Stoicism On Fire

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,

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)

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,

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?

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.

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...

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,

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 (...

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 frequen...

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.

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,

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,

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?

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...

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,

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,

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,

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,

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,

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 responsibl...

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.

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...

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,

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 combin...

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...

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 S...

This podcast episode refers to the blog post on The Discipline of Action, which is currently being updated. If you are looking for an exceptional way to jump-start your Stoic practice, consider the Theory & Practice Course offered by The College of Stoic Philosophers. This course is a mentor-guided, four-month-long course that provides an excellent foundation in both Stoic theory and practice.

This podcast episode refers to the blog post on The Discipline of Action, which is being completely updated. