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    Religion & Spirituality

    Stoicism On Fire

    The practice of Stoicism as a philosophical way of life and rational form of spirituality

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    Copyright: © 2018 Chris Fisher - Traditional Stoicism

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    Latest Episodes:
    Step out of the Epicurean Garden and into the Stoic Cosmopolis – Episode 24 Aug 06, 2018
    Show notes

    Our modern world is bursting with angst. News of an impending environmental crisis, worldwide political turmoil, gratuitous violence, wars, and human suffering are delivered instantaneously, twenty-four hours a day, to the smart devices in the palms of our hands. It seems there is no escape from the incessant stream of allegedly newsworthy catastrophes short of ignoring the news, abandoning all forms of social media, and sequestering ourselves in some form of safe space, far away from the mayhem of human society. That was the solution offered by the ancient Epicureans. They retreated from social and political life to their garden where they tried to live tranquil lives among like-minded friends. There were exceptions; some Epicureans engaged in society when they thought the benefit of doing so was significant enough to risk their tranquility. However, the primary Epicurean strategy was to retreat from society and thereby avoid the people and events that can cause psychological distress. The Stoics provided an alternative solution. It appears the Epicurean garden did provide a place to develop tranquility for some ancients, and it seems reasonable to assume a similar approach to life can do the same for moderns. However, the Epicurean garden is no place for Stoics. To become a Stoic, one must avoid the alluring walls of the Epicurean garden that separate us from society. The Stoic path does not lead to any peaceful, secluded garden. Instead, it leads us out of the garden and into the clamor of society, where we can fulfill our roles and duties as rational, social creatures. Fortunately, Stoicism provides us with the psychological tools and training methods that will enable us to thrive and experience tranquility, even amid this seemingly hostile environment. Stoics are a different breed; they can flourish in whatever sociopolitical circumstance they find themselves while they simultaneously work to create a society and world that exemplifies courage, justice, wisdom, and moderation. The Stoic prepares to handle the best and worst of human nature within their homes, marketplaces, cities, boardrooms, political forums, and battlefields, while the Epicurean prefers to remain in their garden to escape those potentially disturbing environments. While both pursue virtue, the Epicurean seeks inner tranquility (ataraxia), in part at least, by controlling their external environment; the Stoic, on the other hand, creates inner resilience that allows for psychological well-being (eudaimonia) regardless of external circumstances. Stoics realize how easy it is for the hordes of externals to trample and burn the walls of the Epicurean garden. In contrast, the formidable walls of the Stoic’s inner citadel can withstand the siege of Fortuna and the crashing waves of inexorable fate. Therefore, it is not surprising that many ancient Romans from the political class adopted Stoicism as a way of life. In fact, two of our surviving textual sources come from a Roman emperor (Marcus Aurelius) and a Roman senator (Seneca), and a third comes from the lectures of a freed slave turned philosopher (Epictetus). These writings resonated with people throughout history because these three Stoics lived their philosophy in the real world. They were not academic philosophers expounding on hypothetical scenarios. Instead, each of these ancient Stoics lived and thrived in the tumultuous, chaotic, sweaty, and occasionally bloody world of humanity because they relied on their inner resilience, cultivated by Stoic practice, to live virtuously. The Stoic builds his retreat inside his psyche, not in a garden retreat. The Stoic inner citadel provides an ever-present fortress and retreat, where the Stoic’s soul remains untouchable amidst the vicissitudes of life. As a result, the ancient Stoics possessed the inner strength to engage in social and political life. As C. Kavin Rowe points out, In contrast to the Epicureans, for example, the Stoic tradition emphasized the compatibility of philosophy with civic life; indeed, many went a good deal farther than this and stressed the necessity of civic engagement as part and parcel of what it meant to be a Stoic.[1] Epictetus even mocked the Epicureans on this point and argued their philosophy is not conducive to human society: In God’s name, I ask you, can you imagine a city of Epicureans? ‘I shan’t marry.’ ‘Nor I, for one shouldn’t marry.’ ‘Nor should one have children; nor should one perform any civic duties.’ So what will happen, then? Where are the citizens to come from? Who’ll educate them? Who’ll be superintendent of the cadets? Who’ll be director of the gymnasium? And then, what will the young men be taught? (Discourses 3.7.19) Stoicism does not lead us to a place of tranquility and pleasure in the garden. Instead, the Stoic path trains us to be a helmsman who is capable of piloting our psyche through the tempestuous winds and turbulent waters that leave many others drowning or dashed on Fortuna’s rocks. Therefore, while the inner practices of meditation, mindfulness training, and the development of inner tranquility are helpful in the practice of Stoicism, we must be careful not to allow these means to become ends. Ancient Stoics were not reclusive contemplatives; they engaged in society. As Pierre Hadot notes: The Stoic always acts "under reserve"—but he does act, taking part in social and political life. This is another important point which separates him from the Epicureans, who in principle retire from everything that may cause worry. The Stoic does not act in his material or even spiritual interest,but acts in a way which is always disinterested and in the service of the human community.[2] The Stoics thought the cosmos and the humans with it form a unified Whole, guided by universal Reason, which they called Logos. As Richard Tarnas highlights in his acclaimed book The Passion of the Western Mind, The existence of the world-governing reason had another important consequence for the Stoic. Because all human beings shared in the divine Logos, all were members of a universal human community, a brotherhood of mankind that constituted the World City, or Cosmopolis, and each individual was called upon to participate actively in the affairs of the world.[3] Throughout his Meditations, Marcus Aurelius reminds himself of the connectedness of humanity as he contemplates how to deal with the frequently antisocial behavior of people (see Meditations 2.1). As Emperor of Rome, Marcus dealt with the best and worst of human nature. I suspect this is one reason his Meditations, written as a personal diary, continues to resonate with so many people. Within its pages,we see our current struggles against the vicissitudes of life and the seeming wickedness of humanity. We see Marcus facing challenges that would psychologically cripple some people; nevertheless, he remained strong even while surrounded by chaos. Marcus' equanimity is inspiring and provides us with a wonderful picture of a life well-lived under trying circumstances. In Meditations 4.3, Marcus provides an outline of the Stoic practice that empowered him to live as he did. When the ruling power within us is in harmony with nature, it confronts events in such a way that it always adapts itself readily to what is feasible and is granted to it. For it attaches its preference to no specific material; rather, it sets out to attain its primary objects, but not without reservation, and if it comes up against something else instead, it converts it into material for itself, much like a fire when it masters the things that fall into it. These would have extinguished a little lamp, but a blazing fire appropriates in an instant all that is heaped on to it,and devours it, making use of that very material to leap ever higher. Never embark on an action at random, or otherwise than according to one of the principles that perfect the art of living. (Meditations 4.1-2) That is a powerful passage. According to Marcus, when our rational faculty(our fragment of the logos) is in coherence with universal Reason (Logos), external events serve as fuel for the fire which drives us forward and guides our actions. In that state of coherence with Nature, we will wish for events to happen as they do, rather than as we may desire them to happen (Discourses 1.12.15). Then, as events happen, we stick close to them and follow them (Discourses3.1.18; Enchiridion 53).[4] When we combine these ideas from Marcus and Epictetus with the concept of the reserve clause, we begin to understand what it means to live according to Nature as the Stoics conceived it. We begin to see why the concept of a providential cosmos played such an important role in the Stoic ethical practice. If we outline the process step-by-step, it becomes clearer. First, the Stoic intends an appropriate action to bring about a virtuous end. Then, with the reserve clause in mind, the Stoic tries to achieve the intended goal. If external events prevent the action or produce an outcome other than intended, the Stoic accepts and even loves the outcome as an event of Nature beyond their control (amor fati). Next, the Stoic quickly adapts to the new situation and follows fate closely. In Marcus’ words, the fateful event then becomes fuel for the fire that drives the Stoic forward. If Nature gives the Stoic lemons; she makes lemonade rather than fretting and whining because she wanted grape juice. When the Stoic follows the cart of fate closely and willingly, she discovers the freedom available to her to act virtuously and experience the well-being that results from aligning her will with the will of a providential cosmos. This practice does not lead to a fatalistic mindset; instead, it creates the attitude of gratitude I wrote about in Epictetus’ Prescription for Psychological Resilience. Marcus asserts the purpose of a philosophical life is to keep the guardian-spirit (daimon) inside us


