Stoicism On Fire

An interview with Will Johncock, author of Beyond the Individual: Stoic Philosophy on Community and Connection.

Set before your eyes every day death and exile and everything else that looks terrible, especially death. Then you will never have any mean thought or be too keen on anything. (Ench 21) That’s an interesting list: death, exile, and everything else that looks terrible. We can all relate to death and other things that look terrible. However, there is no modern equivalent to Roman exile. To full appreciate the inclusion of exile in this list, we need to understand that exile was a form of capital punishment under Roman law. It was an alternative to the death penalty. Sometimes, a person was allowed to choose exile instead of being put to death. That was considered voluntary exile. In other cases, people were banished and involuntarily removed from Roman territories. Musonius Rufus, Epictetus, and Seneca were all exiled at different times. It was not uncommon for philosophers to be exiled because they were often considered a threat to those in power. Why? Because philosophy taught people to think for themselves and have an allegiance to truth instead of political authority. We don’t fear exile today. Those with political power or far-reaching social influence may fear getting canceled in modern times. For some, that may be just as frightening as exile was in ancient times. Nevertheless, I suspect the list of terrible things in Encheiridion 21 would be different if Epictetus were teaching today. He might say: Set before your eyes every day death and social ostracism, pandemics, government lockdowns, inflation, high gas prices, exploding houses costs, recession, the war in Ukraine, mass immigration, mass shootings, high crime, racism, sexism, and everything else that looks terrible, especially death. Then you will never have any mean thought or be too keen on anything. The last sentence of Encheiridion 21 offers two extremes we can avoid if we practice setting death and everything else that looks terrible before our eyes daily. However, the phrase “mean thought” seemed a little vague to me, so I looked at every translation of the Encheiridion I have to see if they would provide some insight. Have any mean thought be too keen on anything A.A. Long Have any abject thought Yearn for anything W.A. Oldfather Harbour any mean thought Desire anything beyond due measure Robin Hard Entertain any abject thought Long for anything excessively Keith Seddon Think of anything mean Desire anything extravagantly George Long Have any abject thought Desire anything to excess Robert Dobbin Do you see the pattern here? In this passage, Epictetus is referring to aversions and desires. This lesson is another, among many, in which Epictetus reminds us that true freedom is internal. Freedom cannot be dependent on externals. When we fear external events and circumstances, we tend to blame others. We blame the other political party, another race of people, the opposite sex, those who have what we think we deserve, those with religious beliefs and lifestyles different from ours, etc. Those aversions tend to create abject and mean thoughts toward others. Likewise, those aversions typically entail excess desires for circumstances to be different. Before anyone concludes that Epictetus is preaching quietism here, look at the language. Epictetus did not instruct his student not to desire a change in circumstances. The English translations tell us not to be too keen on anything, yearn for anything, desire anything beyond measure, desire anything in excess, etc. As Stoics, we should desire and work for change leading toward a virtuous end. However, if your desire for change produces mean and abject thoughts toward those who disagree with you, you are a slave to your passions. You desire something excessively when you allow yourself to hate others you believe are preventing you from attaining it. Lesson 1 So, what is the message of Encheiridion 21? I think we can derive two important lessons from this short passage. The first is pretty obvious. Encheiridion 21 is a reminder to practice Premeditatio Malorum. By contemplating those events and circumstances we consider terrible, we prepare our minds so they will not be overwhelmed should they occur. Seneca wrote about this practice in Letters 24: But what I will do is lead you down a different road to tranquility. If you want to be rid of worry, then fix your mind on whatever it is that you are afraid might happen as a thing that definitely will happen. Whatever bad event that might be, take the measure of it mentally and so assess your fear. You will soon realize that what you fear is either no great matter or not long lasting. Nor do I need to cast about very long for examples to strengthen you with. Every age supplies them. (Letters 24. 2-3) As Seneca wisely noted, every age supplies us with circumstances and events to trouble our minds. However, the Stoic practice of premeditaio malorum helps to keep us on the path of virtue toward true freedom and well-being. Lesson 2 That is the obvious lesson

The doctrine that the world is a living being, rational, animate and intelligent, is laid down by Chrysippus in the first book of his treatise On Providence, by Apollodorus in his Physics, and by Posidonius… And it is endowed with soul, as is clear from our several souls being each a fragment of it. (DL 7.142-3)[1] Some people think the idea of a conscious cosmos is an antiquated relic of ancient Stoicism that we must abandon in light of modern science. However, numerous modern scientists and philosophers describe the nature of the cosmos in ways that are compatible with the intuitions of the ancient Stoics. Some now suggest consciousness must be a fundamental aspect of the cosmos and refer to a mind-like background in the universe. A few boldly claim the universe is conscious, just as the Stoic did more than two thousand years ago. Modern thinkers frequently label this idea panpsychism, which entails consciousness as a fundamental aspect of the cosmos. When we consider a concept like a conscious cosmos and relate it to ancient Stoicism, we first must acknowledge that the Greeks did not have a word for conscious. The word first appears in English in the seventeenth century. Next, we must admit that many definitions of consciousness exist today. The ancient Stoics argued the cosmos is a living being (organism) that is rational, animate, and intelligent. I cannot imagine an entity that meets all those criteria we would deny is conscious. Instead of a conscious cosmos, we could say a rational, animate, and intelligent cosmos; however, that will not appease those who believe the universe is mechanistic, reductive to matter, and governed by laws that just happen, accidentally, to be conducive to life as we know it here on Earth. Therefore, the term conscious serves quite well as a substitute for a living being (organism) that is rational, animate, and intelligent. The ancient Stoics considered their unique conception of a conscious, providentially ordered cosmos a necessary element of their holistic philosophical system. They did so for good reasons. Today, Traditional Stoics think this conception of the cosmos is still viable. First, despite the objections offered by those who adhere to the metaphysical assumptions of the current scientific orthodoxy, there is no objective scientific reason to abandon the conscious cosmos of Stoicism. More importantly, Stoic practice relies on the essential relationship between the way the world is (physics) and the way we should act in the world (ethics). Chrysippus, the third head of the Stoa, argued that universal nature is the source of our knowledge of virtue, good and evil, and happiness. Further, according to Plutarch, Chrysippus asserted, “physical theory turns out to be ‘at once before and behind’ ethics.”[2] As I have written before, the conscious and providential cosmos is the soul of the Stoic philosophical system. Speaking of soul, the ancient Stoics believed the cosmos has a soul, and it is God. As Plutarch notes: In his On providence book 1 [Chrysippus] says: ‘When the world is fiery through and through, it is directly both its own soul and commanding-faculty.[3] Unfortunately, many people recoil, almost reflexively, from the concept of a conscious cosmos because it entails some form of intelligence that preexists human consciousness. They mistakenly assume such a concept necessarily invokes a supernatural divinity akin to those of traditional monotheistic religions. Likewise, many people are unaware of the increasing number of scientists and thinkers breaking out of the pre-twentieth-century, mechanistic, materialist, reductionist box and arguing that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of reality. I will highlight a few of those thinkers shortly. Consciousness was ignored by the mainstream hard sciences, including psychology, at the beginning of the twentieth century. Science could not explain consciousness via reductive materialism; therefore, they either ignored or explained it away as an illusion or epiphenomenon. They promoted the simplistic notion that the mind is what the brain does. Behaviorist psychology, a product of Logical Positivism, ignored the person's internal experience (consciousness) and treated the human mind as a black box. Behavior was quantifiable and could be subjected to the scientific method. Consciousness, on the other hand, was a metaphysical mystery. Quantum theory challenged the objective observer model of science at its foundation by discovering that consciousness interacts with the physical world. As a result, during the twentieth century, an ever-increasing number of scientists and thinkers began to give due consideration to the nature and role of consciousness. Many have suggested that consciousness, in some form, must be a fundamental property of reality. Interestingly, some are beginning to describe the essential nature of the cosmos in ways that sound remarkably like the intuitions of ancient thinkers such as Plato and

Keep in mind that what injures you is not people who are rude or aggressive but your opinion that they are injuring you. So whenever someone provokes you, be aware that the provocation really comes from your own judgment. Start, then, by trying not to get carried away by the impression. Once you pause and give yourself time, you will more easily control yourself. (Ench 20) Full transcript coming soon.

Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. (Meditations 2.11) I cannot find a more fitting passage to describe the last few months of Dirk Mahling's life. Dirk departed from this life last Friday after a hard-fought battle with cancer. He was the President of New Stoa, a tutor, and mentor to many students at the College of Stoic Philosophers since 2016. Additionally, Dirk is one of several people who worked hard to keep the College alive when the founding Scholarch retired last year. He was bright, humorous, courageous, and a dedicated Stoic who was full of life to the end. Dirk was a friend, a colleague, and, more than anyone I know personally, an example of what it means to face death as a Stoic. Dirk told me about his terminal cancer diagnosis last August when I returned to the College of Stoic Philosophers after a long sabbatical. At that time, he thought he might have as many as two years left. He told me his challenge was figuring out how to live the rest of his life in that time. He didn’t appear sick in August; he looked like the Dirk I had known since 2015 when I mentored him through the Stoic Essential Studies course. I mentored many students at the college, but only a handful stand out in my memory. Dirk was undoubtedly one of those. When I returned to the College last year to discover he was the President of New Stoa, I teased him about being one of my most challenging students. He was bright and questioned everything. I enjoyed the challenge, and we had a great time together in the course. Dirk’s sense of humor was unbounded. His essay responses to lessons almost always included comics, memes, and humorous comments. In the Ethics lesson, he included a photo of Oikos yogurt with his essay response about the Stoic doctrine of oikeiosis. His answer to the question, “How do we become cosmopolitan?” was, “by reading Cosmo…” and he inserted a picture of a Cosmopolitan magazine cover. Yes, he also provided a correct answer. That was Dirk’s way of keeping Stoic philosophy fun and lite. He also included a comic with particular meaning as we consider Dirk’s life and death as a Stoic. The comic depicts two men in togas standing next to a grave. The headstone reads, “R.I.P. Zeno the philosopher—dead, but so what? The quote from one of the two characters underneath the comic reads, “He was a Stoic’s Stoic.” Dirk knew his end was near, but I certainly did not predict it was so close based on his behavior. He remained active at the College until the end and recently volunteered to mentor two students through the next term of the Marcus Aurelius Program beginning April 1st. He even joined the College faculty on our monthly Zoom conference call five days before he passed. Dirk was on oxygen during the meeting and told us he needed it because he gets short of breath when he talks. Dirk dedicated himself to the College’s mission of teaching students about Stoicism, and he remained at his post until the Captain called. To me, it appeared Dirk was living the practice of memento mori. Like Marcus Aurelius, Dirk did not fear death. Marcus wrote: In human life, the time of our existence is a point, our substance a flux, our senses dull, the fabric of our entire body subject to corruption, our soul ever restless, our destiny beyond divining, and our fame precarious. In a word, all that belongs to the body is a stream in flow, all that belongs to the soul, mere dream and delusion, and our life is a war, a brief stay in a foreign land, and our fame thereafter, oblivion. So what can serve as our escort and guide? One thing and one alone, philosophy; and that consists in keeping the guardian-spirit within us inviolate and free from harm, and ever superior to pleasure and pain, and ensuring that it does nothing at random and nothing with false intent or pretence, and that it is not dependent on another’s doing or not doing some particular thing, and furthermore that it welcomes whatever happens to it and is allotted to it, as issuing from the source from which it too took its origin, and above all, that it awaits death with a cheerful mind as being nothing other than the releasing of the elements from which every living creature is compounded. Now if for the elements themselves it is nothing terrible to be constantly changing from one to another, why should we fear the change and dissolution of them all? For this is in accordance with nature: and nothing can be bad that accords with nature. (Meditations 2.17) Dirk was still in his late prime and could have been bitter about his circumstances. He could have complained that his life was not long enough. He did not. As Seneca wrote: Most of mankind, Paulinus, complains about nature’s meanness, because our allotted span of life is so short, and because this stretch of time that is given to us runs its course so quickly, so rapidly—so much so that, with very few exceptions, life leaves the rest of us in the lurch just

You can always win if you only enter competitions where winning is up to you. When you see someone honored ahead of you or holding great power or being highly esteemed in another way, be careful never to be carried away by the impression and judge the person to be happy. For if the essence of goodness consists in things that are up to us, there is room for neither envy nor jealousy, and you yourself will not want to be a praetor or a senator or a consul, but to be free. The only way to achieve this is by despising the things that are not up to us. (Ench 19) If anyone thought jealousy and envy of others is a modern phenomenon, Epictetus clarifies that these destructive emotions are not new. They are exacerbated by modern technologies, which provide a constant stream of social media posts with people showing off expensive clothes, jewelry, cars, houses, vacations, announcing their promotions, and displaying their bodies for the world to see. Social media turned “keeping up with the Joneses” into “keeping up with the Kardashians.” Most modern societies teach us these externals are associated with happiness. Indeed, we are inclined to think the lives of these rich, famous, beautiful people must be filled with happiness. The Stoics make it clear possession of these externals does not ensure happiness. We don’t need to rely on the Stoic conception of happiness to destroy this myth. Hollywood provides us with a constant stream of tragic stories about the lives of the rich and famous. Sadly, most people spend their lives chasing happiness in things that are not up to us. While the acquisition of externals almost always does provide an immediate feeling of happiness, it is always short-lived because this form of happiness is not the state of well-being offered by Stoicism. In this chapter of Encheiridion, Epictetus offers another serving of his consistent message: if we focus our attention on those things that are up to us—our faculties of judgment, motivation, desire, and aversion—we will avoid the pathological emotions that cripple the masses of people and make progress toward true well-being. Like I have said before, understanding the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us is quite simple. However, putting that understanding into practice consistently is extremely difficult. To make progress toward a virtuous character and its accompanying well-being, we must keep our attention (prosoche) on what is up to us our faculties of judgment, motivation, desire, and aversion—and despise everything else. This is the crux of Stoic practice. Does that mean we should despise my spouse, children, job, community, body, etc. since they all fall into the category of externals that are not up to us? No! It means we must despise our judgment of those externals as “good” because none of those externals will bring us the well-being we seek. We cannot remove externals from our lives. Even if we were to remove ourselves from the jealousy and envy of others by moving to a deserted island, without any channel of communication with others, we would still encounter externals like weather, animals, snakes, bugs, hunger, thirst, etc. We cannot escape externals, and we should not try. Externals provide us with the grist for the mill that develops our character. What would wisdom, moderation, courage, and justice mean apart from externals? So, what should we do when faced with the impression of someone we know who has a possession commonly judged as “good”? Especially when we may be inclined to think they didn’t earn it? What should we do when someone else gets the promotion instead of us, and we believe they are less worthy? Before jealousy and envy take hold of our psyche, we need to perform that three-step process on these impressions I highlighted in Episodes 9 and 37: Stop It Strip It Bare See It from the Cosmic Viewpoint If you don’t recall the details of that process, I recommend you go back and listen to Episodes 9 and 37 again. Additionally, regarding jealousy and envy of others who possess externals or receive honors we might be inclined to desire, we have to keep the lesson of Encheiridion 17 in mind. It is not up to us to determine the role assigned to us or others. Maybe the cosmos gave that beautiful person that role to play. That’s their role, not yours. Perhaps the cosmos assigned the role of a wealthy person to that billionaire. Again, that’s their role, not yours. Maybe the cosmos intended that person to hold a position of honor, power, and prestige in your company, community, or nation. That is their role, not yours. Remember what Marcus wrote: But perhaps you are discontented with what is allotted to you from the whole? Then call to mind the alternative, ‘either providence or atoms’ and all the proofs that the universe should be regarded as a kind of constitutional state. (Meditations 4.3) Likewise, remember what we learned from Encheiridion 15. If the cosmos brings wealth, fame, power, prestige to you, reac

Whenever a raven croaks ominously, don’t let the impression carry you away, but straightaway discriminate within yourself, and say: “None of this is a warning to me; it only concerns my feeble body or my tiny estate or my paltry reputation or my children or my wife. But to myself all predictions are favorable if I wish them to be, since it is up to me to benefit from the outcome, whatever it may be.” (Ench 18) In ancient Greece and Rome, a raven was thought to be a messenger of the God Apollo, and the croaking of a raven was typically considered a sign of future bad luck. We moderns are likely to dismiss this kind of divination without further consideration. However, the Stoic’s conception of the cosmos inspired them to give serious consideration to the connection between signs and events. As professor Dorothea Frede wrote in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics: The uniform nature of the active and passive powers within the cosmic order also explains why there is, in contradistinction to Plato and Aristotle, no separation in Stoicism of the super- and the sub-lunary world. The heavenly motions are ruled by the same principles that operate on earth: All of nature is administered by the supreme divine reason, and hence there is a global teleological determinism that the Stoics identified with fate. The omnipotence of the active principle explains the Stoic conception of an overall sumpatheia within nature, an inner connection between seemingly quite disparate events. Divination, the study of divine signs and portents, is therefore treated as a science in Stoicism rather than as superstition. Careful observation leads to the discovery of certain signs of those interconnections, even if human knowledge does not fully comprehend the rationale behind the observable order of all things. This explains why the Stoics not only supported the traditional practices of divination, but also helped establish astrology as a respectable science in the Greek and Roman world.[1] I’m not going to spend much time on divination in this episode because that is not the point of this lesson. Nevertheless, it’s important to understand the role it played in the founding of Stoicism. In the opening chapter of their book Being Better: Stoicism for a World Worth Living In, Kai Whiting and Leonidas Konstantakos do a wonderful job telling the story of Zeno’s calling to the life of a philosopher. They note that after being shipwrecked, Zeno was destitute and wondered what would become of his life. They continue: so he set off on a two-hundred-mile round trip to seek guidance from the Oracle of Delphi — the priestess of the Greek god Apollo — who was respected and revered all over Greece for her divinations. Even kings would travel for days to seek her counsel, and while today it might seem ridiculous to heed the utterings of a young woman in a trancelike state, a trip to Delphi was taken very seriously indeed. Every meeting was an involved process that had more in common with South American ayahuasca rituals than, say, visiting a clairvoyant. The Oracle required visitors to prepare in both body and mind, and as with ayahuasca ceremonies, those seeking answers at the Temple at Delphi had to adhere to strict rules in order to approach the ritual with reverence, respect, and sincerity. You couldn’t just rock up to the Oracle, hand over some coins, and demand that she saw you. Nobody could sit in the Oracle’s presence until they had properly considered the dangers of misinterpreting her advice and also understood and pledged to abide by the three maxims of self-discovery: “know yourself,” “nothing to excess,” and “surety brings ruin.” Wisdom seekers were told to listen carefully to what she said in relation to their strengths, weaknesses, personal quirks, and the specific roles they played in the wider world (as, say, a daughter, mother, Spartan queen). Zeno kept all this in mind as he told the Oracle the story of his shipwreck, and she advised him to “take on the pallor of the dead.” On his return journey home, Zeno weighed her cryptic words carefully because it was imperative that he interpret them well. What could they possibly mean? As Zeno approached Athens’ city gate, it occurred to him that, above all, he must commit to pursuing the ancient wisdom that had been passed down by venerated, and now long-dead, philosophers. He promised himself that he would reexamine the kinds of philosophical texts his own father had read to him while still a boy. In particular, he was determined to get hold of the ones that spoke about the “good life”; that is to say, a life worth living, not just one that is (or will ever be) easy, comfortable, or pleasant. In line with the Oracle’s prophecy, at the precise moment when Zeno was reading about Socrates, who Greek philosophers considered the wisest man to have ever lived, another well-known philosopher, Crates of Thebes, happened to stroll by. The two struck up a conversation, Crates agreed to mentor Zeno,

Keep in mind that you are an actor in a play that is just the way the producer wants it to be. It is short, if that is his wish, or long, if he wants it long. If he wants you to act the part of a beggar, see that you play it skillfully; and similarly if the part is to be a cripple, or an official, or a private person. Your job is to put on a splendid performance of the role you have been given, but selecting the role is the job of someone else. (Ench 17) This chapter runs counter to most modern western thinking. I’m an actor in a play, with an assigned role? No way! “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”[1] Of course, we are the masters of our fate and captains of our souls; however, not in the way most people typically interpret those famous lines from Invictus. We want to believe we control the externals that determine our fate. We want to believe: If we obtain adequate education and embark on a promising career, we will experience financial prosperity. If we invest properly, we can ensure our financial security for retirement. If we pick the right mate, we will be romantically fulfilled and happy. If we have a nutritious diet, exercise, and get adequate rest, we will be healthy. Etc, etc. Most people hold onto idealistic beliefs like these into their early adult life. However, as time passes, life happens. Events occur that make it quite clear we are not in complete control of our destiny. Technology replaces the knowledge and skills we acquired in college and developed during a career. Stock markets and housing markets crash. Deadly pandemics sweep the world. Car crashes, street violence, war, and disease unexpectedly take loved ones away from us. Spouses leave us for others or fall short of our expectations. Etc, etc. With age, we learn we are not in complete control of the events in our life. Sadly, those hard lessons can make us bitter and pessimistic about life, and we end up frustrated, pained, and troubled, and we find fault with gods and men (Encheiridion 1). So, what is the answer? Are we supposed to stop trying to make our lives and the world better? No! Absolutely not! As I have said before, Stoicism does not teach quietism. However, Encheiridion 17 does teach us to accept that we are not in complete control of events that shape our lives. We choose how well we play our part; however, we do not get to pick the role. Numerous externals constrain us, and our failure to understand and accept that truth leads to psychological distress. The popular idea that we can be anything we want to be, limited only by our will and effort to achieve our dreams, is a fantasy. It is a lie perpetuated by people who want life to be fair from the human perspective. However, life is not fair in that sense. Human talents are not distributed equally at birth. The socio-economic and political environments people are born into, differ significantly between nations, cities, communities, and families. Whether our role is that of a beggar, cripple, official, or private person is primarily determined by many factors outside our control. External factors limit us to a far greater degree than we want to admit. Therefore, if we measure the value of our existence by externals, life will never be fair. Genius is frequently overlooked, and ignorance is often exalted. Morally corrupt individuals make it into high office, and those with good character frequently struggle to get elected to a school board. Cheaters regularly win. Lawbreakers repeatedly get away with their crimes. Hard workers sometimes end up destitute, and lazy people win the lottery occasionally. That is why Stoicism teaches us another way to evaluate our existence. From the perspective of Stoicism, life is fair and perfectly egalitarian. Those born into poverty have an equal opportunity to develop an excellent character and experience well-being as those born into wealth. Likewise, physical infirmities are not moral disabilities. Your circumstances do not dictate your character; your choices do. Were you born into poverty? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Do you have a physical infirmity that limits you? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Are you in an official position that grants you power over people? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Are you a middle-class citizen with a job, house, spouse, and children? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. A good character shines through no matter the role we are assigned to play. Our life circumstances determine our part, but they do not determine our character. We cannot predict if or when our circumstances will change; however, we can experience well-being in any role if we develop our mo

The Missing Evidence is Evidence I recently decided to start covering Modern Stoic Fallacies periodically. I have been combatting some of these fallacies for years on Facebook, in my blog, and on my podcast. However, I typically only mention them briefly and haven’t provided much analysis. All of these fallacies have the same goal: to justify removing Stoic physics from the holistic system the ancient Stoics created to make Stoicism compatible with agnosticism and atheism. Before I go any further, I will repeat what I have stated numerous times before. I support the development of a modern, agnostic version of Stoicism? However, there is a condition. A modern, agnostic version of Stoicism must not be built on a foundation of fallacies that distort, misrepresent, and discredit the traditional theory and practice as the ancient Stoics created it. I fully support Modern Stoics, like the late Lawrence Becker, who openly stated he intended to abandon Stoic physics to create a “new” synthesis of Stoicism. I do not support those who claim their new synthesis is essentially the same as that produced by the ancient Stoics or what it would have become if the Stoa remained active into modern times. Those assertions are wishful thinking at best. Some of my listeners might wonder why I am spending time refuting Modern Stoic fallacies. That is a fair question. I believe these Modern Stoic fallacies must be refuted for three reasons. First, those entirely new to Stoicism may wrongly assume these fallacies are supported by historical facts, scholarship, or logical thinking. They are not. Second, Traditional Stoics need to understand these Modern Stoic fallacies do not discredit or refute the deeply spiritual form of Stoicism they know and appreciate from reading the Stoic texts and recognized Stoic scholarship. Finally, these fallacies unintentionally opened the door to other newly minted adaptations of Stoicism that bring disgrace to the tradition of the ancient Stoa. Some of these fallacies are repeated so frequently on social media platforms they become memes. One pervasive example most anyone who has been on Stoic social media platforms has seen is, “Stoicism is not a religion.” While that statement is factually accurate, it is used to infer something false about Stoicism. I will covert that in a future episode. The first fallacy I will tackle is what I call The Missing Evidence is Evidence Fallacy. This fallacy proposes the possibility some of the ancient Stoics were agnostics. Curiously, rather than offering evidence supporting this possibility, the author speculates that the evidence might exist in Stoic texts no longer available to us. In other words, he wants to leave open the possibility that missing Stoic texts might lend credence to his hope that some of the ancient Stoics were agnostic about the providential nature of the cosmos. Again, I call this The Missing Evidence is Evidence Fallacy. This Modern Stoic fallacy is not repeated as often as others on social media. I hope that is because many people see the errant reasoning used in this fallacy and understand the unintended consequences of its use. Nevertheless, like most Modern Stoic fallacies, this one serves a specific purpose—it attempts to justify removing Stoic physics, which includes the concept of a divine and providential cosmos, from Stoicism. Here is the source of this Modern Stoic Fallacy: Only about 1% of the ancient Stoic writings survive today, at a rough estimate. We have substantial texts from only three authors: Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. They were all late Roman Stoics and we have only fragments from the early Greek Stoics, including the founders of the school. (Also some important ancient secondary sources, especially in the writings of the Platonist Cicero.) None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics themselves but others may have been.[1] To be fair, this is not the whole argument presented by this Modern Stoic to support his conclusion that “Marcus Aurelius and perhaps also Epictetus believed that agnosticism or even atheism may have been consistent with the Stoic way of life.”[2] In fact, this particular piece includes several pages of supporting circumstantial evidence and contains several Modern Stoic Fallacies I will address in future episodes. Nevertheless, it is clear from this passage alone the author is appealing to missing textual evidence to support his final claim. Let’s begin by placing this fallacy into the structure of an informal logical argument to analyze it. Premise #1: Only about 1% of the Stoic texts survive today. Premise #2: Most of what we do know about Stoicism comes from a small sample of sources, and most of that is from the Roman Stoics (Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius). Fragments from the founders and secondary writing are notably helpful) Premise #3: None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics. Conclusion: However, other Stoics may have been agnostics. In this format, we qu

Whenever you see someone grieving at the departure of their child or the loss of their property, take care not to be carried away by the impression that they are in dire external straits, but at once have the following thought available: “What is crushing these people is not the event (since there are other people it does not crush) but their opinion about it.” Don’t hesitate, however, to sympathize with them in words and even maybe share their groans, but take care not to groan inwardly as well. (Ench 16) This passage refutes the characterization of Stoics as Mr. Spock-like beings completely lacking appropriate emotional responses toward others. As Margaret Graver wrote in her brilliant book, Stoicism and Emotion: The founders of the Stoic school did not set out to suppress or deny our natural feelings; rather, it was their endeavor, in psychology as in ethics, to determine what the natural feelings of humans really are. With the emotions we most often experience they were certainly dissatisfied; their aim, however, was not to eliminate feelings as such from human life, but to understand what sorts of affective responses a person would have who was free of false belief.[1] The conception of the Stoic as an emotionless person who lacks sympathy for others is an unfortunate caricature. Fortunately, it is repudiated by the Stoic texts. The Letters of Seneca are primarily motivated by his desire to counsel and help his close friend Lucilius. The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius are full of his sympathy for others. In Meditations 2.1, he reminds himself we all share a portion of the same divine mind; therefore, it is contrary to nature to refuse to work with others. Likewise, Epictetus reminds us of our duty to others in several of his Discourses. Encheiridion 16 provides a formula for Stoics to engage with and help people experiencing emotional distress. This formula can be broken down into two parts, and it’s essential to get these parts in the proper order. Otherwise, we may do more harm than good to ourselves and others while attempting to help them. These parts are: Take care not to be carried away by the impression the person is in dire external straits. Don’t hesitate to sympathize with them in words and groans. Now, let’s consider the parts of this formula in their appropriate order. Part 1: Take care not to be carried away by the impression the person is in dire external straits. This part is preparation. Epictetus is warning us to be in the appropriate state of mind before engaging with someone in emotional distress. As a Stoic prokopton, this might appear easy at first. We know the person’s distress is caused by their assent to a judgment that something bad has happened. Additionally, we understand that no external event can truly harm what is essential to our well-being—our inner character. Nevertheless, the Stoics observed the effects of what modern neuroscientists only recently discovered in the form of mirror neurons. We are indeed interconnected. No person is an island. Our mirror neurons react whether we are experiencing events firsthand or observing others experience those events. Modern science proved what the ancient Stoics observed: our interconnectedness is a fundamental aspect of Nature and human nature. For this reason, the Stoic prokopton has to be cautious when dealing with people in emotional distress. If we are inadequately trained, our sympathy for others can quickly turn into a bad emotional response that overwhelms us. I’ve been a law enforcement officer for over fifteen years and a detective for ten of those years. I was already exposed to death and human tragedy before moving to my current position as a traffic homicide investigator three years ago. However, part of my responsibility in this new position is to notify the next of kin when someone dies in a traffic crash. Each time I do so, I mentally prepare myself as I drive to their home to deliver the news. It’s never easy. I have to find a balance between being sympathetic for their loss and simultaneously being the person they can rely on to objectively investigate the crash that killed their loved one. In his commentary on this Encheiridion 16, Simplicius share some insight about striking this balance: But now what follows? Is a reasonable person supposed to be unsympathetic to people feeling crushed, and to ignore them because he condemns their belief? Not at all; rather, he is supposed to go along with them and be accommodating to a certain degree by both speaking a sympathetic word, and even groaning along with him if it is necessary, not pretending to – for pretence is not fitting for the reasonable person – but groaning at human weakness (the kind of thing he considers worth groaning about).[2] My job as a traffic homicide investigator required me to learn how to speak sympathetically and groan genuinely with people as they process the news a loved one was killed in a crash. However, as I said earlier, it’s not always as

Keep in mind that you should always behave as you would do at a banquet. Something comes around to you; stretch out your hand and politely take a portion. It passes on; don’t try to stop it. It has not come yet; don’t let your appetite run ahead, but wait till the portion reaches you. If you act like this toward your children, your wife, your public positions, and your wealth, you will be worthy one day to dine with the gods. And if you don’t even take things, when they are put before you, but pass them by, you will not only dine with the gods but also share their rule. It was by acting like that that Diogenes and Heracles and others like them were deservedly divine and called so. (Ench. 15) Epictetus uses a banquet as a metaphor in this lesson. However, this banquet appears different from anything we moderns would attend. The Greek word Epictetus used is συμποσίῳ. The title of Plato’s famous Symposium is derived from that same Greek word, and it provides a model for this metaphor. To make his point in this lesson, Epictetus asks us to imagine we are guests at such a banquet. However, to apply this lesson in our life, we must first understand the metaphor. A Greek banquet or symposium during the time of Plato was slightly different from those of Roman times. Epictetus’s students would have been familiar with the latter. However, those distinctions don’t affect the metaphor or the lesson. Let’s set the scene for such a banquet to help us understand this lesson. The host, a person you know, has invited you to a banquet. When you arrive, you’re led to a room filled with pillow-covered sofas. Participants are reclined on those sofas eating food, drinking wine, talking about important topics, and possibly delivering speeches. The room has a predetermined seating arrangement, so you recline on your assigned sofa and engage in conversation with others you know at the banquet. Occasionally, someone might deliver a speech, read a poem, or bring up a topic of political concern for discussion. While this is going on, servers enter the room with platters of food and pitchers of wine. The servers approach each reclined guest in a predetermined order and offer them a portion of what they are serving. You know the proper etiquette for a banquet, and that means you must wait for each server to come to you to take your portion. The preceding lessons in the Encheiridion focus on the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us. As a banquet guest, many things are not within your power—they are not up to us. So, let’s begin by determining what is and is not in our power in this banquet metaphor. Guests don’t choose the date or time of the banquet. Guests don’t choose who is invited. Guests don’t choose their seating location. Guests don’t choose what, if any, entertainment is provided. Guests don’t choose what food and wine are served. Guests don’t choose the portions of the dishes being served. Guests don’t choose the order in which the dishes and drinks are served, Guests don’t choose the order in which they will be served. The host makes all of those decisions. Therefore, Epictetus is reminding us of the only thing within our power. As guests at the banquet of life, the only thing up to us is the choice to reach out and take a portion of each item as it is offered. Interestingly, even though the items served at a banquet are indifferents, Epictetus encourages us to reach out and take a portion of those items offered to us. We are beginning to see why Epictetus chose an ancient banquet as a metaphor for this lesson—many of the circumstances and events in life are not in our power. Moreover, one of the essential aspects of Epictetus’ training program is understanding what is in our power and choosing only those things which are up to us. Nevertheless, there is an interesting change in Epictetus’ training program in Encheiridion 15. Chapters one through fourteen directed our attention away from externals and toward that which is exclusively within our power—what is up to us. Now, Epictetus is providing us with a lesson about dealing with externals—what is not up to us. He encourages us to stretch out our hand and politely take a portion of preferred indifferents when they are offered to us. Epictetus said: Something comes around to you; stretch out your hand and politely take a portion. Epictetus is telling us it’s okay to reach out and take a portion of good health, wealth, a prestigious title, a high-paying job, a desirable mate, a big house, sports car, diamond jewelry, etc., when the cosmos offers them to us. This highlights an important aspect of Stoicism. Stoics were not complete ascetics like the Cynics—they did not renounce all externals. Stoic practice does not entail rejecting indifferents; however, it does require us to abandon our desire for them. The second lesson is a little more complicated. In Encheiridion 15, Epictetus offers a banquet metaphor to teach us how to handle indifferents. However, there’s

If you want your children and your wife and friends to survive no matter what, you are silly; for you are wanting things to be up to you that are not up to you, and things to be your own that are not your own. You are just as foolish if you want your slave to make no mistakes; for you are wanting inferiority not to be a flaw but something else. But if your wish is not to be frustrated in your desires, this is in your power. Train yourself, then, in this power that you do have. Our master is anyone who has the power to implement or prevent the things that we want or don’t want. Whoever wants to be free, therefore, should wish for nothing or avoid nothing that is up to other people. Failing that, one is bound to be a slave. (Ench 14) There's nothing new in this chapter of the Encheiridion for those following the Exploring Encheiridion series. That is the nature of the Encheiridion, which Arrian created as a handbook a Stoic prokopton could keep readily available as a primer for Stoic doctrines. Therefore, many of the lessons are repeated in different forms. Nevertheless, as I was preparing for this podcast episode, I was struck by a question that inspired me to take this episode in another direction. The question is this: Why would anyone with a conscious or unconscious allegiance to the modern secular worldview consider Stoicism a viable way of life. Consider some other passages we’ve already covered in this Exploring Encheiridion series: When you kiss your little child or your wife, say that you are kissing a human being. Then, if one of them dies, you will not be troubled. (Encheiridion 3) Don’t ask for things to happen as you would like them to, but wish them to happen as they actually do, and you will be all right. (Encheiridion 8) Never say about anything, “I have lost it”; but say, “I have returned it.” Has your little child died? “It has been returned.” Has your wife died? “She has been returned.” “I have been robbed of my land.” No, that has been returned as well. (Encheiridion 11) These statements by Epictetus contradict what all moderns, those raised in the West at least, are taught from childhood. When a person views these statements from the perspective of modernity, they will likely ask: How can anyone past or present assent to ideas like this? What kind of worldview could possibly support such apparently odd and counterintuitive ideas? Therein lies the conundrum moderns face when moderns encounter the Stoic texts. We are confronted with words like God, logos, and providence from the ancient Stoic worldview and likely lack the necessary knowledge to understand the meaning of these words within the context of Hellenistic Greek culture and the holistic philosophical system known as Stoicism. If moderns have any familiarity with words like God, logos, and providence, it likely comes from religious training or college professors who mocked these ideas. Therefore, secular-minded, enlightened, educated moderns might feel justified in rejecting those ideas. In fact, moderns may feel compelled to reject them as antiquated, pre-Enlightenment ideas. Unfortunately, that judgment of Stoicism is based on a modern worldview with some underlying assumptions and consequences moderns may have never considered. I know that was true for me. As I’ve previously said on this podcast, I was a hardcore atheist when I started studying Stoicism. It took me almost a year to overcome the misconceptions and cognitive biases of my modern worldview. Worldviews are essential because they guide our beliefs and actions in ways that may evade our conscious awareness and circumspection. Jean-Baptiste Gourinat wrote about this in a paper titled Stoicism Today in 2009. He discussed the connection between Stoicism and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy—CBT—which is partly derived from Stoic principles. He wrote: Cognitive therapy is based on three hypotheses: (1) one’s behaviour springs from one’s view of oneself and the world, and our psychological difficulties and disturbances derive from these views and from our (misconceived) perception of external events; (2) this point of view may be modified; (3) this modification of our thoughts and opinions may have positive effects on our behaviour and emotions since the latter are dependent on the former.[1] The “view of oneself and the world” he refers to is one’s worldview. It’s a combination of a model of the world—the way the world is—and a model for the world—the way one should act in the world to survive and achieve their conception of happiness. Jeremy Lent provided some insight into the concept of a worldview in his 2017 book titled The Patterning Instinct. He wrote: Each of us conducts our lives according to a set of assumptions about how things work: how our society functions, its relationship with the natural world, what's valuable, and what's possible. This is our worldview, which often remains unquestioned and unstated but is deeply felt and underlies many of the choi

If you want to make progress, don’t mind appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned, and don’t wish to appear an expert. Even if some people think you are somebody, distrust yourself. It is not easy, you can be sure, to keep your own will in harmony with nature and simultaneously secure outward things. If you care about the one, you are completely bound to neglect the other. (Ench 13) After a short break from the Encheiridion, I start again with chapter 13. I will continue to work through the Encheiridion, chapter by chapter. However, I will take breaks from it occasionally to cover other topics or conduct interviews as I did recently with the authors of two new Stoic books. Epictetus opens Encheiridion 13 with a familiar refrain, “If you want to make progress,” and then lists what a prokopton must do to progress along the Stoic path. So, what is Epictetus prescribing for us to make progress? He lists two things in this lesson: First, don’t mind appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned. Why? Because it’s difficult to keep our will (prohairesis)—that which is within our power and up to us—in harmony with Nature while simultaneously desiring and seeking externals—those things not within our power and therefore not up to us. Second, don’t wish to appear as an expert. Why? Again, if we desire to appear as an expert, we seek something not up to us. Before we consider these two specific things Epictetus lists in this passage, let’s look at the overarching message. Some things are up to us, and others are not up to us. We learned that in Encheiridion 1. As a refresher, the things that are not up to us are external to us, like our health, financial status, other people’s opinion of us, etc. Obviously, our behavior can influence these externals; nevertheless, they are not entirely within our power. We can live a healthy lifestyle and still get cancer; we can work hard and save money and still end up broke and destitute during a widespread economic crisis; we can be kind, helpful, and act appropriately, and some people will still have a low opinion of us. On the other hand, our reasoning faculty (prohairesis) is entirely within our power; it is up to us. So much so, as Epictetus teaches in Discourses 3.3, not even Zeus can override this power granted to us by Nature. Therefore, once again, Epictetus confronts us with the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us. We will continue to see this theme in the Encheiridion because it is central to Epictetus’ teaching and critically important for developing our moral excellence and progress toward well-being. Now, let’s look at these two things not up to us Epictetus chose to highlight in this lesson. I will tackle the second item first because this episode will focus on the first. Epictetus warns us not to wish to appear an expert. If some people have that opinion of us, that’s fine, but it’s not up to us. Because it’s not up to us, desiring that others think of us as an expert is not in accordance with the nature of things. As Keith Seddon points out in his commentary, this passage could have two different meanings. When Epictetus warns against not wishing to appear knowledgeable about anything, he may mean this in a wholly general way – to have knowledge is one thing, but to have a desire to show it off and be regarded as a knowledgeable person is altogether something else, and is inappropriate for the Stoic prokoptôn – for placing one’s well-being (to however small a degree) on the satisfaction of this desire is to rely on something that is not in one’s power, something external and indifferent, and risks undermining one’s ‘good flow’ (euroia). But I suspect Epictetus means ‘knowledgeable’ to refer only to knowledge of good and bad, moral excellence, the indifferent and external things, and of Stoic ethics as a whole. However advanced our progress, it is unlikely ever to be complete, and to impose our views on others is not fitting, for however severe their faults may be, even if our faults are less, our efforts should be applied to diminish our own faults, not theirs.[1] Epictetus is focusing the attention of his students inward. If we desire to appear knowledgeable or more advanced in our progress toward virtue, we are making our well-being dependent on others who are external to us. We learned where that path leads in Encheiridion 1: …you will be frustrated, pained, and troubled, and you will find fault with gods and men. I want Epictetus’ message to be clear here. He is not instructing us to avoid seeking knowledge. The path of the prokopton entails the acquisition of knowledge. Virtue is a form of knowledge—the knowledge of good and bad. Likewise, we are not doing anything wrong if others happen to think we are knowledgeable. Again, that is not up to us. The danger to our well-being lies in our wish (desire) to appear knowledgeable to others. Social media makes this a more present danger in modern times. It’s pr

This interview of David Fideler covers his 2021 book titled, Breakfast with Seneca: A Stoic Guide to the Art of Living. His book provides a detailed look at the life of Seneca as a Stoic prokopton. David's book is intended for a general audience, and it is an easy and enjoyable read. Nevertheless, he provides extensive notes for those wishing to dig deeper. This book is rather unique because it provides a solid introduction to the basics of Stoic philosophical theory through the life and writings of a single ancient Stoic: Seneca. Chapter 9, titled Vicious Crowds and the Ties That Bind is particularly insightful and relevant in our time of political and social divisiveness. I highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in Seneca's life and works. I will also make a great gift to friends and loved ones who are curious about Stoicism. A video version of this interview is available on YouTube

This interview of Kai Whiting and Leonidas Konstantakos covers their 2021 book titled, Being Better: Stoicism for a World Worth Living In. Their book provides a short (136 pages, excluding notes) yet highly informative introduction to Stoicism as a way of life. Being Better was written for a general audience, and it is the best book I've read for two types of people. First, for those new to Stoicism, Being Better provides an excellent introduction. It includes just enough philosophical theory and history to acquaint the reader with Stoicism. The second audience is the person considering Stoicism but is unsure it's right for them. After reading Being Better, readers will know if Stoicism is a philosophical way of life worth pursuing further. Finally, I cannot think of a better book for those who want to give a short, easy-to-read, informative, and interesting book to a friend or family member who is curious about Stoicism. A video version of this interview is available on YouTube

Our situation is like that at a festival. Sheep and cattle are driven to it to be sold, and most people come either to buy or to sell, while only a few come to look at the spectacle of the festival, to see how it is proceeding and why, and who is organizing it, and for what purpose. So also in this festival of the world. Some people are like sheep and cattle and are interested in nothing but their fodder; for in the case of those of you who are interested in nothing but your property, and land, and slaves, and public posts, all of that is nothing more than fodder. Few indeed are those who attend the fair for love of the spectacle, asking, ‘What is the universe, then, and who governs it? No one at all? (Discourses 2.14.23-25) In this passage, Epictetus paints an unflattering picture of the mass of humanity. He suggests some of us treat the festival of life as a marketplace; we are distracted by the superficial endeavors of life. This chapter of the Discourses tells the story of a wealthy, influential Roman who was attending one of Epictetus’ with his son. Midway through the lecture, Epictetus instructs his students they must imitate God. With this, the father asked, “Where are we to start then?” The father now has Epictetus's undivided attention. I can only assume he did not know what that would entail. Epictetus acknowledges the father is wealthy and likely known to Caesar. Nevertheless, he informs the father he lacks what is most essential for happiness: …you know neither what God is, nor what a human being is, nor what is good, nor what is bad. (Discourses2.14.19) Next, Epictetus suggests most people behave like sheep and cattle, driven here and there by our appetites (desires). He argues that only a few love the spectacle of the festival of life. These few are the ones who inquire about the nature of the festival: The nature of the cosmos – “What is the universe, then, and who governs it? No one at all? And yet when a city or household cannot survive for even a very short time without someone to govern it and watch over it, how could it be that such a vast and beautiful structure could be kept so well ordered by mere chance and good luck?” (2.14.25-26) The nature of the divine – “So there must be someone governing it. What sort of being is he, and how does he govern it?” (2.14.27) Human nature – “And we who have been created by him, who are we, and what were we created for?” (2.14.27) The relationship between humans and the divine – “Are we bound together with him in some kind of union and interrelationship, or is that not the case?” (2.14.27) Epictetus continues to elaborate on this small group of people who seek to understand this festival of life. He asserts, “they devote their leisure to this one thing alone, to finding out about the festival before they have to take their leave” (2.14.28). Our quest as philosophers is to discover as much as we can about this festival we call life before we take our leave from it. Like Socrates, the true philosopher is naturally curious and cannot be stopped from inquiring—it is in a philosopher’s nature to seek wisdom. It is part of our human nature to inquire about the nature of the cosmos and humankind. Epictetus tells us: But God has brought the human race into the world to be a spectator of himself and of his works, and not merely to observe them, but also to interpret them. It is thus shameful for a human being to begin and end where the irrational animals do. Rather, he should start off where they do and end where nature ended with regard to ourselves. Now it ended with contemplation, and understanding, and a way of life that is in harmony with nature. Take care, then, that you don’t die without having contemplated these realities. (Discourses 1.16.19-22) Seneca offers a similar list of inquiries. Seneca’s list is found in his work appropriately titled Natural Questions. That list includes the following: What is the material that makes up the universe? Who is the creator or guardian of the universe? Is god concerned with humans? Is god immanent and acting in the world or created the universe and remains remote? Is god part of the world or the world itself? (Natural Questions I, praef. 1-2) The similarity between these lists is obvious. However, Seneca follows his list of ponderings with a remarkable statement, If I were not allowed access to these questions, it would not have been worth being born. For what could give mea reason to be glad that I had been included in the ranks of the living? Digesting food and drink? Stuffing full this body—which is vulnerable, delicate, and will perish if it is not constantly replenished—and living as nurse to a sick man? Fearing death, the one thing to which we are born? Take away this invaluable blessing, and life is not worth the sweat and the panic. (Natural Questions I, praef. 4) Marcus Aurelius makes a similar argument about the value of human life without the divine: Let your every action, word, and thought be tho

The wise person is still not harmed by the storms of life—poverty, pain, and the rest. For not all his works are hindered but only those that pertain to others. He is himself, always, in his actions, and in the doing of them he is greatest when opposed by fortune. For it is then that he does the business of wisdom itself, which as we just said is his own good as well as that of others. (Letters 85.37) Fortuna, for Seneca, is not an anthropomorphized divinity with malicious intentions. Instead, Fortuna (fortune) is a metaphor for those events in life which appear to hinder or help us achieve our desires and intentions. Fortuna is the slow driver in front of us, making us late for work or school, the overbearing boss, the unexpected bill, the life-threatening medical diagnosis, the termination letter from an employer, the breakup of a relationship, etc. Alternatively, as Seneca points out, Fortuna may masquerade as an apparent good, tempting us to succumb to desires and aversions outside of our control. The appearance of good fortune may include lottery winnings, promotion, fifteen minutes of fame, a new lover, etc. As we can see, Fortuna can present herself as either an apparent good or an apparent evil when, in fact, she is neither. Fortuna is a metaphor for the externals outside our control and serves as grist for our character's mill. As such, those external circumstances, which Seneca labels Fortuna, are indifferents that have no inherent ability to affect our moral character (virtue). Nevertheless, they are the very things and events that challenge us and allow us to develop our moral character toward excellence. Without the challenges offered by Fortuna, we lack the means to develop our excellence of character fully. As Seneca points out: In fair weather anyone can be a helmsman. (Letters 85.34) Our character is not challenged and developed when the seas of life are smooth and the winds are calm and steady, blowing in the direction of our wishes. Instead, our character is tested and can thereby develop most rapidly, at those times when the sea becomes turbulent and blustering winds threaten to shred our sail. Therefore, the storms of life that threaten to drive the bow of our ship under the waves are the events that serve to test and strengthen our character. In Seneca’s words: To fashion a man [or woman] who can genuinely be called a [Stoic], a stronger fate is needed. For him, the way will not be flat: he must go up and down, he must be tossed by waves, and must guide his vessel on a stormy sea. He must hold his course against fortune. Many things will happen that are hard and rough—but things he can soften and smooth out himself. Fire proves gold; misery, brave men [and women]. (On Providence 5.9) When Fortuna stirs up a storm in your life and appears intent on driving your ship onto the rocks or into the depths, keep this truth from the Stoics in mind: Fortuna is not your enemy; she is your teacher. You can choose to welcome her into your life and learn the lessons she offers, or you can ignore the lessons of Fortuna, resist fate, and suffer the psychological consequences. We learn that Fortuna is not an existential threat by trusting the benevolence of a providential cosmos and focusing our attention on what is up to us. Our struggle with Fortuna is not a fight against external circumstances. Instead, it is a struggle with our desire for circumstances to be other than they are. As we learned from Encheiridion 8, the goal of Stoicism training is learning to wish for things to happen as they do. Again, this does not mean we wish for dispreferred outcomes in advance; that’s not what the Stoics taught. However, when those events occur, we need to use them to develop our character. Stoicism teaches us to look for the lesson in the storms of life. Fortuna may use a storm to redirect our ship toward a destination we did not originally intend. Alternatively, the squall we face today may prepare us for a more significant, unforeseen storm just over the horizon. Remember, it takes fire to prove gold, and Fortuna is the metaphorical fuel that feeds the flames of the refinery. Therefore, if we keep our attention (prosoche) on developing our character, we can view events in Nature, whether they appear good or bad, as indiffernets and act appropriately to develop our moral character. Stop it – When Fortuna confronts us with an impression of circumstance that appears either good or bad initially, we must remind ourselves to say “Stop it!” to that impression. When we mentally say, “Stop it!” to the impression, we create the mental gap we need to prevent the impression from carrying us away psychologically. The impression may be of a cancer diagnosis; it may be an offer for a “dream job” with a large salary. It doesn’t matter whether the circumstance appears good or bad; we must Stop it because we know as Stoics it is neither. Strip it bare – Next, we need to set aside that immediate value judgment that this

Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. All is fruit for me that your seasons bring, O nature. All proceeds from you, all subsists in you, and to you all things return. (Meditations 4.23) The Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius was a deeply spiritual person, and that fact comes across clearly in his Meditations. The American philosopher and religious scholar Jacob Needleman suggests the combination of “metaphysical vision, poetic genius, and the worldly realism of a ruler” within the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius inspire us and give us “honorable and realistic hope in our embattled lives.”[1] As a result, he argues, [The Meditations] deserves its unique place among the writings of the world’s great spiritual philosophers.[2] Needleman elaborates on the spiritual impact Marcus’ Meditations has on many of its readers, Marcus is seeking to experience from within himself the higher attention of what he calls the logos, or Universal Reason, so too the sensitive reader begins to listen for that same finer life within his own psyche. That is to say, the reader— you and I— is not simply given great ideas which he then feeds into his already formed opinions and rules of logic. The action of many of these meditations is far more serious than that, and far more interesting and spiritually practical. In a word, in such cases, in many of these meditations, we are being guided—without even necessarily knowing what to call it—we are being guided through a brief moment of inner work. We are being given a taste of what it means to step back in ourselves and develop an intentional relationship to our own mind.[3] The practice of Stoicism for Marcus was a means to find his place in the cosmos. He sought congruity with Nature and learned to love what fate had in store for him because he trusted in a providential cosmos. As David Hicks asserts, The Stoicism in which Marcus believed is rooted in an all-encompassing nature. Everything in man and in the universe, everything that is or ought to be, everything fated and everything free, and the logos or rational principle that informs everything and ties everything together and is ultimately identified with the deity – all of this is found in nature, and there is nothing else.[4] Stoicism provided Marcus with more than an abstract, intellectual understanding of human and cosmic Nature. The religious nature of Stoic philosophy differentiated it from other philosophies as well as organized religions. I covered the religious nature of Stoicism previously, so I will not address it fully here. However, it is important to understand that Stoicism was more than an intellectual endeavor for Marcus. Stoicism provided a rational form of spirituality for Marcus, and it offers the same for moderns. Stoicism is an alternative for those who consider themselves spiritual but not religious. If you're uncomfortable with the dogmas of organized religion and the nihilism of atheism, Stoicism offers a middle ground. Stoicism provides a spiritual way of life guided by reason. Stoicism relies on our innate connection with the rationality permeating the cosmos to guide our human reason toward a relationship with the divine that inspires us to develop our moral character and thereby experience true well-being. As Mark Forstater wrote in his insightful book The Spiritual Teachings of Marcus Aurelius: Until the time of Neoplatonism, Stoicism was the most highly spiritualised form of philosophy in ancient Greece and Rome. It was so spiritualised that it is as accurate to call it a religion as a philosophy.[5] As Henry Sedgewick points out in his biography of Marcus Aurelius, the traditional religions did not provide what he was looking for, Marcus was seeking a religion, as I have said, but there was none at hand that he could accept. The old Roman religion was a mere series of ceremonies, with nothing sacred except lingering patriotic sentiment, and withal marred by superstitions, such as those at Lanuvium. Foreign religions were no better. Syrian priests, like mountebanks, trundled images of the Magna Mater about the countryside, hoping to wheedle peasants out of their pennies; the worshippers of the Egyptian gods offered sensuous exaltation, and mysteries that disregarded reason. Christianity, as we understand it, was utterly unknown to him. He was compelled to look for religion in philosophy; for there only, as he thought, and perhaps thought truly, could a man, without doing wrong to his reason, find spiritual help to enable him to do his duty and keep his soul pure.[6] Marcus did not find consolation in the rituals of traditional religions or the mediation of priests. He was looking for psychological strength and consolation which could allow him to keep his mind pure in trying times and under troublesome circumstances. Marcus discovered the personal religious practice he was looking for within the deeply spiritua

Seneca’s writings reveal a committed Stoic, a pious soul, and an inspirational moral philosopher. Nevertheless, some of his actions and financial dealings have generated doubt about his genuineness. Seneca is a mixed bag if the historical record can be trusted. However, it is crucial to keep in mind that Seneca engaged in politics at the highest levels of the Roman Empire, which was the dominant world power of his time. Thus, he had powerful enemies, not the least of which was the infamous Emperor Nero. When I imagine a man like Seneca in our modern political game of character assassination, I can easily find room to believe much of his negative press was politically motivated. I’m not going to dive into the morass of conflicting scholarship about Seneca; However, I offer the following quote as a balanced opinion, Naturally, we can have no more certainty that Seneca actually followed his own moral teaching than we can have about any person from antiquity. At best, the sources allow us to extract certain implications for a prominent individual like Seneca. But common opinion about his person seems very much affected, first, by the bare fact that he was a wealthy man, as if that alone would have made him selfish and hypocritical by definition, and, second, by a peculiar fusion of the tutor and counselor Seneca with the student and Emperor Nero, who is best remembered for his bad morality. Here it seems to matter little that our sources suggest that the emperors ‘good period’ was in fact precisely when he was under Seneca's influence. The stereotyped image of Seneca as a pretentious hypocrite is amazingly widespread, often simply found ‘as a stock assertion dragged from one second-hand work to another’.[1] As Stoics, I think we should take Seneca's writings at face value. They inspired multitudes in the past, and they do the same today. Many of the early Christian Church Fathers thought highly of Seneca and considered him a moral exemplar. Tertullian, a second-century Christian apologist, even referred to him as “our Seneca.” Regardless of the ambiguous historical record, Seneca’s writings reveal his deep philosophical thought and reverence for divine Nature. Letters to Lucilius Throughout his writings, Seneca refers to the relationship between the gods and us. In Letters 1.5, he calls this relationship a “kinship” and claims it is “sealed by virtue.” Later, in Letters 31, titled Our mind’s godlike potential,[2] he suggests a committed devotion to philosophy, as a way of life, raises us above our human nature toward our godlike potential. How? Through virtue, which he defines as: [T]he evenness and steadiness of a life that is in harmony with itself through all events, which cannot come about unless one has knowledge and the skill of discerning things human and divine. (Letters 31.8) Again, in Letters 53, Seneca argues that a mind committed to philosophy will be near to the gods and can experience the “tranquility of God.” He points out the tremendous power of philosophy to “beat back all the assaults of chance” and claims, No weapon lodges in its flesh; its defenses cannot be penetrated. When fortune’s darts come in, it either ducks and lets them pass by, or stands its ground and lets them bounce back against the assailant. (Letters53.11-12) In Letters 41, titled God dwells within us, Seneca covers the topics of Stoic physics and theology in some detail. First, he makes a clear distinction between the practices of personal religion and those of conventional religions. As I discussed in previous episodes, Stoicism was never a religion in the traditional sense, with altars, temples, and priests. Nevertheless, the Stoics were deeply spiritual and reverential toward God, which they conceived as an immanent and creative force that permeates and providentially guides the cosmos and humankind. Seneca begins Letters 41 by asserting, You need not raise your hands to heaven; you need not beg the temple keeper for privileged access, as if a near approach to the cult image would give us a better hearing. The god is near you—with you—inside you. I mean it, Lucilius. A sacred spirit dwells within us, and is the observer and guardian of all our goods and ills. However we treat that spirit, so does the spirit treat us. In truth, no one is a good man without God. Or is there anyone who can rise superior to fortune without God’s aid? It is God who supplies us with noble thoughts, with upright counsels. In each and every good man resides a god: which god, remains unknown. (Letters 41.1-2) Scholars suggest this reference to God as unknown comes from Virgil’s Aeneid, where King Evander leads Aeneas to a grove and says, …this hill with its crown of leaves is a god’s home, whatever god he is. (Aeneid 8.352) As an educated Roman, Lucilius would have been familiar with Virgil’s epic poem about the foundations of Roman civilization. However, this reference begs the question. Why would Seneca quote a passage referring to an u

If I were a nightingale, I would perform the work of a nightingale, and if I were a swan, that of a swan. But as it is, I am a rational being, and I must sing the praise of God. This is my work, and I accomplish it, and I will never abandon my post for as long as it is granted to me to remain in it; and I invite all of you to join me in this same song. (Discourses 1.16.20-21) Epictetus is typically considered the most religious of the Roman Stoics. As such, some attempt to portray him as an outlier among the Stoics. However, as A.A. Long points out, In his conception of divine providence, creativity, and rationality, Epictetus is completely in line with the general Stoic tradition. His distinctiveness, in what I have discussed so far, extends mainly to the enthusiasm with which he commends obedience to God and to the warmth he infuses in his expressions of God's concern for human beings.[1] We find this same “notable religious sensibility” in the philosophy of Seneca, Musonius Rufus, and Marcus Aurelius,[2] and, as A.A. Long further notes, it is “broadly in line with traditional Stoicism.”[3] To a large degree, these religious sentiments result from the inherent “structural resemblance” between the rationality of humans and that of the divine logos, which allows for a “certain degree of personalistic theism in thinking and speaking about god”[4] in Stoicism. We see this language used frequently by Epictetus. Likewise, over the history of the Stoa, God will “assume more and more spiritual and personal traits” and “religiousness will tend to permeate” Stoicism and move it toward theism without fully arriving there.[5] Nevertheless, it is essential to balance the religious sentiments of Epictetus with the realization that he never claimed nor adhered to any form of divine revelation; neither did he express a need for religious faith, in the forms those concepts are commonly understood today. For Epictetus, to follow God means “we should pay attention to the God in us, i.e. to our reason, in order to determine what is the right thing for us, namely how we are to live in accordance with nature.”[6] As Andrew Mason, Teaching Fellow at the University of Edinburgh, points out in the introduction of a beautiful little volume on The Philosophy of Epictetus: Talk of God’s seeing, helping, guiding, speaking to and punishing us, and of God as our father, can be explained in terms either of God’s overall providence, or of our inner god or daemon, our reason, which is a fragment of the cosmic deity. Likewise prayer, for Epictetus, is not an appeal for intervention by an external God, but rather an admonition to oneself. Epictetus does differ from the early Stoics in the extent to which he uses personalistic language about God; this may be explained partly by his personal outlook, but also by the purpose of the Discourses, in the context of which God’s providence and his status as an ethical example are more important than the cosmological aspects of him which played an important part in early Stoicism.[7] A.A. Long sums up the difference between Epictetus and his predecessors in the Stoa by arguing he “proceeds from rather than to God.”[8] He points out, “Epictetus’ favourite formula for the goal of human life is ‘to follow the gods’ (Discourses1.12.5; 1.30.4; 4.7.20).”[9] The earlier Stoics used oikeiosis as the starting point to explain Stoic ethical theory; they taught theology last. Epictetus reversed that approach and made theology the starting point of ethics. Epictetus builds his ethical theory and practice on what Long calls THEONOMIC FOUNDATIONS.[10] Epictetus argues we are born with an innate moral sense (preconception) of the good and the divine.[11] Because each of us possesses a fragment of divine Reason (logos) as our guiding principle, we are innately capable of understanding and living according to the laws of God that are written in Nature. Thus, Epictetus’ instruction to ‘follow God’ is equivalent to ‘living according to nature’ (1.26.1). Nevertheless, Epictetus is not unique in this approach; as Plutarch noted, Chrysippus always put theology first when discussing ethical matters.[12] Here we see why the Stoic conception of Nature, derived from the study of physics and theology, is essential to understanding this holistic philosophical system. Both oikeiosis and theology fall under the topic of physics in Stoicism. Thus, whether the Stoics began with oikeiosis or theology, they grounded their ethical theory in physics—the study of nature. The Stoics did not conceive of God as a transcendent being; the Stoic divinity is immanent. As such, a fragment of the same logos that providentially orders the cosmos resides in us as our guiding principle (hegemonikon). A.A. Long suggests, The Stoics’ deepest religious intuitions are founded on their doctrine that the human mind, in all its functions – reflecting, sensing, desiring, and initiating action – is part and partner of God.[13] In his book dedicated to

What defined a Stoic above all else was the choice of a life in which every thought, every desire, and every action would be guided by no other law than that of universal Reason. ~ Pierre Hadot[i] The Stoics placed a rational, divine, and providentially ordered cosmos at the center of their philosophical system and relied on it to guide their every thought, desire, and action. For the Stoic, Nature is the measure of all things. Therefore, the Stoics argued to experience well-being (eudaimonia), we must live in agreement with Nature. [i] Hadot, P., & Chase, M. (1998). The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, p. 308 FULL TRANSCRIPT COMING SOON

If you want to make progress, dismiss this kind of reasoning: “If I neglect my business, I will have nothing to live on,” or “If I don’t punish my slave, he will be no good.” It is better to starve to death in a calm and confident state of mind than to live anxiously amidst abundance. And it is better also for your slave to be bad than for you to be unhappy. So make a start with the little things, like some oil being spilled or some wine being stolen. Then tell yourself: “This is the price one pays for not getting worked up, the price for tranquility. Nothing comes free of charge.” When you summon your slave, reflect that he is quite capable of not responding, or if he does respond that he may do none of the things you want. In any case he is too unimportant for your own tranquility to depend on him. (Ench 12) TRANSCRIPT COMING SOON

Never say about anything, “I have lost it”; but say, “I have returned it.” Has your little child died? “It has been returned.” Has your wife died? “She has been returned.” “I have been robbed of my land.” No, that has been returned as well. “But it was a bad person who stole it.” Why are you bothered about the individual the donor used to demand its return? As long as these things are given to you, take care of them as things that are not your own, just as travelers treat their lodging. (Ench 11) SHOW TRANSCRIPT COMING SOON

In all circumstances keep in mind to turn in to yourself and ask what resources you have for dealing with these things. If you see a good-looking man or woman, you will find self-control the appropriate power; if pain afflicts you, you will find endurance; if rudeness, you will find patience. By developing these habits, you will not be carried away by your first impressions. (Ench 10) While this passage deals directly with the discipline of assent, it also entails the disciplines of desire and action. When we pull this passage apart, we get a glimpse into how quickly assents to impressions can create desires and aversions and lead to impulses to act. The primary point of this lesson from Epictetus is to show us we possess the resources necessary to stop the quick progression from assent to impulse to act. Epictetus highlights three impressions in this passage and provides specific resources we can use to deal with each. Here’s the process as it applies in each of these three examples: In Step 1, an impression presses itself upon our mind. All of the impressions listed in this passage arise from sources external to our mind. I just saw a good-looking man or woman I feel a pain in my body, or I’m facing some other hardship. I just encountered a rude person. In Step 2, we immediately attach a value judgment to that impression: That good-looking man or woman is something “good” for me. That pain in my body is something “bad” for me. That person’s rude behavior is “bad” for me. In Step 3, that judgment creates a desire or aversion and a subsequent impulse to act. I desire that good-looking man or woman; I’m going to reach out to them. I fear this pain in my body or this hardship; I’m going to avoid it. That rude person offended me; I’m going make them stop, or I’m going to retaliate. If we were sages, we wouldn’t get past Step 1 because we would not place the value judgment on the impression. However, we are not sages, and neither were Epictetus’ students. That is why he is informing us we possess powers or resources we can use to interrupt this sequence after we’ve assented to the value judgment and before the impulse to act leads us into bad behavior. Before I tackle each of these examples, I want to make one point clear. Epictetus’ goal for this lesson is to help us develop habits that prevent us from being carried away by impressions into a state of emotional distress (pathos). The goal is not to turn us into Dr. Spoke-like, emotionless, disconnected observers of events. Epictetus is not telling us we should not find a good-looking man or woman attractive. He is not telling us to ignore the pain in our bodies or the effects of hardships. He is not telling us to be oblivious to rude behavior. Instead, Epictetus teaches us we have resources within ourselves to judge these impressions correctly and respond appropriately. This lesson is important because we frequently allow the initial judgment of an impression to carry us away and cause us to spiral out of control emotionally. Too often, this leads to an entirely inappropriate response. With that in mind, let’s look at each of the impressions Epictetus uses in this lesson and how we can use the resources we have to deal with them. The good-looking man or woman Let’s start with the impression of a good-looking man or woman. Observing and appreciating beauty is natural. There is nothing wrong with observing a man or woman and assenting to the judgment they are good-looking. Nature created us to appreciate beauty. The problem starts when we allow that first impression and initial judgment of beauty to carry us away with desire. We are mistaken if we assent to the impression that having that good-looking man or woman as a life companion or sexual partner is “good” and will bring us well-being (happiness). Their presence in our life could be a preferred indifferent at best. Alternatively, as many of us have experienced, it may lead to some real dispreferred indifferents we did not foresee when this good-looking man or woman initially captured our attention. Epictetus tells us we possess the power of temperance or moderation as a resource to deal with this impression before it becomes an impulse to act. But, how and when do we use this resource? We likely already attached the value judgment of “good” to the impression of a good-looking man or woman, and a desire may be starting to take control. If we let it take control, we may begin to fantasize about that good-looking person mentally. Then, we may be overcome by an impulse to act, which can lead to immoral behavior. In Encheiridion 10, Epictetus is referring to scenarios where the impulse to act would be immoral. We can think of numerous scenarios where assent to a person’s good looks might lead one to seek their company as a preferred indifferent without it being an immoral act. That is not the lesson Epictetus is presenting here. The Stoics did not advocate celibacy; however, they did teach moderation in all thin

Sickness is an impediment to the body, but not to the will unless the will wants to be impeded. Lameness is an impediment to the leg, but not to the will. If you tell yourself this at every occurrence, you will find the impediment is to something else but not to yourself. (Ench 9) Epictetus uses two dispreferred indifferents in this lesson, and both are related to our body: sickness and lameness. Then, he points out that each of these impairments presents a hindrance to our body but not to our will. The Greek word translated as “will” in this passage is prohairesis, and it has deep meaning in Stoicism. I discussed prohairesis briefly in Episode 34; however, I think a more detailed look at this concept will be helpful. However, before we cover prohairesis, let’s look at the concept of body in Stoic physics. This concept applies equally to all bodies, whether rocks, plants, animals, or humans, so it will shed some light on Encheiridion 9. In Stoicism, only bodies exist; therefore, everything that exists is a body. All bodies are a mixture of two principles—the passive principle (primary matter) and the active principle (logos or pneuma). The Stoic definition of a body is that which can act or be acted upon. Understanding this concept in Stoicism is essential because some people confuse it with modern reductive materialism. Some scholars even label the Stoics materialists, but they do not mean materialists in the modern sense where everything is reduced to matter. As Jacques Brunschwig points out in his chapter on Stoic Metaphysics in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, the Stoic version of ‘materialism’ is “vitalist-teleological” in contrast to the “mechanistic-antiteleological” version of the Epicureans.[1] The Epicureans were the reductive materialists in Hellenistic times. That is why it’s essential to understand when scholars refer to Stoics as materialists, they do not mean like the Epicureans or modern materialists. A.A. Long argues: It is misleading to describe the Stoics as ‘materialists’. Bodies, in the Stoic system, are compounds of ‘matter’ and ‘mind’ (God or logos). Mind is not something other than body but a necessary constituent of it, the ‘reason’ in matter. The Stoics are better described as vitalists.⁠[2] Here we see the basis of Stoic physics. Everything that exists is a body composed of matter and mind (God, logos, or pneuma). Therefore, humans are composed of matter and mind. I have more to say about this in a minute. First, let’s cover this concept of prohairesis in Stoicism. Scholars have used different English words to translate the Greek word prohairesis; here are some of them. Translations of prohairesis: will (A.A. Long; George Long) A.A. Long - WILL A favorite term in Epictetus (Greek prohairesis ) for a human being’s power of self-determination and mental disposition. The word is sometimes translated by choice, purpose, volition, or decision, but in my opinion “will” is the most natural English expression for what Epictetus seeks to convey with it.[3] choice (Robin Hard, John Sellars) Sellers - choice (prohairesis) Epictetus' name for the conscious decision-making part of the commanding faculty; what might now be called the "will" or "I".[4] moral purpose (W.A. Oldfather) moral character (Keith Seddon) prohairesis ‘moral character’; the capacity that rational beings have for making choices and intending the outcomes of their actions, sometimes translated as will, volition, intention, choice, moral choice, moral purpose. This faculty is understood by Stoics to be essentially rational. It is the faculty we use to ‘attend to impressions’ and to give (or withhold) assent to impressions. Those things which are outside the scope of one’s prohairesis are the aprohaireta, which are aprohairetos and ‘external’ (ektos), and ‘not in our power’ (ouk eph’ hêmin); Discourses30.3, 2.16.1, 3.3.14, 3.8.1–3.[5] faculty of choice (Nicholas White) mind (Robert Dobbin) decision or choice (Christopher Gill) In his introduction to the Robin Hard translation of the Discourses of Epictetus, Christopher Gill, a recognized scholar of Stoicism, notes the following: The interface between ethics and physics provides a number of important Stoic ideas, centring on the idea that the natural universe provides an informing framework for ethical life. The universe, or its shaping, or ‘divine’’, element, does so either as a paradigm of order, structure, and rationality or as a source of providential care for the component parts of the universe, especially human beings, who share its ‘divine’ rationality. A related idea is that for human beings to exercise their capacity for rational agency is to act in line with the rational (divine) direction of the universe as well as with one’s own inner, rational ‘guardian spirit’ (daimōn). This complex of ideas has a prominent place in the Discourses, as also in some other writings on Stoic practical ethics, notably, Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. Epict

Don’t ask for things to happen as you would like them to, but wish them to happen as they actually do, and you will be all right. (Ench 8) This passage, and several other similar passages within the Stoic texts, present a huge, sometimes insurmountable, stumbling block for many people when they begin to study and practice Stoicism. As Simplicius notes in his commentary on this passage: But perhaps this injunction to ‘wish for it to happen as it happens’ will seem to some people to be harsh and impossible. What right thinking human being wishes for the occurrence of the widespread bad effects resulting from the universe – for instance, earthquakes, deluges, conflagrations, plagues, famine and the destruction of all sorts of animals and crops? Or the impious deeds performed by some human beings on others – the sacking of cities, taking prisoners of war, unjust killings, piracy, kidnapping, licentiousness, and tyranni cal force, culminating in compelled acts of impiety? …These things and others of this sort – of which there has been an excess in our own lifetime – who would want to hear of them, let alone see them, take part in them or ‘wish them to happen as they happen’, except a malevolent person and a hater of all that is fine?[1] Within the last month, I responded to emails from two Stoicism on Fire listeners who expressed concern about this concept in Stoicism. I will keep the identity of those listeners anonymous. However, I’m going to use the content of those emails to help express a concern that is likely shared by others. The first is from a man who wrote: I am hoping you may be able to help me with something which has been a source of some vexation to me. I have been studying philosophy for most of my adult life and Stoicism is something I came to in the last 5-years or so. The problem I have is to do with the discipline of assent. It seems that what the Stoic wants is to dispense with the value judgement part of the impression. The idea seems to be that whatever is not in my control is to be expunged by simply not assenting to it. Now, I can perfectly see the argument that when a driver cuts me up or someone says something insulting to me, I may want to remove my value judgements to preserve my equanimity. All perfectly obvious. But what you seem to be saying is that any value judgement based on something not in my control, should be “deleted” from the impression, in order to preserve my equanimity. I’m afraid I find this absurd. Suppose you find yourself in a situation where one of your children has been taken hostage by a terrorist and is being threatened with a knife. There is a high probability that something terrible will happen, but according to the discipline of assent, you will need to delete the value judgement (which any normal father would have) that my child is in danger!!. Having thus deleted the value judgement, you can observe events unfolding from your “Inner Citadel” completely unperturbed. The second email was from a woman, who wrote: I have been reading the Stoics for many years. They have served as my substitute for religion, my preferred cognitive therapy. However my major reservation is that Stoicism does not provide an adequate answer or comfort in times of personal or global tragedy or suffering. When something horrible happens to someone, how can we respond by saying we will things as they are, we will things to happen as they have? Stoicism does not provide a good answer to the natural human emotional response to personal tragedy. It does not appear to accept that it is ok to feel the natural emotional anguish that comes with personal tragedy. I have always seen this as the major weakness. A show on this could be helpful, i.e., how does Stoicism dictate that the practitioner should react to a personal tragedy in their life, and does this make sense? Is it rational to expect sentient human beings to react to tragedy by saying, yes, I will things to happen as they have? Well, here’s the episode you asked for; I hope it helps you with this challenging question about Stoic practice. First, I will say: I fully understand the sentiments of both listeners; I had similar thoughts about this concept when I first approached Stoicism. I suspect most of my listeners reacted similarly to passages like Encheiridion 8 when they first encountered them. Moreover, I’m sure some of you are still struggling with the idea that you should not judge tragedy as “bad” but wish for things to happen as they do instead. Many people will find this mindset wholly unacceptable and abandon Stoicism entirely or ignore this aspect of Stoic practice. For many people, this aspect of Stoicism is counterintuitive because they are judging it, consciously or unconsciously, from the perspective of a worldview that is not compatible with Stoicism. As A. A. Long and other scholars of Stoicism have pointed out, several aspects of Stoicism are counterintuitive apart from the theological worldview the Stoics relied on

When you are on a voyage and the boat is at anchor, if you disembark to get water, you may pick up a little shellfish and vegetable on the way, but you need to keep your mind fixed on the boat and keep turning around in case the captain calls; and if he does call, you must drop all those things, to avoid being tied up and stowed on board like the sheep. That’s how it is in life too. If you are given a little wife and child, instead of a little vegetable and shellfish, that will not be a problem. But if the captain calls you, run to the boat and leave all those things without even turning around. And if you are old, never go far from the boat in case you are missing when he calls. (Ench 7) This parable is interesting, and I cannot find a similar story anywhere in Stoic texts. However, the fact that Arrian would include it in his Handbook for Stoic practitioners tells us its meaning would have been clear to the students of Epictetus. Since no story like this appears in other surviving Stoic texts, Epictetus is likely drawing on a commonly understood cultural reference. I am not an expert in Greek culture, literature, or history. Nevertheless, I found the following connections that appear to add some meaning to this passage. The imagery in Encheiridion 7 is similar to that of the ancient Greek myth of Charôn, the ferryman. He transported the souls of the deceased over the river Styx to the underworld. The Greek poet Euripides, who was writing almost 500 years before Epictetus, has his character Alcestis say: I see him there at the oars of his little boat in the lake, the ferryman of the dead, Kharon (Charon), with his hand upon the oar and he calls me now. ‘What keeps you? Hurry, you hold us back.’ He is urging me on in angry impatience. (Euripides, Alcestis 252) Likewise, Machon, a writer of comedies, who was writing approximately 300 years before Epictetus, wrote the following in his Philoxenus: But since Timotheos' Kharon (Charon), the one in his Niobe, does not let me dally but shouts that the ferry-boat is leaving, and gloomy Moira (Fate), who must be obeyed is summoning me. (fragment 786) Machon, the writer of this passage, is quoting from a work by Timotheus of Miletus titled Niobe, written approximately 200 years earlier and 500 years before Epictetus. Note the reference to a piece titled Niobe. There are several versions of the myth of Niobe, the bereaved mother whose children were killed by Apollo as punishment for her hubris. The story of Niobe is not essential for our discussion; however, as I will point out in a minute, the reference to Timotheus’ Niobe is important. First, I also want to point out that Seneca references Charon, the ferryman of the river Styx, several times in his literary writings. This supports the idea this imagery was commonly used and understood during the time of Epictetus. So, how does all of this relate to Encheiridion 7? I think you’ll begin to see the connections after I tie it all together in an often-overlooked passage by Diogenes Laertius’ on the death of Zeno, the founder of the Stoa: The manner of his death was as follows. As he was leaving the school he tripped and fell, breaking a toe. Striking the ground with his fist, he quoted the line from the Niobe: I come, I come, why dost thou call for me? and died on the spot through holding his breath. (DL 7.28) I’m going to set the details of Zeno’s manner of death aside because that is relevant to our discussion. However, Zeno’s response to his imminent death is noteworthy. We can infer two different attitudes from Zeno’s words in this story of his death. First, we could infer some resistance to death from his last words: “why are you calling me?” Alternatively, we can infer an attitude of bewilderment. The Greek word used in this passage means to “cry out, shout, call aloud.” Therefore, Zeno could have been saying, “I’m coming, of course, I’m coming; there’s no need to shout at me?” Zeno’s broken toe likewise provides some interesting symbolism, which may suggest he couldn’t move as fast as the Captain may like. Based on the totality of Stoic teaching and his reputation as the founding Scholarch, I think we have good reason to assume Zeno exhibited the later attitude upon receiving his call from the Captain. While Encheiridion 7 may initially appear obscure, the general meaning becomes more apparent when applying these ancient references. Epictetus is using this parable to highlight the fact our life is a transitory stop on a voyage that can end at any moment when the Captain calls us to return to the source of our existence. Let’s look closer at each of these aspects. Life as a transitory stop The transitory nature of human life is discussed frequently in the Stoic texts. Marcus Aurelius wrote, In human life, the time of our existence is a point, our substance a flux, our senses dull, the fabric of our entire body subject to corruption, our soul ever restless, our destiny beyond divining, and our fame precarious.

Don’t preen yourself on any distinction that is not your own. If the preening horse should say “I am beautiful,” it would be acceptable. But when you are preening and say, “I have a beautiful horse,” admit that you are preening yourself on a good quality that belongs to the horse. What, then, is your own? The management of impressions. So whenever you are in harmony with nature in the way you perform this function, that’s the time to preen yourself; for then you will have a good thing that is your own to preen yourself on. (Ench 6) Don’t preen yourself on any distinction that is not your own. If the preening horse should say “I am beautiful,” it would be acceptable. But when you are preening and say, “I have a beautiful horse,” admit that you are preening yourself on a good quality that belongs to the horse. What, then, is your own? The management of impressions. So whenever you are in harmony with nature in the way you perform this function, that’s the time to preen yourself; for then you will have a good thing that is your own to preen yourself on. (Ench 6) If Epictetus were teaching today, he would probably not choose a horse as the object of his lesson. Instead, he might say, “Don’t preen yourself on your expensive sports car, sparking diamond bracelet, large, finely appointed house, etc., because the good qualities of those possessions do not belong to you.” The object does not matter; the lesson remains the same. Preening Oneself The first thing we need to do with this lesson is to understand the meaning of the word “preen” in this passage. Most translators use the English word “elated” in Encheiridion 6. However, A.A. Long chose the word “preen” for his translation, and I think his choice brings out the whole meaning of this passage. When I referred to my resources, I discovered the Greek verb used in this passage means to “lift up and set on.”[1] There are two aspects of this verb: to lift up and to set on. Therefore, Epictetus is doing more than warning us not to feel a sense of elation or pride when we look at our expensive sports car, sparking diamond bracelet, large, finely appointed house, etc. We could feel that sense of elation or pride while we’re alone, lying in bed, or daydreaming sitting in a park. The word “elated” seems to overlook the public aspect of this passage, and that may be why A.A. Long chose the word “preen.” The online Oxford Learner’ Dictionaries offers the following definition of preen when used as a transitive verb, which is the case in this passage: [transitive] preen yourself (on something) (usually disapproving) to feel very pleased with yourself about something and show other people how pleased you are.[2] That definition helps us understand Encheiridion 6. Epictetus is warning us not to show off our possessions as if their good qualities somehow transfer to us and lift us up in the eyes of others. The word “preen” is often used to describe a person grooming and admiring himself or herself in a mirror. But that’s not the whole meaning here. Likewise, the word “preen” may bring to mind the myth of Narcissus. Many of you are likely familiar with that Greek myth, from which we get the psychological construct of the Narcissist. Narcissus was a beautiful young man who wandered upon a still pool of water while he was hunting. When he saw his own reflection in the pool of water, he fell in love with it and remained there staring at it for the remainder of his life. While Narcissus was quite happy to remain at the pool, staring at and loving his reflection, that is not the point of Epictetus’ lesson. However, with some modification and modernization of that myth, we can make Epictetus’ point clear. Imagine a modern version of Narcissus who walks into their bathroom one day and sees their reflection in the mirror. They feel elated by their own beauty. WOW, they think, I look hot. So, they pull their smartphone out and take a photo of themselves in the mirror. After admiring the picture for a second, they post it on Facebook, Instagram, and other social media platforms. Why? Because they want others to see how attractive they are. They are trying to lift themselves up by setting their attractiveness on display for others to see. They want others to attribute their beauty to them so they will be lifted up in the eyes of others. At this point, you might be thinking, but that is their attractiveness; that is a quality that belongs to them. Not exactly. Here is Epictetus on the topic: But what does Zeus have to say about this? ‘If it had been possible, Epictetus, I would have ensured that your poor body and petty possessions were free and immune from hindrance. But as things are, you mustn’t forget that this body isn’t truly your own, but is nothing more than cleverly moulded clay. (Discourses 1.1.10-11) According to Stoicism, our body is not up to us. We do not create our bodies. Yes, we take care of our body, and we can make it look better in some ways. Nevertheless, we are not in

Uneducated people blame others when they are doing badly. Those whose education is underway blame themselves. But a fully educated person blames no one, neither himself nor anyone else. (Ench 5) In Episode 35, I covered the first part of Encheiridion 5, where Epictetus added death to the list of things outside of our full control and, therefore, not inherently bad. If you’ve listened to Stoicism on Fire for a while or read my Traditional Stoicism blog, you likely understand this concept, which is frequently called the Dichotomy of Control, and you’ve probably been attempting to adopt this Stoic mindset toward externals. However, understanding this concept intellectually and putting it into practice are entirely different things. The practice of Stoicism is hard. I have been at it diligently for ten years, and I occasionally feel like a complete beginner. I understand the Stoic doctrines; I had a firm grasp of those within a couple of years. But, the goal of Stoicism is perfect practice, not perfect doctrinal knowledge. Perfect practice is the ideal of Stoicism. That is the standard attributed to the Sage and one none of us are likely to achieve. Which begs the question, “What then is the point of Stoic practice?” The answer, of course, is progress. Even though we will likely never arrive at the level of wisdom the Sage possesses, we can make progress toward that ideal. In the second part of Encheiridion 5, Epictetus outlines a three-step progression by placing all people into one of three categories: the uneducated, those whose education is underway, and finally, those whose education is complete. I think it is vital for us to understand these categories and their implication for our Stoic practice. Before we get into the categories, it is essential to note that education for the Stoics was more than memorization of doctrines. Education meant training (askesis). The Stoic training regimen required the student to put Stoic principles into practice. In other words, the distinction in Encheiridion 5 is not between those who are entirely ignorant of Stoic doctrines and those who memorized them all and can recite them at will. Epictetus infers more than book knowledge in this passage. We could relabel these categories as follows: those who are untrained in Stoic practice, those whose training in Stoic practice is underway, those who have completed their Stoic training and are completely wise—the Sage. Now, let’s consider these categories in a little more detail. Pay attention to the observable behavioral characteristics Epictetus provides for each of these categories. The uneducated person lives his or her life desiring and seeking things that are not within their complete control (wealth, pleasure, fame, political power, a good reputation, etc.). Simultaneously, they fear and attempt to avoid other things beyond their complete control (poverty, pain, obscurity, death, etc.). Now, here’s the behavioral characteristic of the uneducated person: When they are doing badly, they blame others. The uneducated blame others when they are not getting what they desire and getting what they fear instead. If you doubt this truth, turn on the news for a few minutes. You will observe an endless parade of uneducated people who are angry because they don’t have what they think they deserve to make them happy. They frequently claim to be victims of circumstances or someone else’s bad behavior, and think others have the power to make them happy or miserable. Marcus described them in Meditations 2.1 as “ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, and unsociable people.” Then, he proposes that he remind himself each morning that these are the people he will encounter during the day. Marcus continues this passage by noting the reason uneducated people behave this way: They are subject to all these defects because they have no knowledge of good and bad. (Meditation 2.1) The uneducated seek well-being in externals that are not within their complete control because they don’t know what is truly good (a virtuous character) and truly bad (a vicious character). In Encheiridion 1, Epictetus told us what happens when people desire and fear externals: they will be pained, frustrated, and troubled, and they will blame gods and men. When we see “ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, and unsociable people” on the news or in public, we need to remind ourselves why they are that way. They are uneducated. They may be knowledgeable about many things. They may be college-educated. They may even have a Ph.D., but, as Marcus notes, they have no knowledge of good and bad. Therefore, they are angry that they are doing badly in life and believe the fault lies outside themselves. They think they are unhappy because society is unfair, unjust, or otherwise organized in a way that makes them a victim of circumstances. Let me offer a word of caution here. Marcus’ words about these uneducated people can take us in two directions attitudinally. We can use Me

It is not things themselves that trouble people, but their opinions about things. Death, for instance, is nothing terrible (otherwise, it would have appeared that way to Socrates as well), but the terrible thing is the opinion that death is terrible. So whenever we are frustrated, or troubled, or pained, let us never hold anyone responsible except ourselves, meaning our own opinions. Uneducated people blame others when they are doing badly. Those whose education is underway blame themselves. But a fully educated person blames no one, neither himself nor anyone else. (Ench 5) This passage complements Encheiridion 1, where Epictetus taught us that desiring and fearing things beyond our complete control will leave us “frustrated, pained, and troubled” and will cause us to “fault gods and men.” In Encheiridion 5, Epictetus takes this fundamental Stoic principle to its ultimate conclusion by adding death to the list of things we should not fear. He declares it is our opinion about death, rather than death itself, that troubles us. It is September 2021, and the Specter of death, in the form of the COVID pandemic, has been ever-present for more than two and a half years. This pandemic has changed our lives and our world. For some people, it has become an all-consuming fear. Yet, in this passage from the Encheiridion, Epictetus declares that death is nothing terrible. For most people, particularly those raised in the West, an assertion like this by Epictetus might seem bizarre, and it may even provoke a negative response or dismissal. Let’s be honest. This claim is completely counter to the way most of us think and attempt to live our lives. We were taught that externals like the negative opinions of others, poverty, sickness, and especially death are inherently bad and necessarily entail unhappiness. We learned this lesson early in our childhood, and we learned it well. So well, in fact, that we spend a great deal of time, money, and energy attempting to avoid all these externals, death in particular. However, practicing Stoics are repeatedly confronted with lessons like this in the texts that teach the opposite. Stoicism teaches us we can have a good flow in life regardless of our present situation. This doctrine is the crux of Stoic philosophical practice. At this point, some of you may be wondering, “In what way can that assertion by Epictetus be true? How can it be true that poverty, sickness, and even death are not terrible? How can it be that wealth, good health, and life are not inherently good?” Well, in every case except death, the answer provided by the Stoics is quite simple even though many people will likely find it unsatisfactory. The ancient Stoics teach us we must change our thinking about what is truly good and bad. They teach us that moral excellence is the only inherent good. Therefore, the Stoic path trains us to set aside our aversion to poverty, sickness, public shame, and everything that is not within our complete control, including death. There is no overstatement in this passage. Epictetus is not trying to shock us with hyperbole. He is simply restating a profound truth we repeatedly see throughout the Stoic writings. An excellent character (virtue) is the only true good, and a corrupted character (vice) is the only truly bad thing. Therefore, if we seek happiness in things and events we do not entirely control, we will be frustrated, pained, and troubled. Likewise, we will be miserable if we strive to avoid anything other than those irrational thoughts and wicked intentions that corrupt our character (soul). Okay, you may be thinking, I understand that virtue is the only good, and everything else is an indifferent and should not be desired as something good, in itself, or feared as something bad in itself. But how can death not be terrible? After all, Stoicism does not offer the consolation of an afterlife. To answer this question, Epictetus appeals to Socrates, one of the few the Stoics acknowledged as a Sage. He asserts that death is not terrible; otherwise, it would have appeared that way to Socrates. At first glance, this might appear to be a rather trite argument for not fearing death. Alternatively, it could appear as an unsophisticated appeal to authority. However, this passage has an unspoken message, which the students of Epictetus would have understood. Remember, the Encheiridion is a handbook designed to keep the lessons of Stoicism close at hand. Arrian created this handbook to remind practicing Stoics about the lessons with which they are already familiar. That is certainly the case here, so we need to dig a little deeper to understand this passage. As I noted in Episode 4, Zeno embarked on his philosophical path after reading about the life of Socrates in Xenophon’s Memorabilia. Socrates was considered a Sage by the ancient Stoics. Therefore, to understand the meaning of Epictetus’ appeal to Socrates, we must turn to Plato’s Apology, which tells the story of Socrates’ trial.

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

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’

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 aver

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 ex

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

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 Epic

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 pre

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

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 ju

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, “T

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 rock

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 dea

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

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

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,”

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 limi

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

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 exc

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/

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 consis