Choosing the Stoic Path – Episode 4

04/08/18 • 23 min

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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...

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The Stoic God – Episode 3

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,

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Prosochē: The Practice of Attention – Episode 5

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.