    What Is Important in Life? Day 7 – Episode 23 Jul 29, 2018
    Show notes

    Prepare for Death to Discover Freedom What is most important? Having your soul on your lips. This makes you free not according to the law of the Quirites, but according to the law of nature. A free person is one who escapes enslavement to himself, which is constant, unavoidable, oppressing by day and by night equally, without break, without respite. Enslavement to oneself is the most severe enslavement, but it is easy to shake it off if you stop expecting a lot from yourself, if you stop making money for yourself, if you set before your eyes both your nature and your age, even if it is very young, and say to yourself, “Why am I going crazy? Why am I panting? Why am I sweating? Why am I working the land, or the forum? I don’t need much, and not for long.” (Natural Questions III, praef. 16-17) This week-long meditation with Seneca on the topic of what is important in life ends at the most appropriate place—the contemplation of and preparation for our death. Seneca opens this final passage with the recommendation that we have our soul on our lips. In other words, we must be prepared to die. Why? Because doing so makes us free according to the law of nature. The Stoics did not measure freedom by one’s ability to move freely from place to place, city to city, or country to country. Instead, true freedom is the absence of enslaving desires and crippling fears that consume our life. We are afraid of not getting what we want: a large house, great job, good reputation, wonderful soul mate, retirement account, good health, etc. Likewise, we fear getting that which we do not want: homelessness, poverty, shame, loneliness, sickness, and death. As a result, we spend our time driving ourselves to madness and working ourselves to death for things we believe will make us happy. As Epictetus frequently reminds us, we are slaves to externals. All the while, we neglect to ask “What is most important?” As Seneca notes, It’s not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it’s been given to us in generous measure for accomplishing the greatest things, if the whole of it is well invested. But when life is squandered through soft and careless living, and when it’s spent on no worthwhile pursuit, death finally presses and we realize that the life which we didn’t notice passing has passed away. (On the Shortness of Life 1.3). The Stoic practice of Memento Mori—the contemplation of death—is more than a preparation for our inevitable end. That is the obvious goal of this ancient, widespread practice. The less obvious, but equally important, goal of this practice is the development of true freedom, which is preparation for life. Pierre Hadot writes, In the apprenticeship of death, the Stoic discovers the apprenticeship of freedom.[1] Freedom for the Stoic is the inner freedom that allows us to contemplate and live in agreement with Nature regardless of life’s circumstances. As Hadot notes, For the Stoic Epictetus, the meaning of our existence resides in this contemplation: we have been placed on earth in order to contemplate divine creation, and we must not die before we have witnessed its marvels and lived in harmony with nature.[2] We moderns, especially we westerners, have been trained from childhood to move at a faster and faster pace, so we achieve greater and greater goals, and accumulate more and more possessions. We only half-jokingly repeat the 1980s bumper-sticker slogan, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” Stoicism is not a mind hack to be used to overcome external obstacles along the path to fame and fortune. Instead, the Stoic path trains us to overcome the obstacles within our mind that stand between our present state and an excellent character, which is capable of experiencing true well-being. The Stoic path leads toward freedom. We moderns, especially we westerners, have been trained from childhood to move at a faster and faster pace, so we achieve greater and greater goals, and accumulate more and more possessions. We only half-jokingly repeat the 1980s bumper-sticker slogan, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” Stoicism is not a mind hack to be used to overcome external obstacles along the path to fame and fortune. Instead, the Stoic path trains us to overcome the obstacles within our mind that stand between our present state and an excellent character, which is capable of experiencing true well-being. The Stoic path leads toward freedom. As Seneca points out, the Stoic path teaches us to live “free” according to the law of Nature even if the law of the Quirites—the law of society—binds us and imprisons us. We can find this form of freedom only within the inner citadel of our mind, and it empowers us to act virtuously in the world without fear of punishment, imprisonment, or even death. The realization that nothing can harm our Self is empowering. Socrates assented to this higher law and lived continually with his soul on his lips. He did not fear imprisonment or death by the powerful men of Athens he openly challenged. When these men brought him to trial on trumped-up charges, he did not cower. Instead, he mocked their sense of justice. After being sentenced to death, Socrates had an opportunity to escape but he did not. He understood that the Athenians could kill him, but they could not take away his freedom to choose the good. In other words, they could not harm him. The life and courageous death of Socrates inspired the ancient Stoics and they pointed to him as an example of an excellent life. Death Is Not an Evil However, Seneca’s message here is not limited to exceptional people like Socrates. The contemplation of death is for everyone because death is part of Nature’s process. The philosophical practice of contemplating misfortune and death is not unique to Stoicism, nor was it invented by the Stoics. In fact, as Pierre Hadot points out, the Stoics appear to have borrowed these practices from Plato’s Republic (604b-d). Hadot suggests, If it is true that philosophy subjugates the body’s will to live to the higher demands of thought, it can rightly be said that philosophy is the training and apprenticeship for death.[3] Contemplation of death was a common philosophical practice because death is truly universal. Seneca opens his work On the Shortness of Life with this common complaint about death: Most of mankind, Paulinus, complains about nature’s meanness, because our allotted span of life is so short, and because this stretch of time that is given to us runs its course so quickly, so rapidly— so much so that, with very few exceptions, life leaves the rest of us in the lurch just when we’re getting ready to live. And it’s not just the masses and the unthinking crowd that complain at what they perceive as this universal evil; the same feeling draws complaints even from men of distinction. (1.1) Benjamin Franklin echoes Seneca in his famous quote: Life's tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late. How does the Stoic prevent this regret? By contemplating death as an inevitable end that may occur at any moment, and then living each moment in the present through the practice of prosoche (attention). Marcus admonishes us to, Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. (Meditations 2.11) Death is a frequent theme in the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. That may be due to the fact that death was a constant companion of Marcus at home and on the battlefield. Of his fourteen children, only six outlived him. Additionally, Marcus wrote a large portion of his Meditations while he was encamped on the Danube river, with his army, during a time of war. The transient nature of life was ever-present for Marcus and his note to himself reflect that: All that you now see will very swiftly pass away, and those who have watched it passing will swiftly pass away in their turn, and he who dies in extreme old age will be brought to a level with one who has died before his time. (Meditations 9.33) In his masterpiece on the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Pierre Hadot wrote: From the point of view of the imminence of death, one thing counts, and one alone: to strive always to have the essential rules of life present in one's mind, and to keep placing oneself in the fundamental disposition of the philosopher, which consists essentially in controlling one's inner discourse, in doing only that which is of benefit to the human community, and in accepting the events brought to us by the course of the Nature of the All.[4] Obviously, one event we will all face is death. Likewise, Epictetus offers us the following advice about the practice of contemplating misfortune and death: Day by day you must keep before your eyes death and exile and everything else that seems frightening, but most especially death; and then you’ll never harbour any mean thought, nor will you desire anything beyond due measure. (Enchiridion 21) For the Stoic, there is nothing to fear in death; it is simply a process of Nature. The Stoics were ambiguous about what happens after death, and it does not appear they spent much time contemplating the topic. Instead, it appears they were satisfied to consider death the cessation of life as we know it and the return of our constituent parts to Nature. Their focus was on the development of an excellent character in the here and now. However, one of our constituent parts is a fragment of the logos that is returned to God. That fact is tantalizing; does some aspect of our consciousness continue to exist after death? As Epictetus stated, Isn’t it true that these things are indifferent and nothing to us, and that death is no evil? And that we are in some sense related to God, and draw our origin from him? Allow us to go back to where we came from… (Discourses 1.9.13-14) Nevertheless, what happens after death is highly speculative, and it does not appear the ancient Stoics considered it a


