatio Malorum. By contemplating those events and circumstances we consider terrible, we prepare our minds so they will not be overwhelmed should they occur. Seneca wrote about this practice in Letters 24: But what I will do is lead you down a different road to tranquility. If you want to be rid of worry, then fix your mind on whatever it is that you are afraid might happen as a thing that definitely will happen. Whatever bad event that might be, take the measure of it mentally and so assess your fear. You will soon realize that what you fear is either no great matter or not long lasting. Nor do I need to cast about very long for examples to strengthen you with. Every age supplies them. (Letters 24. 2-3) As Seneca wisely noted, every age supplies us with circumstances and events to trouble our minds. However, the Stoic practice of premeditaio malorum helps to keep us on the path of virtue toward true freedom and well-being. Lesson 2 That is the obvious lesson of Encheiridion 21, and if we stop here, we have plenty of opportunity for practice and growth on the path of the Stoic prokopton. However, there’s an equally important lesson here I think we frequently overlook. While the practice of premeditatio malorum has us consider events in the future, its purpose is to prepare our minds for life in the present moment. As Stoicism teaches, the present is all we have, and we do not know how much time we are allotted. As Marcus noted: Remember how long you have been deferring these things, and how many times you have been granted further grace by the gods, and yet have failed to make use of it. But it is now high time that you realized what kind of a universe this is of which you form a part, and from what governor of that universe you exist as an emanation; and that your time here is strictly limited, and, unless you make use of it to clear the fog from your mind, the moment will be gone, as you are gone, and never be yours again. (Meditations 2.4) This passage reminds me of a famous scene from the 1989 movie The Dead Poets Society. The teacher, John Keating, played by Robin Williams, takes his young students into the hallway and has one of them read the opening lines from a poem by Robert Herrick, which reads: Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying. Keating then informs them the Latin phrase for this sentiment is carpe diem, which means “seize the day.” Keating then tells the class the poet used these lines to remind us that “we are food for worms.” Next, he has the students look into the school’s trophy case, which displays the photos of past sports teams alongside the trophies they won. Listen as Keating delivers a powerful lesson to his students. Audio clip from The Dead Poets Society. [1] Why does Keating want his student to consider their death? He has two goals in mind. He wants to discourage them from waiting until it’s “too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable.” Second, he is attempting to inspire his students to “seize the day” and make their lives extraordinary. Epictetus delivered this same message to his students in a variety of ways. He prodded, coaxed, and occasionally admonished them to abandon their enslaved manner of thinking and living so they could follow the Stoic path toward an extraordinary life. As we will see soon, Seneca counseled his friend Lucilius to do the same. Finally, we see the same throughout the Meditations. That is why Marcus reminded himself in Meditations 2.4 not to defer things but to use what time he has. Later, in book 12, Marcus wrote: In no great while you will be no one and nowhere, and nothing that you now behold will be in existence, nor will anyone now alive. For it is in the nature of all things to change and alter and perish, so that others may arise in their turn. (Meditations 12.21) …the life of every one of us is confined to the present moment and this is all that we have. (Meditations 12.26) Seneca echoed this sentiment when he wrote to Lucilius: I strive to make a day count for a whole lifetime. It’s not that I cling to it as if it were my last—not by any means, and yet I do look at it as if it could actually be my last. (Letters 61.1) Later, in Letters 93, Seneca wrote: What we need to be concerned about is not how long we live but whether we live sufficiently. For a long life, you need the help of fate; but to live sufficiently, the essential thing is one’s character. A life is long if it is full, and it is full only when the mind bestows on itself the goodness that is proper to it, claiming for itself the authority over itself. (Letters 93.2) During my career as a law enforcement officer, I learned first-hand how fleeting life could be. In the final three years of my law enforcement career, I was a traffic homicide investigator. That means that every scene I arrived at involved the death of at least one person. Many fatal crash scenes involved a person simply driving to the store, to work, or a friend’s house, going out for a run, or a bike ride when they were struck and killed by a driver who was impaired or simply not paying attention. None of them could have predicted their life would end that day, but it did. None of us knows when our life will end, and our Stoic practice trains us not to fear death. However, I think we often overlook this equally important lesson as we prepare our minds for death and other terrible events and circumstances. It’s easy to lose sight of why preparation for death is such an important part of philosophy in general and Stoic practice in particular. We keep the specter of our death and other terrible things before our eyes to remind us of two important lessons. First, there is no reason to fear death or other seemingly terrible circumstances | — | ||||||
| 4/20/22 | A Conscious Cosmos – Episode 62 | The doctrine that the world is a living being, rational, animate and intelligent, is laid down by Chrysippus in the first book of his treatise On Providence, by Apollodorus in his Physics, and by Posidonius… And it is endowed with soul, as is clear from our several souls being each a fragment of it. (DL 7.142-3)[1] Some people think the idea of a conscious cosmos is an antiquated relic of ancient Stoicism that we must abandon in light of modern science. However, numerous modern scientists and philosophers describe the nature of the cosmos in ways that are compatible with the intuitions of the ancient Stoics. Some now suggest consciousness must be a fundamental aspect of the cosmos and refer to a mind-like background in the universe. A few boldly claim the universe is conscious, just as the Stoic did more than two thousand years ago. Modern thinkers frequently label this idea panpsychism, which entails consciousness as a fundamental aspect of the cosmos. When we consider a concept like a conscious cosmos and relate it to ancient Stoicism, we first must acknowledge that the Greeks did not have a word for conscious. The word first appears in English in the seventeenth century. Next, we must admit that many definitions of consciousness exist today. The ancient Stoics argued the cosmos is a living being (organism) that is rational, animate, and intelligent. I cannot imagine an entity that meets all those criteria we would deny is conscious. Instead of a conscious cosmos, we could say a rational, animate, and intelligent cosmos; however, that will not appease those who believe the universe is mechanistic, reductive to matter, and governed by laws that just happen, accidentally, to be conducive to life as we know it here on Earth. Therefore, the term conscious serves quite well as a substitute for a living being (organism) that is rational, animate, and intelligent. The ancient Stoics considered their unique conception of a conscious, providentially ordered cosmos a necessary element of their holistic philosophical system. They did so for good reasons. Today, Traditional Stoics think this conception of the cosmos is still viable. First, despite the objections offered by those who adhere to the metaphysical assumptions of the current scientific orthodoxy, there is no objective scientific reason to abandon the conscious cosmos of Stoicism. More importantly, Stoic practice relies on the essential relationship between the way the world is (physics) and the way we should act in the world (ethics). Chrysippus, the third head of the Stoa, argued that universal nature is the source of our knowledge of virtue, good and evil, and happiness. Further, according to Plutarch, Chrysippus asserted, “physical theory turns out to be ‘at once before and behind’ ethics.”[2] As I have written before, the conscious and providential cosmos is the soul of the Stoic philosophical system. Speaking of soul, the ancient Stoics believed the cosmos has a soul, and it is God. As Plutarch notes: In his On providence book 1 [Chrysippus] says: ‘When the world is fiery through and through, it is directly both its own soul and commanding-faculty.[3] Unfortunately, many people recoil, almost reflexively, from the concept of a conscious cosmos because it entails some form of intelligence that preexists human consciousness. They mistakenly assume such a concept necessarily invokes a supernatural divinity akin to those of traditional monotheistic religions. Likewise, many people are unaware of the increasing number of scientists and thinkers breaking out of the pre-twentieth-century, mechanistic, materialist, reductionist box and arguing that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of reality. I will highlight a few of those thinkers shortly. Consciousness was ignored by the mainstream hard sciences, including psychology, at the beginning of the twentieth century. Science could not explain consciousness via reductive materialism; therefore, they either ignored or explained it away as an illusion or epiphenomenon. They promoted the simplistic notion that the mind is what the brain does. Behaviorist psychology, a product of Logical Positivism, ignored the person's internal experience (consciousness) and treated the human mind as a black box. Behavior was quantifiable and could be subjected to the scientific method. Consciousness, on the other hand, was a metaphysical mystery. Quantum theory challenged the objective observer model of science at its foundation by discovering that consciousness interacts with the physical world. As a result, during the twentieth century, an ever-increasing number of scientists and thinkers began to give due consideration to the nature and role of consciousness. Many have suggested that consciousness, in some form, must be a fundamental property of reality. Interestingly, some are beginning to describe the essential nature of the cosmos in ways that sound remarkably like the intuitions of ancient thinkers such as Plato and the Stoics. Lothar Schafer, a physical chemist, points out several modern thinkers who think it is reasonable to infer consciousness to the cosmos. Here is an extended quote from his recent book: However you look at the matter, it seems reasonable to think that the human mind isn’t self-contained or self-sustained, but connected with a mindlike wholeness. “We can ‘infer’” Menas Kafatos and Robert Nadeau suggest, “that human consciousness ‘partakes’ or ‘participates in’ the conscious universe. As I have made sure to emphasize, science can’t prove that the universe is conscious. At the same time, the numerous suggestions by serious scientists, including Bohm, Dürr, Eddington, Fischbeck, Jeans, Kafatos, Lipton, Nadeau, and me, that a cosmic spirit exists can’t all be shrugged off as signs of dementia in these authors. It makes more sense to conclude, as psychiatrist Brian Lancaster has done, that “consciousness amounts to a fundamental property, irreducible to other features of the universe such as energy or matter.”[4] Likewise, the renowned American philosopher Thomas Nagel provoked a heated exchange about consciousness in 2012 when he challenged the core of the “neo-Darwinian conception of nature” in his book Mind & Cosmos. In one passage, Nagel speculated about the connection between human nature and the cosmos as a whole. His position is remarkably similar to the Stoic conception of that relationship. He wrote: We ourselves are large-scale, complex instances of something both objectively physical from outside and subjectively mental from inside. Perhaps the basis for this identity pervades the world.[5] The Stoics agree with Nagel. Reason (logos), which permeates the cosmos, is the basis for our identity as humans. The idea that rationality existed in the cosmos before human rationality plays a central role in Stoic theory. As Pierre Hadot notes: all the dogmas of Stoicism derive from this existential choice. It is impossible that the universe could produce human rationality, unless the latter were already in some way present within the former.[6] Arthur Eddington, an astrophysicist, was a little more direct than Thomas Nagel in the 1930s when he wrote: To put the conclusion crudely—the stuff of the world is mind-stuff… The mind-stuff of the world is, of course, something more general than our individual conscious minds; but we may think of its nature as not altogether foreign to the feelings in our consciousness… Consciousness is not sharply defined, but fades into subconsciousness; and beyond that we must postulate something indefinite but yet continuous with our mental nature. This I take to be the world-stuff.[7] Eddington admits, “It is difficult for the matter-of-fact physicist to accept the view that the substratum of everything is of mental character.” Nevertheless, as he points out, “no one can deny that mind is the first and most direct thing in our experience, and all else is remote inference—inference either intuitive or deliberate.”[8] Furthermore, he asserts. We have seen that the cyclic scheme of physics presupposes a background outside the scope of its investigations. In this background we must find, first, our own personality, and then perhaps a greater personality. The idea of a universal Mind or Logos would be, I think, a fairly plausible inference from the present state of scientific theory; at least it is in harmony with it.[9] It is fascinating to see a physicist use a phrase like universal Mind and the word logos. Bernard Haish, another astrophysicist, agrees. He wrote: I am proposing that an equally likely—and perhaps even slightly more likely—explanation is that there is a conscious intelligence behind the universe, and that the purpose of the universe and of our human lives is very intimately involved with that intelligence.[10] These are not the ramblings of crackpot pseudo-scientists. As Paul Davies, another physicist points out: An increasing number of scientists and writers have come to realize that the ability of the physical world to organize itself constitutes a fundamental, and deeply mysterious, property of the universe. The fact that nature has creative power, and is able to produce a progressively richer variety of complex forms and structures, challenges the very foundation of contemporary science.[11] In his book, The Goldilocks Enigma, Davies argues, Intelligent design of the laws does not conflict with science because it accepts that the whole universe runs itself according to physical laws and that everything that happens in the universe has a natural explanation. There are no miracles other than the miracle of nature itself. You don’t even need a miracle to bring the universe into existence in the first place because the big bang may be brought within the scope of physical laws too, either by using quantum cosmology to explain the origin of the universe from nothing or by assuming s | — | ||||||
| 3/30/22 | Exploring Encheiridion 20 – Episode 61 | Keep in mind that what injures you is not people who are rude or aggressive but your opinion that they are injuring you. So whenever someone provokes you, be aware that the provocation really comes from your own judgment. Start, then, by trying not to get carried away by the impression. Once you pause and give yourself time, you will more easily control yourself. (Ench 20) Full transcript coming soon. | — | ||||||
| 3/23/22 | Remembering Dirk Mahling – Episode 60 | Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. (Meditations 2.11) I cannot find a more fitting passage to describe the last few months of Dirk Mahling's life. Dirk departed from this life last Friday after a hard-fought battle with cancer. He was the President of New Stoa, a tutor, and mentor to many students at the College of Stoic Philosophers since 2016. Additionally, Dirk is one of several people who worked hard to keep the College alive when the founding Scholarch retired last year. He was bright, humorous, courageous, and a dedicated Stoic who was full of life to the end. Dirk was a friend, a colleague, and, more than anyone I know personally, an example of what it means to face death as a Stoic. Dirk told me about his terminal cancer diagnosis last August when I returned to the College of Stoic Philosophers after a long sabbatical. At that time, he thought he might have as many as two years left. He told me his challenge was figuring out how to live the rest of his life in that time. He didn’t appear sick in August; he looked like the Dirk I had known since 2015 when I mentored him through the Stoic Essential Studies course. I mentored many students at the college, but only a handful stand out in my memory. Dirk was undoubtedly one of those. When I returned to the College last year to discover he was the President of New Stoa, I teased him about being one of my most challenging students. He was bright and questioned everything. I enjoyed the challenge, and we had a great time together in the course. Dirk’s sense of humor was unbounded. His essay responses to lessons almost always included comics, memes, and humorous comments. In the Ethics lesson, he included a photo of Oikos yogurt with his essay response about the Stoic doctrine of oikeiosis. His answer to the question, “How do we become cosmopolitan?” was, “by reading Cosmo…” and he inserted a picture of a Cosmopolitan magazine cover. Yes, he also provided a correct answer. That was Dirk’s way of keeping Stoic philosophy fun and lite. He also included a comic with particular meaning as we consider Dirk’s life and death as a Stoic. The comic depicts two men in togas standing next to a grave. The headstone reads, “R.I.P. Zeno the philosopher—dead, but so what? The quote from one of the two characters underneath the comic reads, “He was a Stoic’s Stoic.” Dirk knew his end was near, but I certainly did not predict it was so close based on his behavior. He remained active at the College until the end and recently volunteered to mentor two students through the next term of the Marcus Aurelius Program beginning April 1st. He even joined the College faculty on our monthly Zoom conference call five days before he passed. Dirk was on oxygen during the meeting and told us he needed it because he gets short of breath when he talks. Dirk dedicated himself to the College’s mission of teaching students about Stoicism, and he remained at his post until the Captain called. To me, it appeared Dirk was living the practice of memento mori. Like Marcus Aurelius, Dirk did not fear death. Marcus wrote: In human life, the time of our existence is a point, our substance a flux, our senses dull, the fabric of our entire body subject to corruption, our soul ever restless, our destiny beyond divining, and our fame precarious. In a word, all that belongs to the body is a stream in flow, all that belongs to the soul, mere dream and delusion, and our life is a war, a brief stay in a foreign land, and our fame thereafter, oblivion. So what can serve as our escort and guide? One thing and one alone, philosophy; and that consists in keeping the guardian-spirit within us inviolate and free from harm, and ever superior to pleasure and pain, and ensuring that it does nothing at random and nothing with false intent or pretence, and that it is not dependent on another’s doing or not doing some particular thing, and furthermore that it welcomes whatever happens to it and is allotted to it, as issuing from the source from which it too took its origin, and above all, that it awaits death with a cheerful mind as being nothing other than the releasing of the elements from which every living creature is compounded. Now if for the elements themselves it is nothing terrible to be constantly changing from one to another, why should we fear the change and dissolution of them all? For this is in accordance with nature: and nothing can be bad that accords with nature. (Meditations 2.17) Dirk was still in his late prime and could have been bitter about his circumstances. He could have complained that his life was not long enough. He did not. As Seneca wrote: Most of mankind, Paulinus, complains about nature’s meanness, because our allotted span of life is so short, and because this stretch of time that is given to us runs its course so quickly, so rapidly—so much so that, with very few exceptions, life leaves the rest of us in the lurch just when we’re getting ready to live. And it’s not just the masses and the unthinking crowd that complain at what they perceive as this universal evil; the same feeling draws complaints even from men of distinction. (On the Shortness of Life 1.1) One paragraph later, Seneca wrote: It’s not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it’s been given to us in generous measure for accomplishing the greatest things, if the whole of it is well invested. But when life is squandered through soft and careless living, and when it’s spent on no worthwhile pursuit, death finally presses and we realize that the life which we didn’t notice passing has passed away. (On the Shortness of Life 1.3). From what I know of Dirk’s life, he did not squander it. He lived life to the fullest until the very end. Pierre Hadot wrote, In the apprenticeship of death, the Stoic discovers the apprenticeship of freedom.[1] I believe Dirk found that freedom as he faced the end of his life. His example proved it to me. I am grateful to Dirk for all he contributed to the College of Stoic Philosophers. His presence will be greatly missed there. However, I am far more thankful for the example he provided for me. He gave me the opportunity to see how a Stoic should face death. Yes, I’ve read all the passages in the Stoic texts related to death, and they are powerful and convincing. However, nothing in those texts was as compelling and poignant as watching a friend and fellow Stoic courageously face death as Dirk did. The manner with which he faced death is a gift to anyone who witnessed it. Yesterday, I wrote a note to Erik Wiegardt, the founding Scholarch of the College of Stoic Philosophers, to let him know Dirk had passed away. He responded in his typically thoughtful and profound manner. He wrote: Now Dirk knows the answer to that greatest of philosophical questions. He’s right. Dirk learned what we the living cannot know: what happens when we die. Marcus spent a lot of time contemplating death. He wrote: Indeed, the very life of every one of us is like an exhalation from our blood or inhalation from the atmosphere; for such as it is to draw a breath of air into your lungs and then surrender it, so it is to surrender your power of respiration as a whole, which you acquired but yesterday or the day before at the time of your birth, and are now surrendering to the source from which you first drew it. (Meditations 6.15) I think Marcus’ answer here and in Meditations 4.23 provides Stoics with all we can and need to know about death—we return to our source. Since our soul is a fragment of the logos that permeates the cosmos, it will return to its source. In what form or capacity? No one knows. However, we will all discover the answer in the end. In the meantime, life goes on for us and provides us with the opportunity to contribute a verse, as Walt Whitman famously wrote.[2] Dirk certainly did contribute a verse—to his family, the College, the lives of students he touched there, and those of us who had the privilege of knowing him. Regardless of what happens to us at death, I believe Dirk’s parting message to us would be similar to that of Epictetus: You must wait for God, my friends. When he gives the signal and sets you free from your service here, then you may depart to him. But for the present, you must resign yourselves to remaining in this post in which he has stationed you. (Discourses 1.9.16) I believe that is what Dirk would say to us because that is how he lived until the end. He courageously remained at his post until the Captain called, and it was time for him to depart. By doing so, he gave us a wonderful example of a Stoic life lived well. I can confidently say that Dirk Mahling lived life and faced death as a prokopton whose practice of Stoicism was genuinely on Fire. Dirk, your legacy lives on in the lives you touched. Farewell, my friend. ENDNOTES: [1] Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, ed. Arnold Ira Davidson (New York: Blackwell, 1995), p. 96 [2] Whitman, W. (1892) Oh me! Oh Life! in Leaves of Grass | — | ||||||
| 3/9/22 | Exploring Encheiridion 19 – Episode 59 | You can always win if you only enter competitions where winning is up to you. When you see someone honored ahead of you or holding great power or being highly esteemed in another way, be careful never to be carried away by the impression and judge the person to be happy. For if the essence of goodness consists in things that are up to us, there is room for neither envy nor jealousy, and you yourself will not want to be a praetor or a senator or a consul, but to be free. The only way to achieve this is by despising the things that are not up to us. (Ench 19) If anyone thought jealousy and envy of others is a modern phenomenon, Epictetus clarifies that these destructive emotions are not new. They are exacerbated by modern technologies, which provide a constant stream of social media posts with people showing off expensive clothes, jewelry, cars, houses, vacations, announcing their promotions, and displaying their bodies for the world to see. Social media turned “keeping up with the Joneses” into “keeping up with the Kardashians.” Most modern societies teach us these externals are associated with happiness. Indeed, we are inclined to think the lives of these rich, famous, beautiful people must be filled with happiness. The Stoics make it clear possession of these externals does not ensure happiness. We don’t need to rely on the Stoic conception of happiness to destroy this myth. Hollywood provides us with a constant stream of tragic stories about the lives of the rich and famous. Sadly, most people spend their lives chasing happiness in things that are not up to us. While the acquisition of externals almost always does provide an immediate feeling of happiness, it is always short-lived because this form of happiness is not the state of well-being offered by Stoicism. In this chapter of Encheiridion, Epictetus offers another serving of his consistent message: if we focus our attention on those things that are up to us—our faculties of judgment, motivation, desire, and aversion—we will avoid the pathological emotions that cripple the masses of people and make progress toward true well-being. Like I have said before, understanding the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us is quite simple. However, putting that understanding into practice consistently is extremely difficult. To make progress toward a virtuous character and its accompanying well-being, we must keep our attention (prosoche) on what is up to us our faculties of judgment, motivation, desire, and aversion—and despise everything else. This is the crux of Stoic practice. Does that mean we should despise my spouse, children, job, community, body, etc. since they all fall into the category of externals that are not up to us? No! It means we must despise our judgment of those externals as “good” because none of those externals will bring us the well-being we seek. We cannot remove externals from our lives. Even if we were to remove ourselves from the jealousy and envy of others by moving to a deserted island, without any channel of communication with others, we would still encounter externals like weather, animals, snakes, bugs, hunger, thirst, etc. We cannot escape externals, and we should not try. Externals provide us with the grist for the mill that develops our character. What would wisdom, moderation, courage, and justice mean apart from externals? So, what should we do when faced with the impression of someone we know who has a possession commonly judged as “good”? Especially when we may be inclined to think they didn’t earn it? What should we do when someone else gets the promotion instead of us, and we believe they are less worthy? Before jealousy and envy take hold of our psyche, we need to perform that three-step process on these impressions I highlighted in Episodes 9 and 37: Stop It Strip It Bare See It from the Cosmic Viewpoint If you don’t recall the details of that process, I recommend you go back and listen to Episodes 9 and 37 again. Additionally, regarding jealousy and envy of others who possess externals or receive honors we might be inclined to desire, we have to keep the lesson of Encheiridion 17 in mind. It is not up to us to determine the role assigned to us or others. Maybe the cosmos gave that beautiful person that role to play. That’s their role, not yours. Perhaps the cosmos assigned the role of a wealthy person to that billionaire. Again, that’s their role, not yours. Maybe the cosmos intended that person to hold a position of honor, power, and prestige in your company, community, or nation. That is their role, not yours. Remember what Marcus wrote: But perhaps you are discontented with what is allotted to you from the whole? Then call to mind the alternative, ‘either providence or atoms’ and all the proofs that the universe should be regarded as a kind of constitutional state. (Meditations 4.3) Likewise, remember what we learned from Encheiridion 15. If the cosmos brings wealth, fame, power, prestige to you, reach out and take a portion. However, don’t allow your appetite (desire) for those externals to run ahead, and don’t attempt to stop the server if he passes by you. Remember that delicious-looking chocolate cake from the lesson on Encheiridion 15? In this lesson, Epictetus is taking it a step further. He is instructing us not to be jealous or envious of the person who does get a piece of that delicious-looking chocolate cake we talked about in that lesson. Steven Covey's Story – Wrong Ladder We make a grave mistake when we associate the possession of externals, of any kind, with happiness. The Stoics are quite clear that true well-being can only be found in what is up to us, and the only thing that is entirely up to us is the development of our moral character. The only way to be truly free from the pathology of destructive emotions is to despise our judgments of externals as “goods” and focus our attention on our faculties of judgment, motivation, desire, and aversion. Then, we will be climbing the ladder of moral excellence toward true freedom and well-being. | — | ||||||
| 3/2/22 | Exploring Encheiridion 18 – Episode 58 | Whenever a raven croaks ominously, don’t let the impression carry you away, but straightaway discriminate within yourself, and say: “None of this is a warning to me; it only concerns my feeble body or my tiny estate or my paltry reputation or my children or my wife. But to myself all predictions are favorable if I wish them to be, since it is up to me to benefit from the outcome, whatever it may be.” (Ench 18) In ancient Greece and Rome, a raven was thought to be a messenger of the God Apollo, and the croaking of a raven was typically considered a sign of future bad luck. We moderns are likely to dismiss this kind of divination without further consideration. However, the Stoic’s conception of the cosmos inspired them to give serious consideration to the connection between signs and events. As professor Dorothea Frede wrote in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics: The uniform nature of the active and passive powers within the cosmic order also explains why there is, in contradistinction to Plato and Aristotle, no separation in Stoicism of the super- and the sub-lunary world. The heavenly motions are ruled by the same principles that operate on earth: All of nature is administered by the supreme divine reason, and hence there is a global teleological determinism that the Stoics identified with fate. The omnipotence of the active principle explains the Stoic conception of an overall sumpatheia within nature, an inner connection between seemingly quite disparate events. Divination, the study of divine signs and portents, is therefore treated as a science in Stoicism rather than as superstition. Careful observation leads to the discovery of certain signs of those interconnections, even if human knowledge does not fully comprehend the rationale behind the observable order of all things. This explains why the Stoics not only supported the traditional practices of divination, but also helped establish astrology as a respectable science in the Greek and Roman world.[1] I’m not going to spend much time on divination in this episode because that is not the point of this lesson. Nevertheless, it’s important to understand the role it played in the founding of Stoicism. In the opening chapter of their book Being Better: Stoicism for a World Worth Living In, Kai Whiting and Leonidas Konstantakos do a wonderful job telling the story of Zeno’s calling to the life of a philosopher. They note that after being shipwrecked, Zeno was destitute and wondered what would become of his life. They continue: so he set off on a two-hundred-mile round trip to seek guidance from the Oracle of Delphi — the priestess of the Greek god Apollo — who was respected and revered all over Greece for her divinations. Even kings would travel for days to seek her counsel, and while today it might seem ridiculous to heed the utterings of a young woman in a trancelike state, a trip to Delphi was taken very seriously indeed. Every meeting was an involved process that had more in common with South American ayahuasca rituals than, say, visiting a clairvoyant. The Oracle required visitors to prepare in both body and mind, and as with ayahuasca ceremonies, those seeking answers at the Temple at Delphi had to adhere to strict rules in order to approach the ritual with reverence, respect, and sincerity. You couldn’t just rock up to the Oracle, hand over some coins, and demand that she saw you. Nobody could sit in the Oracle’s presence until they had properly considered the dangers of misinterpreting her advice and also understood and pledged to abide by the three maxims of self-discovery: “know yourself,” “nothing to excess,” and “surety brings ruin.” Wisdom seekers were told to listen carefully to what she said in relation to their strengths, weaknesses, personal quirks, and the specific roles they played in the wider world (as, say, a daughter, mother, Spartan queen). Zeno kept all this in mind as he told the Oracle the story of his shipwreck, and she advised him to “take on the pallor of the dead.” On his return journey home, Zeno weighed her cryptic words carefully because it was imperative that he interpret them well. What could they possibly mean? As Zeno approached Athens’ city gate, it occurred to him that, above all, he must commit to pursuing the ancient wisdom that had been passed down by venerated, and now long-dead, philosophers. He promised himself that he would reexamine the kinds of philosophical texts his own father had read to him while still a boy. In particular, he was determined to get hold of the ones that spoke about the “good life”; that is to say, a life worth living, not just one that is (or will ever be) easy, comfortable, or pleasant. In line with the Oracle’s prophecy, at the precise moment when Zeno was reading about Socrates, who Greek philosophers considered the wisest man to have ever lived, another well-known philosopher, Crates of Thebes, happened to stroll by. The two struck up a conversation, Crates agreed to mentor Zeno, and so began Zeno’s journey toward eudaimonia.[2] Within this story, we see Zeno turn the tragedy of a shipwreck and financial poverty into a new life by seeking the wisdom of the cosmos and then paying attention to the signs Nature provided. What happened for Zeno in that bookseller’s store was a synchronicity—it was more than coincidence, and Zeno knew it. That is why he paid attention to the sign and followed Crates. By following Nature, he changed his life and the lives of many others since who have chosen to follow the Stoic path he blazed. In Encheiridion 18, Epictetus tells his students why signs, no matter their source, cannot negatively affect them. Whether they appear good or bad, all signs concern externals that have no bearing on our moral character and well-being. Imagine being told to take on the pallor of the dead. Zeno certainly could have interpreted that as a foreboding message from the Oracle. Instead, he considered it thoroughly and waited until the cosmos made its meaning clear to him. No Oracle has not been present at Delphi for more than fifteen hundred years, and no one listening to this podcast is likely to be disturbed by the croaking of a raven. However, what about the croaking of a modern weatherperson, financial analyst, news anchor, or political talk show host? If Epictetus were delivering this lesson today, he might dissuade us from being concerned about: The croaks of the weatherperson about the coming hurricane or blizzard. The croaks of the financial analyst about the coming stock market crash The croaks of the political candidate about the foreboding social and economic implications of their opponent winning the election. The croaks of the news anchor about riots in the streets or the war abroad The croaks of the talk show host who tells us to fear those who disagree with us politically. The raven takes a different form for us today, but the result is the same if we allow the croaks of these modern messengers to convince us something bad is coming. If we allow the croaks of messengers to inspire inappropriate action or to discourage us from appropriate action, we harm ourselves. Does that mean we should ignore the predictions of the weatherperson, financial analyst, news anchor, etc.? No! It does mean we must remember those predictions, whether they be optimistic or ominous, apply to externals—indifferents that cannot touch our soul. Epictetus discouraged his students from misusing divination in Discourses 2.7: Because we resort to divination on the wrong occasions, many of us fail to carry out many appropriate actions, for what is a diviner able to see that extends beyond death, danger, or illness, or, in general, things of that kind? If one should be obliged, then, to run a risk on behalf of a friend, or if it is appropriate for me even to die for him, what occasion is left for me to resort to divination? Don’t I have a diviner within me who has taught me the true nature of good and bad, and can interpret the signs that indicate the one and the other? So what further need do I have of entrails or birds? And if a diviner says to me, ‘That is what will be of benefit to you,’ will I put up with it? Why, does he know what is beneficial? Does he know what is good? In learning to read the signs in the entrails, has he also learned the signs that are indicative of good and bad? For if he has knowledge of those, he also knows those that indicate what is right or wrong, and what is just or unjust. Man, it is your part to tell me whether the signs point to life or death, riches or penury; but to know whether these would be beneficial or harmful, is it really you whom I should be consulting? Why is it that you don’t speak out on points of grammar? And yet you do speak out on those matters on which all of us go astray and can never reach agreement? It was thus an excellent reply that the woman made when she wanted to send a boatload of provisions to the exiled Gratilla; for when someone said to her, ‘Domitian will merely confiscate them,’ she replied, ‘Better that he should take them away than that I should fail to send them.’ (Discourses 2.7.1-8) What is the lesson here? Appropriate actions are not guaranteed to succeed. The intention to act is the measure of appropriateness because the success of the action is not up to us. In his commentary, Simplicius offers a breakdown of Epictetus’ formula, and Keith Seddon makes it even more approachable.[3] The argument goes like this: (1) It is in your power never to desire or seek to avoid external things; (2) If you neither desire nor seek to avoid external things, you cannot be defeated (hêttaomai); (3) If you are not defeated, you cannot be in a bad situation; (4) If you are not in a bad situation, then nothing is a sign of something bad for you; (5) Therefore it is in your power to bring it about that nothing is a sign of something bad for you. This five-step argument,... | — | ||||||
