Stoicism On Fire

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Exploring Encheiridion 4 – Episode 34 Jan 07, 2019

Show notes

Whenever you are about to start on some activity, remind yourself what the activity is like. If you go out to bathe, picture what happens at a bathhouse—the people there who splash you or jostle you or talk rudely or steal your things. In this way you will be more prepared to start on the activity, by telling yourself at the outset: “I want to bathe, and I also want to keep my will in harmony with nature.” Make this your practice in every activity. Then, if anything happens, that gets in the way of your bathing, you will have the following response available: “Well, this was not the only thing I wanted; I also wanted to keep my will in harmony with nature. I shall not do that if I get angry about what is happening.” The meaning of this profoundly important passage may be more relevant and applicable to us in modern times than it was to the young students of Epictetus almost two thousand years ago. Nevertheless, to fully appreciate and apply this passage to our modern lives, we must overcome one cultural hurdle to understand and appreciate its meaning entirely. Epictetus relies on the experiences of a Roman bathhouse to drive this lesson home for his students. However, few moderns have ever been to anything like a Roman bathhouse to bathe. Therefore, when Epictetus begins his list of things that occur at a Roman bathhouse—splashing, jostling, rude talk, stealing of clothing—we might be inclined to think of a modern public pool setting and consider it similar. However, that is not a good comparison, and it leaves us with an inadequate appreciation of the point Epictetus is making. Let’s take a closer look at Roman bathhouses and the types of activities that occurred there. In Encheiridion 4, Epictetus is relatively brief with his description of a Roman bathhouse because he did not need to elaborate further. His students related to his example immediately because these bathhouses were a standard part of Greek and Roman life. On the other hand, Seneca provides a more detailed picture of these bathhouses in a Letter to Lucilius. He writes: Call to mind every sort of awful noise that grates on the ears. When the stronger men do their exercises, swinging their hand weights about and straining with the effort (or pretending to), I hear the grunts each time they exhale, their rasping and gasping for breath. When I get some idle fellow who’s happy with an ordinary man’s massage, I hear the hands slapping his shoulders and the change of sound when they strike with the cupped hand or with the palm. Then if a ballplayer shows up and starts counting how many he catches, I’m done for! Now add the quarrelsome type—and the one caught stealing—and the one who likes to hear himself sing in the bath chamber—and also the ones who jump into the swimming pool with a great splash. Besides all these, who are at least using their normal voices, imagine the tweezer man screeching over and over in his shrill falsetto, just to attract attention: he is never silent unless he is plucking someone’s armpits and making him cry out instead. Now add the cries of the drink man, the sausage man, the bakery man, and all the different sellers of cooked foods, singing out their wares in their distinctive tones. (Letters 56.1-2) It’s hard to imagine a similar combination of distractions today. We would have to combine a Florida beach during spring break with an outdoor gym, some people playing catch, a bar full of quarrelsome drinkers, an open-air hot wax station, and food vendors shouting over the crowd to sell hotdogs and beer. Then, we might have a similar experience. If you do not relate to that, imagine a crowded shopping mall during the holiday season, a “Black Friday” sale at an electronics store, etc. You get the idea. Epictetus is trying to get his students and us to imagine environments where we typically get frustrated and angry with people and events. Why should we imagine these? Because this type of active imagination in advance of an event (premeditatio malorum) trains us to deal with these events appropriately. It prepares us to keep our will in harmony with nature even during events that might otherwise disturb our tranquil mind and make us angry. Scenarios: Family gatherings Derogatory remarks or criticism Regurgitating or replaying an old family drama Sibling rivalries extended into adulthood Trip to the shopping mall Rude drivers in the parking lot who take the spot you were waiting for Unsupervised children screaming and bumping into you in the stores Slow checkout lines Commute on the highway The driver who cuts you off The man who misses the first 10 seconds of the green light because he focused on his smartphone while driving The woman who does the same because she is putting on eye makeup while driving Commute on train, subway, or bus The people who push and plow their way to the front when the door opens The healthy young person who will not give up his seat to someone who appears to need it. The person singing aloud to the music playing in her earphones A day at the office The backbiting and backstabbing The grumpy boss Incompetent or lazy employees The political games played for promotion In this lesson, Epictetus teaches us to use the practice of premeditatio malorum for every situation where we may encounter people and events that can disturb us and put us in a state of disharmony with nature. He teaches us to remind ourselves what happens at the shopping mall, on the freeway and subway, at the office, family gatherings, etc., before we engage in those events. What is the ultimate goal of this practice? It enables us to participate in these activities without becoming irritated or angry. It thereby allows us to keep our prohairesis, the Greek word for our moral purpose, will, or faculty of choice in harmony with Nature. In this passage, A.A. Long translates the Greek word prohairesis as “will” and defines it as “a human being’s power of self-determination and mental disposition.” In the glossary of his translation of the Encheiridion, he further argues: 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.[1] Some people may balk at the idea of premeditatio malorum because it is a form of negative visualization. This practice appears to contradict some New Age teaching that suggests our thoughts directly create and control things and events external to us. On the other hand, Stoicism teaches us that all external things and events are outside of our control. Of course, that does not imply that our thoughts and intentions do not affect things and events external to us. However, as we learned in the lesson on Encheiridion 2, Nature does not grant us the authority or permission to control things and events that are external to us. Stoicism teaches these externals are not up to us. Premeditatio malorum does not create what some people call a self-fulfilling prophecy for two reasons. First, the Stoic practitioner learns these events are not indeed “bad.” Instead, the Stoic trusts that these events, which are brought about by a providentially ordered cosmos, are “good” for the whole of the cosmos even though they may be dispreferred indifferents to us. Again, I repeat Marcus Aurelius’ beautiful expression of radical acceptance toward the things and events that Nature: 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) Second, Stoics do not visualize the possibility of adverse events because they fear them and want to avoid them. Instead, they envision them to develop the realization there is nothing about these events we should fear. As we will see in the next lesson, these seemingly adverse events cannot harm us. Instead, it is only our beliefs about those events that can and do bring us genuine harm. Therefore, Encheiridion 4 teaches us to keep our “will” in harmony with nature while engaging in activities where events might otherwise irritate us and make us angry. While the events themselves are not bad, the irritation or anger we allow to well up inside us is morally bad because it places our will in a state of disharmony with Nature. But what does it mean to be in a state of disharmony with Nature? To understand that, we must understand what it means to live in harmony with Nature. A. A. Long provides a succinct and poignant definition in the translation's glossary I am using here. He suggests that living in harmony with Nature means: To behave in conformity both to one’s human nature as a rational animal and to one’s predetermined and god-given circumstances.[2] Please notice that he did not stop with human nature. That is the mistake many moderns make in their practice of Stoicism. Without cosmic Nature, Stoic theory and practice lose their profound spiritual significance, and life lived in agreement with Nature loses its inherently moral purpose. So, how do we apply this practice of premeditatio malorum in our daily life? The applications are endless, but here are a few examples. Before your morning or evening commute, remind yourself how other drivers behave during rush-hour traffic. Then, when another driver cuts you off or causes you to miss a green light because they were not paying attention, you can look beyond the immediate goal of getting home or to another location and remind yourself: Well, this was not the only thing I wanted; I also wanted to keep my will in harmony with nature. I shall not do that if I get angry about what is happening. (Ench 4) When you decide to go shopping at the mall, remind yourself that another driver may take the parking spot you were wait