    What Is Important in Life? Day 6 – Episode 22 Jul 21, 2018
    Show notes

    The Good Fight Against Fortuna What is most important? Raising your spirits high above chance events; remembering your human status, so that if you are fortunate, you know that will not last long, and if you are unfortunate, you know you are not so if you do not think so. (Natural Questions III, praef. 15) Fortuna—fortune in English—is a prevalent theme in Seneca’s writing. He uses some form of the word more than two hundred times in his Letters and more than twenty times in Natural Questions. As one scholar notes, If we were to search for Seneca’s language that at one and the same time captured the nature of the world and human experience within it, the main word upon which we would land would doubtless be Fortuna. Fortuna and all that it invokes provide the organizing grammar of Seneca’s world. It is the overarching cosmological context in which all human life is lived.[1] Like Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Seneca acknowledges the “Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” However, Seneca denies that these constitute “a sea of troubles.” How? By applying the dichotomy of control and trusting in a providentially ordered cosmos as a defense against the vicissitudes of fortune. Seneca declared, The wise person is still not harmed by the storms of life— poverty, pain, and the rest. For not all his works are hindered but only those that pertain to others. He is himself, always, in his actions, and in the doing of them he is greatest when opposed by fortune. For it is then that he does the business of wisdom itself, which as we just said is his own good as well as that of others. (Letters 85.37) However, we must keep in mind the fact that the dichotomy of control is not just a promise; it is also a warning. Whenever we desire those things that are “not up to us” we risk becoming a victim of Epictetus’ poignant warning: You’ll have cause to lament, you’ll have a troubled mind, and you’ll find fault with both gods and human beings. (Enchiridion 1) Seneca offers a similar warning for those who chase things that are “not up to us.” As he admits, he came to this realization late in life, after he had chased “those things that please the many” until they made him weary. The right path, which I myself discovered late in life when weary from wandering, I now point out to others. My cry is this: “Avoid those things that please the many, the gifts that fortune brings. Be suspicious; be timid; resist every good that comes by chance. It is by the allurements of hope that the fish is caught, the game snared. Do you think these are the blessings of fortune? They are traps. Any one of you who wants to live in safety must make every effort to shun those baited favors amidst which we, poor creatures, are deceived. We think we have hold of them, when in fact they have hold of us. (Letters 8.3) As noted in the previous episode, the life-transforming power of Stoicism lies in the application of two fundamental Stoic doctrines: the dichotomy of control and a love of fate engendered by trust in a providentially ordered cosmos. Stoic philosophy teaches us that virtue is the only good, and therefore, vice is the only bad. Everything else is morally indifferent. In Stoicism, virtue (excellence of character) is measured by our thoughts and intentions alone. When the Stoics famously declare that the wise person can experience well-being even while being tortured on the rack, they do not deny the reality of physical pain and suffering. They are simply pointing out the profound truth that physical well-being is not a necessary element of the moral well-being derived from virtue. Seneca admonishes, Stop saying, therefore: “Will the wise person not receive an injury, then, if he is cut, if his eye is gouged out? Will he not receive an insult if he is jostled through the forum with abusive taunts by foul-mouthed men; if, at a king’s banquet, he is ordered to recline beneath the table and to eat with the slaves who are responsible for the most humiliating chores; if he is compelled to endure any other contrivance that is offensive to the sensibilities of a freeborn person?” (On the Constancy of the Wise Person 15.1) Seneca is declaring that such questions miss the point of Stoic practice altogether. Physical pain, suffering, and public humiliation are real events, and a Stoic will experience real sensations of physical pain. However, none of them can touch the soul of the Stoic unless they allow it to do so through their wrong judgment of those events. Thus, he concludes: We do not deny that being beaten, being struck, or losing a limb is an unfortunate thing, but we deny that all these things are injuries. We remove from these not the sensation of pain but only the name injury, which cannot be sustained with virtue intact. (On the Constancy of the Wise Person, 16.1) The truth is this: Fortuna will likely bring great pain and misfortune into our lives at some point; nevertheless, we must remember those events are “not up to us.” What is “up to us” is our mental attitude as we face the vicissitudes of Fortune. We get to choose whether those trials we face in life make us bitter or make us better. As Stoics, we must accept the fact that life’s trials and tribulations are the “grist for the mill” that allows us to develop excellence of character. Without such trials, we cannot know, nor live up to, our true potential. 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— but things he can soften and smooth out himself. Fire proves gold; misery, brave men [and women]. (Seneca, On Providence 5.9) I conclude with an incredibly profound passage from Seneca’sLetters. This passage is worthy of memorization and/or keeping close at hand. It truly summarizes what it means to be a Stoic. The happy person is not the one ordinary people call happy, not the one who has been showered with money, but rather the one whose every good resides in the mind. That one is upright and exalted; he spurns underfoot the objects of wonder; he would not trade his life for any other that he sees. He assesses a person only by that part which makes him a human being. He takes nature for his teacher, regulates his life by nature’s laws, lives as nature has directed. His goods are those no power can strip away; whatever is bad, he turns to good. He is sure in judgment, unshaken, undismayed. There are forces that move him, but none that alarm him. The sharpest, deadliest blows that fortune can inflict do not wound him: he feels but a sting, and that rarely. As for those other darts that assail the human race, those bounce off him like hail hitting a roof, that rattles and then melts without hurting the one inside. (Letters 45.9) Fortuna is not our enemy; she is our sparring partner in life. The blows she delivers in the training ring are designed to teach us how to absorb the knockout blows life occasionally delivers. Nevertheless, she is a tough training partner, and she will knock us to the mat if we are let our guard down. Stoic training prepares us for battle in the ring of life. While others are knocked out by the vicissitudes of fortune, the Stoic understands the blows of those externals, while physically painful, cannot touch their soul (psyche). Through the continued practice of the Stoic spiritual exercises, which includes the application of the dichotomy of control and trust in the providentially ordered cosmos, we can strengthen our inner citadel to be impenetrable by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. ENDNOTES: [1] C. Kavin Rowe, One True Life: The Stoics and Early Christians as Rival Traditions (Yale University Press, 2016), p. 22


    What Is Important in Life? Day 5 – Episode 21 Jul 19, 2018
    Show notes

    A Contented Mind and Pure Hands What is most important? Refusing to let bad intentions enter your mind; raising pure hands to heaven; not seeking any good thing if someone else must give it or must lose it so that it may pass to you; wishing for a sound mind (something that can be wished for without competition); regarding the other things rated highly by mortals, even if some chance brings them into your home, as likely to exit by the door they entered. (Natural Questions III, praef. 14) This passage strikes at the core of human conflict. Seneca instructs us not to seek “any good thing if someone else must give it or must lose it so that it may pass to you.” Competition for possessions, money, power, prestige, and position is incompatible with the development of moral excellence (virtue) and well-being. Stoicism teaches us that whether we are rich or poor, powerful or powerless, famous or unknown, we should be content with our present circumstances. Moreover, when things are not to our liking, Stoicism teaches us to use those circumstances as an opportunity to develop our moral character. However, we live in a time when the predominant message is quite the opposite. If we are dissatisfied with our circumstances, we are encouraged to complain, sue, petition, protest, picket, march, riot, and even cause civil disturbance and property damage until we get what we want. We are led to believe that if someone has more money, education, power, better health care or housing than we do, an injustice must have occurred. Meanwhile, Marcus Aurelius poignantly reminded himself: But perhaps you are discontented with what is allotted to you from the whole? Then call to mind the alternative, ‘either providence or atoms’ and all the proofs that the universe should be regarded as a kind of constitutional state. (Meditations 4.3) I believe this is one of the primary reasons many moderns reject the Stoic conception of a providential cosmos. To accept this Stoic doctrine entails that the cosmos and our current circumstances are as they should be. In other words, we currently have what the cosmos allotted to us, and our current circumstances provide the perfect place from which to begin development of our moral character. That is a message many of us moderns simply do not want to hear because it makes us accountable for our lives. It is so much easier to blame others for our circumstances than it is to look in the mirror and accept responsibility. Two common misconceptions are used to excuse our righteous indignation at perceived injustices. First, we mistakenly believe that our circumstances dictate or largely influence our well-being. However, circumstances are neither good nor bad; it is only our judgments of those events that can affect our well-being. According to the dichotomy of control, externals do not present a barrier to the development of our moral character or our well-being. Instead, the Stoics teach that our life circumstances are grist for the mill. Epictetus makes this point quite clear in his Discourse titled On providence when he asks: What kind of a man do you suppose Heracles would have become if it hadn’t been for the famous lion, and the hydra, the stag, the boar, and the wicked and brutal men whom he drove away and cleared from the earth? (Discourses 1.6.32) In other words, those dis-preferred external circumstances allowed Heracles to become who he truly was. Without them, he would not have become Heracles; he could not have lived up to his potential without those challenges. The second common misunderstanding comes from the assumption that being content with and loving our present circumstances leads to a form of quietism and thereby subdues any desire to effect change in our personal or social circumstances. On the contrary, Stoicism does not teach us to remain quiet and passive in the face of real injustice. Likewise, it does not teach us to be passive toward dis-preferred circumstances. Regarding Heracles and the lion, hydra, stag, boar, and wicked and brutal men, Epictetus asks: What would he have turned his hand to if nothing like that had existed? Isn’t it plain that he would have wrapped himself up in a blanket and gone to sleep? (Discourses 1.6.33) Next, Epictetus challenged his students to welcome and engage difficult circumstances rather than being passive: So come on, then, now that you recognize these things, and consider the faculties that you possess, and after having done so, say, ‘Bring on me now, Zeus, whatever trouble you may wish, since I have the equipment that you granted to me and such resources as will enable me to distinguish myself through whatever may happen.’ (Discourses 1.6.37) Finally, we get a dose of Epictetus’ protreptic teaching style as lays us bare: No, but you sit there trembling at the thought that certain things may come about, and wailing, grieving, and groaning at others that do come about; and then you cast blame on the gods. For what else than impiety can result from such meanness of spirit? And yet God has not only granted us these faculties that enable us to endure whatever may happen without being debased or crushed by it, but has also granted them to us—as befits a good king and, in truth, father—free from all hindrance, compulsion, and restraint, placing them entirely within our own power, without reserving any power even for himself to hinder or restrain them. Possessing these faculties as you do, free and as your own, you fail to make use of them, however, and fail to perceive what it is that you have received, and from whom, but sit there grieving and groaning, some of you blinded towards the giver and not even recognizing your benefactor, while others are led astray by their meanness of spirit into making reproaches and complaints against God. And yet I can show you that you have the resources and equipment that are needed to be noble-minded and courageous, while it is for you to show me what occasion you have for complaint and reproach! (Discourses 1.6.38-43) Obviously, Stoicism, properly understood, does not lead to quietism. Instead, Stoic practice creates courageous minds for courageous action. We must engage with our personal versions of the lion, hydra, stag, boar, and wicked and brutal men with an intention to act appropriately and achieve a preferred outcome. Nonetheless, we must do so without desiring that outcome or being fearful of its opposite. Additionally, we must act with a reserve clause and the full realization that fate may have different plans. Therefore, we must be willing to accept and love the outcome even when it is the opposite of what we intended. Why? Because for that moment, under those circumstances, that is what the universal Reason of the cosmos produced, and that outcome is “not up to us.” Finally, we must be careful when we intend to seek any external lest we engender bad intentions and create unclean hands. Envy, resentment, and anger have no place in the Stoic way of life. Seneca could not be more clear on this matter; we are not to seek “any good thing if someone else must give it or must lose it so that it may pass to [us].” We live in a time when some people argue that the desired end they seek, whether it be equality or some form of justice, is important enough to warrant nearly any means to achieve it. However, justice cannot be achieved via unjust means. The moral indignation, anger, and outrage exhibited by so many of those seeking justice is not an indicator of the righteousness of their goal. This form of self-righteous virtue-signaling does little more than stir anger and encourage hatred of others. Far too frequently, it leads to bad intentions and impure hands. We moderns usually reject this kind of self-righteousness when it is exhibited by religious fundamentalists. Yet, we are often manipulated and fooled by secular prophets who promise utopias here on earth. Regardless of the motive or promised paradise, bad intentions and impure hands cannot bring about justice. The end does not justify the means. The “Nature” that we Stoics are instructed to live in agreement with has a cosmic, divine source. It is not the “Nature, red in tooth and claw”[1] of the animal kingdom. As Epictetus teaches us: When we act for the sake of our belly or genitals, when we act at random, or in a filthy manner, or without proper care, to what level have we sunk? To that of sheep. What have we destroyed? What is rational in us. And when we behave aggressively, and harmfully, and angrily, and forcefully, to what level have we sunk? To that of wild beasts. There are, besides, some among us who are large ferocious beasts, while others are little ones, small and evil-natured, which prompt us to say, ‘I’d rather be eaten by a lion!’ By all such behaviour, the human calling is destroyed. (Discourses 2.9.4-7) Our modern world is ravaged by a sense of discontent, envy, and rage that instigates and feeds anger and hatred for others who have what we do not have. Far too frequently, that rage boils over into catastrophe as those who have been taught to feel like helpless victims lash out against those they believe are the cause of their unhappiness. As Stoics, we must not be duped by false prophets of either religion or politics who justify unclean hands today for the promise of a utopia tomorrow. As Stoic practitioners, we must not be tempted to desire what other possess. Epictetus mocks those who reach for things belonging to others in Discourses 2.4.8. Likewise, he frequently reminds us that our power, virtue, and well-being are found within: My principal task in life is this: to distinguish between things, and establish a division between them and say, ‘External things are not within my power; choice is within my power. Where am I to seek the good and the bad? Within myself, in that which is my own.’ But with regard to what is not my own, never apply the words good or bad,...


    What Is Important in Life? Day 4 – Episode 20 Jul 15, 2018
    Show notes

    A Courageous Mind for Courageous Action What is most important? A mind that is brave and defiant in the face of calamity, not just opposed but hostile to luxury, neither courting nor fleeing danger; one that knows not to wait for fortune but to create it, to go to face both forms unafraid and undismayed, unshaken either by the turmoil of the one or the glitter of the other. (Natural Questions III, praef. 13) As practicing Stoics, our equanimity is not derived from passivity, inaction, or avoidance of challenging and potentially troubling people and events. We do not stand by and let fate take its course. Instead, as Seneca makes perfectly clear in this passage, the Stoic is a person of action who is brave in the face of calamity and potential bad fortune. Stoic practice is not limited to the inner work discussed in the Day 3 meditation. In fact, that inner work is not an end in itself; that is not the goal of Stoicism. The goal is the development of an excellent character (virtue) and that can only be achieved through engagement with the people and events that can help us develop wisdom, courage, justice, and moderation. Ultimately, the development of that inner strength and character empowers us to engage serenely with the clamor and chaos of humanity and cosmic events so we can fulfill our role for the good of the all. As I stated before, there are innumerable roles that can benefit the whole of humanity directly or indirectly. More often than not, we do not have to look far to discover our roles; fate typically ensures that our roles find us. This passage is not concerned with how we discern our roles; instead, it is focused on our preparedness to fulfill the roles in which fate places us. According to Seneca, a person who is fully prepared to face either good or bad fortune is “unafraid and undismayed, unshaken either by the turmoil of the one or the glitter of the other.” Such people possess three characteristics; they are: 1. Brave and defiant in the face of calamity 2. Hostile to luxury 3. Neither courting nor fleeing danger Brave and Defiant in the Face of Calamity After we build an inner citadel in our soul (Day 1), learn to see things from the cosmic viewpoint (Day 2), and learn to accept and love fate (Day 3), we are prepared to be genuinely brave and defiant in the face of calamity. As practicing Stoics, we know that external events are “not up to us” and they cannot affect our moral character (virtue), neither can they disrupt our genuine well-being (eudaimonia). Stoic practice prepares us for every circumstance and any role fate may present. This enables Stoics to be co-creators of their fate. Again, Marcus Aurelius and Cato the Younger provide marvelous examples of Stoics who maintained their excellent character while engaged in their challenging social roles. Our role may not be battling an invading horde or resisting a tyrannical leader. Instead, it may be as simple as teaching, policing, designing, building, leading, etc., within a community. Likewise, our role may be providing for and raising children to be good citizens of the cosmopolis. We sometimes overlook the fact that every role in life has psychological dangers. The specter of calamity—the potential for loss, frustration, or failure—is present in every endeavor. Therefore, the perspective of the cosmic viewpoint combined with the strength and security of the inner citadel is indispensable to provide us with the assurance that our true self—our soul—cannot be harmed by external circumstances. That is how the Stoic can be brave and defiant in the face of calamity. This is not arrogance or false bravado. Instead, it is the peace of mind and calmness of action that comes forth from a place within us that cannot be harmed by people or events. Hostile to Luxury Both Seneca and Marcus Aurelius turned away from the luxuries their wealth and power provided them. Some criticize Seneca for not doing it sooner or to a greater degree. Nevertheless, he did turn to a simpler life in his later years and argues, One who is serious about [philosophy as a way of life] should choose settings that are conducive to sobriety and clean living. Too much comfort makes the spirit unmanly, and even mere location undoubtedly has some power to ruin one’s strength. Draft animals whose hooves have been toughened by hard ground can travel on any road; those that have been fattened in soft meadows quickly go lame. The soldier who has been posted in steep places becomes ever stronger; the urbanite is a lazy fellow. Hands that go directly from plow handle to sword hilt can handle any kind of work, while those that gleam from manicure and massage give up the minute they have to get dirty. The harsher discipline of some places strengthens one’s spirit and renders it fit for great endeavors. (Letters 51.10-11) In Letters16.8-9, Seneca argues that natural needs for life are minimal; however, when we succumb to the opinions of others, our desires can become “unbounded,” and the only thing we learn is “how to desire more.” Likewise, Seneca asserts: Everything we need for our welfare is ready and available, but luxuries come only at the cost of misery and trouble. (Letters119.15) To mitigate the desire for luxuries, Seneca proposes physical training as well as mental training: Set yourself a period of some days in which you will be content with very small amounts of food, and the cheapest kinds, and with coarse, uncomfortable clothing, and say to yourself, “Is this what I was afraid of?” (Letters 18.5) Why do we need physical training? Because “we are steeped in luxuries, and think everything harsh and difficult.” Physical training helps us “wake the mind from sleep” and serves to “pinch it, and remind it of how little our nature actually requires” (Letters 20.13). Otherwise, we run the risk of drowning ourselves in pleasures, because we have grown so accustomed to them that we “can no longer do without them.” At that point, we cease enjoying our pleasures because we are “slaves to them.” Seneca closes this passage with an ominous warning: “Once vice becomes a code of conduct, there ceases to be any possibility of cure.” (Letters39.6) The Greek word askesisis used to describe both spiritual training and physical training; both are a part of Stoic practice. Nevertheless, Stoic askesisis not the extreme form of asceticism practiced by renunciates. As Pierre Hadot writes, askesis– which must be understood not as asceticism, but as the practice of spiritual exercises – already existed within the philosophical tradition of antiquity.[1] For the Stoic practitioner, moderation is the key. However, it becomes quite obvious from reading the Stoics that we Westerners have become so decadent that Stoic moderation will seem like asceticism to many of us. As long as we are slaves to these externals we cannot be free. That is the reason we must become hostile to luxuries. Neither Courting nor Fleeing Danger Next, Seneca advocates moderation regarding danger. The Stoic, he suggests, does not seek it out, nor does he run from it. Courage is a virtue for Stoicism. Chrysippus defined courage as follows: "Courage," he says, "is knowledge as concerns things to be endured" or "a condition of mind which is obedient without fear to the highest law with respect to suffering and endurance." (Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.53) Courage, like each of the other virtues (prudence, justice, and moderation), is difficult to analyze in isolation. That is because the virtues are interdependent and entail each other. Moreover, virtue ethics does not offer ready-made rules for action like consequentialist and rule-based ethical theories. Virtue ethics depend on the wisdom, courage, justice, and moderation of the virtuous person to make the best decision based on all the facts available to them. Therefore, it should not be a surprise that Seneca offers his decision to go on living, in spite of his desire to commit suicide, as an example of courage (Letters78.2). Then, alternatively, he offers Cato’s suicide as an example of courage: Cato’s final and supremely courageous wound through which freedom dispatched his spirit (Letters 96.72) Even apart from Cato’s suicide, he provides us with a poignant example of a courageous Stoic mind. Cato did not succumb to the misconceived que será será attitude of love of fate. He could have maintained his position of political power if he had accepted the tyrannical rule of Caesar as fate. Instead, he committed his life to the attempt to save the Roman Republic from Caesar. Nevertheless, fate had other plans, and he accepted that fate even though it meant his own death. Cato lived as a Stoic and struggled against tyranny by living the virtues, which were in his control, and letting fate, which was not in his control, take its course. Cato lost that battle with Caesar, but he won the war. Cato’s example still stands as a reminder to tyrants everywhere to beware of those who have the courage to resist. As Stoics we cannot know the outcome of our actions; the outcome is not “up to us.” Our good intentions and acts may not succeed from our limited, human perspective. Nevertheless, we must keep in mind that our only responsibility is to act virtuously, allow fate to do what it will, and then love the outcome. Here are some questions to consider today: Am I mentally prepared to face a financial catastrophe, physically disability, loss of a loved one, or an equivalent calamity? If not, what am I waiting for? Human history suggests we are likely to face at least one such event in my life. We must contemplate these possibilities in advance to be mentally prepared for them. That is the Stoic practice of negative visualization (premeditatio malorum). Am I addicted to luxury? What can I do today to practice moderation? What regular physical practices can I implement to prepare my


    What Is Important in Life? Day 3 – Episode 19 Jul 13, 2018
    Show notes

    Love of Fate (Amor Fati) What is most important? Being able to endure adversity with a glad mind, to experience whatever happens as though you wanted it to happen to you. For you ought to have wanted it to, if you had known that everything happens according to god’s decree. Crying, complaining, and moaning are rebellion. (Seneca, Natural Questions III, praef. 12) From the perspective provided by the cosmic viewpoint (Day 2), we can learn to love what happens in our lives. The Stoics propose that we should love all events, even those that appear tragic from our human perspective. Why? Because to do otherwise is “rebellion” according to Seneca. It is an act of rebellion against the cosmos because we are claiming more power than we truly have. If we act virtuously with the intent to have result “A” happen but “B” happens instead, “crying, complaining, and moaning” about it indicates we think we have more power than we actually have. As Epictetus repeatedly teaches, it is a psychologically damaging mistake to assume we have the power necessary to bring about the end we seek. Our intention to act is “up to us” but our ability to complete the act and the result are beyond our control. This is the primary lesson of the dichotomy of control. The truth is that neither “A” nor “B” are completely “up to us.” Only our thoughts and intentions toward “A” and ‘B’ are “up to us.” Therefore, when a Stoic intends result “A” and engages in actions to bring that about, they must do so with a “reserve clause” that acknowledges fate may not cooperate. Obviously, love of fate and the cosmic viewpoint are interdependent. Together, they allow us to aim at an appropriate goal “A” and intend to bring about that goal with the attitude that we will accept and love outcome “B” if that is what happens. That is love of fate. Keep in mind that loving “B” does not preclude appropriate actions to bring about “A” a second, third, fourth, or thousandth time. There might be a reason it took numerous attempts at “A” to bring it about. Likewise, “A” may never happen. Marcus Aurelius accepted and loved fate because he trusted the cosmos was providentially ordered. He wrote: Providence permeates the works of the gods; and the works of fortune are not dissociated from nature, but intertwined and interwoven by all that is ordered by providence. Everything flows from there; but necessity is implicated too, and the benefit of the whole universe of which you are a part. (Meditations 2.3) In Meditations 12.24, Marcus tells us how to act in accordance with fate: Always act with a “definite aim” in accordance with Justice. Remember that “whatever happens to you from outside is due either to chance or to providence.” In other words, the result is “not up to us.” We “should neither blame chance nor bring accusations against providence.” Interestingly, this attitude toward fate does not result in a fatalistic pessimism among the Stoics. The popular caricature of the stoic as someone who grins and bears the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune is an unfortunate mischaracterization. Seneca pointed out the difference between the grin and bear it attitude of “grudging obedience” and “willing obedience” to providence: No matter which is true, Lucilius, or even if they all are, we must still practice philosophy. Perhaps the inexorable law of fate constrains us; perhaps God, the universal arbiter, governs all events; perhaps it is chance that drives human affairs, and disrupts them: all the same, it is philosophy that must preserve us. Philosophy will urge us to give willing obedience to God, and but a grudging obedience to fortune. It will teach you to follow God; to cope with chance. (Seneca, Letters 16.5) Grudging obedience to fate is a philosophical attitude; however, it is not the Stoic attitude. Marcus Aurelius provides a beautiful expression of the Stoic attitude that comes from willing obedience to a providential cosmos, 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. (Meditations 4.23) This same attitude was expressed by Epictetus: But if I in fact knew that illness had been decreed for me at this moment by destiny, I would welcome even that; for the foot, too, if it had understanding, would be eager to get spattered with mud.’ (Discourses 2.6.10) Contrast the attitude expressed by Seneca, Marcus, and Epictetus with the “crying, complaining, and moaning” of those who rebel against events they do not like and you begin to see the true nature of the Stoic attitude toward fate.Stoics do not grin and bear it; they welcome and love all events as if they wanted them to occur. Pierre Hadot describes this Stoic love of fate as follows: By consenting to the present event which is happening to me, in which the whole world is implied, I want that which universal Reason wants, and identify myself with it in my feeling of participation and belonging to a Whole which transcends the limits of individuality.[1] Fate is a big pill to swallow for moderns who believe they can apply the famous lines from Invictus, “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul”[2] to overcome external obstacles of any kind. The Stoics understood that we are the masters of our thoughts and intentions alone. Our ability to act on those intentions and the outcome are simply “not up to us.” The truth of the matter is this: We are far more constrained and, therefore, far less free than we like to admit. We are constrained by time and place of birth, genetics, environment, social circumstances, educational opportunity, etc. We cannot change those facts; they are “not up to us.” Fortunately, in spite of all those external constraints, there is profound freedom within our thoughts and intentions, and they are “up to us.” Moral excellence (virtue) and a good flow in life (happiness) are not constrained by any of the externals listed above. Regardless of whether one is constrained by the lowly circumstances of slavery, as Epictetus was, or the fortunate circumstances of the Roman emperor, like Marcus Aurelius, Stoicism provides a way of life that can transcend external events. Yes, we are the dog tied to the cart of fate in the famous Stoic metaphor. However, we do not have to be dragged, yelping and howling, behind the cart. There is a better way. We can choose to follow the cart willingly toward an excellent life. We can follow the path of the Stoics by adopting a cosmic viewpoint and loving all events that occur. Try the following during some quiet time: Make a list of the apparently “bad” or “tragic” events that are significant in your life and then ask the following about each of them: In hindsight, do those events seem different than they did at the time? If so how? For each of those events, find at least one valuable lesson you learned or one way in which you are a better person as a result of that event. Don’t stop at one; list as many as you can. If you change your mind about those apparently “bad” or “tragic” events in your past and decide to view them as trials (see Day 2), which provided an opportunity for personal growth and character development, how would your attitude about those events change? Would that attitude change affect your life positively? If so, why not try to see things from a cosmic viewpoint for a while and see what happens? Why not try loving all the events that occur in your life for a while and see if it makes a difference in your well-being? Throughout the day, commit yourself to do the following and pay attention to your mental state as you do so. First, every time you set out to do something, say to yourself, “I intend this outcome fate permitting.” This will remind you that the result is not up to you. Then, whatever the result may be, remind yourself the outcome is a moral indifferent and repeat Marcus’ affirmation: 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. (Meditations 4.23) ENDNOTES: [1] Pierre Hadot, The Inner Citadel: the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998), p. 145 [2] William Ernest Henley, Invictus (1875)