| 2/23/22 | Exploring Encheiridion 17 – Episode 57 | Keep in mind that you are an actor in a play that is just the way the producer wants it to be. It is short, if that is his wish, or long, if he wants it long. If he wants you to act the part of a beggar, see that you play it skillfully; and similarly if the part is to be a cripple, or an official, or a private person. Your job is to put on a splendid performance of the role you have been given, but selecting the role is the job of someone else. (Ench 17) This chapter runs counter to most modern western thinking. I’m an actor in a play, with an assigned role? No way! “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”[1] Of course, we are the masters of our fate and captains of our souls; however, not in the way most people typically interpret those famous lines from Invictus. We want to believe we control the externals that determine our fate. We want to believe: If we obtain adequate education and embark on a promising career, we will experience financial prosperity. If we invest properly, we can ensure our financial security for retirement. If we pick the right mate, we will be romantically fulfilled and happy. If we have a nutritious diet, exercise, and get adequate rest, we will be healthy. Etc, etc. Most people hold onto idealistic beliefs like these into their early adult life. However, as time passes, life happens. Events occur that make it quite clear we are not in complete control of our destiny. Technology replaces the knowledge and skills we acquired in college and developed during a career. Stock markets and housing markets crash. Deadly pandemics sweep the world. Car crashes, street violence, war, and disease unexpectedly take loved ones away from us. Spouses leave us for others or fall short of our expectations. Etc, etc. With age, we learn we are not in complete control of the events in our life. Sadly, those hard lessons can make us bitter and pessimistic about life, and we end up frustrated, pained, and troubled, and we find fault with gods and men (Encheiridion 1). So, what is the answer? Are we supposed to stop trying to make our lives and the world better? No! Absolutely not! As I have said before, Stoicism does not teach quietism. However, Encheiridion 17 does teach us to accept that we are not in complete control of events that shape our lives. We choose how well we play our part; however, we do not get to pick the role. Numerous externals constrain us, and our failure to understand and accept that truth leads to psychological distress. The popular idea that we can be anything we want to be, limited only by our will and effort to achieve our dreams, is a fantasy. It is a lie perpetuated by people who want life to be fair from the human perspective. However, life is not fair in that sense. Human talents are not distributed equally at birth. The socio-economic and political environments people are born into, differ significantly between nations, cities, communities, and families. Whether our role is that of a beggar, cripple, official, or private person is primarily determined by many factors outside our control. External factors limit us to a far greater degree than we want to admit. Therefore, if we measure the value of our existence by externals, life will never be fair. Genius is frequently overlooked, and ignorance is often exalted. Morally corrupt individuals make it into high office, and those with good character frequently struggle to get elected to a school board. Cheaters regularly win. Lawbreakers repeatedly get away with their crimes. Hard workers sometimes end up destitute, and lazy people win the lottery occasionally. That is why Stoicism teaches us another way to evaluate our existence. From the perspective of Stoicism, life is fair and perfectly egalitarian. Those born into poverty have an equal opportunity to develop an excellent character and experience well-being as those born into wealth. Likewise, physical infirmities are not moral disabilities. Your circumstances do not dictate your character; your choices do. Were you born into poverty? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Do you have a physical infirmity that limits you? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Are you in an official position that grants you power over people? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Are you a middle-class citizen with a job, house, spouse, and children? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. A good character shines through no matter the role we are assigned to play. Our life circumstances determine our part, but they do not determine our character. We cannot predict if or when our circumstances will change; however, we can experience well-being in any role if we develop our moral character. Epictetus used this play metaphor in another Discourse where he makes the important distinction between the person or self and the role they are playing. The time will soon be coming when the actors think that their masks, and high boots, and robes are their very selves. Man, you have all of that only as your subject matter, your task. Speak out so that we may know whether you’re a tragic actor or a buffoon; for in other respects, both are just alike. Thus, if one deprives a tragic actor of his high boots and mask, and brings him on the stage like a ghost, has the actor disappeared or does he remain? If he has his voice, he remains. So also in life. ‘Take a governorship.’ I take it, and in doing so, show how a properly educated man conducts himself. ‘Take off your senatorial robe, dress in rags, and step forward in that role.’ What, then, hasn’t it been granted to me to display a fine voice? ‘In what role, then, are you coming on the stage now?’ As a witness summoned by God… (Discourses 1.2.41-47) A.A. Long offers the following in his commentary on this passage: Epictetus buys into the concept of performance, but he inverts its ideological conventions by proposing that every role persons find themselves occupying is equally apt as the setting for them to distinguish themselves. Thus, in the second excerpt above, the stage costume corresponds to external contingencies and the voice to the authentic self. The point is then: what reveals persons is not their appearance and the station in life they happen to occupy (their dramatic plot, as it were) but entirely how they perform and speak in these roles.[2] An excellent character is achievable regardless of our circumstances. That is the power of Stoicism. The circumstances of Epictetus, a slave, and Marcus Aurelius, a Roman Emperor, could hardly have been any more different. Neither deserved the role they were assigned, and we could question the fairness of a society that allowed for either role. Nevertheless, both had equal access to an excellent character and well-being. Likewise, both put on a splendid performance in the role the cosmos assigned to them. We hold both up as exemplars today because they played their parts splendidly. What is your part in the play of your life? Are you dissatisfied with your role? Would you rather have the lead role instead of being the supporting cast? Encheiridion 17 teaches us that it is not our choice. Our choice is to play the part we are presently in splendidly. The role may change in time; it may not. That is not up to us. Recall the words of Marcus: But perhaps you are discontented with what is allotted to you from the whole? Then call to mind the alternative, ‘either providence or atoms’ and all the proofs that the universe should be regarded as a kind of constitutional state. Or is it perhaps that bodily things still have a hold on you? Reflect that the mind, as soon as it draws in on itself and comes to know its own power, no longer associates itself with the motions, be they rough or smooth, of the breath; and think too of all that you have heard, and have assented to, with regard to pleasure and pain. Or is it a petty desire for fame that draws you from your path? Consider, then, how swiftly all things fall prey to oblivion, and the abyss of boundless time that stretches in front of you and behind you, and the hollowness of renown, and the fickleness and fatuousness of those who make a show of praising you, and the narrowness of the confines in which this comes to pass; for the earth in its entirety is merely a point in space, and how very small is this corner of it in which we have our dwelling; and even here how few there will be, and of what a nature, to sing your praises. (Meditations 4.3) Again, Stoicism is not quietism. Stoic prokoptons are not to sit idly by as injustice prevails. Our role may be to combat injustice. However, every effort we make to change the external circumstances of our life or the lives of others must be undertaken with a reserve clause in mind. We can only control our choice to act; we do not control the outcome. The appropriate action for Stoics is to play our role splendidly and then wish for things to happen as they actually do (Encheiridion 8). In another powerful passage, Epictetus provides us a glimpse of the calm mind and strength of character that comes from accepting all events as they happen and living the role the cosmos assigns us. When someone has come to understand these things, what is to prevent him from living with a light heart and easy mind, calmly awaiting whatever may happen, and putting up with what has already happened. Is it your wish that I should be poor? Bring it on, then, and you’ll see what poverty is when it finds a good actor to play the part. Is it your wish that I should hold office? Bring it on.... | — | ||||||
| 2/16/22 | Modern Stoic Fallacy #1 – Episode 56 | The Missing Evidence is Evidence I recently decided to start covering Modern Stoic Fallacies periodically. I have been combatting some of these fallacies for years on Facebook, in my blog, and on my podcast. However, I typically only mention them briefly and haven’t provided much analysis. All of these fallacies have the same goal: to justify removing Stoic physics from the holistic system the ancient Stoics created to make Stoicism compatible with agnosticism and atheism. Before I go any further, I will repeat what I have stated numerous times before. I support the development of a modern, agnostic version of Stoicism? However, there is a condition. A modern, agnostic version of Stoicism must not be built on a foundation of fallacies that distort, misrepresent, and discredit the traditional theory and practice as the ancient Stoics created it. I fully support Modern Stoics, like the late Lawrence Becker, who openly stated he intended to abandon Stoic physics to create a “new” synthesis of Stoicism. I do not support those who claim their new synthesis is essentially the same as that produced by the ancient Stoics or what it would have become if the Stoa remained active into modern times. Those assertions are wishful thinking at best. Some of my listeners might wonder why I am spending time refuting Modern Stoic fallacies. That is a fair question. I believe these Modern Stoic fallacies must be refuted for three reasons. First, those entirely new to Stoicism may wrongly assume these fallacies are supported by historical facts, scholarship, or logical thinking. They are not. Second, Traditional Stoics need to understand these Modern Stoic fallacies do not discredit or refute the deeply spiritual form of Stoicism they know and appreciate from reading the Stoic texts and recognized Stoic scholarship. Finally, these fallacies unintentionally opened the door to other newly minted adaptations of Stoicism that bring disgrace to the tradition of the ancient Stoa. Some of these fallacies are repeated so frequently on social media platforms they become memes. One pervasive example most anyone who has been on Stoic social media platforms has seen is, “Stoicism is not a religion.” While that statement is factually accurate, it is used to infer something false about Stoicism. I will covert that in a future episode. The first fallacy I will tackle is what I call The Missing Evidence is Evidence Fallacy. This fallacy proposes the possibility some of the ancient Stoics were agnostics. Curiously, rather than offering evidence supporting this possibility, the author speculates that the evidence might exist in Stoic texts no longer available to us. In other words, he wants to leave open the possibility that missing Stoic texts might lend credence to his hope that some of the ancient Stoics were agnostic about the providential nature of the cosmos. Again, I call this The Missing Evidence is Evidence Fallacy. This Modern Stoic fallacy is not repeated as often as others on social media. I hope that is because many people see the errant reasoning used in this fallacy and understand the unintended consequences of its use. Nevertheless, like most Modern Stoic fallacies, this one serves a specific purpose—it attempts to justify removing Stoic physics, which includes the concept of a divine and providential cosmos, from Stoicism. Here is the source of this Modern Stoic Fallacy: Only about 1% of the ancient Stoic writings survive today, at a rough estimate. We have substantial texts from only three authors: Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. They were all late Roman Stoics and we have only fragments from the early Greek Stoics, including the founders of the school. (Also some important ancient secondary sources, especially in the writings of the Platonist Cicero.) None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics themselves but others may have been.[1] To be fair, this is not the whole argument presented by this Modern Stoic to support his conclusion that “Marcus Aurelius and perhaps also Epictetus believed that agnosticism or even atheism may have been consistent with the Stoic way of life.”[2] In fact, this particular piece includes several pages of supporting circumstantial evidence and contains several Modern Stoic Fallacies I will address in future episodes. Nevertheless, it is clear from this passage alone the author is appealing to missing textual evidence to support his final claim. Let’s begin by placing this fallacy into the structure of an informal logical argument to analyze it. Premise #1: Only about 1% of the Stoic texts survive today. Premise #2: Most of what we do know about Stoicism comes from a small sample of sources, and most of that is from the Roman Stoics (Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius). Fragments from the founders and secondary writing are notably helpful) Premise #3: None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics. Conclusion: However, other Stoics may have been agnostics. In this format, we quickly see this is a classic example of a non sequitur, which means “does not follow” in Latin. In other words, the conclusion that “some other ancient Stoics may have been agnostics” does not logically follow from the fact that only a tiny percentage of the ancient Stoic texts are available to us today. Before I tackle the conclusion drawn from this Modern Stoic fallacy, I also want to address a word in Premise #3 that is critical to assessing it. The word is “appear,” and it’s used in the final sentence of the passage that originated this fallacy. Again, that reads: None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics... [bold emphasis added] The word “appear” is a guarding term in this sentence. People use guarding terms to protect an assertion from attack by reducing its claim and leaving open the possibility it may be wrong. Guarding terms serve a legitimate purpose in philosophical dialogue because many philosophical assertions are not provable in any objectively testable way. Therefore, honesty often necessitates guarding terms to point out a degree of uncertainty or limit the scope of an assertion. Nevertheless, guarding terms can also be deployed to gently persuade a reader or listener to accept an otherwise questionable assertion as true. That is why guarding terms are used so frequently by lawyers in the courtroom to sway a jury toward a conclusion of innocence or guilt based on evidence that can be ambiguous. In philosophy, guarding terms can deliver insinuations and inferences the facts or logical arguments do not fully support. This type of argumentation is called sophistry. A sophistry is a clever but fallacious argument intended to establish a point through trickery.[3] In this Modern Stoic fallacy, the guarding term “appear” is used to subtly call into question the beliefs of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. Again, the author asserts that none of these Stoics appear to be agnostics. However, this guarding term implicitly leaves open the possibility they may have been agnostic. It would have been easy for the author of this fallacy to write: None of these Stoics were agnostics themselves... However, the author chose to write it differently. Again, he wrote: None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics themselves... [bold emphasis added] The word “appear” helps guard the conclusion, which reads: …but others may have been. [emphasis added] Within this conclusion, we see another guarding term. In this instance, it’s the phrase “may have been.” The combination of these guarding terms encourages the reader to assent to the possibility some of the ancient Stoics may have been agnostics while simultaneously guarding the author’s conclusion from refutation. The use of these guarding terms allows the author to suggest a possibility—that some ancient Stoics may have been agnostics—without making a factual claim that can be directly challenged with evidence. If the author made an unambiguous assertion that one or more of the ancient Stoics were agnostics, he would be left unprotected from the question: “Which ones?” Nevertheless, this fallacy only works for those who have not read the Stoic texts and scholarship or those willing to ignore the facts about Stoicism. This assertion may work in a court of public opinion, where fellow agnostics and atheists populate the jury. However, it does not stand up to the historical evidence. Such an assertion would never withstand the scrutiny of peer-review by credible scholars of Stoicism. While it is certainly true Stoic theology, as expressed in the surviving texts, varied slightly between individual Stoics and over time. There is no evidence any ancient Stoic was agnostic as that word is commonly understood today. They were all deeply committed to belief in the existence of God in the form of a providentially ordered cosmos. I am not aware of a single credible scholar who has argued otherwise. Trust me when I say I have looked. I have also asked the author of this article, publicly and repeatedly, to reference any scholar who supports his assertion. To date, I have received none. This highlights one common feature of Modern Stoic fallacies: they never reference credible scholars to back their assertions. Why? In this case, no credible scholar would suggest Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, or any other ancient Stoic was agnostic about the existence of God. Let’s get back to the Modern Stoic Fallacy I’m addressing in this episode. Again, I call this The Missing Evidence is Evidence Fallacy. It opens with an accurate assessment of the current state of Stoic texts. Only a tiny percentage of the known Stoic texts survived and are available today. Archeologists may discover more in the future from archeological sites like Herculaneum;[4] however, we cannot rely on that being the case. Neither is it reasonable to assume a future discovery will support an argument or doctrine clearl | — | ||||||
| 2/9/22 | Exploring Encheiridion 16 – Episode 55 | Whenever you see someone grieving at the departure of their child or the loss of their property, take care not to be carried away by the impression that they are in dire external straits, but at once have the following thought available: “What is crushing these people is not the event (since there are other people it does not crush) but their opinion about it.” Don’t hesitate, however, to sympathize with them in words and even maybe share their groans, but take care not to groan inwardly as well. (Ench 16) This passage refutes the characterization of Stoics as Mr. Spock-like beings completely lacking appropriate emotional responses toward others. As Margaret Graver wrote in her brilliant book, Stoicism and Emotion: The founders of the Stoic school did not set out to suppress or deny our natural feelings; rather, it was their endeavor, in psychology as in ethics, to determine what the natural feelings of humans really are. With the emotions we most often experience they were certainly dissatisfied; their aim, however, was not to eliminate feelings as such from human life, but to understand what sorts of affective responses a person would have who was free of false belief.[1] The conception of the Stoic as an emotionless person who lacks sympathy for others is an unfortunate caricature. Fortunately, it is repudiated by the Stoic texts. The Letters of Seneca are primarily motivated by his desire to counsel and help his close friend Lucilius. The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius are full of his sympathy for others. In Meditations 2.1, he reminds himself we all share a portion of the same divine mind; therefore, it is contrary to nature to refuse to work with others. Likewise, Epictetus reminds us of our duty to others in several of his Discourses. Encheiridion 16 provides a formula for Stoics to engage with and help people experiencing emotional distress. This formula can be broken down into two parts, and it’s essential to get these parts in the proper order. Otherwise, we may do more harm than good to ourselves and others while attempting to help them. These parts are: Take care not to be carried away by the impression the person is in dire external straits. Don’t hesitate to sympathize with them in words and groans. Now, let’s consider the parts of this formula in their appropriate order. Part 1: Take care not to be carried away by the impression the person is in dire external straits. This part is preparation. Epictetus is warning us to be in the appropriate state of mind before engaging with someone in emotional distress. As a Stoic prokopton, this might appear easy at first. We know the person’s distress is caused by their assent to a judgment that something bad has happened. Additionally, we understand that no external event can truly harm what is essential to our well-being—our inner character. Nevertheless, the Stoics observed the effects of what modern neuroscientists only recently discovered in the form of mirror neurons. We are indeed interconnected. No person is an island. Our mirror neurons react whether we are experiencing events firsthand or observing others experience those events. Modern science proved what the ancient Stoics observed: our interconnectedness is a fundamental aspect of Nature and human nature. For this reason, the Stoic prokopton has to be cautious when dealing with people in emotional distress. If we are inadequately trained, our sympathy for others can quickly turn into a bad emotional response that overwhelms us. I’ve been a law enforcement officer for over fifteen years and a detective for ten of those years. I was already exposed to death and human tragedy before moving to my current position as a traffic homicide investigator three years ago. However, part of my responsibility in this new position is to notify the next of kin when someone dies in a traffic crash. Each time I do so, I mentally prepare myself as I drive to their home to deliver the news. It’s never easy. I have to find a balance between being sympathetic for their loss and simultaneously being the person they can rely on to objectively investigate the crash that killed their loved one. In his commentary on this Encheiridion 16, Simplicius share some insight about striking this balance: But now what follows? Is a reasonable person supposed to be unsympathetic to people feeling crushed, and to ignore them because he condemns their belief? Not at all; rather, he is supposed to go along with them and be accommodating to a certain degree by both speaking a sympathetic word, and even groaning along with him if it is necessary, not pretending to – for pretence is not fitting for the reasonable person – but groaning at human weakness (the kind of thing he considers worth groaning about).[2] My job as a traffic homicide investigator required me to learn how to speak sympathetically and groan genuinely with people as they process the news a loved one was killed in a crash. However, as I said earlier, it’s not always as easy as it appears to find that balance. Shortly after moving to this new position, I encountered a situation I was not adequately prepared for. A young couple was driving home from the mall with their four-month-old daughter strapped into her car seat in the back of their SUV when they became the victims of a violent collision that sent their SUV airborne. Their infant daughter died from the injuries sustained in the crash. The following day, I went to the hospital to interview the injured mother and father. As I stood at the foot of the hospital bed, asking this grieving mother what she recalled about the crash, I became overwhelmed by her emotion. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I got so choked up I couldn’t continue the interview. I had to ask her to excuse me as I stepped toward the window and regained my composure before continuing with the interview. Was my emotional response inappropriate? Yes. A Stoic sage would have been capable of sympathizing with that grieving mother without being overwhelmed by her emotion. You see, for those few moments while I was overwhelmed by my emotions, I could not perform my role as a Traffic Homicide Investigator. Furthermore, if I had allowed her flood of emotions to continue dragging me in, I would not have been able to help her at all. However, I believe an important distinction must be made here. What if I was in a different role in that hospital room? If I was this mother's close friend, would my emotional response have been inappropriate as a Stoic? I don’t think so. Epictetus said we can “sympathize with them in words and even maybe share their groans” Therefore, it seems reasonable that having tears well up in my eyes and getting a little choked up can be counted as sharing in the groans of a grieving friend. The distinction for any Stoic lies in the difference between the roles of an investigator and a friend. Epictetus encourages us to sympathize with grieving people to help them. However, if our sympathizing and groaning goes too far and prevent us from fulfilling our role, we are not helping. That is why Simplicius continued his passage above by highlighting Epictetus’ warning: But he must be careful how far his accommodation goes, lest he too be led in his sympathy to groan at the event from inside himself; otherwise he won’t be able to help the griever any more. For someone who intends to help with the emotion and drag the griever back from it must be accommodating to a certain degree, while remaining securely anchored himself. After all, someone remaining entirely on his own ground won’t be able to snatch up a person being swept away by a flood, any more than someone who is completely caught up in it along with him. The one who stands completely aloof won’t persuade the person suffering the emotion, because he seems to be unsympathetic; while the other one needs help himself, because he too is worsted by the emotion.[3] An appropriate response for a Stoic lies somewhere between an unfeeling statue and being overwhelmed by the emotions of others. Using Simplicius’ metaphor, I wadded too deep into the flood of that mother’s emotions and got swept away momentarily. However, I couldn’t help her if I remained safely aloof from her distress. My job was to step into the water just far enough to reach that grieving mother without losing my footing and being swept away with her in that flood of emotion. That is the challenge the Stoic prokopton faces when dealing with people in distress. Wouldn’t it be safer not to sympathize at all? Safer, yes. Appropriate, no! That is why Epictetus instructs us not to hesitate to sympathize in words and groans. Part 2: Don’t hesitate to sympathize with them in words and groans. Chrysippus argued we have “a natural congeniality to ourselves, to our members, and to our own offspring.”[4] In Stoicism, this is called the doctrine of oikeiosis, which is often translated as orientation or affinity. According to this doctrine, animals and humans alike are driven by an orientation toward self-preservation. The doctrine of oikeiosis comes from Stoic physics—the study of how Nature operates. The doctrine of oikeiosis is the foundation of Stoic ethical doctrine, and this relationship highlights the interconnected nature of the holistic philosophical system created by the Stoics. In Stoic ethics, oikeiosis begins with the orientation toward self-preservation and then expands as a human matures to include one’s family, society, and humanity as a whole. Epictetus tells us it is in our nature as humans “to do good, to be helpful to others, to pray for them” (Discourses 4.1.122). In Discourses 3.2, Epictetus outlines a training program for those who wish to make progress. The first area of study is related to desires and aversions, the second with appropriate behavior, and the third with avoiding hasty judgments. While expounding on appropriate action, the second area of training,... | — | ||||||
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| 1/26/22 | Exploring Encheiridion 15 – Episode 54 | Keep in mind that you should always behave as you would do at a banquet. Something comes around to you; stretch out your hand and politely take a portion. It passes on; don’t try to stop it. It has not come yet; don’t let your appetite run ahead, but wait till the portion reaches you. If you act like this toward your children, your wife, your public positions, and your wealth, you will be worthy one day to dine with the gods. And if you don’t even take things, when they are put before you, but pass them by, you will not only dine with the gods but also share their rule. It was by acting like that that Diogenes and Heracles and others like them were deservedly divine and called so. (Ench. 15) Epictetus uses a banquet as a metaphor in this lesson. However, this banquet appears different from anything we moderns would attend. The Greek word Epictetus used is συμποσίῳ. The title of Plato’s famous Symposium is derived from that same Greek word, and it provides a model for this metaphor. To make his point in this lesson, Epictetus asks us to imagine we are guests at such a banquet. However, to apply this lesson in our life, we must first understand the metaphor. A Greek banquet or symposium during the time of Plato was slightly different from those of Roman times. Epictetus’s students would have been familiar with the latter. However, those distinctions don’t affect the metaphor or the lesson. Let’s set the scene for such a banquet to help us understand this lesson. The host, a person you know, has invited you to a banquet. When you arrive, you’re led to a room filled with pillow-covered sofas. Participants are reclined on those sofas eating food, drinking wine, talking about important topics, and possibly delivering speeches. The room has a predetermined seating arrangement, so you recline on your assigned sofa and engage in conversation with others you know at the banquet. Occasionally, someone might deliver a speech, read a poem, or bring up a topic of political concern for discussion. While this is going on, servers enter the room with platters of food and pitchers of wine. The servers approach each reclined guest in a predetermined order and offer them a portion of what they are serving. You know the proper etiquette for a banquet, and that means you must wait for each server to come to you to take your portion. The preceding lessons in the Encheiridion focus on the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us. As a banquet guest, many things are not within your power—they are not up to us. So, let’s begin by determining what is and is not in our power in this banquet metaphor. Guests don’t choose the date or time of the banquet. Guests don’t choose who is invited. Guests don’t choose their seating location. Guests don’t choose what, if any, entertainment is provided. Guests don’t choose what food and wine are served. Guests don’t choose the portions of the dishes being served. Guests don’t choose the order in which the dishes and drinks are served, Guests don’t choose the order in which they will be served. The host makes all of those decisions. Therefore, Epictetus is reminding us of the only thing within our power. As guests at the banquet of life, the only thing up to us is the choice to reach out and take a portion of each item as it is offered. Interestingly, even though the items served at a banquet are indifferents, Epictetus encourages us to reach out and take a portion of those items offered to us. We are beginning to see why Epictetus chose an ancient banquet as a metaphor for this lesson—many of the circumstances and events in life are not in our power. Moreover, one of the essential aspects of Epictetus’ training program is understanding what is in our power and choosing only those things which are up to us. Nevertheless, there is an interesting change in Epictetus’ training program in Encheiridion 15. Chapters one through fourteen directed our attention away from externals and toward that which is exclusively within our power—what is up to us. Now, Epictetus is providing us with a lesson about dealing with externals—what is not up to us. He encourages us to stretch out our hand and politely take a portion of preferred indifferents when they are offered to us. Epictetus said: Something comes around to you; stretch out your hand and politely take a portion. Epictetus is telling us it’s okay to reach out and take a portion of good health, wealth, a prestigious title, a high-paying job, a desirable mate, a big house, sports car, diamond jewelry, etc., when the cosmos offers them to us. This highlights an important aspect of Stoicism. Stoics were not complete ascetics like the Cynics—they did not renounce all externals. Stoic practice does not entail rejecting indifferents; however, it does require us to abandon our desire for them. The second lesson is a little more complicated. In Encheiridion 15, Epictetus offers a banquet metaphor to teach us how to handle indifferents. However, there’s another critically important part of this lesson. Remember, the host decides almost everything that occurs at a banquet. Therefore, Epictetus reminds us that the only thing within your power—the only thing up to us—is the choice to reach out and take a portion of each item as it is offered. Again, Epictetus said: Something comes around to you; stretch out your hand and politely take a portion. It passes on; don’t try to stop it. It has not come yet; don’t let your appetite run ahead, but wait till the portion reaches you. Here is the critically important part of the lesson: Don’t reach out and attempt to take what is not offered to you by the host. Don’t let your desire for what is being offered to others distract you from the primary goal of the banquet, which is not simply to eat and drink. Implicit in this metaphor is the idea we should not take a portion of any indifferent inconsistent with developing an excellent character. Let’s see if a modern example will help. Imagine you’ve been invited to the wedding of a good friend and the reception afterward. When you arrive at the reception, you see name tags at each table, and you look for the one with your name on it, and you take a seat. You notice the families of the bride and groom are seated in places of honor near the stage. After the bride and groom have entered and been announced, servers begin entering the room with platters of food and trays of champagne. Naturally, they serve the families of the bride and groom first and then work their way back to your table. After the meal, the servers bring in platters with dessert. Each of the four servers has a different desert, and only one of them has chocolate cake. You love chocolate cake, and this chocolate cake looks particularly delicious. Your table is close to the door where the servers enter the room, so you got a really good look at that cake. Your mouth starts to water in anticipation. However, you know you will not be among the first guests served. Your table is the eighth to be served. You could allow the impression of this cake as something “good” to well up and create a desire. Then, that desire might create an impulse to stop the server as he passes and take a piece of cake. However, that would be rude and entirely inappropriate. This is an example of the first warning Epictetus offers in this lesson. The chocolate cake has not been offered to you yet; it is passing on. Epictetus warns us. “don’t try to stop it.” Okay, let’s say you passed that test. Somewhere in the sequence between the impression of the cake as a “good” and acting on the impulse to stop the server, you stopped the impression, accepted chocolate cake is just a preferred indifferent, and you remembered why you are at the wedding—to honor your friend on their wedding day. You turn your attention back to the groom on the stage, telling everyone the story about how he met his bride. Occasionally, your attention is diverted from the groom’s story to the server with the chocolate cake. You just want to make sure some of that delicious-looking chocolate remains. It does, so your focus on the groom’s story again. Then, you hear a guest at the table next to yours say, “This cake is otherworldly.” You turn your head in time to see him take a big bite of cake, and you watch as his body melts into his chair as the flavor overwhelms his senses with satisfaction. You look at the platter and realize there are only two pieces of cake left, and four people are seated between you and that cake. The impression of the cake as “good” suddenly resurfaces, and a desire for a slice wells up inside you. You don’t even hear the words of the groom any longer. Your attention is now focused exclusively on that cake as you hope a piece will be remain when the server arrives at your seat. In Epictetus's words, you just made the mistake of letting your appetite run ahead. Obviously, Epictetus was not giving his students a lesson on banquet etiquette. Instead, knowing his students were already familiar with banquet etiquette, he used it as a metaphor to teach them how to behave appropriately toward preferred indifferents. So, what would be appropriate in our chocolate cake scenario? Epictetus would say: keep your attention on the groom’s speech because the purpose of this banquet is to honor him on his wedding day. In other words, you are there for fellowship, not chocolate cake. If your attention remains on the purpose of the event and the platter of chocolate cake is offered to you, reach out and take a slice. However, don’t let the impression of that chocolate cake distract you from the event or create an impulse to act inappropriately. Someone might ask: “Does this lesson mean I should abandon all ambition, accept my lot in life, and just wait for everything to be brought to me?” No, it doesn’t mean you should be passive or take a quietist approach to life.... | — | ||||||
| 1/12/22 | Exploring Encheiridion 14 – Episode 53 | If you want your children and your wife and friends to survive no matter what, you are silly; for you are wanting things to be up to you that are not up to you, and things to be your own that are not your own. You are just as foolish if you want your slave to make no mistakes; for you are wanting inferiority not to be a flaw but something else. But if your wish is not to be frustrated in your desires, this is in your power. Train yourself, then, in this power that you do have. Our master is anyone who has the power to implement or prevent the things that we want or don’t want. Whoever wants to be free, therefore, should wish for nothing or avoid nothing that is up to other people. Failing that, one is bound to be a slave. (Ench 14) There's nothing new in this chapter of the Encheiridion for those following the Exploring Encheiridion series. That is the nature of the Encheiridion, which Arrian created as a handbook a Stoic prokopton could keep readily available as a primer for Stoic doctrines. Therefore, many of the lessons are repeated in different forms. Nevertheless, as I was preparing for this podcast episode, I was struck by a question that inspired me to take this episode in another direction. The question is this: Why would anyone with a conscious or unconscious allegiance to the modern secular worldview consider Stoicism a viable way of life. Consider some other passages we’ve already covered in this Exploring Encheiridion series: When you kiss your little child or your wife, say that you are kissing a human being. Then, if one of them dies, you will not be troubled. (Encheiridion 3) Don’t ask for things to happen as you would like them to, but wish them to happen as they actually do, and you will be all right. (Encheiridion 8) Never say about anything, “I have lost it”; but say, “I have returned it.” Has your little child died? “It has been returned.” Has your wife died? “She has been returned.” “I have been robbed of my land.” No, that has been returned as well. (Encheiridion 11) These statements by Epictetus contradict what all moderns, those raised in the West at least, are taught from childhood. When a person views these statements from the perspective of modernity, they will likely ask: How can anyone past or present assent to ideas like this? What kind of worldview could possibly support such apparently odd and counterintuitive ideas? Therein lies the conundrum moderns face when moderns encounter the Stoic texts. We are confronted with words like God, logos, and providence from the ancient Stoic worldview and likely lack the necessary knowledge to understand the meaning of these words within the context of Hellenistic Greek culture and the holistic philosophical system known as Stoicism. If moderns have any familiarity with words like God, logos, and providence, it likely comes from religious training or college professors who mocked these ideas. Therefore, secular-minded, enlightened, educated moderns might feel justified in rejecting those ideas. In fact, moderns may feel compelled to reject them as antiquated, pre-Enlightenment ideas. Unfortunately, that judgment of Stoicism is based on a modern worldview with some underlying assumptions and consequences moderns may have never considered. I know that was true for me. As I’ve previously said on this podcast, I was a hardcore atheist when I started studying Stoicism. It took me almost a year to overcome the misconceptions and cognitive biases of my modern worldview. Worldviews are essential because they guide our beliefs and actions in ways that may evade our conscious awareness and circumspection. Jean-Baptiste Gourinat wrote about this in a paper titled Stoicism Today in 2009. He discussed the connection between Stoicism and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy—CBT—which is partly derived from Stoic principles. He wrote: Cognitive therapy is based on three hypotheses: (1) one’s behaviour springs from one’s view of oneself and the world, and our psychological difficulties and disturbances derive from these views and from our (misconceived) perception of external events; (2) this point of view may be modified; (3) this modification of our thoughts and opinions may have positive effects on our behaviour and emotions since the latter are dependent on the former.[1] The “view of oneself and the world” he refers to is one’s worldview. It’s a combination of a model of the world—the way the world is—and a model for the world—the way one should act in the world to survive and achieve their conception of happiness. Jeremy Lent provided some insight into the concept of a worldview in his 2017 book titled The Patterning Instinct. He wrote: Each of us conducts our lives according to a set of assumptions about how things work: how our society functions, its relationship with the natural world, what's valuable, and what's possible. This is our worldview, which often remains unquestioned and unstated but is deeply felt and underlies many of the choices we make in our lives. We form our worldview implicitly as we grow up, from our family, friends, and culture, and, once it's set, we're barely aware of it unless we're presented with a different worldview for comparison. The unconscious origin of our worldview makes it quite inflexible. That's fine when it's working for us. But suppose our worldview is causing us to act collectively in ways that could undermine humanity's future? Then it would be valuable to become more conscious of it.[2] Then, Lent opens his 2021 book, titled The Web of Meaning, with a story the “the speech” we are all likely to hear during our youth from some well-meaning adult who wishes the pass on their wisdom about the way the world is and how one must operate in it to survive and prosper. He points out this type of conversation is ubiquitous because they channel the “themes we hear every day from those in a position of authority,” including the talking heads on TV, successful business people, teachers, and school textbooks. He notes, “Even when the Speech is not given explicitly, its ideas seep into our daily thoughts” and can be distilled to some basic “building blocks.” He writes: These basic elements, give or take a few, form the foundation of the predominant worldview. They infuse much of what is accepted as indisputably true in most conversations that take place about world affairs. They are so pervasive that most of us never question them. We feel they must be based on solid facts – why else would all those people in positions of authority rely on them? That’s the characteristic that makes a worldview so powerful. Like fish that don’t realize they’re swimming in water because it’s all they know, we tend to assume that our worldview simply describes the world the way it is, rather than recognizing it’s a constructed lens that shapes our thoughts and ideas into certain preconditioned patterns.[3] So what is the worldview most people in positions of authority and influence embrace? It’s revealed in the assumed intellectual superiority behind demands like “follow the science” or “follow the facts.” It’s the appeal to authority underlying assertions like “the science tells us” or “science says.” It’s the assumed worldview upon which most moderns stand when they demand “proof” and “evidence” to support your assertions while they simultaneously declare their beliefs are based on science. It’s called scientism, and that label will be disputed by those who hold to that belief system as quickly and adamantly as the label fundamentalism will be rejected by those who demand strict adherence to a set of religious beliefs. So, what is scientism? Richard Williams, professor of psychology at Brigham Young University, offers the following definition: Scientism is, in its basic form, a dogmatic overconfidence in science and “scientific” knowledge. But, more importantly it is overconfidence in science, defined by, constructed around, and requiring that, the world must be made up of physical matter following particular lawful principles, and that all phenomena are essentially thus constituted. This gives scholars the great confidence that characterizes scientism. The confidence associated with this worldview is seen in the insistence that any scholarly endeavor that does not ground itself in that required set of constructs and ideas must be rejected as unscientific, and any knowledge claims made as a result of such endeavors are suspect. Such knowledge claims are to be rejected as being only metaphysical speculation, reflecting mere subjective bias, or, ironically, a devotion to religious orthodoxy.[4] Religious believers in centuries past rarely stopped to consider how some of their beliefs affected their psychology and behavior. Why? They didn’t need to; their worldview was mainstream and left largely unchallenged. In the same way, moderns neglect to consider how the scientific worldview that implicitly molds the spirit of our secular age affects their beliefs and behaviors. Why? Scientism and secularism are now mainstream, so their worldview is rarely challenged in modern times. Let’s consider some of the ideas perpetuated by modern orthodox science: The universe and human life are accidents; they result from a long sequence of chance events. There is no inherent meaning in the universe or human life. Everything is reducible to interactions of inert matter constrained by the physical laws. Humans are driven by selfish genes to propagate their genetic code into the next generation. Consciousness is an illusion—an epiphenomenon of neural activity. Free will is an illusion. There is no room for any freedom of the human will within the mechanistic, clocklike operation of the universe. Do the intellectuals and scientists who impose these beliefs on moderns ever stop to consider where those beliefs will lead us? Do they reflect on what kind of behaviors they might produce? ... | — | ||||||
| 1/5/22 | Exploring Enchiridion 13 – Episode 52 | If you want to make progress, don’t mind appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned, and don’t wish to appear an expert. Even if some people think you are somebody, distrust yourself. It is not easy, you can be sure, to keep your own will in harmony with nature and simultaneously secure outward things. If you care about the one, you are completely bound to neglect the other. (Ench 13) After a short break from the Encheiridion, I start again with chapter 13. I will continue to work through the Encheiridion, chapter by chapter. However, I will take breaks from it occasionally to cover other topics or conduct interviews as I did recently with the authors of two new Stoic books. Epictetus opens Encheiridion 13 with a familiar refrain, “If you want to make progress,” and then lists what a prokopton must do to progress along the Stoic path. So, what is Epictetus prescribing for us to make progress? He lists two things in this lesson: First, don’t mind appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned. Why? Because it’s difficult to keep our will (prohairesis)—that which is within our power and up to us—in harmony with Nature while simultaneously desiring and seeking externals—those things not within our power and therefore not up to us. Second, don’t wish to appear as an expert. Why? Again, if we desire to appear as an expert, we seek something not up to us. Before we consider these two specific things Epictetus lists in this passage, let’s look at the overarching message. Some things are up to us, and others are not up to us. We learned that in Encheiridion 1. As a refresher, the things that are not up to us are external to us, like our health, financial status, other people’s opinion of us, etc. Obviously, our behavior can influence these externals; nevertheless, they are not entirely within our power. We can live a healthy lifestyle and still get cancer; we can work hard and save money and still end up broke and destitute during a widespread economic crisis; we can be kind, helpful, and act appropriately, and some people will still have a low opinion of us. On the other hand, our reasoning faculty (prohairesis) is entirely within our power; it is up to us. So much so, as Epictetus teaches in Discourses 3.3, not even Zeus can override this power granted to us by Nature. Therefore, once again, Epictetus confronts us with the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us. We will continue to see this theme in the Encheiridion because it is central to Epictetus’ teaching and critically important for developing our moral excellence and progress toward well-being. Now, let’s look at these two things not up to us Epictetus chose to highlight in this lesson. I will tackle the second item first because this episode will focus on the first. Epictetus warns us not to wish to appear an expert. If some people have that opinion of us, that’s fine, but it’s not up to us. Because it’s not up to us, desiring that others think of us as an expert is not in accordance with the nature of things. As Keith Seddon points out in his commentary, this passage could have two different meanings. When Epictetus warns against not wishing to appear knowledgeable about anything, he may mean this in a wholly general way – to have knowledge is one thing, but to have a desire to show it off and be regarded as a knowledgeable person is altogether something else, and is inappropriate for the Stoic prokoptôn – for placing one’s well-being (to however small a degree) on the satisfaction of this desire is to rely on something that is not in one’s power, something external and indifferent, and risks undermining one’s ‘good flow’ (euroia). But I suspect Epictetus means ‘knowledgeable’ to refer only to knowledge of good and bad, moral excellence, the indifferent and external things, and of Stoic ethics as a whole. However advanced our progress, it is unlikely ever to be complete, and to impose our views on others is not fitting, for however severe their faults may be, even if our faults are less, our efforts should be applied to diminish our own faults, not theirs.[1] Epictetus is focusing the attention of his students inward. If we desire to appear knowledgeable or more advanced in our progress toward virtue, we are making our well-being dependent on others who are external to us. We learned where that path leads in Encheiridion 1: …you will be frustrated, pained, and troubled, and you will find fault with gods and men. I want Epictetus’ message to be clear here. He is not instructing us to avoid seeking knowledge. The path of the prokopton entails the acquisition of knowledge. Virtue is a form of knowledge—the knowledge of good and bad. Likewise, we are not doing anything wrong if others happen to think we are knowledgeable. Again, that is not up to us. The danger to our well-being lies in our wish (desire) to appear knowledgeable to others. Social media makes this a more present danger in modern times. It’s pretty easy to fall into the social media approval trap where we measure our value by the number of people who “Like” our posts and comments. Now, we come to the second topic, the first item on Epictetus’ list in this passage. He said: If you want to make progress, don’t mind appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned. Why? Well, Epictetus tells us. Because it’s difficult to keep our will (prohairesis)—that which is within our power and up to us—in harmony with Nature while simultaneously desiring and seeking externals—those things not within our power and therefore not up to us. So, what could Epictetus possibly mean by appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned? With Stoic teachings in mind, I think it’s easy to imagine several ways a Stoic prokopton might appear foolish and silly to others. First, most people in ancient and modern times would consider it foolish to focus one’s full attention inward to experience well-being. Consider this imaginary scenario. You’re standing around with a group of your close friends one day when you suddenly feel compelled to tell them you’re embarking on a new philosophical way of life. “Cool,” one of them responds, “what is it?” It’s called Stoicism. Another of your friends chimes in, “I’ve heard of that. I guess you’ll be developing a stiff upper lip, ol’ chap.” You politely inform him that’s a mischaracterization of Stoicism. “What is Stoicism about then?” He asks. You tell them it entails paying attention only to those things that are up to me, like my judgment of impressions, desires, aversions, and intentions to act, rather than things like financial success, good health, promotions, fame, etc. Suddenly you realize the room went quiet, and everyone is staring at you curiously. Oh, but wait, you insist, there’s more to it than that! You tell your friends you don’t need those things because you’ve discovered something infinitely more valuable. Now they're interested. “What is more valuable?” Bill asks as he leans forward with anticipation of hearing about a great stock tip, Bitcoin cache location, or a cure for Covid. All their attention is now focused on you as your words pierce the deafening silence. Well, I’ve discovered that developing courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom is the only path to true well-being. John spits out his coffee; Tammy just stares at you disbelievingly. Your best friend Bill walks over, slaps you on the back, and says, “That was a good one; you had us all going there for a minute.” Seriously, you insist. I’ve learned not to ask for events to happen as I would like them to. Instead, I now wish for events to happen just as they do? “Really?” John asks incredulously. “Even if that means the loss of your job, your home, your legs, your child, or your spouse?” Yes, you reply as the laughter increases in volume. Your best friend Bill asks, “How can you possibly believe something like that?” As if the situation wasn’t bad enough, now you must reveal the truth about how it is you can hold such foolish and silly beliefs about tragic events. I believe the cosmos is providentially ordered. You say a little hesitantly. “What?” Tammy shouts! I must not have heard you correctly. What did you just say?” I said I believe the cosmos is providentially ordered. Things happen for a good reason. “Alright, now you’ve gone too far,” Tammy insists. “Don’t you know science has proved the universe and humans evolved from nothing?” Then, she tells you to sit down while she explains how the powerful double punch from Hume and Darwin made belief in things like providence “untenable” in modern times. “It’s all the result of chance,” she exclaims. “With enough time, anything can happen. That providence crap is pure nonsense,” she insists. “Worse, it’s nonsense of stilts. You need to stop reading those foolish and silly Stoics and start reading some of the ancient Sceptics.” The rest of your friends stopped laughing a while ago. They are simply staring at you with their hands over their mouths and a genuine look of concern in their eyes. Are you feeling foolish and silly yet? Many moderns will applaud the tongue-lashing Tammy delivered in the name of science in this imaginary scene. Why? Because they agree that a concept like a providential cosmos is nonsense. They think it’s foolish and silly. Meanwhile, they somehow overlook how foolish and silly the rest of Stoicism is to the average modern person. Here’s a challenge: go out to a busy street corner in any large city and try convincing those passing by that virtue is the only true good and it’s the only thing they need for well-being. I suspect you will get a response similar to the guy on the opposite corner telling people to repent because the return of God is at hand. Most people will consider you foolish and silly. Yet, some of these same moderns believe the Stoic axiom that virtue is the only good, almost unquestioningly,... | — | ||||||
| 12/29/21 | Breakfast with Seneca: An Interview with David Fideler – Episode 51 | This interview of David Fideler covers his 2021 book titled, Breakfast with Seneca: A Stoic Guide to the Art of Living. His book provides a detailed look at the life of Seneca as a Stoic prokopton. David's book is intended for a general audience, and it is an easy and enjoyable read. Nevertheless, he provides extensive notes for those wishing to dig deeper. This book is rather unique because it provides a solid introduction to the basics of Stoic philosophical theory through the life and writings of a single ancient Stoic: Seneca. Chapter 9, titled Vicious Crowds and the Ties That Bind is particularly insightful and relevant in our time of political and social divisiveness. I highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in Seneca's life and works. I will also make a great gift to friends and loved ones who are curious about Stoicism. A video version of this interview is available on YouTube | — | ||||||
| 12/22/21 | Being Better: An Interview with Kai Whiting and Leonidas Konstantakos – Episode 50 | This interview of Kai Whiting and Leonidas Konstantakos covers their 2021 book titled, Being Better: Stoicism for a World Worth Living In. Their book provides a short (136 pages, excluding notes) yet highly informative introduction to Stoicism as a way of life. Being Better was written for a general audience, and it is the best book I've read for two types of people. First, for those new to Stoicism, Being Better provides an excellent introduction. It includes just enough philosophical theory and history to acquaint the reader with Stoicism. The second audience is the person considering Stoicism but is unsure it's right for them. After reading Being Better, readers will know if Stoicism is a philosophical way of life worth pursuing further. Finally, I cannot think of a better book for those who want to give a short, easy-to-read, informative, and interesting book to a friend or family member who is curious about Stoicism. A video version of this interview is available on YouTube | — | ||||||
| 12/15/21 | The Festival of Life – Episode 49 | Our situation is like that at a festival. Sheep and cattle are driven to it to be sold, and most people come either to buy or to sell, while only a few come to look at the spectacle of the festival, to see how it is proceeding and why, and who is organizing it, and for what purpose. So also in this festival of the world. Some people are like sheep and cattle and are interested in nothing but their fodder; for in the case of those of you who are interested in nothing but your property, and land, and slaves, and public posts, all of that is nothing more than fodder. Few indeed are those who attend the fair for love of the spectacle, asking, ‘What is the universe, then, and who governs it? No one at all? (Discourses 2.14.23-25) In this passage, Epictetus paints an unflattering picture of the mass of humanity. He suggests some of us treat the festival of life as a marketplace; we are distracted by the superficial endeavors of life. This chapter of the Discourses tells the story of a wealthy, influential Roman who was attending one of Epictetus’ with his son. Midway through the lecture, Epictetus instructs his students they must imitate God. With this, the father asked, “Where are we to start then?” The father now has Epictetus's undivided attention. I can only assume he did not know what that would entail. Epictetus acknowledges the father is wealthy and likely known to Caesar. Nevertheless, he informs the father he lacks what is most essential for happiness: …you know neither what God is, nor what a human being is, nor what is good, nor what is bad. (Discourses2.14.19) Next, Epictetus suggests most people behave like sheep and cattle, driven here and there by our appetites (desires). He argues that only a few love the spectacle of the festival of life. These few are the ones who inquire about the nature of the festival: The nature of the cosmos – “What is the universe, then, and who governs it? No one at all? And yet when a city or household cannot survive for even a very short time without someone to govern it and watch over it, how could it be that such a vast and beautiful structure could be kept so well ordered by mere chance and good luck?” (2.14.25-26) The nature of the divine – “So there must be someone governing it. What sort of being is he, and how does he govern it?” (2.14.27) Human nature – “And we who have been created by him, who are we, and what were we created for?” (2.14.27) The relationship between humans and the divine – “Are we bound together with him in some kind of union and interrelationship, or is that not the case?” (2.14.27) Epictetus continues to elaborate on this small group of people who seek to understand this festival of life. He asserts, “they devote their leisure to this one thing alone, to finding out about the festival before they have to take their leave” (2.14.28). Our quest as philosophers is to discover as much as we can about this festival we call life before we take our leave from it. Like Socrates, the true philosopher is naturally curious and cannot be stopped from inquiring—it is in a philosopher’s nature to seek wisdom. It is part of our human nature to inquire about the nature of the cosmos and humankind. Epictetus tells us: But God has brought the human race into the world to be a spectator of himself and of his works, and not merely to observe them, but also to interpret them. It is thus shameful for a human being to begin and end where the irrational animals do. Rather, he should start off where they do and end where nature ended with regard to ourselves. Now it ended with contemplation, and understanding, and a way of life that is in harmony with nature. Take care, then, that you don’t die without having contemplated these realities. (Discourses 1.16.19-22) Seneca offers a similar list of inquiries. Seneca’s list is found in his work appropriately titled Natural Questions. That list includes the following: What is the material that makes up the universe? Who is the creator or guardian of the universe? Is god concerned with humans? Is god immanent and acting in the world or created the universe and remains remote? Is god part of the world or the world itself? (Natural Questions I, praef. 1-2) The similarity between these lists is obvious. However, Seneca follows his list of ponderings with a remarkable statement, If I were not allowed access to these questions, it would not have been worth being born. For what could give mea reason to be glad that I had been included in the ranks of the living? Digesting food and drink? Stuffing full this body—which is vulnerable, delicate, and will perish if it is not constantly replenished—and living as nurse to a sick man? Fearing death, the one thing to which we are born? Take away this invaluable blessing, and life is not worth the sweat and the panic. (Natural Questions I, praef. 4) Marcus Aurelius makes a similar argument about the value of human life without the divine: Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. But taking your leave of the human race is nothing to be feared, if the gods exist; for they would not involve you in anything bad. If, on the other hand, they do not exist, or if they do not concern themselves with human affairs, why should I care to go on living in a world devoid of gods or devoid of providence? But they do exist, and they do show concern for human affairs, and they have placed it wholly within the power of human beings never to fall into genuine evils; and besides, if anything were bad for us, they would have taken measures too to ensure that everyone would have it in his power not to fall victim to it. (Meditations 2.11) Life without the rational fragment of the divine—the God within—each of us possesses is not worth living because that is an animal's life, not a human. As Epictetus asserts: Merely to fulfil the role of a human being is no simple matter. For what is a human being? ‘A rational and mortal creature,’ someone says. First of all, what does the rational element serve to distinguish us from? ‘From wild beasts.’ And from what else? ‘From sheep and the like.’ Take care, then, never to be like a wild beast; otherwiseyou will have destroyed what is human in you, and will have failed to fulfil your part as a human being. Take care that you never act like a sheep; or else in that way, too, you will have destroyed what is human in you.‘When is it, then, that we act like sheep?’ When we act for the sake of our belly or genitals, when we act at random, or in a filthy manner, or without proper care, to what level have we sunk? To that of sheep. What have we destroyed? What is rational in us. And when we behave aggressively, and harmfully, and angrily, and forcefully, to what level have we sunk? To that of wild beasts. There are, besides, some among us who are large ferocious beasts, while others are little ones, small and evil-natured, which prompt us to say, ‘I’d rather be eaten by a lion!’ By all such behaviour, the human calling is destroyed. (Discourses 2.9.1-7) More than two millennia later, most people still follow the herd and behave like animals rather than rational humans, and philosophers still contemplate the same basic questions. What is the nature of reality? What is this festival of life all about? Is there a purpose? Is there inherent meaning? Unfortunately, many of us neglect to ask these questions because we believe there are no meaningful answers. Additionally, contemplation like this reminds us of the existential angst lurking in the shadow of our psyche. So, we continue to follow our impulses and behave like sheep and cattle. We follow the herd. We uncritically accept the worldview and values of the society in which we live. We absorb the spirit of the times (zeitgeist) without challenging the current orthodoxy. In the past, the herd followed religious orthodoxy. Today, the herd typically follows the orthodoxy of scientism combined with the latest, trendy sociopolitical theory. Neither of those paths is appropriate for the philosopher because both lead to soul-destroying behavior. They both demand that we follow the herd, which entails following authority figures rather than thinking for themselves. Most importantly, we neglect to examine our judgments, desires, and intentions. Why? Because exposing and then changing our thought patterns is hard work, and it requires self-knowledge we often lack. We are equally resistant to discovering and relinquishing the desire for things outside our sphere of control. These desires have driven us toward what we thought was happiness for so long that we cannot imagine abandoning them. Finally, many of us avoid examining our behavior because it may entail a change we are unprepared to face. Therefore, we continue to follow the herd. We ignore our troubled minds; we remain angry at God, the universe, and fellow humans. Besides, there is a sense of comfort, security, and belonging in the herd. Alternatively, we know that if we step outside the herd, we face what Epictetus predicted: [We] become an object of mockery for the crowd, just as the spectators at an ordinary festival are mocked by the traders; and even the sheep and cattle, if they had sufficient intelligence, would laugh at those who attach value to anything other than fodder! (Discourses 2.14.29) The challenge for us moderns is to step away from the herd long enough to do a thorough self-examination. As uncomfortable as it may be, we need to hear Epictetus’ diagnosis of our current state of mind: our desires are inflamed, our aversions are low, our purposes are inconsistent, our motives are out of harmony with nature, and our opinions are ill-considered and mistaken (Discourses 2.14.22). The diagnosis is harsh, the medicine is bitter, and the path to recovery will be long and occasionally quite challenging. However, the alternative is much worse. ... | — | ||||||
| 12/8/21 | The Winds of Fortuna – Episode 48 | The wise person is still not harmed by the storms of life—poverty, pain, and the rest. For not all his works are hindered but only those that pertain to others. He is himself, always, in his actions, and in the doing of them he is greatest when opposed by fortune. For it is then that he does the business of wisdom itself, which as we just said is his own good as well as that of others. (Letters 85.37) Fortuna, for Seneca, is not an anthropomorphized divinity with malicious intentions. Instead, Fortuna (fortune) is a metaphor for those events in life which appear to hinder or help us achieve our desires and intentions. Fortuna is the slow driver in front of us, making us late for work or school, the overbearing boss, the unexpected bill, the life-threatening medical diagnosis, the termination letter from an employer, the breakup of a relationship, etc. Alternatively, as Seneca points out, Fortuna may masquerade as an apparent good, tempting us to succumb to desires and aversions outside of our control. The appearance of good fortune may include lottery winnings, promotion, fifteen minutes of fame, a new lover, etc. As we can see, Fortuna can present herself as either an apparent good or an apparent evil when, in fact, she is neither. Fortuna is a metaphor for the externals outside our control and serves as grist for our character's mill. As such, those external circumstances, which Seneca labels Fortuna, are indifferents that have no inherent ability to affect our moral character (virtue). Nevertheless, they are the very things and events that challenge us and allow us to develop our moral character toward excellence. Without the challenges offered by Fortuna, we lack the means to develop our excellence of character fully. As Seneca points out: In fair weather anyone can be a helmsman. (Letters 85.34) Our character is not challenged and developed when the seas of life are smooth and the winds are calm and steady, blowing in the direction of our wishes. Instead, our character is tested and can thereby develop most rapidly, at those times when the sea becomes turbulent and blustering winds threaten to shred our sail. Therefore, the storms of life that threaten to drive the bow of our ship under the waves are the events that serve to test and strengthen our character. In Seneca’s words: To fashion a man [or woman] who can genuinely be called a [Stoic], a stronger fate is needed. For him, the way will not be flat: he must go up and down, he must be tossed by waves, and must guide his vessel on a stormy sea. He must hold his course against fortune. Many things will happen that are hard and rough—but things he can soften and smooth out himself. Fire proves gold; misery, brave men [and women]. (On Providence 5.9) When Fortuna stirs up a storm in your life and appears intent on driving your ship onto the rocks or into the depths, keep this truth from the Stoics in mind: Fortuna is not your enemy; she is your teacher. You can choose to welcome her into your life and learn the lessons she offers, or you can ignore the lessons of Fortuna, resist fate, and suffer the psychological consequences. We learn that Fortuna is not an existential threat by trusting the benevolence of a providential cosmos and focusing our attention on what is up to us. Our struggle with Fortuna is not a fight against external circumstances. Instead, it is a struggle with our desire for circumstances to be other than they are. As we learned from Encheiridion 8, the goal of Stoicism training is learning to wish for things to happen as they do. Again, this does not mean we wish for dispreferred outcomes in advance; that’s not what the Stoics taught. However, when those events occur, we need to use them to develop our character. Stoicism teaches us to look for the lesson in the storms of life. Fortuna may use a storm to redirect our ship toward a destination we did not originally intend. Alternatively, the squall we face today may prepare us for a more significant, unforeseen storm just over the horizon. Remember, it takes fire to prove gold, and Fortuna is the metaphorical fuel that feeds the flames of the refinery. Therefore, if we keep our attention (prosoche) on developing our character, we can view events in Nature, whether they appear good or bad, as indiffernets and act appropriately to develop our moral character. Stop it – When Fortuna confronts us with an impression of circumstance that appears either good or bad initially, we must remind ourselves to say “Stop it!” to that impression. When we mentally say, “Stop it!” to the impression, we create the mental gap we need to prevent the impression from carrying us away psychologically. The impression may be of a cancer diagnosis; it may be an offer for a “dream job” with a large salary. It doesn’t matter whether the circumstance appears good or bad; we must Stop it because we know as Stoics it is neither. Strip it bare – Next, we need to set aside that immediate value judgment that this is either good or bad. We must Strip it bare to see it for what it is—just an event occurring in Nature. Remember, it is not the event that disturbs or elates us; it is our judgment of that event. See it from the cosmic perspective – Finally, we need to view these circumstances from a cosmic perspective. Yes, this cancer may kill me, but death is not bad. Death cannot harm my character, but my thoughts about death can disturb my mind and inspire intentions to act in inappropriate ways, which will damage my character. Yes, that is a dream job with a large salary, but it came from a company known to engage in unethical practices. If I take that job, I will indirectly contribute to the harm this company does to others. As I have said before, as Stoic prokoptons, we will occasionally encounter circumstances that overwhelm us. To bear and forbear may be the best we do under those circumstances depending on our level of Stoic training. However, we must move beyond bear and forbear toward willing engagement with Fortuna to develop our character. Following the events of Nature closely is an active rather than a passive approach to life. Character development requires constant attention (prosoche), discernment of what is ‘up to us’ and what is not, and a willingness to follow where fate leads with an attitude of gratitude toward a providential cosmos. Our intentions and actions must be in accord with the way things happen in Nature rather than in opposition to them. When we learn to live in agreement with Nature, we can look directly at the storm clouds forming on the horizon or the promise of riches that await on a distant shore without being overwhelmed by the passions either of those impressions typically invoke. We can welcome Fortuna into our lives as our teacher and proclaim, as Marcus did: Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in yourown good time. (Meditations 4.23) | — | ||||||
| 12/1/21 | The Religious Sentiment of Marcus Aurelius – Episode 47 | Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. All is fruit for me that your seasons bring, O nature. All proceeds from you, all subsists in you, and to you all things return. (Meditations 4.23) The Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius was a deeply spiritual person, and that fact comes across clearly in his Meditations. The American philosopher and religious scholar Jacob Needleman suggests the combination of “metaphysical vision, poetic genius, and the worldly realism of a ruler” within the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius inspire us and give us “honorable and realistic hope in our embattled lives.”[1] As a result, he argues, [The Meditations] deserves its unique place among the writings of the world’s great spiritual philosophers.[2] Needleman elaborates on the spiritual impact Marcus’ Meditations has on many of its readers, Marcus is seeking to experience from within himself the higher attention of what he calls the logos, or Universal Reason, so too the sensitive reader begins to listen for that same finer life within his own psyche. That is to say, the reader— you and I— is not simply given great ideas which he then feeds into his already formed opinions and rules of logic. The action of many of these meditations is far more serious than that, and far more interesting and spiritually practical. In a word, in such cases, in many of these meditations, we are being guided—without even necessarily knowing what to call it—we are being guided through a brief moment of inner work. We are being given a taste of what it means to step back in ourselves and develop an intentional relationship to our own mind.[3] The practice of Stoicism for Marcus was a means to find his place in the cosmos. He sought congruity with Nature and learned to love what fate had in store for him because he trusted in a providential cosmos. As David Hicks asserts, The Stoicism in which Marcus believed is rooted in an all-encompassing nature. Everything in man and in the universe, everything that is or ought to be, everything fated and everything free, and the logos or rational principle that informs everything and ties everything together and is ultimately identified with the deity – all of this is found in nature, and there is nothing else.[4] Stoicism provided Marcus with more than an abstract, intellectual understanding of human and cosmic Nature. The religious nature of Stoic philosophy differentiated it from other philosophies as well as organized religions. I covered the religious nature of Stoicism previously, so I will not address it fully here. However, it is important to understand that Stoicism was more than an intellectual endeavor for Marcus. Stoicism provided a rational form of spirituality for Marcus, and it offers the same for moderns. Stoicism is an alternative for those who consider themselves spiritual but not religious. If you're uncomfortable with the dogmas of organized religion and the nihilism of atheism, Stoicism offers a middle ground. Stoicism provides a spiritual way of life guided by reason. Stoicism relies on our innate connection with the rationality permeating the cosmos to guide our human reason toward a relationship with the divine that inspires us to develop our moral character and thereby experience true well-being. As Mark Forstater wrote in his insightful book The Spiritual Teachings of Marcus Aurelius: Until the time of Neoplatonism, Stoicism was the most highly spiritualised form of philosophy in ancient Greece and Rome. It was so spiritualised that it is as accurate to call it a religion as a philosophy.[5] As Henry Sedgewick points out in his biography of Marcus Aurelius, the traditional religions did not provide what he was looking for, Marcus was seeking a religion, as I have said, but there was none at hand that he could accept. The old Roman religion was a mere series of ceremonies, with nothing sacred except lingering patriotic sentiment, and withal marred by superstitions, such as those at Lanuvium. Foreign religions were no better. Syrian priests, like mountebanks, trundled images of the Magna Mater about the countryside, hoping to wheedle peasants out of their pennies; the worshippers of the Egyptian gods offered sensuous exaltation, and mysteries that disregarded reason. Christianity, as we understand it, was utterly unknown to him. He was compelled to look for religion in philosophy; for there only, as he thought, and perhaps thought truly, could a man, without doing wrong to his reason, find spiritual help to enable him to do his duty and keep his soul pure.[6] Marcus did not find consolation in the rituals of traditional religions or the mediation of priests. He was looking for psychological strength and consolation which could allow him to keep his mind pure in trying times and under troublesome circumstances. Marcus discovered the personal religious practice he was looking for within the deeply spiritual philosophy of Stoicism.[7] As a result, his life became an example of the power of Stoicism in a person’s inner life. Sedgewick argues, Marcus Aurelius is not a prodigy among men, unheralded by what has come before; on the contrary he is the ripe product of the spiritual movement that expressed itself in the Stoic philosophy, or rather, as it had then become, the Stoic religion.[8] As can be seen in his Meditations, Marcus followed the Stoic path and became his own priest, in service to the gods, For such a man, who no longer postpones his endeavour to take his place among the best, is indeed a priest and servant of the gods, behaving rightly towards the deity stationed within him, so ensuring that the mortal being remains unpolluted by pleasures, invulnerable to every pain, untouched by any wrong, unconscious of any evil, a wrestler in the greatest contest of all… (Meditations 3.4.3) In Meditations 3.16, Marcus draws upon the importance of the divine while discussing four models of human behavior. Body, soul, intellect: for the body, sense-impressions; for the soul, impulses; for the intellect, judgements. To receive impressions by means of images is something that we share even with cattle; and to be drawn this way and that by the puppet-strings of impulse, we share with wild beasts, with catamites, and with a Phalaris or a Nero; and to have the intellect as a guide towards what appear to be duties is something that we share with those who do not believe in the gods, with those who betray their country, with those who will do anything whatever behind locked doors. If you share everything else with those whom I have just mentioned, there remains the special characteristic of a good person, namely, to love and welcome all that happens to him and is spun for him as his fate, and not to defile the guardian-spirit seated within his breast, nor to trouble it with a host of fancies, but to preserve it in cheerful serenity, following God in an orderly fashion, never uttering a word that is contrary to the truth nor performing an action that is contrary to justice. In this passage, Marcus outlined three aspects of the Stoic Self and their corresponding capacities; then, he uses these to delineate four behavior models. First, let’s look at the three aspects of Self: Body (soma)—sense-impressions (phantasia) Soul (pneuma)—impulses (horme) Intellect (nous)—judgments It would be a mistake to impose a Platonic conception of a divided mind here. The mind is a unified whole in Stoicism. As Christopher Gill notes in his note on the Robin Hard translation of Meditations, where Marus used this same language: This threefold division differs from the standard Stoic view that psychological processes are also physical and are functions of an animating ‘breath’ (pneuma); see LS 47, 53. However, the division is probably best taken as an essentially ethical one (Marcus urges himself to identify with his rational and potentially virtuous mind or ‘ruling centre’), rather than indicating the deliberate adoption of a non-standard, Platonic-style view of psychology.[9] In his Introduction to the same translation, Gill wrote: …[Marcus] sometimes stresses that we are, essentially, our ‘ruling’ or ‘governing’ centre (or ‘mind’, hēgemonikon), sometimes contrasting this with other aspects of our self, including ‘flesh’, and, more surprisingly, psuchē (which he uses to mean ‘breath’ or ‘vitality’).25 On the face of it, this looks like a shift towards a Platonic-style dualism, distinguishing between the disembodied mind and the body in a way that is quite inconsistent with the Stoic view that our psychological functions are also bodily ones. But, examined more closely, it is clear that such passages are really making an ethical point, and one that reflects the first Stoic theme noted earlier. What Marcus is stressing (like Epictetus in similar phrases) is that the really important aspect of human nature is the capacity to use the mind, or ‘governing part’, to try to live virtuously, rather than attaching supreme value to ‘matters of indifference’ such as material goods or sensual pleasures.[10] Next, Marcus uses these aspects of the Self to delineate four models of behavior: Those who are driven by sense impressions (phantasia): “To receive impressions by means of images is something that we share even with cattle.” Those who are driven by desires (horme): “Drawn this way and that by the puppet-strings of impulse, we share with wild beasts, with catamites, and with a Phalaris or a Nero.” Those who are driven by their intellect (nous) alone: “To have the intellect as a guide towards what appear to be duties is something that we share with those who do not believe in the gods, with those who betray their country, with those who will do anything whatever behind locked doors.” So far, we see the progression from behaviors we share with animals in #1 and #2 to the use of intellect (ra | — | ||||||
| 11/24/21 | The Religious Sentiment of Seneca – Episode 46 | Seneca’s writings reveal a committed Stoic, a pious soul, and an inspirational moral philosopher. Nevertheless, some of his actions and financial dealings have generated doubt about his genuineness. Seneca is a mixed bag if the historical record can be trusted. However, it is crucial to keep in mind that Seneca engaged in politics at the highest levels of the Roman Empire, which was the dominant world power of his time. Thus, he had powerful enemies, not the least of which was the infamous Emperor Nero. When I imagine a man like Seneca in our modern political game of character assassination, I can easily find room to believe much of his negative press was politically motivated. I’m not going to dive into the morass of conflicting scholarship about Seneca; However, I offer the following quote as a balanced opinion, Naturally, we can have no more certainty that Seneca actually followed his own moral teaching than we can have about any person from antiquity. At best, the sources allow us to extract certain implications for a prominent individual like Seneca. But common opinion about his person seems very much affected, first, by the bare fact that he was a wealthy man, as if that alone would have made him selfish and hypocritical by definition, and, second, by a peculiar fusion of the tutor and counselor Seneca with the student and Emperor Nero, who is best remembered for his bad morality. Here it seems to matter little that our sources suggest that the emperors ‘good period’ was in fact precisely when he was under Seneca's influence. The stereotyped image of Seneca as a pretentious hypocrite is amazingly widespread, often simply found ‘as a stock assertion dragged from one second-hand work to another’.[1] As Stoics, I think we should take Seneca's writings at face value. They inspired multitudes in the past, and they do the same today. Many of the early Christian Church Fathers thought highly of Seneca and considered him a moral exemplar. Tertullian, a second-century Christian apologist, even referred to him as “our Seneca.” Regardless of the ambiguous historical record, Seneca’s writings reveal his deep philosophical thought and reverence for divine Nature. Letters to Lucilius Throughout his writings, Seneca refers to the relationship between the gods and us. In Letters 1.5, he calls this relationship a “kinship” and claims it is “sealed by virtue.” Later, in Letters 31, titled Our mind’s godlike potential,[2] he suggests a committed devotion to philosophy, as a way of life, raises us above our human nature toward our godlike potential. How? Through virtue, which he defines as: [T]he evenness and steadiness of a life that is in harmony with itself through all events, which cannot come about unless one has knowledge and the skill of discerning things human and divine. (Letters 31.8) Again, in Letters 53, Seneca argues that a mind committed to philosophy will be near to the gods and can experience the “tranquility of God.” He points out the tremendous power of philosophy to “beat back all the assaults of chance” and claims, No weapon lodges in its flesh; its defenses cannot be penetrated. When fortune’s darts come in, it either ducks and lets them pass by, or stands its ground and lets them bounce back against the assailant. (Letters53.11-12) In Letters 41, titled God dwells within us, Seneca covers the topics of Stoic physics and theology in some detail. First, he makes a clear distinction between the practices of personal religion and those of conventional religions. As I discussed in previous episodes, Stoicism was never a religion in the traditional sense, with altars, temples, and priests. Nevertheless, the Stoics were deeply spiritual and reverential toward God, which they conceived as an immanent and creative force that permeates and providentially guides the cosmos and humankind. Seneca begins Letters 41 by asserting, You need not raise your hands to heaven; you need not beg the temple keeper for privileged access, as if a near approach to the cult image would give us a better hearing. The god is near you—with you—inside you. I mean it, Lucilius. A sacred spirit dwells within us, and is the observer and guardian of all our goods and ills. However we treat that spirit, so does the spirit treat us. In truth, no one is a good man without God. Or is there anyone who can rise superior to fortune without God’s aid? It is God who supplies us with noble thoughts, with upright counsels. In each and every good man resides a god: which god, remains unknown. (Letters 41.1-2) Scholars suggest this reference to God as unknown comes from Virgil’s Aeneid, where King Evander leads Aeneas to a grove and says, …this hill with its crown of leaves is a god’s home, whatever god he is. (Aeneid 8.352) As an educated Roman, Lucilius would have been familiar with Virgil’s epic poem about the foundations of Roman civilization. However, this reference begs the question. Why would Seneca quote a passage referring to an unknown god in a letter about the God that dwells within us? I think this is illustrative of the Stoic conception of God. Cleanthes, the second Scholarch of the Stoa, referred to the divinity as the God of many names in his deeply spiritual Hymn to Zeus. For the Stoic, God is immanent in all of creation. Therefore, whether God, Nature, Zeus, universal Reason, etc., the name we choose does not matter. They all point to the same concept—divine rationality that permeates the cosmos and is the source of its ongoing existence. Next, Seneca discusses the religious awe many people experience while in the majestic presence of Nature. If you happen to be in a wood dense with ancient trees of unusual height, where interlocking branches exclude the light of day, the loftiness and seclusion of that forest spot, the wonder of finding above ground such a deep, unbroken shade, will convince you that divinity is there. If you behold some deeply eroded cavern, some vast chamber not made with hands but hollowed out by natural causes at the very roots of the mountain, it will impress upon your mind an intimation of religious awe. We venerate the sources of great rivers; we situate an altar wherever a rushing stream bursts suddenly from hiding; thermal springs are the site of ritual observance; and more than one lake has been held sacred for its darkness or its measureless depth. (Letters 41.3) Next, Seneca makes an interesting comparison. He compares this experience of the divine in Nature to the experience of encountering a sage-like person—a person who lives up to their godlike potential. He wrote: So if you see a person undismayed by peril and untouched by desire, one cheerful in adversity and calm in the face of storms, someone who rises above all humankind and meets the gods at their own level, will you not be overcome with reverence before him? That eminent and disciplined mind, passing through everything as lesser than itself, laughing at all our fears and all our longings, is driven by some celestial force. Such magnitude cannot stand upright without divinity to hold it up. In large part, then, its existence is in that place from which it has come down. (Letters 41.4-5) So, what is the source of this divinity which holds up the “eminent and disciplined mind” of this person? Seneca writes: Even as the sun’s rays touch the earth and yet have their existence at their point of origin, so that great and sacred mind, that mind sent down to bring us nearer knowledge of the divine, dwells indeed with us and yet inheres within its source. Its reliance is there, and there are its aim and its objective: though it mingles in our affairs, it does so as our better. (Letters 41.4-5) In other words, the god-like mind we see in this sage-like person has its source in “that great and sacred mind” that permeates the cosmos. As Pierre Hadot notes in his marvelous book The Inner Citadel, the Stoics thought: It is impossible that the universe could produce human rationality, unless the latter were already in some way present within the former.[3] Many moderns gloss over passages like this because they consider them religious nonsense. However, Seneca and the other Stoics thought this conception of the cosmos the most reasonable inference from their observations of nature. Seneca is arguing for the existence of an inherent intelligence in the cosmos, and many modern scientists agree. In response to an inquiry from a young girl, Einstein wrote: …everyone who is seriously involved in the pursuit of science becomes convinced that some spirit is manifest in the laws of the universe, one that is vastly superior to that of man. In this way the pursuit of science leads to a religious feeling of a special sort, which is surely quite different from the religiosity of someone more naive.[4] Einstein did not believe in a personal God, and he was not an advocate of organized religion; nevertheless, he asserted that “individuals of exceptional endowments” could rise to a “third stage of religious experience” he called “cosmic religion” where, The individual feels the futility of human desires and aims and the sublimity and marvelous order which reveal themselves both in nature and in the world of thought. Individual existence impresses him as a sort of prison and he wants to experience the universe as a single significant whole.[5] Einstein’s definition of cosmic religion is consistent with the theology and religious sentiment of the Stoics, who called this intelligence within the cosmos logos and considered it divine. For the Stoics, a fragment of the same logos (rationality) which permeates and rationally orders the cosmos also serves as our guiding principle or hegemonikon—our rational mind. Thus, when we live according to Nature, as the Stoics prescribed, our rational faculty is in coherence with the divine, rational mind (logos) permeating the cosmos. ... | — | ||||||
| 11/17/21 | The Religious Sentiment of Epictetus – Episode 45 | If I were a nightingale, I would perform the work of a nightingale, and if I were a swan, that of a swan. But as it is, I am a rational being, and I must sing the praise of God. This is my work, and I accomplish it, and I will never abandon my post for as long as it is granted to me to remain in it; and I invite all of you to join me in this same song. (Discourses 1.16.20-21) Epictetus is typically considered the most religious of the Roman Stoics. As such, some attempt to portray him as an outlier among the Stoics. However, as A.A. Long points out, In his conception of divine providence, creativity, and rationality, Epictetus is completely in line with the general Stoic tradition. His distinctiveness, in what I have discussed so far, extends mainly to the enthusiasm with which he commends obedience to God and to the warmth he infuses in his expressions of God's concern for human beings.[1] We find this same “notable religious sensibility” in the philosophy of Seneca, Musonius Rufus, and Marcus Aurelius,[2] and, as A.A. Long further notes, it is “broadly in line with traditional Stoicism.”[3] To a large degree, these religious sentiments result from the inherent “structural resemblance” between the rationality of humans and that of the divine logos, which allows for a “certain degree of personalistic theism in thinking and speaking about god”[4] in Stoicism. We see this language used frequently by Epictetus. Likewise, over the history of the Stoa, God will “assume more and more spiritual and personal traits” and “religiousness will tend to permeate” Stoicism and move it toward theism without fully arriving there.[5] Nevertheless, it is essential to balance the religious sentiments of Epictetus with the realization that he never claimed nor adhered to any form of divine revelation; neither did he express a need for religious faith, in the forms those concepts are commonly understood today. For Epictetus, to follow God means “we should pay attention to the God in us, i.e. to our reason, in order to determine what is the right thing for us, namely how we are to live in accordance with nature.”[6] As Andrew Mason, Teaching Fellow at the University of Edinburgh, points out in the introduction of a beautiful little volume on The Philosophy of Epictetus: Talk of God’s seeing, helping, guiding, speaking to and punishing us, and of God as our father, can be explained in terms either of God’s overall providence, or of our inner god or daemon, our reason, which is a fragment of the cosmic deity. Likewise prayer, for Epictetus, is not an appeal for intervention by an external God, but rather an admonition to oneself. Epictetus does differ from the early Stoics in the extent to which he uses personalistic language about God; this may be explained partly by his personal outlook, but also by the purpose of the Discourses, in the context of which God’s providence and his status as an ethical example are more important than the cosmological aspects of him which played an important part in early Stoicism.[7] A.A. Long sums up the difference between Epictetus and his predecessors in the Stoa by arguing he “proceeds from rather than to God.”[8] He points out, “Epictetus’ favourite formula for the goal of human life is ‘to follow the gods’ (Discourses1.12.5; 1.30.4; 4.7.20).”[9] The earlier Stoics used oikeiosis as the starting point to explain Stoic ethical theory; they taught theology last. Epictetus reversed that approach and made theology the starting point of ethics. Epictetus builds his ethical theory and practice on what Long calls THEONOMIC FOUNDATIONS.[10] Epictetus argues we are born with an innate moral sense (preconception) of the good and the divine.[11] Because each of us possesses a fragment of divine Reason (logos) as our guiding principle, we are innately capable of understanding and living according to the laws of God that are written in Nature. Thus, Epictetus’ instruction to ‘follow God’ is equivalent to ‘living according to nature’ (1.26.1). Nevertheless, Epictetus is not unique in this approach; as Plutarch noted, Chrysippus always put theology first when discussing ethical matters.[12] Here we see why the Stoic conception of Nature, derived from the study of physics and theology, is essential to understanding this holistic philosophical system. Both oikeiosis and theology fall under the topic of physics in Stoicism. Thus, whether the Stoics began with oikeiosis or theology, they grounded their ethical theory in physics—the study of nature. The Stoics did not conceive of God as a transcendent being; the Stoic divinity is immanent. As such, a fragment of the same logos that providentially orders the cosmos resides in us as our guiding principle (hegemonikon). A.A. Long suggests, The Stoics’ deepest religious intuitions are founded on their doctrine that the human mind, in all its functions – reflecting, sensing, desiring, and initiating action – is part and partner of God.[13] In his book dedicated to the application of Epictetus’ teachings to a philosophical life, A.A. Long writes, Whether [Epictetus] speaks of Zeus or God or Nature or the gods, he is completely committed to the belief that the world is providentially organized by a divine power whose creative agency reaches its highest manifestation in human beings. That was orthodox Stoicism, and much else that Epictetus attributes to divinity is quite traditional. However, no theology is simply a matter of doctrine. Conceptions of the divine are indicated in numerous ways that go beyond such epithets as eternal, creative, providential, and beneficent, on all of which the Stoics were agreed. Awe, reverence, gratitude, joy, prayer, obedience-these are a sample of attitudes that a serious belief in a supreme divinity typically involves. Stoic philosophers, just like other believers, vary considerably over which of these attitudes they express and with what degree of emotional engagement. When we review Epictetus from this perspective, his theology emerges as most distinctive in two respects: first, its serving as the explicit foundation for his moral psychology, and, secondly, its warmly and urgently personalist tone. More emphatically than any other Stoic in our record, Epictetus speaks of Zeus or God in terms that treat the world's divine principle as a person to whom one is actually present and who is equally present to oneself as an integral aspect of one's mind.[14] A word of caution is appropriate here. We must use due caution when approaching Stoicism with our modern conceptions of God, religion, and piety. If we fail to check our preconceived notions and biases, we are likely to misinterpret and misunderstand the Stoics by “falling victim to either over-assimilation or excessive differentiation.”[15] We moderns commit a serious error when we attempt to position the Stoics at either end of the modern metaphysical spectrum. The Stoics were neither theists nor atheists in the modern sense. Stoicism is a rational form of spirituality that arrived at a conception of divinity through reason rather than revelation. Therefore, the Stoic concept of a divine, providentially ordered cosmos resides in the open space between theism and atheism. Many scholars apply the label of pantheism to Stoic theology. However, it is clear a thread of theism was present from the founding of the Stoa, and this blend of pantheism and theism is expressed differently by various ancient Stoics. Nevertheless, as we will see, the Stoics, in general, and Epictetus, in particular, considered their worldview essential to their philosophical system. The difference in worldview—the nature of the cosmos and the nature of human beings—was one of the primary differentiators among the Stoics, Epicureans, Cynics, and Sceptics during the Hellenistic period. They all agreed that eudaimonia (a good flow) was the summum bonum of human life. Likewise, they all agreed an excellent character (virtue) was essential. The Cynics even agreed with the Stoics that virtue is both necessary and sufficient for eudaimonia. It was primarily their divergent worldviews, which subsequently affected their other doctrines and differentiated these philosophical schools. A.A. Long argues, The choice of Stoicism over Epicureanism, its principal rival, was decisive not only for one's ethical values and priorities but also for one's understanding of the world's general structure, one's theology, and the importance to be attached to systematic reasoning and the study of language. Yet, however much these and other schools disagreed over their accounts of such things, they all shared the view that philosophy should provide its adepts with the foundation for the best possible human life-that is to say, a happiness that would be lasting and serene. At Epictetus' date (and in fact, from long before) philosophy in general was taken to be a medicine for alleviating the errors and passions that stem from purely reactive and conventional attitudes. To put it another way, the choice of Stoicism over another philosophy depended not on its promise to deliver an admirable and thoroughly satisfying life (that project would not distinguish it from rival schools) but on its detailed specification of that life and on the appeal of its claims about the nature of the world and human beings.[16] Modern Stoic popularizers are simply wrong when they argue that physics and theology are not essential to the Stoic philosophical system. There is no support for such an assertion in the surviving texts or credible scholarship. One can abandon those aspects of Stoicism in modern times, as Lawrence Becker did, and attempt to create something entirely new for atheists and agnostics who reject the Stoic worldview.[17] Becker understood he was creating an entirely new synthesis of Stoicism; that’s why he called it “A New Stoicism.” Nevertheless, the Stoic worldview remains viable in the twenty-first | — | ||||||
| 11/3/21 | Universal Reason – Episode 44 | What defined a Stoic above all else was the choice of a life in which every thought, every desire, and every action would be guided by no other law than that of universal Reason. ~ Pierre Hadot[i] The Stoics placed a rational, divine, and providentially ordered cosmos at the center of their philosophical system and relied on it to guide their every thought, desire, and action. For the Stoic, Nature is the measure of all things. Therefore, the Stoics argued to experience well-being (eudaimonia), we must live in agreement with Nature. [i] Hadot, P., & Chase, M. (1998). The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, p. 308 FULL TRANSCRIPT COMING SOON | — | ||||||