Exploring Encheiridion 3 – Episode 33 Dec 08, 2018

Show notes

This famous passage from Encheiridion 3 highlights the fact that this handbook is intended for practitioners who are already familiar with Stoic theory and practice. I say that because passages like this one, read in isolation, without an adequate understanding of Stoic teachings, can easily leave one with the wrong impression. In fact, absent the larger context of Stoic theory and practice, this passage, in particular, can appear inhumane or even pathological, and has turned people away from Stoic practice. As Lawrence Becker, the late professor of philosophy at the College of William and Mary points out: The image of the austere, dispassionate, detached, tranquil, and virtually affectless sage – an image destined to be self-refuting – has become a staple of anti-Stoic philosophy, literature, and popular culture. It has been constructed from incautious use of the ancient texts and is remarkably resistant to correction.[1] However, when we place a passage like this within the full context of Stoic theory and practice, the caricatures conjured up by these incautious interpretations are easily dismissed. By focusing on several key words and phrases used in this passage, we can see this is simply another, more advanced, application of the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us. So, let’s dissect this passage, place it in context, and see if a different picture of Stoic practice emerges. First, we need to consider three important phrases in Encheiridion 3. Epictetus offers three different categories of things. In summation, these categories include everything that attracts us or has its uses or that we are fond of in life. Let’s take a look at each of them: A thing that “attracts you” (ψυχαγωγούντων) – amusement (Discourses 2.16.37); fascination (Discourses 3.21.23); entertainment (Discourses 4.4.4). A thing that “has its uses” (χρείαν) – useful; can be used or put into service. This Greek word is used more than one hundred times in the Discourses and Encheiridion combined. A thing “you are fond of” (στεργομένων) – love, affection. A form of this Greek word is used eleven times in the Discourses and Encheiridion. It is used six times in Epictetus’ lesson on family affection (Discourses 1.11). It is important to consider the broad range of external things these three categories include because it helps us understand the meaning of this passage and avoid a mischaracterization of Stoicism this passage frequently evokes. First, it includes external things we find amusing, fascinating, or entertaining. This may be a television, computer, or another electronic device that provides mindless entertainment; it may also be a beautiful painting or another piece of artwork we admire; or it could be a collection of coins, stamps, dolls, trinkets, etc. This list is nearly endless. Next, are those things we may find useful or of service. Again, many things come to mind: a favorite coffee cup, a smartphone, computer or tablet, car, house, a comfortable chair, etc. Once again, the list of things that fall into this category is extremely long. Finally, we have those things for which we feel love or affection. Wait a second! Did Epictetus say love and affection? To be precise, Epictetus uses a Greek word that is typically translated as “fondness,” as it is here. However, the Greek root for this word means love or affection.[2] Interestingly, the fondness in this passage is directed exclusively at people. Specifically, this passage directs fondness toward our children or spouse. This highlights a sense of feeling and connection with loved ones that many mistakenly believe is absent in Stoicism. As we will see later, the image of the unfeeling, detached Stoic is a mischaracterization. This brings us to another extremely important aspect of this passage that is essential for the deconstruction of this mischaracterization and the development of a proper understanding of this frequently misunderstood passage. As already noted, this passage deals with a broad range of things—externals—in our lives. What is easily overlooked in this passage is the existence of a hierarchy from the most trivial of things, like a jug, up to those things for which we have a genuine love or affection—spouses and children. It is a gross misunderstanding of Stoic theory to suggest our affinity for a spouse or child should be comparable to our affinity for a jug. The Stoics certainly do place all of these things in the same category of preferred indifferents and teach us not to be “troubled” by the loss of any of them. Nevertheless, as this passage makes clear, there is a natural dissimilarity between our affinity for things that amuse us, entertain us, and are useful to us and those humans that are closest to us in our circle of affinity (oikeiosis).[3] In reference to Encheiridion 3, Brad Inwood argues, Epictetus “is not, of course, advocating utter indifference to one’s loved ones” any more than Chrysippus was “advocating indifference to one’s health” in the fragment preserved in Discourses 2.6.9-10. Additionally, Inwood argues: It must be remembered that this readiness for setbacks does not rule out determined efforts and actions to achieve one’s proper goals: staying healthy, keeping one’s children alive, executing the various plans and actions which make up a life of appropriate actions. But in the uncertainty of a human life, all these actions and plans, which are or depend on forms of impulse, should be carried out with the addition of reservation. In this way one may attain the smooth flow of life which is characterized by consistency with oneself and with the will of Zeus.[4] In fact, in Discourses 1.11, which addresses the topic of family affection, Epictetus makes it quite clear that “family affection accompanied by reason” is in accordance with Nature. That lesson takes the form of a dialog between Epictetus and a government official who claims his affection for his little daughter forced him to leave her presence when she was sick. He claimed he could not bear seeing his daughter suffer. By the end of the dialog, Epictetus leads the official to understand he left his daughter during her time of need because of his wrong judgment about what is appropriate rather than his affection for her. I encourage everyone to read and consider Discourses 1.11. It presents a case for familial love and affection that is frequently overshadowed by the misleading caricatures of Stoics derived from passages like this one in Encheiridion 3. Discourses 1.11 places challenging passages like Encheiridion 3 and Discourses 3.24.88 into context. In that latter passage, Epictetus instructs: From now on, whenever you take delight in anything, call to mind the opposite impression; what harm is there in your saying beneath your breath as you’re kissing your child, ‘Tomorrow you’ll die’? Or similarly to your friend, ‘Tomorrow you’ll go abroad, or I will, and we’ll never see one another again.’ (Discourses 3.24.88) Again, it is wholly inaccurate to suggest this passage teaches Stoics to be indifferent toward their loved ones. Instead, Epictetus is encouraging us to accept the true nature of human existence—it is fragile and temporal. Likewise, this passage serves as a reminder to practice premeditatio malorum because things break, people die, and events frequently do not turn out as we intend. Why should we practice envisioning the loss of possessions, the onset of dispreferred circumstances, and the death of loved ones? Because that practice helps to keep us on the path toward true freedom. To be free, we must disconnect our well-being from anything that is not up to us. As we learned in the last episode, to act otherwise is an attempt to claim authority over that which is not up to us, and that path leads us into slavery to externals, which produces a troubled mind. A Troubled Mind The whole point of Encheiridion 3 is to avoid a troubled mind by understanding and accepting the true nature of all external things and our lack of control over them. Jugs break and loved ones die. That is the normal operation of nature. To expect something different is unwise. The Greek word translated as “troubled” (ταραχθήσῃ) is used eight times within five passages of the Encheiridion. Two of those instances are here in chapter three. The use of that Greek word in the Encheiridion highlights the distinction between the psychological state of true freedom and that of a troubled mind. Ench 1 – if we seek those things not up to us, we will be troubled Ench 3 – if we do not consider the true nature of things, we will be troubled Ench 5 – it is our opinions about things and events that trouble us Ench 12 – if we base our well-being on the outcome of our actions, we will be troubled Ench 28 – if we allow the insults of others to affect our mind, we will be troubled Each of these passages emphasizes the dichotomy between what is and is not up to us. The Stoic path requires us to understand that all externals—whether we seek them for entertainment, their usefulness, or love and affection—are outside of our control; they are not up to us. TVs, computers, smartphones, collectibles, beautiful and awe-inspiring artifacts, our favorite coffee cup, and family heirlooms can be broken, burned, lost, or stolen. Likewise, those people for whom we feel natural love and affection can become sick and die. Therefore, we set ourselves up for failure and psychological distress when we desire any of these things as goods and seek them as sources of happiness (well-being). Stoicism does not teach us to deny ourselves any of these preferred indifferents. Instead, Stoic practice trains us seek our good in one thing alone—our moral excellence (virtue), because it is only through the development of virtue that we can find true freedom and well-being. ...

Exploring Encheiridion 2 – Episode 32 Nov 18, 2018

Show notes

Encheiridion 1 focuses on what is up to us and contrasts the tranquil psychological state of those who focus their attention and impulse only on those things and events within their control with the troubled mind of those who attempt to control what is not in their power. The second chapter of Encheiridion further defines the concepts of desire and aversion and adds another important concept: things contrary to Nature. Encheiridion 2 opens with the following advice: Keep in mind that desire presumes your getting what you want and that aversion presumes your avoiding what you don’t want, and that not getting what we want makes us unfortunate, while encountering what we don’t want makes us miserable. We have a few things to unpack in this passage. First is that we should “keep in mind” the lesson of Encheiridion 2. This means we should memorize it, remember it, and regularly remind ourselves about it. The phrase “keep in mind” is translated from the Greek word Μέμνησο, which appears sixteen times within fourteen different chapters of the Encheiridion. As I noted in the introduction to this series, Arrian created the Encheiridion to serve as a handbook that can be kept close at hand or carried in the hand. Arrian filled it with reminders that help us “keep in mind” those Stoic doctrines that are essential to our practice. So, what is so important about the lesson of Encheiridion 2 that warrants keeping it in mind? In short, this lesson defines the key distinction between true freedom and slavery in Epictetus’ teaching, which entails wanting only what is up to us, avoiding only what is contrary to nature, and treating everything else as inconsequential to our goal of developing an excellent moral character and experiencing true well-being. To comprehend this lesson's meaning and its application in our daily lives, we must have a solid grasp of several key concepts, including desire, aversion, things contrary to nature, and reservation. Desires and Aversions Exist in our Psyche When we assent to a value judgment attached to an impression of a thing or event—that it is either good or bad—we create a desire or aversion that acts upon us in the form of an impulse to either seek or avoid that thing or event. Therefore, desires and aversions are not external entities that tempt us or frighten us. They do not exist out there in the world; they exist as real mental faculties in our psyche (soul) that we must restrain and ultimately retrain. The first time I read this new translation of Encheiridion 2 by A. A. Long, his use of the word “presumes” in this passage struck me as odd. I recalled no other translation using that word, so I checked a few others. Pay attention to the language used to describe the activity of desires and aversions in each of these translations: A. Long: desire presumes your getting what you want, aversion presumes your avoiding what you don’t want Robin Hard: desire promises the attaining of what you desire, and aversion the avoiding of what you want to avoid Thomas Higginson: desire demands the attainment of that of which you are desirous; and aversion demands the avoidance of that to which you are averse W.A. Oldfather: the promise of desire is the attainment of desire, that of aversion is not to fall into what is avoided The language being used here is rather curious. It describes desires and aversions as real entities with the ability to make presumptions, promises, and demands. However, according to Stoicism, to act on us in this way, these desires and aversions and the impulses they produce must be real physical faculties in our psyche. In fact, they are. As Marcus Aurelius notes repeatedly in his Meditations, those impulses created by our desires and aversions control us like puppets (2.2; 6.16; 6.28; 7.3; 7.29; 12.19). We must be careful here lest we misinterpret this language to support a form of dualism where a separate mind acts upon our body. That is not the case in Stoic theory. As Christopher Gill, professor of ancient thought at Exeter University, points out: The normal Stoic standpoint is what we might call psychophysical monism or holism: the psyche is conceived as physical and identified with one of the natural elements, pneuma, a mixture of fire and air.[1] In Stoic theory, desires, aversions, and impulses are not external to our psyche; they are natural emotional states that get corrupted and become dysfunctional passions. This occurs when natural desires and aversions that can benefit us and promote our survival are transformed into passions that pull us around like puppets and leave us with troubled minds. We simply learned to value and fear the wrong things.[2] Simplicius, the sixth-century Neoplatonist, wrote the following about this chapter and the concepts of desire and aversion in his famous commentary on the Encheiridion: The promise and goal of desire is the attainment of what is desired, and the ‘fortunate’ are those who attain this. The promise and goal of aversion is that you will not encounter what you flee from, and this (i.e. not encountering it) is being ‘of good fortune’. Similarly, not attaining the object of your desire is ‘unfortunate’ (because you didn’t attain it), while encountering the object of your aversion is ‘ill-fortuned’–the contrary of good fortune–(because you attained something, but what you attained was bad).[3] The Presumption of Desires and Aversions Again, when I first read Long’s new translation of Encheiridion 2, I was struck by the word “presumes” in reference to desires and aversions. Therefore, after I read other highly regarded translations, I looked up the definition of presume and here is what I found. The Oxford online dictionary defines presume as a verb that means to “Suppose that something is the case on the basis of probability.”[4] My hardbound version of the Oxford English Dictionary defines presume as a verb that means to “Undertake without adequate authority or permission.”[5] Both of those definitions are quite helpful for the unpacking of this passage from Encheiridion 2, which reads: desire presumes your getting what you want, aversion presumes your avoiding what you don’t want (Ench 2) Using the first definition, a desire or aversion must have some reasonable probability of success otherwise it is nothing more than a pipe dream or whimsical fantasy. However, if we combine this with A.A. Long’s definition of desire, we get “a strong acquisitive attitude toward what appears good,” and we have a reasonable chance to obtain, like a better paying job, good health, a good reputation, etc. Likewise, an aversion is “a strongly negative attitude toward what appears bad,” and we have a reasonable chance to avoid, like poverty, sickness, public shame, etc. As we will learn in Exploring Encheiridion 15, it is acceptable to stretch out our hand and take a portion of any preferred indifferent providence has brought into our lives. However, we become enslaved by those externals when we stretch our desire out for them as things that are good in themselves. The opposite is true of those externals we wish to avoid. Why? The answer to that question invokes the second definition from above. Our desires and aversions entail the presumption there is a good probability we can obtain or avoid the externals we consider good or bad. However, as the Stoics make quite clear, Nature does not grant us the authority or permission to presume that we can obtain or avoid those externals—they are not up to us. Things Contrary to Nature (para phusin) This brings us to the next passage from Encheiridion 2, which reads: So if, among the *things contrary to nature you restrict aversion to those that are up to you, you will experience none of the things you don’t want, but if you are averse to sickness or death or poverty, you will be miserable. So move aversion away from everything that is not up to us and transfer it to the things contrary to nature that are up to us. This passage deals with the intersection of two sets of things and events. The first set includes those things and events that are contrary to nature. This refers to things contrary to our human well-being such as sickness, poverty, social isolation, and emotional disturbances (pathê). The second set includes only what is up to us, which includes our assents, desires and aversion, and impulses toward action. Epictetus is advising us that among those things contrary to nature, we should seek to avoid only that which is up to us—our passions (strong emotions). If we seek to avoid the others—sickness, poverty, a bad reputation, etc.—we will be miserable. As Keith Seddon writes: And this is what we must train ourselves in: we must let everything happen as it will with an open acceptance (Discourses 1.12.15–17), even those things to which we are usually averse, seeking to avoid only ‘those things contrary to nature amongst the things that are in our power’, and these are the passions (pathê), the ‘disturbing or violent emotions’ that constitute our misery. Passions are excessive impulses, ‘contrary to nature’ because they are ‘contrary to correct and natural reasoning’ (Stob. 2.7.10a), in that any one passion is, or is dependent upon, a false judgement concerning what is good and bad for us (see DL 7.111; LS 65G3); they are ‘excessive’ because they are ‘disobedient to the choosing reason or an irrational motion of the soul’ (Stob. 2.7.10, trans. Pomeroy; see also DL 7.110); and they are ‘in our power’ because it is entirely up to us how we evaluate things, and whether we assent to the judgements that sanction (or comprise) the passions...[6] Likewise, in Simplicius’ commentary on the Encheiridion we read: if you avoid disease or poverty, since fleeing from them is not completely up to us (because even if we have a power which some times helps us escape them, still it won’t always hold good, or do so entirely), you will inevitably be ill-fortuned when you encounter

Exploring Encheiridion 1 – Episode 31 Oct 29, 2018

Show notes

The Path to Freedom vs the Path to Slavery As I noted in the last episode, the focus of this podcast series exploring the Encheiridion will be Epictetus’ concept of freedom, which is not the same as the commonly held concept of freedom as a human right or political entitlement. Epictetus designed his Stoic training program to free us from the judgments, desires, and impulses that enslave us psychologically. This program works even if we are bound in real physical chains, constrained by prison bars, or living under a tyrannical rule that denies us that commonly held conception of freedom. Therefore, as we proceed through the Encheiridion, we must set aside the idea of freedom as it relates to our physical autonomy and political liberty. That is not what Epictetus is talking about. For him, enslavement does not entail chains or bars. Instead, the slave is the person bound by their passions and false beliefs. Freedom, therefore, is emancipation from those psychological bonds, and Stoic training is the path toward that true form of freedom.[1] This opening chapter of the Encheiridion presents us with two paths: the path of slavery and the path of freedom. Most people choose the path of slavery and remain bound by their desires for things and events not within their control—not up to us. They desire and seek things powerless to produce true well-being, servile to external circumstances, and impeded by the actions of others. As a result, they are frustrated, psychologically pained, have a troubled mind, and blame external circumstances (God) and other people for their unhappiness. Fortunately, Epictetus provides us with an alternative path—the Stoic path toward true freedom. This path teaches us to break the bonds of those externals and to desire and seek only those things that are in our complete control and thus are naturally free from external circumstances, unimpeded by others, and unconstrained by Nature. Epictetus makes an astounding promise to those who follow the Stoic path toward that true form of freedom. He says: No one will ever put pressure on you, no one will impede you, you will not reproach anyone, you will not blame anyone, you will not do a single thing reluctantly, no one will harm you, you will have no enemy, because nothing harmful will happen to you. (Ench 1) When we read that promise, it naturally inclines us to ask: Who wouldn’t want that? Who wouldn’t want that life of ultimate freedom? Almost everyone will nod in agreement and say they want that life of psychological well-being. However, most people will not follow the Stoic path toward true freedom because it requires significant effort and entails a commitment to the transformation of our thoughts and behaviors. That commitment deters most people. Sadly, most people choose to remain enslaved by their passions and false beliefs. They lack the motivation needed to achieve these “great things” the Stoic path promises. Those who do find the motivation to embark on a philosophical way of life do so for a variety of reasons. Whatever the motive, those who embark on the Stoic path are seeking something they do not currently have, and that is psychological well-being. They may have been seeking happiness in externals such as wealth, health, reputation, etc., and now realize those things only provide the illusion of well-being. This brings us to the point of departure for the Stoic path—the choice to desire and seek only what is up to us and treat everything else as indifferent to our true well-being. As Epictetus makes perfectly clear, the list of things completely within our control—up to us—is quite short: That list includes “our faculties of judgment, *motivation, *desire, and *aversion—in short, everything that is our own doing.” The alternative list—not up to us—includes “our body and property, our reputations, and our official positions—in short, everything that is not our own doing.” William Irvine, who popularized the phrase “dichotomy of control”[2] also attempted to expand it into a “trichotomy.” That is not what Epictetus, or the other Stoics, had in mind when they delineated what is and is not up to us (eph’ hêmin). As Keith Seddon, an independent scholar and practicing Stoic notes: When Epictetus talks of things being in our power or not in our power (Handbook 1.1–2) he means this in an absolute sense. For Epictetus, for something to depend on us, to be in our power, in our control, or up to us, this must be so invariably and always.[3] In other words, if any event or thing is even partially under the control of or dependent upon another person or external circumstance, then it is NOT up to us. For those who have questions about this concept, I refer you to What Is “Up to Us”? - Episode 6 of Stoicism On Fire. For our purposes, keep in mind that up to us means completely up to us. If a thing or event is only partially in our control, it is not up to us. The Choice The choice Epictetus is presenting us is simple to understand yet exceedingly difficult to practice consistently. Nature presents us with two distinct paths, and we must choose which one to follow. The traveler of the first path desires and seeks good health, physical beauty, possessions, a good reputation, and high office or power, etc.—things that are not up to us—and ends up emotionally frustrated, psychologically pained, with a troubled mind. In the end, they blame external circumstances, including God other people, for their unhappiness. However, the traveler of the Stoic path desires and seeks to develop an excellent character by developing their faculties of judgment, eliminating inappropriate desires and aversions—things that are up to us—and are therefore unimpeded, unharmed, do nothing reluctantly, have no enemies, and blame no one for their circumstances. They experience true freedom—psychological well-being. The choice Epictetus presents us with could not be clearer or more distinct—we choose the path toward a troubled mind or the path to psychological well-being. The choice is ours, but the choice is not an easy one and neither is the path we must continue to follow after that initial choice is made. Nevertheless, before we continue, I want my listeners to be clear about what this choice does not entail. First, it is not a choice between good and bad things; that is a different topic. This is a choice between what is and is not up to us. Many of the things that are not up to us are, nonetheless, preferred indifferents that we may appropriately choose under the right circumstances. Some, like participating in the care of one’s family, community, nation, and all of humanity are actual duties we should engage in as Stoics. As Stoics we are called to step out of the Epicurean garden and into the Stoic cosmopolis, and we should engage in just causes with courage, wisdom, and moderation. Nevertheless, our success or failure in these endeavors has no bearing on our psychological well-being. Ultimately, we must accept that all quests for social justice, political equality, world peace, environmental conservation, etc., are externals that are not up to us. We must keep that in mind. Second, this choice is not a call to renounce indifferents entirely; it is the choice to understand their true nature and treat them as inconsequential to the development of our moral character and our well-being. As Epictetus instructs, we may need to renounce many externals for a while; however, Stoicism is not a call to the life of an ascetic renunciate. We need to keep an important distinction in mind as we proceed on the Stoic path. Preferred indifferents like good health, property, reputation, and positions of power and authority are not incompatible with the Stoic path toward freedom; they are inconsequential to it. Possessing externals does not impede our path toward freedom. Instead, it is our desire for them and our fear of not having them that leads to psychological distress. As we will see in Encheiridion 15, if fate brings us these preferred indifferent while we are at the banquet of life, we can stretch out our hand and take a portion. However, we must not extend our desire toward them. Stoicism teaches us we can be truly free even while imprisoned, living in slavery or under tyrannical rule, or while sick and impoverished. This is certainly counterintuitive when viewed from the perspective of modernity. However, it is the most profound truth Stoicism has to offer—any psychological misery we endure is the misery of our own making via our judgments, desires, and aversions. The corollary is also true. If we desire and seek externals for our happiness, “everyone with authority over any of our circumstances is bound to be our master” (Discourses 4.1.59). Epictetus makes this point perfectly clear: If you desire externals, “you are giving yourself up to slavery and submitting your neck to the yoke” (Discourses 4.1.77). A Demanding Path This bring us to the reason why most people remain on the path of slavery to our desires and false beliefs. Epictetus tells us we must be “highly motivated” if we want to “achieve such great things.” What are those great things? A life that is naturally free from external circumstances, unimpeded by others, and unconstrained by Nature because it seeks only what is within our complete control—an excellent moral character. It is a life of virtue and well-being. The Stoic path of freedom is not an easy path. We should not expect it to be easy when we consider the “great things” it offers. As Epictetus makes clear, the path requires that we “forego some things completely, and postpone others for the present.” Why? Because we cannot pursue those “great things”—freedom and well-being—while we simultaneously desire and pursue preferred indifferents like “prominence and wealth.” Epictetus advises that if we pursue both simultaneously, we “will probably not get” prominence and wealth and we “certainly will not get” those “great

Exploring Encheiridion (Introduction) – Episode 30 Oct 22, 2018

Show notes

This episode of Stoicism On Fire kicks off an exploration of the powerful, poignant, and perennially inspiring Encheiridion of Epictetus. The fifty-three chapters of this Stoic handbook will provide the primary content and plan for this exploration of Stoic theory and practice. However, I will incorporate other Stoic texts and the insights of scholars when it's appropriate for the subject at hand. In this introductory episode, I will provide some background on the Encheiridion. Then, in the next episode of Stoicism On Fire, we will begin the chapter-by-chapter exploration with the frequently quoted chapter one. About the Encheiridion Origin and Authorship The Encheiridion, like the Discourses, was written by Flavius Arrian, who was a student of Epictetus and later became a public servant under Emperor Hadrian, and a respected historian. In a letter to Lucias Gellius, Arrian claims the Discoursesare “word for word” taken “as best I could” from the lectures of Epictetus.[1] The Encheiridion, frequently referred to as the Handbook, is a compilation of passages drawn from those Discourses. As a result, many of the chapters in the Encheiridion can be directly correlated to passages in the Discourses; those that cannot are likely from portions of the Discourses that are lost to us. History The Encheiridion, more so than the Discourses, has been the historical gateway into the thought of Epictetus. For example, Simplicius, a sixth-century Neoplatonist, wrote a commentary on the Encheiridion that served as an introduction to Neoplatonist philosophy. Additionally, as Christopher Gill notes in his introduction to the Robin Hard translation of Epictetus, The Handbook was also adopted, with some modifications (including replacing the name of ‘Socrates’ with ‘St Paul’), by Christian monks, and used for centuries by the Eastern (Greek Orthodox) Church. Through Syriac Christian scholars, Epictetus’ thought spread to the Islamic East, influencing, for instance, the teaching on ‘dispelling sorrow’ by al-Kindī, a major figure in the study of Greek texts in ninth-century Baghdad.[2] The fact that the Encheiridion served as the sole source of Epictetus’ teaching for many who are not otherwise interested in Stoicism produced a negative side effect. As W. A. Oldfather, the author of the Loeb Classical Library translations of Epictetus points out, the “necessary aridity and formalism” of this condensed version obscures “the more modest, human, and sympathetic aspects of [Epictetus’] character.”[3] Unfortunately, a compendium like this can easily create misunderstanding and result in unwarranted criticism of Epictetus’ thought. This brings up an excellent point. The Encheiridion is not a substitute for the Discourses of Epictetus. Instead, its passages should serve as reminders for those who are already familiar with Stoic teachings. Purpose According to Simplicius, Arrian wrote a letter to Messalenus that describes the Encheiridion as a “selection” of those passages from the Discourses that are “most timely and essential to philosophy, and which most stir the soul.” Simplicius further suggests: The aim of [the Encheiridion]—if it meets with people who are persuaded by it, and do not merely read it but are actually affected by the speeches and bring them into effect—is to make our soul free, as the Demiurge and Father, its maker and generator, intended it to be: not fearing anything, or distressed at anything, or mastered by anything inferior to it.[4] Because the Encheiridion was created to serve as a handy reminder of Epictetus’ teaching, I waited to address it on the Stoicism In Fire podcast until I covered the essentials of Stoic theory and practice. The Encheiridion is not a standalone text of Stoic doctrine. Instead, it serves to remind us about teachings with which students and practitioners of Stoicism should already be familiar. This podcast series will explore the Encheiridion with that in mind; therefore, I assume the listener is already familiar with basic Stoic doctrines and practices. If you are new to Stoicism, please take the time to listen to Stoicism On Fire podcast episodes 1 through 14 before proceeding. Those episodes will provide a foundation that will allow you to get the most out of this exploration of the Encheiridion. How to Be Free This series of podcasts will use A.A. Long’s translation of Encheiridion from his 2018 book, titled How to Be Free: An Ancient Guide to the Stoic Life. A. A. Long is one of the most, if not the most, respected Stoic scholars of our time. His scholarship is always of the highest quality. Therefore, in deference to him, I will use the title Encheiridion instead of Handbook throughout this series and I will spell it, as Long does, with the additional “e” in the middle. I strongly encourage my listeners to purchase a copy of this book. This is an inexpensive hardbound book and is a worthy addition to the library of anyone who is studying and practicing Stoicism. As A. A. Long makes clear by his book title, freedom is a central theme in the teachings of Epictetus. On the front flap of the dust cover, Long writes: Freedom, for Epictetus, is not a human right or a political prerogative but a psychological and ethical achievement, a gift we alone can bestow on ourselves. This is consistent with his previous book on Epictetus, where he argues “Four principal concepts give Epictetus' philosophy its unity and coherence: freedom, judgement, volition, and integrity.” On the principle of freedom, Long wrote: FREEDOM, underwritten by the theology we have just observed, has nothing to do with liberty in a social or political sense. The freedom that interests Epictetus is entirely psychological logical and attitudinal. It is freedom from being constrained or impeded by any external circumstance or emotional reaction.[5] We will see each of these four principles—freedom, judgement, volition, and integrity—during our exploration of the Encheiridion. However, freedom will be emphasized because that principle is pervasive in the teachings of Epictetus. This focus on freedom is likely because Epictetus was a slave before being freed and becoming a Stoic teacher. As a result of that experience, where his external circumstances were controlled entirely by the whims of his master, Epictetus developed a profound understanding and appreciation for true freedom, which is naturally free, unimpeded, and unconstrained (Ench. 1). As A.A. Long notes, for Epictetus: Freedom, according to this notion, is neither legal status nor opportunity to move around at liberty. It is the mental orientation of persons who are impervious to frustration or disappointment because their wants and decisions depend on themselves and involve nothing that they cannot deliver to themselves.[6] Epictetus reminds us that true slavery has nothing to do with chains, freedom of movement, or the ability to carry out one’s intentions. As a result, he teaches the slave how to be truly free while simultaneously reminding the free person they are enslaved by their desires and aversions. Nevertheless, as Long points out, this conception of freedom is not the invention of Epictetus. According to Zeno, the original head of the Stoic school, freedom is the exclusive prerogative of those who are wise, while inferior persons, who comprise the majority of people, are not only fools but also slaves.[7] Therefore, when Epictetus calls his students “slaves” in his lectures, he is not insulting them. Instead, he is reminding them their psyches are controlled by the puppet strings of desires and aversions just as much as the slave’s body is controlled by chains and whips. In other words, he is reminding his students they are not free; he is encouraging them to seek true freedom. As Stoic practitioners, our goal during this exploration of the Encheiridion is to cut a few more of those puppet strings that bind us like chains to our desires and aversions. By doing this, we will make a little more progress along the Stoic path toward true freedom. A.A. Long’s Stoic Values Diagram The diagram below is from A.A. Long’s book, How to Be Free(pg. xxx). The first edition hardbound book included an ERRATA insert to correct this diagram. The version of the diagram below is a recreation that includes the correction. Goods Bads Indifferents Essentially beneficial Essentially harmful Neither essentially beneficial nor harmful up to us up to us not up to us virtue, wisdom, happiness faultiness, folly, unhappiness e.g., poverty, wealth mind dependent mind dependent not mind dependent harmony with nature disharmony with nature Glossary A.A. Long provides a helpful glossary of terms in the back of his new book How to Be Free. I will provide those definitions as they are in his book. I will not provide a consolidated glossary like that from the book. Again, I encourage all of my listeners who intend to follow this series of podcasts on the Encheiridion to purchase a copy of Long’s excellent book. Primary Sources The following sources will be relied upon and quoted from during this exploration of the Encheiridion. Additional sources, if used, will be noted in the Stoicism On Fire episode where they are used. Brennan, T., & Brittain, C. (2002). Simplicius: On Epictetus Handbook 1-26. Ithica, NY: Cornell University Press. __________ (2002). Simplicius: On Epictetus’ Handbook 27-53. Ithica, NY: Cornell University Press. Dobbin, R. (1998). Epictetus: Discourses, Book 1. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press. Hard, R. (2014). Epictetus: Discourses, Fragments, Handbook. (C. Gill, Ed.). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Long, A. A. (2002). Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. New York: Oxford University Press. Long, A. (2018). How to Be Free: An Ancient Guide to the Stoic Life. Princeton,...

Characteristics of Good and Bad People (Part 3) – Episode 29 Oct 08, 2018

Show notes

In the last episode of Stoicism On Fire, I focused on the Stoic doctrine of an excellent human life and the fact that such a life requires agreement with both human nature and cosmic Nature. The corollary of that doctrine is that human reason alone is not enough to lead us toward an excellent moral character; we must bring our human reason (logos) into agreement with universal Reason (Logos). As I pointed out, the concept of human reason as a fragment of the Logos permeating the cosmos relates to the inner guardian the Stoics referred to as a daimon. With those concepts in mind, we are ready to continue with Marcus’ list of characteristics of a good person. When Marcus reminds himself not to defile his daimon, he notes the good person will exhibit the characteristic of: 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. We see three related characteristics here; they are: following god, speaking truth, and acting justly. Following God in an Orderly Fashion First, what does it mean to follow God in Stoic practice? The instruction to “Follow God” may inspire curiosity or provoke resistance among secular moderns. This is not equivalent to following the commands of a sacred text; the Stoics had no such texts. Recall that God is equivalent to Nature in Stoicism. Therefore, to follow God is to follow Nature. However, we misrepresent this aspect of Stoic practice if we remove the divine and providential characteristics of Nature the Stoics attributed to her. Nature devoid of providence is not the cosmic Nature with which the ancient Stoics tried to live in agreement. Absent providence, some version of a chance universe like that of the Epicureans remains. The Stoics opposed this model and found it inadequate as a guide for ethical human life. That is the reason they emphasized the relationship between us and a purposeful (providential) cosmos. Throughout the Meditations, we see Marcus seeking a relationship with cosmic Nature and attempting to align his life with its universal Law. In several passages, Marcus expresses this as following God: Hearten yourself with simplicity and self-respect and indifference towards all that lies between virtue and vice. Love the human race. Follow God. (Meditations 7.31) And he has put aside every distraction and care, and has no other desire than to hold to the straight path according to the law, and by holding to it, to follow God. (Meditations 10.11) In the final passages of his Meditations, Marcus instructs himself to constantly consider, those who have been greatly aggrieved at something that came to pass, and those who have achieved the heights of fame, or affliction, or enmity, or any other kind of fortune; and then ask yourself, ‘What has become of all that?’ Smoke and ashes and merely a tale, or not even so much as a tale. (Meditations 12.27) Then, he reminds himself how “cheap” those things are we strive for and reminds himself of those things that are worthy of our pursuit such as wisdom, justice, temperance, and obedience to the gods. Marcus then imagines a dialog with those who doubt or deny the existence of the gods. He writes: To those who ask, ‘Where have you seen the gods, or what evidence do you have of their existence, that you worship them so devoutly?’, I reply first of all that they are in fact visible to our eyes, and secondly, that I have not seen my own soul, and yet I pay it due honour. So likewise with the gods; from what I experience of their power at every moment of my life, I ascertain that they exist and I pay them due reverence. (Meditations 12.28) Finally, he asks himself a deeply probing question and provides himself with an answer. What is it that you seek? The mere continuation of your life? To experience sensation, then, and impulse? To grow, and cease from growing? To make use of your tongue, and your mind? And what is there in that which strikes you as worth desiring? But if all these things are worthy of contempt, take the final step, and follow reason, follow God. (Meditations 12.31) The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius are the best expression of Stoicism we have before the Stoa ceases to exist a short time after his death. Within this text we see a deeply held reverence for the divinity of Nature along with a desire and commitment to follow God. This attitude of reverence is not unique to Marcus. As Pierre Hadot emphasizes while writing about the Discipline of Desire, All this corresponds, then, to a religious need: the need to personalize that power, to the will of which the discipline of desire instructs us complacently to consent. This is why Marcus Aurelius, like Epictetus, often employs the expressions "follow the gods" or "obey the gods" to describe this attitude of consent.[1]However, this concept of following God does not begin with Epictetus or Marcus. It can be traced to the founding of the Stoa. In the Discourses of Epictetus we see the “follow God” theme more frequently and, as Hadot points out, to follow the gods “means to accept their will, which is identical with the will of universal Nature.”[2] Likewise, A.A. Long points out, “Hence for Epictetus, the goal of `following God' is equivalent to `living in accordance with nature' (1.26.1), which was the standard Stoic definition of the good life.”[3] Let us look at what Epictetus had to say about this topic in several passages: And one who is still being educated should approach his education with this aim in view: ‘How may I follow the gods in everything, and how can I act in a way that is acceptable to the divine administration, and how may I become free?’ (Discourses 1.12.8) For does it in fact take long to say that ‘our end lies in following the gods, and the essence of the good in the correct use of impressions’? (Discourses 1.20.15) ‘Tell me further, what were the things that you regarded as being “goods”?’—‘The right exercise of choice and right use of impressions.’—‘And what is the end?’—‘To follow God.’ (Discourses 1.30.4) Again, "following the gods" was the language used throughout the history of the Stoa as equivalent to living in agreement with nature. This is clear from the writings of Chrysippus, the second founder and third Scholarch of the Stoa. In Diogenes Laertius’ ancient book Lives of Eminent Philosophers, we read: Chrysippus says in the first book of his De finibus; for our individual natures are parts of the nature of the whole universe. And this is why the end may be defined as life in accordance with nature, or, in other words, in accordance with our own human nature as well as that of the universe, a life in which we refrain from every action forbidden by the law common to all things, that is to say, the right reason which pervades all things, and is identical with this Zeus, lord and ruler of all that is. (DL 7.87-8) If that is not clear enough, Chrysippus followed up with this unambiguous statement: And this very thing constitutes the virtue of the happy man and the smooth current of life, when all actions promote the harmony of the spirit dwelling in the individual man with the will of him who orders the universe. (DL 7.88) Virtue and happiness, according to Chrysippus, result from the harmony between “the spirit dwelling in the individual” (daimon) and “the will of him who orders the universe” (Zeus, God). Considering that Chrysippus was the third Scholarch of the Stoa, these quotes get us close to the founding. However, we can get closer. On four occasions in the Discourses of Epictetus, he repeats a prayer he attributes to Cleanthes, whom Zeno selected to succeed him as the second Scholarch of the ancient Stoa. The most famous version of Cleanthes prayer is found in Enchiridion 53: Guide me, O Zeus, and thou, O Destiny, To wheresoever you have assigned me; I’ll follow unwaveringly, or if my will fails, Base though I be, I’ll follow nonetheless.[4]For those who are unfamiliar with Stoic theology, it is important to note that the name Zeus does not refer to the anthropomorphic figure of Greek mythology or a transcendent deity. Instead, it refers to the God of many names that is the immanent and active force within all of Nature. As professor Keimpe Algra of Utrecht University writes: we know that the Stoics were willing to link their philosophical monotheism or pantheism with at least parts of traditional polytheism. They were prepared to call their one cosmic god by many traditional names—Zeus, Hera, etc.[5]The Stoic God is a philosophical God—one arrived at by observation and reason. Nevertheless, as the surviving texts make clear, the Stoics were not playing mere word games by declaring the cosmos divine as some modern scientific pantheists do. The reverence to Nature and individual piety is clearly present from Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus at the founding all the way to Marcus’ Meditations as the flame of the Stoa grows dim. As A.A. Long argues, Epictetus' theological language betokens a personal belief and experience as deep and wholehearted as that of any Jew or Christian or Muslim.[6]This evidence makes it abundantly clear that the idea of following God was there from the founding of the Stoa. The instruction to “follow the gods” cannot be dismissed as Epictetus’ “own version” of the Stoic edict to follow nature.[7] It is also important to remember a fragment of that logos resides in each of us. Therefore, as A.A. Long points out: We don’t need God, as distinct from ourselves, to tell us what to do; but we are able to tell ourselves what to do only because of the way our nature has been constructed. And the author of our nature's construction is God. Hence for Epictetus, the goal of `following God' is equivalent to `living in accordance with nature' (1.26.1), which was the standard Stoic definition of the good life.[8]Just in Word and Deed ...

Characteristics of Good and Bad People (Part 2) – Episode 28 Sep 30, 2018

Show notes

The last episode closed with a thought-provoking passage from the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius that places our human reason into the proper Stoic perspective. It reads: 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. (Meditations 3.16) As a transition to this episode, I will highlight the important point Marcus makes in this passage for a second time. Human reason is not the ultimate guide for ethical behavior in Stoic practice. On the contrary, universal Reason—cosmic Nature—is the sole arbiter of good and bad in Stoicism. Chrysippus, the third scholarch of the Stoa, argued this point when he wrote: For there is no other or more suitable way of approaching the theory of good and evil or the virtues or happiness than from the universal nature and from the dispensation of the universe… For the theory of good and evil must be connected with these, since good and evil have no better beginning or point of reference and physical speculation is to be undertaken for no other purpose than for the discrimination of good and evil.[1] Again, in his book titled On Ends, Chrysippus argued: And this is why the end may be defined as life in accordance with nature, or, in other words, in accordance with our own human nature as well as that of the universe, a life in which we refrain from every action forbidden by the law common to all things, that is to say, the right reason which pervades all things, and is identical with this Zeus.[2] In this passage, Chrysippus makes it quite clear a “life in accordance with nature” is one lived in agreement with “the right reason which pervades all things, and is identical with this Zeus” (emphasis added). The Greek word translated as “reason” in this passage is logos. According to the Stoics, every entity that exists is comprised of a mixture of matter (the passive principle) and pneuma(the active principle). Humans are unique among all existing entities because the pneuma within us comprises our soul (psyche) and “constitutes itself as reason, logos.”[3] Seneca articulated this as follows: What, then, is the distinctive property of a human being? Reason. It is by reason that the human surpasses animals and is second to the gods. Therefore perfected reason is the human’s distinctive excellence; everything else is shared with animals and plants. (Letters 76.9) As A.A. Long emphasizes, “The [goal-directed] assumptions which this argument requires for its validity are too obvious to need discussion.” Accordingly, “'the goodness of living according to reason' is derived from, and not the grounds of, 'living according to Nature'.” In other words, any “goodness” we can attribute to living according to human reason is due solely to the fact that human reason is derived from cosmic Reason (logos). Therefore, the Stoics looked to Nature for ethical norms to guide our lives and society. Chrysippus articulated this in his“third book on the Gods,” where he wrote: It is not possible to discover any other beginning of justice or any source for it other than from Zeus and from the universal nature, for thence everything of the kind must have its beginning if we are going to have anything to say about good and evil.[4] In his paper titled The Logical Basis for Stoic Ethics, the renowned scholar of Stoicism A.A. Long points out: Nature is available to all people as a moral principle through the 'impulses towards virtue' which human beings have as a Natural endowment. The wise man is marked out by his voluntary submission to what Nature wills; he chooses, in some sense of choice, to act according to Nature. The actions of bad men are necessarily contrary to Nature's will… By giving human beings reason, Nature provides the necessary conditions of good or bad actions; for actions are good or bad if and only if the reason of their agents accords with or fails to accord with Nature. By endowing man with 'impulses towards virtue' Nature provides conditions sufficient to direct him towards what accords with Nature.[5] In the conclusion of this paper, A.A. Long argues against the circular reasoning that “life according to nature must be followed because it is the reasonable life or life according to reason.” He refutes the idea that “the reasonable life” constitutes living according to Nature[6] and maintains: That is a complete misrepresentation of the logical basis of Stoic ethics. Life according to reason is entailed by life according to Nature; but life according to Nature is not obligatory because it accords with reason. Nature stands to human beings as a moral law commanding him to live by rational principles, viz., those principles of thought and action which Nature, a perfect being, prescribes to itself and all rational beings.[7] Stoic theory and practice rely on the premise that each human mind is a fragment of the universal, divine mind that permeates and orders the cosmos. Therefore, our ultimate human good is developed by bringing our human reason and will into agreement with universal Reason (cosmic Nature, Logos). Again, in the conclusion of his masterful study of Marcus’s Meditations, Pierre Hadot points out: 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[8] Additionally, Hadot contends, 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.[9] It is simply impossible to make Stoic ethical theory and practice fully coherent if we begin with the modern scientistic assumption that human life and human reason are accidental byproducts of a random universe. We make a serious mistake when we unseat cosmic Nature from its rightful place as the supreme guide for human action and rely solely on our human intellect to guide us towards what appears to be good. This is true of Stoicism and ancient virtue ethics in general. As A.A. Long argues, if we ignore the “symbiosis of cosmic and ethical perspectives” in ancient ethics “we shall not only misrepresent one of its most basic features; we shall also fail to understand why ancient philosophers were so absolute in their claims about the power of reason to guide human life and to deliver prosperity.”[10] Thus, Marcus highlights the fact that using human “intellect as a guide towards what appear to be duties” makes us no different from those who are impious toward divine Nature, disloyal to their country, and engage in soul-destroying behavior. Again, the evil in the world is committed by humans who are using their intellect; they are using their human reason to accomplish their vicious ends. Unfortunately, their human reason is not in agreement with universal Reason. The ancient Stoics understood human reason alone—disconnected from cosmic Reason—is insufficient to guide us toward virtue. Why? Because human reason can be easily corrupted by errant assents to impressions, and desires and aversions that create impulses to act contrary to the will of Nature. The path to virtue requires more. It requires harmony between human reason and cosmic Reason. It requires an understanding and appreciation for universal Reason as the source of our human reason. The Special Characteristic of the “Good Person” With that in mind, we can move on to Marcus’ list of characteristics of those who do use their capacities appropriately. He writes: If you share everything else with those whom I have just mentioned, there remains the special characteristic of a good person (Meditations 3.16) Love of Fate (Amor Fati) First on Marcus’s list of characteristics of the good person is the fact they will “love and welcome all that happens to him and is spun for him as his fate.” In his commentary on this passage, Pierre Hadot wrote: We have already seen that, for the Stoics, what is present for me is that which is currently happening to me: in other words, not merely my current actions, but also the present event with which I am confronted. Here again, as in the case of the present in general, it is my thought and my attention which singles out from the flux of things that which has meaning for me; at which point my inner discourse will declare that such-and-such an event is happening to me. Moreover—whether I know it or not—the overall movement of the universe, set in motion by divine Reason, has brought it about that I have been destined, from all eternity, to encounter such-and-such an event.[11] I dealt with love of fate extensively in previous episodes, so I’m not going to say much about it here. However, I will remind you of the difference between bowing to the necessity of fate and the Stoic practice of loving every event of Nature. As I have noted in a previous episode: Bear and Forbear Only Gets Us Half the Way There. Care of the Daimon Next, Marcus suggests the good person will exhibit three characteristics with regard to their daimon—the guardian spirit within: They will not defile the guardian spirit within. They will not trouble it with a host of fancies. They will preserve it in cheerful serenity.[12] Marcus focuses on the care of his inner daimon throughout his Meditations. This daimon is the guardian or inner “genius” that must be cared for lest it becomes corrupted by incorrect assents to impressions and desires and aversions that lead to impulses to act contrary to the universal law of Nature. In Meditations2.13, he pities those who seek happiness outside themselves and fail to understand “it is enough to hold fast to the guardian-spirit within him and serve it single-mindedly; and this service is