    What Is Important in Life? Day 2 – Episode 18 Jul 11, 2018
    Show notes

    The Cosmic Viewpoint What is most important? Raising your mind above the threats and promises of fortune, thinking that nothing is worth hoping for. For what have you to desire? Whenever you sink back from engagement with the divine to the human level, your sight will go dim, just like the eyes of those who return from bright sunlight to dense shadow. (Natural Questions III, praef. 11) The cosmic viewpoint is a central theme of Stoicism, and Seneca’s Natural Questions highlights that theme. In it, Seneca “impels his reader to look upward, to transcend ordinary life at ground level, to reach for cosmic consciousness.”[1] I covered the cosmic viewpoint in episode 5 on prosoche. Nevertheless, the cosmic viewpoint is a critically important topic in Stoic practice; it cannot be repeated too often. The cosmic viewpoint is often referred to as the “view from above.” This is the cosmic viewpoint, and it entails more than seeing the insignificance of life as if from afar. The cosmic viewpoint is more about attitude than altitude. Imagining that we are zooming away from the Earth may help distance us from the triviality of some troublesome events. However, that form of a “view from above” does not necessarily bring about the attitudinal change Stoicism prescribes. The ultimate goal of Stoic practice is not to distance ourselves from troublesome events or become indifferent to them. The goal is to learn to love those events as if we wished for them. Why? Because they are the events of Nature that have a purpose of their own, and, as Stoics, our aim is to live in agreement with that cosmic Nature. To do so requires more than a change in altitude; it requires a significant change in attitude. Stoic practice obliges us to develop an attitude of gratitude toward all events, even those we might otherwise consider troublesome, or tragic. As Epictetus taught: 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. (Discourses 1.6.1) 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.[2] When confronted with something which might appear unsettling or disturbing, we must take a step back and try to envision the situation from the perspective of the whole cosmos. It is reasonable to assume if we had all of the information about an event we would see things differently. To take on the perspective of the whole we must shed our personal desires, the desires of our immediate family and loved ones, and those of our local community or nation. That is a difficult thing to do; however, this paradigm shift is an essential part of Stoic practice. From the cosmic viewpoint, we can begin to see and love all events as parts of the Whole. Marcus Aurelius describes this exercise: Watch the stars in their courses as though you were accompanying them on their way, and reflect perpetually on how the elements are constantly changing from one to another; for the thought of these things purifies us from the defilement of our earthly existence. A fine reflection from Plato. One who would converse about human beings should look on all things earthly as though from some point far above, upon herds, armies, and agriculture, marriages and divorces, births and deaths, the clamour of law courts, deserted wastes, alien peoples of every kind, festivals, lamentations, and markets, this intermixture of everything and ordered combination of opposites. (Meditations 7.47-8) Pause and consider the list of things and events offered by Marcus in this passage: herds, armies, agriculture, marriages and divorces, births and deaths, the clamour of law courts, deserted wastes, alien peoples of every kind, festivals, lamentations, and markets. There are items on that list we would typically consider “good” and others we may consider “bad”; however, Marcus is reminding himself not to judge them as such. Instead, he challenges himself to view these things and events “as though from some point far above” to gain a new perspective. What is that perspective? It is not a perspective that minimizes their importance because of our altitude. Instead, it is a perspective derived from an attitude change, and it allows us to see all events, no matter how seemingly tragic, as an “intermixture of everything and ordered combination of opposites.” In other words, every event plays a role in the ordered whole. “Wait a minute,” someone might say, “there is no way I’m going to accept that tragic events happen for a purpose and that I should love them.” Then you will have a troubled mind, and you will be angry with gods and men, according to Epictetus (Enchiridion 1). Please do not misunderstand the Stoics here. It is our responsibility to behave in a manner that minimizes wars, rapes, murders, political and economic injustice, etc. We do so by behaving in a wise, just, courageous, and moderate manner, and encouraging others to do the same. Nevertheless, seemingly tragic events will happen; they are part of the “intermixture of everything and ordered combination of opposites” (Meditations7.48). When they do occur, we have a profoundly important choice to make. We can choose to accept them as the necessary events of a providentially ordered cosmos and love them as parts of an interconnected and interdependent whole. Or, we can rage against them as cosmic injustices and thereby create a troubled mind and feed our anger against gods and men. Either providence or atoms. This does not imply that a Stoic should do nothing about injustice when they can act and attempt to bring about a virtuous end. As Stoics, we are obligated to act. Cato the Younger and Marcus provide excellent examples of courageous action to defend the people and values of their society. Nevertheless, they acted with a reserve clause in mind and accepted that their actions may not bring about the end they sought. After all, the cosmos may have a different plan. In either case, our goal as a practicing Stoic is to accept and love the outcome as one event within a larger causal network of events that constitutes the Whole. That is the cosmic viewpoint. Ultimately, this paradigm shift involves more than additional information that may change our opinion about an event. The cosmic viewpoint entails an entirely different way of thinking about events. It relies on bringing our rational faculty—that fragment of the logos we each possess—into congruence with universal Reason. Seneca warns, Whenever you sink back from engagement with the divine to the human level, your sight will go dim, just like the eyes of those who return from bright sunlight to dense shadow. (Natural Questions III, praef. 11) In other words, our psychological angst is the result of seeing events from a limited anthropocentric perspective—the human level. Stoic practice teaches us to view events from the cosmic perspective—the divine level. As you go about your day, try applying the cosmic viewpoint by asking yourself the following questions: What might this event look like if I had full knowledge of what is going on? Will this event be as significant to me tomorrow, next week, next year, or a decade from now? Can I envision a way this event, which appears unfortunate, troublesome, or even tragic at this moment, might bring about a positive outcome in the future? If so, would it be prudent for me to act, with a reserve clause, as if this apparently troubling event is directing me toward a new course of action? Did this slamming door reveal another previously unnoticed door I should explore? Am I aware of any events like this from the past that were used by individuals or nations to bring about a positive end? Are there events in my past that appeared unfortunate, troublesome, or tragic at the time that I consider a blessing now? If I make a conscious choice to assume this seemingly unfortunate, troublesome, or tragic event has a larger purpose, and I make the best of it, how will that change my attitude? Seneca challenges us to “look upward, to transcend ordinary life at ground level, to reach for cosmic consciousness.”[3] Our challenge as Stoic practitioners is to allow our soul to take flight, metaphorically of course, and view the world and events around us as if from above—from the perspective of the Whole. According to the Stoics, the new perspective we can achieve from this cosmic viewpoint will change our lives. ENDNOTES: [1] Gareth D. Williams, The Cosmic Viewpoint: A Study of Seneca’s Natural Questions (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), p. 11 [2] Pierre Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy? (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press, 2002), p. 136 [3] Williams (2012). p. 11


