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

Stoicism On Fire

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,

The Religious Sentiment of Marcus Aurelius – Episode 47

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 a...

Exploring Encheiridion 5 (part II) – Episode 36

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?

Exploring Encheiridion 7 – Episode 38

A virtuous and good person, keeping in mind who he is, and where he has come from, and by whom he was created, concentrates on one thing alone: how he may fill his post in a disciplined manner, remaining obedient to God. (Discourses 3.24.95) I grew up watching The Wizard of Oz every year when it was broadcast on live TV. I always loved the famous scene where Dorothy, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter the scary forest. As a young child, I was gripped by the almost palpable fear in Dorothy's voice as she asked the Tin Man, "Do you suppose we'll meet any wild animals?" This is the prelude to the familiar scene where the trio skips through the forest chanting: Lions and tigers and bears, Oh my! Lions and tigers and bears, Oh my! The tension of the scene mounts until the Lion bursts from the forest and confronts the trio with loud roars. Dorothy responded to the impression of the roaring Lion by running and hiding behind a tree; the Tin Man raised his ax in anticipation of an imminent attack, and the Scarecrow fell over backward, trembling with fear. Fortunately, it did not take long for the trio to discover this was a false impression and there was no reason to fear this Lion—he was all roar and no bite. In fact, after a brief, tense introduction the Lion became their friend and trusted traveling companion for the remainder of their journey to Oz. As strange as it admittedly sounds, this scene from The Wizard of Oz brings to mind my early experience with the Stoic texts in 2011. I had been a committed atheist for more than twenty years by that time. I was not a mere agnostic; I was an antitheist as a result of my personal experience with organized religion as a young man. Therefore, as I turned the pages of Marcus Aurelius' Meditations, I found myself in the midst of a scary theological forest, filled with logos and providence and God. Oh My! I was not prepared to face my aversion to these religious bogeymen, and I nearly turned and ran from this Stoic text a second time. You see, I tried to read Marcus' Meditations more than a decade earlier, but my aversion to anything remotely religious made me incapable of dealing with the "God talk" I found within its pages, so I returned it on my bookshelf. Now, here I was, a decade later, in that same scary theological forest. This time, however, there was a sense of desperation. I was grasping for something to help me make sense of my life, and Jonathan Haidt’s book, The Happiness Hypothesis, pointed to the wisdom of Stoicism for guidance. Therefore, I purchased and read William Irvine's A Guide to the Good Life, and Lawrence Becker's A New Stoicism, where I discovered an affinity for Stoic psychological and ethical principles and practices. However, neither of those books included all of this God talk that confronted me within the pages Marcus’ Meditations. At first, I hoped Marcus get this God talk out of his system in the early pages of his Meditations; but alas, the God talk did not cease. It was there on nearly every page: Logos and Providence and God, Oh My! In my ignorance about the Stoics, I thought this might be limited to the writings of Marcus Aurelius; therefore, I turned to Epictetus’ Discourses hoping to find some reprieve from the God talk. Oh, my! Was I in for a big surprise. Marcus’ emphasis on a relationship with a divine and providential cosmos paled in comparison to Epictetus’ piety and expression of his relationship with the Stoic divinity in rather personal language. Logos and Providence and God, Oh My! As I read, I recoiled each time I encountered the word "God.” Worse, the concept of “providence” truly made my skin crawl. Nevertheless, Lawrence Becker and William Irvine had convinced me that Stoic theology was not essential to the practice of Stoicism, so I continued my effort to glean what I could from the Stoic texts while ignoring the God talk. In late 2011, I enrolled in the School of Essential Studies course (SES) offered by The College of Stoic Philosophers.

Logos and Providence and God, OH MY! – Episode 2

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 (...

Exploring Encheiridion 4 – Episode 34

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.

Exploring Encheiridion 6 – Episode 37

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. ~ Robert Frost[1] I love those lines from Robert Frost’s timeless poem The Road Not Taken. As a practicing Stoic, they take on new meaning because of the importance of choice. Robert Frost’s traveler stands at a fork in the road, and he must choose—path A or path B. During his contemplation, he acknowledges that he cannot travel both paths. Then, in these closing lines, Frost highlights the obvious—the chosen path, whatever it may be, will make a profound difference in one’s life. So why choose the Stoic path? Why did you choose the Stoic, if you’ve already made that choice? Why not Epicureanism, Scepticism, Platonism, Cynicism? Why a philosophical path at all? In this podcast, I’m going to argue that if you did choose the Stoic path, you may not have made that choice for the reasons you think you did. If you haven’t chosen a path yet, I’m going to give you some things to consider before you choose a path. As much as I personally love Stoicism and believe everyone can benefit from familiarity with its ethical principles, I do not believe the Stoic path is for everyone. The Stoics teach three natures: Universal Nature Human nature And our individual nature—we might call that your psychological makeup of personality. There is a good reason why we have a variety of philosophical paths—its call human variety. The first choice is for a philosophical life; an examined life. Sometimes, that choice is made when external circumstances force a reevaluation of our life. Zeno of Citium, the founder of Stoicism, faced one of those unexpected life events and the subsequent fork in the road as a shipwrecked merchant in a foreign city—Athens. According to Diogenes Laertius, Zeno used his downtime wisely; he stopped in an Athenian bookstore and read about the life of Socrates. A new path opened in Zeno’s mind—a fork in the road—and he faced a choice. The choice he made not only changed his life, but it is also fair to say it profoundly changed Western thought and impacted history in ways he could not have conceived. Frost’s famous traveler only faced two choices. We face a multitude of paths and numerous forking roads as we travel through our lives. Today, at the beginning of the twenty-first century, there is renewed interest in ancient wisdom and the philosophical way of life many lived at the time Zeno made his life-changing choice. I am going to focus on those options available in Hellenistic times when philosophy was practiced as a way of life, and consider why a person who has committed themselves to philosophy as a way of life might choose any of the schools available to them. Then I will offer some reasons why they might choose Stoicism. As Frost’s imaginary traveler considered his options, he knew two things. First, his choice would make a “difference” in his life. Second, knowing how “way leads on to way,” he understood it was unlikely he would ever make it back to explore The Road Not Taken. In other words, the choice was profoundly important and deserving of careful consideration. Moderns who are intrigued by virtue ethics and interested in philosophy as a way of life will likely find themselves facing a similar choice. Faced with several viable philosophical ways of life—Stoicism, Epicureanism, Skepticism, and Cynicism—which to choose? Unlike modern academic philosophy, ancient philosophy practiced as a way of life was not primarily intellectual; it was transformative. Its goal was not mere knowledge; instead, it intended to cure the soul of the practitioner by unburdening their mind of mistaken notions about the nature of reality and human nature and developing within them a state of moral excellence. This endeavor required more than philosophical discourse. That is why, as French philosopher Pierre Hadot so eloquently points out, ancient philosophical discourse and practice were intertwined and considered insep...

Choosing the Stoic Path – Episode 4

This episode of Stoicism On Fire kicks off a series I call the path of the Prokopton. A prokopton is someone who is making progress along the Stoic path. This podcast is about the practice of Attention. The Stoics called it prosochē in Greek, and that word signifies an attitude and practice of attention. Pierre Hadot considered prosochē the fundamental Stoic spiritual attitude.[1] It is a state of continuous, vigilant, and unrelenting attentiveness to oneself—to the present impressions, present desires, and present actions, which shape our moral character (prohairesis).[2] My aim in this episode is to help you understand why it is so important to practice attention while on the path of the prokopton. When you relax your attention for a while, do not fancy you will recover it whenever you please; but remember this, that because of your fault of today your affairs must necessarily be in a worse condition in future occasions. (Discourses 4.12.1) Prosochē is essential for the prokoptōn to practice the three Stoic disciplines prescribed by Epictetus (Discourses 3.2.1-5). Constant attention is necessary to live in agreement with Nature. Once one embarks on the path of the prokoptōn, the attitude of prosochē serves as an ever-present, vigilant watchman to ensure we continue to make forward progress. As Epictetus warns, relaxing our attention (prosochē) is not only dangerous because of the faults which may be committed in the present, but he further warns that “because of your fault today your affairs must be necessarily in a worse condition on future occasions” (Discourses 4.12.1). The attitude and practice of prosochē focus our attention and provides the foundation for the Stoic disciplines, whose aim is a life of excellence (aretē) lived in accordance with Nature, wherein we experience human flourishing or well-being (eudaimonia). Attention - Not Perfection Before further discussion about the Stoic concept of prosochē, which can appear onerous at first glance, it is helpful to understand that progress in Stoicism does not require perfection. Yes, to be a Stoic sage does require perfection, but that’s not what I’m talking about right now. This episode is about making progress toward that ideal of the sage. It is unlikely any of us will ever become sages. Nevertheless, we can make progress—we can be a Stoic prokopton. Epictetus is clear on this issue, “So is it possible to be altogether faultless? No, that is impracticable..” (Discourses 4.12.19). The practice of Stoicism requires attention, not perfection. The goal of the prokoptōn is continual progress toward the perfection of the sage, without the expectation that he will ever achieve it. The Stoic sage serves as an ideal which we attentively focus our mind on as we practice the disciplines of assent, desire, and action. Again, according to Epictetus, the practicable goal of Stoicism is not perfection; instead, it is “to strive continuously not to commit faults” with the realistic hope that by “never relaxing our attention, we shall escape at least a few faults” (Ibid). So, what are we to do when we fail in our practice? What do we at those moments when we fail to live our Stoic principles? Epictetus provides us with a clear answer: In this contest, even if we should falter for a while, no one can prevent us from resuming the fight, nor is it necessary to wait another four years for the next Olympic Games to come around, but as soon as one has recovered and regained one’s strength, and can muster the same zeal as before, one can enter the fight; and if one should fail again, one can enter once again, and if one should carry off the victory one fine day, it will be as if one had never given in. (Discourses 3.25.4) There are two important points here that we have to balance. First, we have to pay attention to our thoughts, desires, fears, intentions, and actions. That means we’re going to have to focus on some area in our thinking that is less than ideal.