Characteristics of Good and Bad People (Part 1) – Episode 27 Sep 17, 2018

Show notes

In Meditations 3.16, Marcus Aurelius notes three different capacities of the human psyche and the corresponding character traits of bad people who are controlled or guided by them. He writes: 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. This passage is fascinating. The first two capacities relied on by those with a bad character will get near-universal nods of agreement from Stoic practitioners. However, the third—those who use their intellect as a guide—may raise eyebrows and will need explaining. Let’s look at each of these in detail. Those Who Are Operating on Sense Impressions (Phantasia) Alone Marcus begins by comparing those who rely only on sense impressions to cattle. If we seek a human parallel, slaves and prisoners come to mind. Like cattle, others control the movements of slaves and prisoners. Likewise, they must eat what is put in front of them lest they starve. A sense impression of food is presented to them and they respond by eating it. A sense impression of downtime is presented to them, so they rest or sleep. Others make all of their significant choices for them; there is no need to make judgments, so they are simply responding to sense impressions. It is possible to imagine a human who is not a literal slave or prisoner but lives in an environment where they are cared for by others and every significant choice is made for them. This would be unlikely in modern times. However, we can imagine a prince or princess of a powerful king living in such circumstances in the past. No matter what we imagine, I think we will agree these circumstances are dehumanizing—this is not the life of a human being; it is the life of cattle. For us, the important lesson here is how we handle sense impressions, and that skill falls under the practice known as the Discipline of Assent. As I noted in a previous episode, we need to set up a Stoic roadblock for impressions. This allows us to Stop every impression, Strip it bare, and See it from the cosmic viewpoint. If we wrongly assent to the almost involuntary value judgments that typically accompany sense impressions—that is “good” or that is “bad”—we develop or further ingrain the desires and aversions that disturb us. That brings us to the next capacity on Marcus’ list. Those Who Are Driven by Impulses (Horme) Marcus likens those who are driven by the impulses that arise from desires and aversions to “wild beasts.” Clearly, wild beasts differ from the cattle that rely on sense perceptions. Animals in the wild are not fed and cared for by others. Instead, they must hunt or forage to eat, and they are free to move about, sleep where they want, and procreate as they desire. These wild beasts are driven by impulses that arise from innate desires (longings) and aversions (fears)—we typically call these instincts. Wild animals do not question their desires and aversions; they do not consider whether their actions are good or bad. If they are social animals, they may tend toward certain behaviors and avoid others because there are rewards or repercussions from others in their group. However, that is not rational behavior; it is conditioning. Marcus argues that people who exhibit this characteristic are “drawn this way and that by the puppet-strings of impulse.” He uses this puppet analogy several times in his Meditations. He admonishes himself not to be “tugged this way and that, like a puppet, by each unsociable impulse” (Meditations 2.2), and cautions against being “pulled around like puppets by our impulses” (Meditations 6.16). Additionally, he finds some consolation in death because he will be free from “the impulses that pull us around like a puppet” (Meditations 6.28). When we are honest with ourselves, as Marcus was, we recognize the power of desires and aversions to control us like puppets. They do pull us around. When we are presented with the impression of something we desire as a “good” or wish to avoid because we consider it “bad,” our impulse to move toward or away from that thing or event can be psychologically overwhelming. That is why Epictetus repeatedly emphasizes the importance of eliminating our desires and aversions. This is the practice known as the Discipline of Desire. He even teaches us that the only thing powerful enough to overpower a desire or aversion is another desire or aversion (Discourses 1.17.24). In other words, our desire for an excellent character must become strong enough to overpower our desire for good health, wealth, power, and reputation and our fear of the opposite externals. Otherwise, we will continue to have a troubled mind and we will find reasons to blame others and the cosmos (Enchiridion 1). Left unchecked, our desires will turn us into immoral humans. Worse yet, if we are placed in a position of power, those desires and aversions can turn us into tyrants like Phalaris or Nero. Therefore, if we succumb to desires and aversions, we will turn into the human equivalent of wild beasts. Epictetus teaches us, “It is thus shameful for a human being to begin and end where the irrational animals do” (Discourses 1.6.20). He scorns those who choose to live as irrational animals. He declares, you “should lie down and go to sleep, and lead the worm’s life that you’ve judged yourself to be worthy of; eat and drink, and copulate, and defecate, and snore!” (Discourses 2.20.10). Those Who Are Guided by Their Intellect (Nous) At this point, one might assume that using our divinely given human rationality will inevitably lead us away from those characteristics shared by cattle and wild beasts and toward an excellent character (virtue). Unfortunately, that assumption is incorrect. Human history makes it quite clear that we are capable of using our reason to achieve evil ends. In fact, as Cleanthes highlights in his Hymn to Zeus, the only evil in the world is that which wicked men do. It is common for us moderns to observe and consider the evil deeds of other humans and conclude they must be crazy—irrational. However, the Stoics did not consider evil acts to be the result of irrationality. Instead, evil is the misuse of rationality. The Stoics did not divide the human psyche into rational and irrational parts as Plato did. Instead, they argued for a unified human psyche that is thoroughly rational even when it is morally corrupt and vicious. The Stoics would argue that Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, and Charles Manson relied on their human rationality to carry out their morally vicious actions. Consequently, we moderns make a serious mistake when we equate rationality with virtue because human reason can be used for both good and bad ends. That is why the Stoics argue that human reason must be brought into agreement with (όμολογουμένως) the nature of the whole universe (DL 7.87). Stoicism teaches us the current state of our character is the product of all of our previous assents to impressions and our currently held desires and aversions. Therefore, our response to any present impression of a thing or event will be the product of our present character. There is no magic in Stoic psychology; if we wish to behave differently in the future, we must change our character. To change our character, we must correct our errant judgments and eliminate our desires for and aversions to externals that are not “up to us.” An excellent character (virtue) will produce appropriate responses to things and events, while a bad character (vice) will produce the opposite. Chrysippus likened our individual character to the shape and composition of a cylinder. He argued: Just as the person who pushed the cylinder gave it its beginning of motion but not its capacity for rolling, likewise, although the impression encountered will print and, as it were, emblazon its appearance on the mind, assent will be in our power. And assent, just as we said in the case of the cylinder, although prompted from outside, will thereafter move through its own force and nature. (Cicero, On Fate, 43) To help us understand this cylinder metaphor and its application to human character, I think it is helpful to imagine two different cylinders. First, imagine a cylinder that is perfectly round, balanced, and composed of uniformly smooth, durable, and weighty metal. Label this cylinder “virtue.” Now imagine a second cylinder that is slightly out of round, imbalanced, and composed of a soft, porous wood like North American pine that is full of knots. Label this one “vice.” If we place both cylinders on the same smooth, slightly inclined surface and give them both a nudge of equivalent force, they will not roll in the same manner. Why? Because their nature is quite different. Likewise, two human characters, one virtuous and the other vicious, when acted upon by the same impression of an external thing or event, will respond differently. How can evil acts be considered rational? Because their rational faculty was corrupted. It is not that their rational faculty is broken; it is misguided. Their rational faculty is guided by wrong judgments about what is “good” and “bad” and driven by desires for externals beyond their control. Using the language of Marcus, each used their “intellect as a guide” to achieve what appeared “good” and “right” to them. As the old saying notes, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Even though we all share a portion of the same divine mind, that fragment of the divine we each possess can become corrupted. This raises a critically important point for our Stoic practice; it is not enough to rely on human rationality....

Tending the Stoic Orchard – Episode 26 Sep 02, 2018

Show notes

Stoic practice is distinct from academic philosophy because it is a way of life—an art of living—supported by a holistic philosophical system. The Stoics never intended their system to be a primarily intellectual endeavor. Nor was it created as a quick fix, self-help program. This is obvious from the surviving Stoic texts. Unlike academic philosophical tomes, the writings of Seneca, Discourses of Epictetus, and Meditations of Marcus Aurelius challenge and inspire us. It is quite apparent that something profound motivated these Stoics to live uncommon lives. For two thousand years, their lives have encouraged people like us to live up to our full potential as humans who are capable of developing moral excellence and experiencing true freedom and well-being. Nevertheless, the path Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus, and the other ancient Stoics trod toward that goal was not an easy one. As Pierre Hadot suggests, the practice of Stoicism will “turn our entire life upside down.”[1] While contemplating what that means, an image I found helpful was that of a farmer tilling a field. The process of tilling turns the soil upside down, and that serves several functions that help cultivate crops: It disrupts the root structure of existing weeds, it breaks up and loosens hardened soil, and it exposes fresh soil that is better able to absorb nutrients and support the growth of new seeds. Interestingly, these functions are analogous to cultivating our psyche, so it can bear the fruit of moral excellence. If a Stoic practitioner neglects to till the field of their psyche and instead scatters the seeds of Stoicism across untilled soil, they are unlikely to get the crop yield promised by the Stoics—eudaimonia. The initial excitement that comes from seeing the first signs of a plant breaking through the soil may be short-lived. That is because seeds scattered on hard, untilled soil may grow shallow roots if they can penetrate the soil at all. Those new seeds are forced to compete with preexisting weeds for water and nourishment. This is analogous to the modern Stoic practitioner who tries to apply Stoic sayings and techniques to their mind that is still entangled with the preexisting psychic weeds from a lifetime of false judgments, wrong desires, and irrational fears. Many people come to Stoicism in the twenty-first century looking only for psychological techniques, mind hacks, or inspirational aphorisms that will help them overcome obstacles and achieve their preexisting personal goals. Likewise, many seek a means of developing tranquility in our chaotic times. Judging by the current popularity of Stoicism on social media, it appears that many people are benefitting from applying Stoic principles and practices to help them get a better job or promotion, manage a company, become a better athlete, recover from a breakup, etc. However, what many moderns overlook is the fact that seeking externals is not the goal of Stoic practice. In fact, as Epictetus teaches us in Enchiridion 1, desiring and chasing after those externals will keep us enslaved and cause us to lament and have a troubled mind. Likewise, moderns may overlook the fact that others can apply those same techniques to make them a better criminal, corrupt business person, tyrannical political leader, or an uncaring, disconnected human being. Therefore, we must keep this important truth in mind: If we apply Stoic techniques and practices to an untilled psyche, it will fertilize Stoic seeds and preexisting weeds. To experience true well-being, our Stoic practice must be aimed at an excellent moral character rather than externals like health, wealth, office, and reputation. Stoic practice helps us develop new patterns of thought to replace our old errant judgments, misdirected desires, and disturbing aversions (weeds) so we can develop our moral excellence (virtue) and experience true well-being (eudaimonia). However, for those new seeds of thought to flourish and produce fruit, we must discover and disrupt the root system of those existing thoughts that create our psychological disturbances. That requires serious, ongoing effort. It requires us to till the soil of our psyche. Again, when we scatter seeds of Stoicism atop the hard ground of our psyche, amidst the weeds that have already taken root, and then use Stoic practices, techniques, or mind hacks to fertilize those seeds we are nourishing both the new Stoic seeds and the preexisting weeds. The Stoics never intended to help us achieve better health, more wealth, increased fame, a better reputation, etc. If we leave the desire for those externals in place, they will likely grow alongside the seeds of Stoicism. This means the trees of our Stoic orchard will be competing with preexisting weeds and they may never bear the fruit (moral excellence) Stoicism promises. That is why Stoic practice requires tilling the soil of our psyche. Stoicism requires us to turn the soil of our psyche (soul) upside down to disrupt those false judgments, desires and aversions that enslave us and trouble our minds. Then we can plant new seeds and reap a better harvest of well-being. To expose errant judgments, wrong desires, and irrational aversions we must focus our attention (prosoche) on them. Then, we can use the discipline of assent to uproot those weeds. Simultaneously, the discipline of desire will help us select only the best seeds to plant in the tilled soil of our psyche—seeds that can produce moral excellence. Finally, we can apply the fertilizer of Stoic practice to the fresh soil and new seeds. That is the path of the prokopton, and the Stoics promise us it will bear fruit. To do so, however, we must understand and apply all three fields of study—logic, physics, and ethics. The ancient Stoics offered the simile of an orchard to represent the holistic nature of the Stoic system for good reason. A Stoic orchard must be protected by the fence, built via the discipline of assent to impressions (logic), so the soil and trees of appropriate desires (physics) can produce good fruit (ethics). In modern times, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) demonstrated the effectiveness of this ancient Stoic practice of examining and changing deeply held beliefs to effect change in one’s behavior. As Aaron Beck, the founder of Cognitive Therapy, points out, our behavior is motivated by three levels of cognition: core beliefs, dysfunctional assumptions, and negative automatic thoughts. “Core beliefs, or schemas, are deeply held beliefs about self, others and the world.”[2] These core beliefs create a worldview—a map that represents the way the world is. The connection between a person’s worldview, their perception of events, and their behavior is fundamental to CBT practitioners. Jean-Baptiste Gourinat highlighted this connection in his 2009 paper titled Stoicism Today. He notes that“one’s behavior 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.”[3] The ancient Stoics understood the connection between beliefs, behavior, and psychological well-being. As a result, they developed a philosophical system that supported a way of life designed to develop an excellent moral character (virtue) and promote well-being. This way of life is far more holistic than CBT alone, which does not prescribe or promote any particular model of reality. As I have pointed out in several episodes, Stoic theory and practice, as the ancients conceived it, rely on trust in a providentially ordered cosmos. Therefore, it is unreasonable to think we can remove or ignore the Stoic worldview from their interdependent, holistic system without changing the system as a whole. That does not prohibit a modern from adapting Stoicism to an atheist worldview. However, such an adaptation will require significant modification to Stoic ethical theory and practices as well. Consequently, moderns who attempt to modify Stoicism in this way should be aware they are doing something the ancient Stoics did not conceive of, and their mileage may vary. As Pierre Hadot suggests, the Stoic art of living is an “exercise” that consists of a “concrete attitude and determinate lifestyle, which engages the whole of existence.” He further points out, “The philosophical act is not situated merely on the cognitive level, but on that of the self and of being.”He argues this “conversion” is one that “turns our entire life upside down, changing the life of the person who goes through it.” As a result, we can rise above our “inauthentic condition of life, darkened by unconsciousness and harassed by worry” to an “authentic state of life” that includes “self-consciousness, an exact vision of the world, inner peace, and freedom.”[4] I have dedicated the last seven years of my life to the serious study of Stoic theory and a consistent—albeit far from perfect—attempt to put that theory into practice. During that time frame, I have also mentored numerous students through the basic course at the College of Stoic Philosophers and tutored students through the year-long advanced course known as the Marcus Aurelius School. From my personal experience and my observations of those I have mentored, I am convinced the results one gets from the practice of Stoicism are directly proportionate to one’s commitment to the Stoic path. A half-hearted commitment to the Stoic path will not create the psychological resilience and greatness of character we see in ancient Stoics. Why? Because, as Seneca points out: To fashion a [Stoic] 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 (On Providence, 5.9) Why are trials and hardships essential to the Stoic path?...