    What Is Important in Life? Day 1 – Episode 17 Jul 09, 2018
    Show notes

    Seven Days with Seneca What is most important in human life? That is a perennial question that almost all of us ask ourselves, in one form or another, at some point in our lives. Unfortunately, many of us neglect to confront that question until late in life or when unforeseen circumstances force the question upon us. There, amid the faintly glowing embers of a long life approaching its end, or within the smoking and smoldering embers of a cataclysmic life event, we are more likely to listen to our inner sage as it admonishes us to consider what is really important in life before it is too late. Seneca, the wealthy and once powerful Roman senator repeatedly asked what is important in the preface to Book 3 of his Natural Questions. He was looking back on his life from old age when he wrote this work. From that perspective, he admits his motive for asking, “What is most important in life?” He wrote, Old age is at my back and accuses me of having used up my years in fruitless pursuits. (Natural Questions III, praef. 2) Many of us, maybe most, feel the weight of that same accusation at some point. We ask ourselves, what am I doing with my life? The question may be prompted by external events like divorce, a disabling accident, the death of a loved one, a brush with death, a terminal medical diagnosis, the birth of a child, etc. Likewise, the question may arise during meditation or a quiet moment of self-reflection. Many occasions might prompt the question. Nevertheless, it is fair to say that few of us ask it often enough or reflect on it deeply enough to effect lasting change in our life. Fortunately, as Seneca points out, it is never too late to begin anew. No matter what stage of life we are in, we can “press on all the more” and give “hard work” the opportunity to “repair the losses of a misspent life” (Natural Questions III, praef. 2). How? By giving our mind—our rational faculty—time to itself for “contemplation of itself.” Here, Seneca echoes Epictetus’ confidence in our rational faculty’s self-judging and self-healing capabilities (Discourses 1.1). Nonetheless, we must create the time and space for our mind to work on itself. According to Seneca, if we create the time in our busy lives to allow our rational faculty to work on itself, it can “recover by using its present life with care.” While it is helpful to create a time and place for regular meditation or thoughtful reflection, it far more important to the recovery process that we practice constant attention (prosoche) throughout the day. This practice of attention focuses our rational faculty on our present judgments, present desires, and present actions; this is the real inner work of a practicing Stoic. Once we are paying attention, we can deploy the three Stoic disciplines to help us “transition from remorse to honorable action.” (Natural Questions III, praef. 2-3). Seneca asks, “What is most important in life?” seven times and provides seven thought-provoking insights in Natural Questions, Book 3, praef. 10-16. This episode is the first of a week-long meditation program that draws from Seneca’s responses to that question to challenge and inspire practicing Stoics. Each daily meditation is short enough to be listened to or read quickly during a morning meditation and will give you something to consider throughout the day. The goal of this week-long meditation is twofold. First, I trust that Seneca’s responses to the question “What is important in life?” will provide some insight into this question. Second, my wish is that Seneca’s responses will provoke some deep soul-searching and motivate us to ask and answer this potentially life-changing question more frequently. The Inner Work of Stoicism What is most important in human life? Not filling the seas with fleets, nor setting up standards on the shore of the Red Sea, nor, when the earth runs out of sources of harm, wandering the ocean to seek the unknown; rather it is seeing everything with one’s mind, and conquering one’s faults, which is the greatest victory possible. There are countless people who have been in control of nations and cities, very few who have been in control of themselves. (Natural Questions III, praef. 10) Seneca opens his examination of what is most important in life by directing us inward. The real work of the Stoic life, the work that provides the greatest victory, is inner work. This inner work, Seneca suggests, is done by directing our attention inward toward the only things we can control: The judgments, desires and aversions, and impulses to act that form our character faults. External successes are "indifferents" to the Stoic. That does not mean they have no value at all. Instead, it means they have no bearing on our moral excellence and well-being. These externals are indifferents because they are neither good nor bad in themselves and they are beyond our control—they are “not up to us” (Enchiridion1). There is no causal relationship between virtue (moral excellence) and externals. We can become the head of a company, the leader of a social movement, a city, or a nation while having a vicious moral character. Likewise, we can possess an excellent moral character while being poor, powerless, and nameless. The excellent life—the life of virtue—is achieved through inward victory over the erroneous judgments and inappropriate desires and aversions that damage our virtue and diminish our well-being. Through the practice of attention (prosoche) and the disciplines of assent and desire, we turn inward to examine the thoughts, desires, and aversions that trouble our mind and cause us to “find fault with both gods and human beings” (Enchiridion 1). This is the path of the prokopton (one making progress) and it leads to the creation of what Pierre Hadot calls the inner citadel,[1] where the vicissitudes of fortune cannot affect our tranquility. This inner citadel is within our soul (psyche), and it is there that we must focus our attention. As Marcus Aurelius wrote: People seek retreats for themselves in the countryside, by the seashore, in the hills; and you too have made it your habit to long for that above all else. But this is altogether unphilosophical, when it is possible for you to retreat into yourself whenever you please; for nowhere can one retreat into greater peace or freedom from care than within one’s own soul. (Meditations 4.3) Marcus further asserts that we have the power to stop our inner turmoil, which is caused by faulty judgments, at any moment: If you suffer distress because of some external cause, it is not the thing itself that troubles you but your judgement about it, and it is within your power to cancel that judgement at any moment. (Meditations 8.47) The inner citadel is created from the realization that nothing can touch the soul of the Stoic. This circumscribed Self is immune from harm by anything external to it. Things as such have not the slightest hold on our soul, nor do they have access to the soul, nor can they alter it or move it; but the soul alone alters and moves itself, and ensures that whatever is submitted to it conforms to the judgements of which it considers itself worthy. (Meditations 5.19) Inner work is not easy. Uprooting faulty judgments, desires, and aversions that cause us distress is hard work. That is precisely why, as Seneca notes, few people are actually in control of themselves. Most people live lives that are driven by impressions of externals to prompt them to desire and seek that which they do not control. As Epictetus frequently points out, most people are not the masters of their own impulses; instead, they are slaves to their desires and aversions. The path of the Stoic prokopton can free us from this slavery to our desires and aversions. However, this path traverses a challenging, sometimes steep, and occasionally precarious route. It is easy to assume, mistakenly, that the lush valley below offers a safer and shorter path to virtue and happiness. It probably does not. There are no shortcuts or quick fixes in Stoicism. The path of the Stoic prokopton is the practice of philosophy as a way of life, and it requires continued learning and constant training. However, the reward is worth the effort because the Stoic path leads to an excellent moral character and well-being. Nevertheless, as I have written before, the inward-directed nature of Stoic practice is not a call to withdraw from life’s tempestuous seas; quite the opposite. Through the creation of inner virtue and the application of the dichotomy of control, Stoics are prepared to fulfill their roles in society while maintaining their virtue and tranquility. Stoics shun the peaceful garden of the Epicureans for the rough-and-tumble world of human society. Because, as Seneca notes: 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— but things he can soften and smooth out himself. Fire proves gold; misery, brave men [and women]. (On Providence 5.10) The practice of the three Stoic disciplines that define the path of the prokopton allows us to gain control of our judgments, desires and aversions, and impulses to act. The inner citadel of our psyche is not created as a safe place to hide from the turmoil of life. Instead, the inner citadel is our psychological stronghold that derives its strength from the knowledge that nothing external to us can touch our soul. From that place of inner strength, we can perform our roles in society with purpose. Our purpose is to live in agreement with cosmic Nature, our rational human nature, and our unique individual nature. As naturally social creatures, that means we must live in, engage with, and contribute to the society we are part of....