Prosochē: The Practice of Attention – Episode 5

It would be impossible to give a full account of the philosophy of the Stoics without, at the same time, treating of their theology; for no early system is so closely connected with religion as that of the Stoics. Founded, as the whole view of the world is, upon the theory of one Divine Being...There is hardly a single prominent feature in the Stoic system whichis not, more or less, connected with theology.[1] The Stoic God is an all-pervasive, immanent, active force in the cosmos, and is equivalent to and often called “Nature.” Zeus, pneuma, universal Reason, and logos are also used to refer to this active force. The Stoics used many names to refer to the divine principle in the cosmos. In fact, Cleanthes, the second head of the ancient Stoa addressed the Stoic God as follows in his Hymn to Zeus: Most glorious of the immortals, invoked by many names When describing the Stoic conception of God, it is actually easier to begin by listing the characteristic commonly attributed to deities that do not apply to the Stoic God. The Stoic God is NOT: Transcendent Supernatural Anthropomorphic Aristotle’s prime mover A metaphor An interventionist The Stoic God IS: Immanent Universal Reason Logos Providence Creative fire Active principle The generative principle (σπερματικός λογός) World-soul Breath (πνευμα) World mind Pantheism The Stoics are most frequently considered pantheists; however, deist, theist, and panentheistic qualities are found in the surviving writings. It is important to keep in mind that all of these labels are modern creations; therefore, none applies perfectly. The God of Stoicism does not fit neatly into any modern theological box.[2] More importantly, people use these terms with slightly different meanings, so we must be careful and accurate when we anachronistically refer to the Stoics using a modern term like pantheism. As an example, I have encountered several pantheists online who claim to be atheists. Simply put, at best this is an abuse of language. Our English word pantheism is derived from a combination of the Greek word pan, which means “all”; and theos, which means “god.” Therefore, pantheism means all is God. To declare oneself a pantheist and an atheist simultaneously may be a great conversation starter; however, if pressed, the individual making such a claim will necessarily have to redefine atheism to make that assertion sensible. Where does this come from? One contributor to this abuse of the word pantheism is Richard Dawkins, the fundamentalist advocate of New Atheism. He famously declared that pantheism is nothing more than “sexed-up atheism” in his book the God Delusion.[3] Interestingly, it appears the World Pantheist Movement agrees with Dawkins’ assessment: Richard Dawkins, in his book The God Delusion, has described Pantheism as “sexed-up atheism.” That may seem flippant, but it is accurate. Of all religious or spiritual traditions, Pantheism – the approach of Einstein, Hawking and many other scientists – is the only one that passes the muster of the world’s most militant atheist.[4] Unfortunately, this appeal to the authority of Einstein is undercut by the fact that he vehemently denied being an atheist and was extremely critical of atheism on several occasions.[5] Abusing the definition of pantheism to include atheism adds confusion to discussions about an already difficult topic. I will leave this topic with a clear statement: If your definition of pantheism is open to atheism, then it does not apply to the ancient Stoics. There is no credible evidence the ancient Stoics entertained atheism. In fact, the overwhelming body of evidence points in the opposite direction; the ancient Stoics were deeply spiritual. Cleanthes, the second head of the Stoa, wrote the religious Hymn to Zeus; Posidonius, accused the Epicureans of atheism; a charge Philodemus, an Epicurean, felt compelled to deny in his work On Piety. Moreover,

The Stoic God – Episode 3

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,

Exploring Encheiridion 5 (part I) – Episode 35

What do you hope listeners gain from listening to your show?

Which have been your favourite episodes so far?

What is your favourite other podcast that isn't yours?

How did you come up with the name for your podcast?