Epictetus’ Prescription for Psychological Resilience – Episode 25 Aug 21, 2018

Show notes

From everything that happens in the universe it is easy to praise providence, if one has within him two things: the faculty of taking a comprehensive view of the things that happen to each person and a sense of gratitude. For, otherwise, one will either fail to recognize the usefulness of what has come about, or else fail to be truly grateful if one does in fact recognize it. (Discourses 1.6.1-2) Psychological resilience is a by-product of Stoic practice; it is part of the good flow or well-being (eudaimonia) a Stoic practitioner experiences as a result of developing an excellent character (virtue). In his expression of the dichotomy of control, found in Enchiridion1, Epictetus contrasts the psychologically resilient Stoic with those who have a troubled mind—those who will be hindered, lament, and blame gods and humans for their troubles. Simultaneously, Epictetus declares that “no harm can affect” the Stoic who has developed a resilient mind. Nevertheless, as he points out, the development of a resilient mind requires significant effort and change in our lives. People have troubled minds because of their thoughts, desires, and intentions. As I have written before, Stoicism is not a topically applied balm we can use occasionally to make us feel better. Instead, it is internal medicine and it requires constant attention and practice. Stoicism works from the inside out, beginning with our thoughts, desires and aversions, and intentions to act. Progress depends on our willingness to turn over the soil of our psyche to disrupt the roots of our entangled thoughts, so we can plant new seeds that can grow into new patterns of thinking. In the above passage from the Discourses 1.6, we see two elements that are necessary to develop psychological resilience: a comprehensive view of things, and gratitude. A Comprehensive View of Things The first part of Epictetus’ prescription for psychological resilience involves developing a cosmic viewpoint. The cosmic viewpoint allows us to escape our human-centered view of things and events and the judgments associated with that limited perspective. Life is not easy. Like Shakespeare’s Hamlet, we all must face the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” However, there is good news. Stoic practice equips us to “take arms” against that “sea of troubles” we call life; it prepares us “to be” despite life’s vicissitudes that may cause us to question whether it is better “not to be.” To begin, we must abandon our limited human perspective and view events as if from above. The “view from above” is more than a view from a distance that trivializes things and events on Earth. The cosmic viewpoint teaches us to accept the cosmos as a holistic organism, where events have a purpose that is larger than our human-centered view of things typically allows us to see.[1] From this cosmic perspective, seemingly tragic events are neither good nor evil. Instead, these events are simply the way our purposeful cosmos is bringing about what is best for the whole. As practicing Stoics, we can use the cosmic viewpoint to transcend the false expectations which cause a troubled mind. As I wrote in a previous post, Once we understand the nature of the cosmos and our place in it, we begin to understand that external events are neither good nor bad, in a moral sense, because they are beyond our control. The only events that have moral implications for us are those we can control—our judgments. External events cannot harm our inner Self; only our thoughts about events can.[2] Epictetus makes this point succinctly: It isn’t the things themselves that disturb people, but the judgements that they form about them. (Enchiridion 4) Pierre Hadot considers the cosmic viewpoint the beginning of Stoic practice. He writes, Putting theory into practice begins with an exercise that consists in recognizing oneself as a part of the Whole, elevating oneself to cosmic consciousness, or immersing oneself within the totality of the cosmos. While meditating on Stoic physics, we are able to see all things within the perspective of universal Reason. To achieve this, we must practice the imaginative exercise which consists in seeing all human things from above.[3] When we are confronted with events that might appear unsettling, disturbing, or even tragic, we are wise to take a step back and try to envision those events from a cosmic viewpoint. From the perspective of the whole cosmos, those events can take on an entirely different meaning. No matter how tragic the events may appear, we will be wise to recall the famous aphorism: Things turn out best for those who make the best of the way things turn out. (source unknown) If we make the best of the way things turn out, we may be able to see purpose in those events. From the cosmic viewpoint we can relinquish our anthropocentric judgments of those events and learn to develop an attitude of gratitude for everything that happens in our lives. For those who may be inclined to claim, “That’s just a placebo!” Maybe, but what is the alternative? While others are stomping their feet, screaming, crying, and venting their anger at the universe and humans (Enchiridion 1), the Stoic who adopts a cosmic viewpoint can assume all events have some greater purpose and make the best of them. Will they not be far better off for doing so? If this is nothing more than a placebo, it is a damn good one. To those who then claim, “Well, I can’t make myself believe the world is providentially ordered.” Agreed, but you can allow yourself to live as if it is and see what happens. After all, you are probably quite familiar with what it feels like to believe that tragic events are random, meaningless accidents. Or have you fully considered what you actually believe and the ramifications of those unexamined beliefs? Are you living as if the universe is a random accident? How is that working out for you? Are you willing to consider an alternative approach? What if you could replace the anger and sadness you still carry from those unsettling, disturbing, and tragic events that occurred in your life? What if you could see those events from a perspective that allowed healing and provided a sense of meaning because those events actually had a purpose? That is what the cosmic viewpoint can do for you if you are willing to adopt it. Stoics do not simply attempt to put a positive spin on events. Instead, Stoics seek to understand the nature of reality, human nature, and humankind’s place within Nature. The cosmic perspective helps us deal with life’s vicissitudes. How? By teaching us to limit our concerns to what is “up to us”—our judgments of events—and to love what we cannot control. We can learn to love, rather than simply tolerate, the events of Nature by trusting they have a purpose and thereby provide our human lives with inherent meaning. From that perspective, we can transform our anger and resentment from past events into gratitude for all the events that occur in a rationally ordered, divine cosmos. An Attitude of Gratitude The second part of Epictetus’ prescription for psychological resilience in Discourses 1.6 involves developing a “sense of gratitude” for everything that happens. An attitude of gratitude distinguishes a love of fate (amor fati) from mere resignation and fatalism. How does a Stoic avoid resignation and learn to love fate? By choosing to see challenging events as opportunities for growth in virtue (excellence of character). Trials either make us bitter or they can make us better. The choice is ours. Consider this: What would Stoics do without the people on Facebook who annoy us, the inconsiderate drivers who cut us off in traffic, the thoughtless actions of our loved ones, the unreasonable demands of a boss or customer who does not appreciate us, the pains in our bodies, or the occasional tragedies visited upon us? How would we grow in virtue without these dispreferred indifferents to shape our character? How would we test or measure our growth without them? Finally, how much would we value virtue (arête) and well-being (eudaimonia) if they came easy, without much effort? If we accept that unsettling, disturbing, and apparently tragic events beyond our control are going to happen, what would it look like to take our Stoic practice to the next level? What if we adopt an attitude of gratitude toward all those events that are “not up to us”? Imagine the psychological strength and equanimity that would spring from such an attitude. Marcus provides us with a wonderful example of an attitude of gratitude: 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) Marcus had that attitude of gratitude because he trusted that, “Nothing happens to anyone that he is not fitted by nature to bear” (Meditations 5.18.1). Epictetus also highlights that same attitude of gratitude toward what happens when he instructs us: Don’t seek that all that comes about should come about as you wish, but wish that everything that comes about should come about just as it does, and then you’ll have a calm and happy life. (Enchiridion 8) As Robert Emmons, professor of psychology at UC Davis, wrote in his book on the practice of gratitude: In modern times gratitude has become untethered from its moral moorings, and collectively we are worse off because of this. When the ancient Roman philosopher Cicero stated that gratitude was the queen of the virtues, he most assuredly did not mean that gratitude was merely a stepping stone toward personal happiness. Gratitude is a morally complex disposition, and reducing this virtue to a technique or strategy to improve one’s mood is to do it an injustice.[4] He argues that gratitude is typically considered a

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