    Purpose in the Universe with Tim Mulgan – Episode 16 Jul 01, 2018
    Show notes

    From the back cover of professor Tim Mulgan's book: Two familiar worldviews dominate Western philosophy: materialist atheism and the benevolent to God of the Abrahamic faiths. Tim Mulgan explores a third way. Ananthropocentric Purposivism claims that there is a cosmic purpose, but human beings are irrelevant to it. Purpose in the Universe develops a philosophical case for Ananthropocentric Purposivism that is at least as strong as the case for either theism or atheism. Those who are interested in exploring professor Tim Mulgan's concept of Purpose in the Universe further may find the links below helpful. His book is published by Oxford University Press. A paper titled Beyond Theism and Atheism: Axiarchism and Ananthropocentric Purposivism by Tim Mulgan: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/phc3.12420 Book Review in University of Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews: https://ndpr.nd.edu/news/purpose-in-the-universe-the-moral-and-metaphysical-case-for-ananthropocentric-purposivism/ A podcast episode produced by The Forum that includes Tim Mulgan and others discussing Purpose in the Universe: http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/theforum/does-the-universe-have-a-purpose/


    The Religious Nature of Stoicism – Episode 15 Jun 25, 2018
    Show notes

    Many people who were introduced to Stoicism by popular books that were written in the twenty-first century are surprised by the religious nature of Stoic philosophy when they first encounter it in the surviving Stoic texts and scholarship on those texts. That is because none of these popular authors address the deeply religious nature of Stoicism positively. Instead, they either ignore it or attempt to discredit it as the unwarranted beliefs of ancient philosophers who lacked our modern scientific understanding of the universe. For some, like Lawrence Becker, Stoic ethics cannot be “credible” if it remains attached to Stoic cosmology (a providential cosmos).[1] Likewise, William Irvine considers this aspect of Stoicism “off-putting to modern individuals, almost none of whom believe in the existence of Zeus, and many of whom don’t believe we were created by a divine being who wanted what was best for us.”[2] Ryan Holiday takes a different approach and justifies ignoring Stoic physics (which includes Stoic theology) by making the unsubstantiated claim that as Stoicism progressed, the later Stoics “focused primarily on two of these topics—logic and ethics”[3] to the exclusion of physics. In a unique approach, Donald Robertson attempts to obscure the modern divergence from Stoicism by making the unsupportable claim that some of the ancient Stoics “may have adopted a more agnostic stance”[4] or may have “believed that agnosticism or even atheism may have been consistent with the Stoic way of life.”[5] Claims like these may satisfy those who are unfamiliar with the Stoic texts and have not read any credible scholarship on Stoicism. Likewise, they will please those atheists and agnostics who wish those claims to be true. However, these claims do not stand up to the textual evidence or credible Stoic scholarship. A more brazen example of a predisposition against the religious nature of Stoicism is offered by Massimo Pigliucci, who combines literary fiction with a bit of scientific hubris to justify the abandonment of the Stoic worldview and its deeply religious nature. In his 2017 book How to Be a Stoic, which should have been more appropriately titled How to Be a Secular Stoic, Pigliucci engages Epictetus in an imaginary conversation. He sits Epictetus down for a friendly chat and educates him about the “powerful double punch” that David Hume and Charles Darwin delivered to the Stoic conception of a providential cosmos.[6] Of course, in Pigliucci’s version of this story, Epictetus does not provide a defense of Stoic providence against the claims of modern philosophy and science. Instead, Epictetus remains silent while the Stoic worldview is laid waste. However, for those who have any familiarity with the Discourses of Epictetus, it is hard to imagine this conversation would be so one-sided if the real Epictetus were engaged with Pigliucci. It is easy to imagine Epictetus countering with something like, my dear philosopher, “The [Stoics] say that the first thing that needs to be learned is the following, that there is a God, and a God who exercises providential care for the universe” (Discourses 2.14.11). Then, Epictetus, in his typically protreptic style, might have asked Pigliucci, “What is the universe, then, and who governs it?” (Discourses 2.14.25). Finally, it’s fair to assume a modern version of Epictetus would be familiar enough with the writings of Hume and Darwin to know that Pigliucci’s “powerful double punch” may be quite effective against the New Atheist strawman version of God paraded into most modern debates. However, a modern, well-informed Epictetus would be able to point out that neither Hume nor Darwin can land a blow on the immanent God of Stoicism that providentially orders the cosmos from within. Unfortunately, Pigliucci is so beholden to the reductionist materialist belief system of nineteenth-century science that he is compelled to declare, as he recently did, that the metaphysical beliefs of the ancient Stoics are “unsustainable in the light of modern science.”[7] Of course, what Pigliucci and other reductionist materialists fail to tell their audience is that their nineteenth-century conception of reality is itself unsustainable in light of twentieth-century quantum discoveries and modern theories of consciousness. More importantly, Pigliucci’s appeal to modern science to refute Stoic metaphysics is adequately undercut by the existence of many brilliant modern scientists and philosophers, from a variety of fields, who believe that some form of preexisting consciousness or mind-like background provides the best explanation for our ordered cosmos and human consciousness. Before I proceed any further, I want to make two points. First, the idea that Stoicism is somehow compatible with atheism without being substantially modified, and the speculation that the ancient Stoics “may have adopted a more agnostic stance”[8] or themselves “believed that agnosticism or even atheism may have been consistent with the Stoic way of life”[9] are recent inventions of the modern Stoic movement. These assertions are unsupportable by reasonable interpretations of the Stoic texts and are contradicted by a large body of scholarship. Lawrence Becker, in his 1998 book A New Stoicism, was the first person to propose a secular version of Stoic ethics. However, he acknowledged the dilemma he faced with his attempt to extract Stoic ethics from the “purposive system with an end or goal that practical reason directs us to follow.” He declared, “It seems that the book cannot be a work of stoic ethics without the cosmic teleology but that it cannot be a credible work of ethics with such a cosmology.”[10] In other words, Becker realizes that Stoic teleology—the idea that the cosmos has a purpose with which we humans should align ourselves—is not credible in academia. That will not be a surprise to anyone who is familiar with modern academic philosophy. The important point here is that Becker, who was at the leading edge of what would later develop into the modern Stoic movement, is open and honest about the fact that Stoic physics and ethics were considered inseparable. Prior to Becker, no one seriously considered such a separation feasible. Even today, twenty years after Becker wrote A New Stoicism, no credible scholar of Stoicism claims that Stoic ethics can be separated from the Stoic conception of a providential cosmos without making substantial changes to the system as a whole. The second point is this: As I have repeatedly stated, I fully support the creation of a secularized version of Stoicism that can appeal to agnostics and atheists. I believe that furthering what Becker started in 1998 is both reasonable and commendable. However, reinterpreting Stoic texts and giving undue weight to ambiguous fragments in an attempt to anachronistically paint the ancients as agnostics or speculate that they may have been open to agnosticism or even atheism is neither reasonable nor commendable. These practices may serve to further expand the modern Stoic movement and sell more books and courses to the masses; nevertheless, they also open the door to a myriad of interpretive practices that allow Stoicism to be twisted and distorted beyond all recognition. In 1998, Lawrence Becker made his divergence from ancient Stoicism quite clear. Unfortunately, the opposite is true of some modern popularizers who attempt to justify their predisposition to secularism and their aversion to the religious nature of Stoicism by rewriting the history of the Stoa and attributing beliefs to the ancient Stoics that are contradicted by the surviving texts. What the Scholars Say about the Religious Nature of Stoicism Now that we have some idea of how the modern Stoic popularizers feel about the religious nature of Stoicism, let’s see what the recognized scholars have to say on this topic. Interestingly, early Christian thinkers, medieval scholastics, sixteenth- and seventeenth-century neo-Stoics, and the nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars of Stoicism all recognized the deeply religious nature of Stoicism. As an example, the distinguished classicist Edith Hamilton claimed, [Stoicism] was a religion first, a philosophy only second.[11] Additionally, she wrote, This is the voice not of philosophy, but of religion. Stoicism from its earliest beginnings was religious… It must not however be concluded that Stoicism was a religion only and not a philosophy.[12] Likewise, the classical scholar Gilbert Murray wrote, Stoicism may be called either a philosophy or a religion. It was a religion in its exalted passion; it was a philosophy inasmuch as it made no pretence to magical powers or supernatural knowledge.[13] Scottish philosopher Edward Caird called Stoicism a religious philosophy, From the first, Stoicism was a religious philosophy, as is shown by the great hymn of Cleanthes, the successor of Zeno as head of the school—a hymn which is inspired by the consciousness that it is one spiritual power which penetrates and controls the universe and is the source of every work done under the sun, “except what evil men endeavour in their folly.”[14] Finally, German philosopher Eduard Zeller points out the impossibility of understanding Stoicism apart from its theology, It would be impossible to give a full account of the philosophy of the Stoics without, at the same time, treating of their theology; for no early system is so closely connected with religion as that of the Stoics. Founded, as the whole view of the world is, upon the theory of one Divine Being… There is hardly a single prominent feature in the Stoic system which is not, more or less, connected with theology.[15] Is Stoicism a Religion? Are these scholars wrong to suggest that Stoicism is a religion? At first glance, it appears Pierre Hadot thought so. He suggests we must be careful to make a distinction between philosophy and religion.[16] Of course,...


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