| 10/27/21 | Exploring Encheiridion 12 – Episode 43 | If you want to make progress, dismiss this kind of reasoning: “If I neglect my business, I will have nothing to live on,” or “If I don’t punish my slave, he will be no good.” It is better to starve to death in a calm and confident state of mind than to live anxiously amidst abundance. And it is better also for your slave to be bad than for you to be unhappy. So make a start with the little things, like some oil being spilled or some wine being stolen. Then tell yourself: “This is the price one pays for not getting worked up, the price for tranquility. Nothing comes free of charge.” When you summon your slave, reflect that he is quite capable of not responding, or if he does respond that he may do none of the things you want. In any case he is too unimportant for your own tranquility to depend on him. (Ench 12) TRANSCRIPT COMING SOON | — | ||||||
| 10/20/21 | Exploring Encheiridion 11 – Episode 42 | Never say about anything, “I have lost it”; but say, “I have returned it.” Has your little child died? “It has been returned.” Has your wife died? “She has been returned.” “I have been robbed of my land.” No, that has been returned as well. “But it was a bad person who stole it.” Why are you bothered about the individual the donor used to demand its return? As long as these things are given to you, take care of them as things that are not your own, just as travelers treat their lodging. (Ench 11) SHOW TRANSCRIPT COMING SOON | — | ||||||
| 10/13/21 | Exploring Encheiridion 10 – Episode 41 | In all circumstances keep in mind to turn in to yourself and ask what resources you have for dealing with these things. If you see a good-looking man or woman, you will find self-control the appropriate power; if pain afflicts you, you will find endurance; if rudeness, you will find patience. By developing these habits, you will not be carried away by your first impressions. (Ench 10) While this passage deals directly with the discipline of assent, it also entails the disciplines of desire and action. When we pull this passage apart, we get a glimpse into how quickly assents to impressions can create desires and aversions and lead to impulses to act. The primary point of this lesson from Epictetus is to show us we possess the resources necessary to stop the quick progression from assent to impulse to act. Epictetus highlights three impressions in this passage and provides specific resources we can use to deal with each. Here’s the process as it applies in each of these three examples: In Step 1, an impression presses itself upon our mind. All of the impressions listed in this passage arise from sources external to our mind. I just saw a good-looking man or woman I feel a pain in my body, or I’m facing some other hardship. I just encountered a rude person. In Step 2, we immediately attach a value judgment to that impression: That good-looking man or woman is something “good” for me. That pain in my body is something “bad” for me. That person’s rude behavior is “bad” for me. In Step 3, that judgment creates a desire or aversion and a subsequent impulse to act. I desire that good-looking man or woman; I’m going to reach out to them. I fear this pain in my body or this hardship; I’m going to avoid it. That rude person offended me; I’m going make them stop, or I’m going to retaliate. If we were sages, we wouldn’t get past Step 1 because we would not place the value judgment on the impression. However, we are not sages, and neither were Epictetus’ students. That is why he is informing us we possess powers or resources we can use to interrupt this sequence after we’ve assented to the value judgment and before the impulse to act leads us into bad behavior. Before I tackle each of these examples, I want to make one point clear. Epictetus’ goal for this lesson is to help us develop habits that prevent us from being carried away by impressions into a state of emotional distress (pathos). The goal is not to turn us into Dr. Spoke-like, emotionless, disconnected observers of events. Epictetus is not telling us we should not find a good-looking man or woman attractive. He is not telling us to ignore the pain in our bodies or the effects of hardships. He is not telling us to be oblivious to rude behavior. Instead, Epictetus teaches us we have resources within ourselves to judge these impressions correctly and respond appropriately. This lesson is important because we frequently allow the initial judgment of an impression to carry us away and cause us to spiral out of control emotionally. Too often, this leads to an entirely inappropriate response. With that in mind, let’s look at each of the impressions Epictetus uses in this lesson and how we can use the resources we have to deal with them. The good-looking man or woman Let’s start with the impression of a good-looking man or woman. Observing and appreciating beauty is natural. There is nothing wrong with observing a man or woman and assenting to the judgment they are good-looking. Nature created us to appreciate beauty. The problem starts when we allow that first impression and initial judgment of beauty to carry us away with desire. We are mistaken if we assent to the impression that having that good-looking man or woman as a life companion or sexual partner is “good” and will bring us well-being (happiness). Their presence in our life could be a preferred indifferent at best. Alternatively, as many of us have experienced, it may lead to some real dispreferred indifferents we did not foresee when this good-looking man or woman initially captured our attention. Epictetus tells us we possess the power of temperance or moderation as a resource to deal with this impression before it becomes an impulse to act. But, how and when do we use this resource? We likely already attached the value judgment of “good” to the impression of a good-looking man or woman, and a desire may be starting to take control. If we let it take control, we may begin to fantasize about that good-looking person mentally. Then, we may be overcome by an impulse to act, which can lead to immoral behavior. In Encheiridion 10, Epictetus is referring to scenarios where the impulse to act would be immoral. We can think of numerous scenarios where assent to a person’s good looks might lead one to seek their company as a preferred indifferent without it being an immoral act. That is not the lesson Epictetus is presenting here. The Stoics did not advocate celibacy; however, they did teach moderation in all things. So how do we apply the power of temperance or moderation to this scenario? We must begin with the practice I taught in Episode 9. When the impression of a good-looking man or woman is presented to our mind, we need to “Stop it,” “Strip it” bare, and “See it” from the cosmic viewpoint. Refer to Episode 9 if you are unclear about this three-step practice to deal with impressions. The good news is this: as long as we engage in this process before we act upon the impulse, we can circumvent the bad action. In other words, we may have already assented to the idea this good-looking person is “good” for us, and we may already be driven by desire and feel the impulse to act. As long as we say STOP to ourselves before we act, it’s not too late. If we can “Stop it” before we act, we have time to “Strip it” bare. In case anyone is confused at this point, “Strip it bare” applies to the impression, not the good-looking man or woman. Please don’t strip them bare. That is not part of this Stoic practice, and it will likely get you into some serious trouble. So, we tell ourselves to “Stop it.” This is where the teacher within us from Episode 36 steps in to guide the child within us. When we “Stop it,” we create a gap that allows us enough time to consider this impression for what it is. That gap gives us time to “Strip” the impression bare. It gives us time to realize this good-looking man or woman is a potential preferred indifferent rather than something that is “good” and can affect our well-being. Finally, we “See it” from the cosmic perspective. How did this good-looking man or woman come into my awareness? Are they a stranger passing by on the street? Or, did you meet them under circumstances that might cause you to give more consideration to them as a preferred indifferent in your life? Sometimes, a confluence of events creates synchronicities that deserve our consideration. This is where we can apply the power of temperance and moderation. After we “Stop it” and “Strip it,”we can use the power of temperance and moderation as we See this impression from the cosmic perspective. We can ask ourselves: Is this desire for this good-looking person consistent with our values and goal of living in agreement with Nature? What might happen, good or bad, if I follow this impulse to act? Are my thoughts and behaviors moderated by a desire to act appropriately? Ultimately, the goal of Stoic practice is to move the “Stop it” step farther back in the chain of events. At first, we may only be able to “Stop it” at the impulse to act stage; before we act. Then, with practice, we can move the “Stop it” step back to where we first feel the desire or aversion taking hold of our psyche with practice and habituation. Finally, we can move it back further and learn to say “Stop it” to ourselves as soon as we recognize we have attached a value judgment to the impression. Pain or labor Like beauty, pain in our body serves a purpose. It’s a warning sign that something may be wrong. We would be foolish to ignore it completely. Unfortunately, we frequently allow pain to control our lives even when it’s minor; we don’t like pain and will do almost anything we can to avoid it altogether. I note that some translations use the word labor or hardship instead of pain in this passage. So, the problem starts when we allow the initial judgment of pain or hardship as “bad” to carry us away with aversion. We are mistaken if we assent to the impression that pain or hardship is “bad” for us and will detract from our well-being in any way. Epictetus tells us we possess the power of endurance as a resource to deal with pain or labor. But, how and when do we use this resource? The same way we did with the good-looking man or woman. We say “Stop it” to ourselves. “Stop it;”it’s just pain. “Stop it;” it’s just a hardship. It’s doubtful this is going to kill me. Then we “Strip it.” We recognize that pain is a signal, and we diagnose the urgency of the signal. It may be urgent enough that we need immediate medical attention. If that’s the case, we can still proceed calmly. A little premeditatio malorum may be helpful. What is the worst that can happen; I may die. If I am going to die, I can choose to die nobly and keep my good character intact. On the other hand, if this is just a minor pain or impediment to my body, I already learned how to deal with that in Encheiridion 9. Now, that we move to the “See it” from the cosmic perspective. We can ask ourselves: Is this pain or hardship really that bad? Can I endure this pain or hardship and be a stronger person as a result? Pain and hardship are not bad for our moral character. The Stoics argue that hardships actually help develop our character. Absent trials, struggles, and tests, how can we develop our moral character? In Discourses 1.6, Epictetus uses the mythological figure of Hercules to make this point.... | — | ||||||
| 10/6/21 | Exploring Encheiridion 9 – Episode 40 | Sickness is an impediment to the body, but not to the will unless the will wants to be impeded. Lameness is an impediment to the leg, but not to the will. If you tell yourself this at every occurrence, you will find the impediment is to something else but not to yourself. (Ench 9) Epictetus uses two dispreferred indifferents in this lesson, and both are related to our body: sickness and lameness. Then, he points out that each of these impairments presents a hindrance to our body but not to our will. The Greek word translated as “will” in this passage is prohairesis, and it has deep meaning in Stoicism. I discussed prohairesis briefly in Episode 34; however, I think a more detailed look at this concept will be helpful. However, before we cover prohairesis, let’s look at the concept of body in Stoic physics. This concept applies equally to all bodies, whether rocks, plants, animals, or humans, so it will shed some light on Encheiridion 9. In Stoicism, only bodies exist; therefore, everything that exists is a body. All bodies are a mixture of two principles—the passive principle (primary matter) and the active principle (logos or pneuma). The Stoic definition of a body is that which can act or be acted upon. Understanding this concept in Stoicism is essential because some people confuse it with modern reductive materialism. Some scholars even label the Stoics materialists, but they do not mean materialists in the modern sense where everything is reduced to matter. As Jacques Brunschwig points out in his chapter on Stoic Metaphysics in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, the Stoic version of ‘materialism’ is “vitalist-teleological” in contrast to the “mechanistic-antiteleological” version of the Epicureans.[1] The Epicureans were the reductive materialists in Hellenistic times. That is why it’s essential to understand when scholars refer to Stoics as materialists, they do not mean like the Epicureans or modern materialists. A.A. Long argues: It is misleading to describe the Stoics as ‘materialists’. Bodies, in the Stoic system, are compounds of ‘matter’ and ‘mind’ (God or logos). Mind is not something other than body but a necessary constituent of it, the ‘reason’ in matter. The Stoics are better described as vitalists.[2] Here we see the basis of Stoic physics. Everything that exists is a body composed of matter and mind (God, logos, or pneuma). Therefore, humans are composed of matter and mind. I have more to say about this in a minute. First, let’s cover this concept of prohairesis in Stoicism. Scholars have used different English words to translate the Greek word prohairesis; here are some of them. Translations of prohairesis: will (A.A. Long; George Long) A.A. Long - WILL A favorite term in Epictetus (Greek prohairesis ) for a human being’s power of self-determination and mental disposition. The word is sometimes translated by choice, purpose, volition, or decision, but in my opinion “will” is the most natural English expression for what Epictetus seeks to convey with it.[3] choice (Robin Hard, John Sellars) Sellers - choice (prohairesis) Epictetus' name for the conscious decision-making part of the commanding faculty; what might now be called the "will" or "I".[4] moral purpose (W.A. Oldfather) moral character (Keith Seddon) prohairesis ‘moral character’; the capacity that rational beings have for making choices and intending the outcomes of their actions, sometimes translated as will, volition, intention, choice, moral choice, moral purpose. This faculty is understood by Stoics to be essentially rational. It is the faculty we use to ‘attend to impressions’ and to give (or withhold) assent to impressions. Those things which are outside the scope of one’s prohairesis are the aprohaireta, which are aprohairetos and ‘external’ (ektos), and ‘not in our power’ (ouk eph’ hêmin); Discourses30.3, 2.16.1, 3.3.14, 3.8.1–3.[5] faculty of choice (Nicholas White) mind (Robert Dobbin) decision or choice (Christopher Gill) In his introduction to the Robin Hard translation of the Discourses of Epictetus, Christopher Gill, a recognized scholar of Stoicism, notes the following: The interface between ethics and physics provides a number of important Stoic ideas, centring on the idea that the natural universe provides an informing framework for ethical life. The universe, or its shaping, or ‘divine’’, element, does so either as a paradigm of order, structure, and rationality or as a source of providential care for the component parts of the universe, especially human beings, who share its ‘divine’ rationality. A related idea is that for human beings to exercise their capacity for rational agency is to act in line with the rational (divine) direction of the universe as well as with one’s own inner, rational ‘guardian spirit’ (daimōn). This complex of ideas has a prominent place in the Discourses, as also in some other writings on Stoic practical ethics, notably, Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. Epictetus stresses especially the last idea, accentuating the idea of God as director of the universe and as the source of the divine rationality in us. Another theme stressed is that the capacity to exercise rational agency in developing towards virtue (expressed as our prohairesis) is a fundamental, or inalienable, human capacity, which is built into the natural, divinely shaped universe.[6] Now that I’ve covered both body and mind as conceived by the Stoics, it’s important to note the Stoics were not dualists. The mind is not something separated from matter in Nature. Remember that mixture of the passive and active principles. According to the Stoics, everything that exists—all the way down—is composed of both principles. Additionally, according to the Stoics, the mind is not a product of the brain. This contradicts the modern materialist theories of consciousness as an illusion or an epiphenomenon. Instead, for the Stoics, mind is there at the ground level, and its source is the same rationality (logos) that permeates the cosmos. As I pointed out in Episode 35, Pierre Hadot makes note of this in The Inner Citadel. He wrote: In fact, all the dogmas of Stoicism derive from this existential choice. It is impossible that the universe could produce human rationality, unless the latter were already in some way present within the former.[7] This is consistent with a theory that is currently gaining substantial traction in the scientific and academic community. The theory is called panpsychism, and it claims consciousness is a fundamental property of the universe. Modern panpsychism shares many similarities with the physics of the ancient Stoics. Were the Stoics panpsychists? That depends on how one defines panpsychism. David Skrbina, a senior lecturer in the department of philosophy at the University of Michigan, and author of a definitive book on the topic titled, Panpsychism in the West, certainly thinks they were. He wrote The Stoics were thus thoroughly panpsychist in their outlook on the world, and they developed a theory of the cosmos that was perfectly compatible with that outlook.[8] Whether or not the Stoics should be classified as panpsychists, the idea that consciousness is a fundamental property of the universe certainly provides some support for Stoic physics. Interestingly, an ever-increasing number of scientists, philosophers, and consciousness researchers are abandoning reductive materialism for panpsychism. Today, numerous prominent thinkers from various fields are ditching materialism and turning to panpsychism because it offers a coherent explanation for human consciousness. Do a little research, and you will find panpsychism is not a fringe idea anymore. Those moderns who remain committed to reductive materialism and claim Stoic physics is outdated and must be abandoned may soon be the ones left clinging to an obsolete theory. I hear Modern Stoics want to update Stoic physics based on the best available facts; in that case, we should replace the conception of a mechanical universe with the entangled cosmos discovered by quantum physics more than a century ago. Likewise, it’s time to discard the century-old promissory note from reductive materialism to solve the puzzle of human consciousness and consider the possibility an innate intelligence or rationality permeates the cosmos at every level, as panpsychism suggests. Modern Stoics who demand we “follow the facts” are relying on a rapidly waning worldview to make that demand. If we’re going to update Stoic physics, let’s do it right, with the best available facts and theories from the twenty-first century. Back to Encheiridion 9. Sickness and lameness are impediments to our body; however, they do not impede our will, purpose, volition, moral character, faculty of choice, or whatever English word we choose for prohairesis. Our ability to choose between what is up to us and what is not up to us is not impeded by impediments to our body. Obviously, we can create a list of diseases that affect the brain and inhibit or destroy our rational faculties. Epictetus is not talking about extreme cases like that. The list of sicknesses that can debilitate the body and leave the mind intact is substantially longer. If we want an extreme example of this, the brilliant scientist Stephen Hawking provides one. The point is this: the overwhelming majority of physical ailments or disabilities we can experience leave our prohairesis intact. Therefore, they do not affect our moral character unless we choose to allow them to do so. In his book Greek Models of Mind and Self, A.A. Long wrote: Most literally eudaimonia means a divinely favored dispensation. The daimon constituent of the word combines a generic sense of divinity with the notion of fate or fortune. By prefixing to daimon the adverb eu, which qualifies an activity or condition as excellent, the Greek language had a composite term for express | — | ||||||
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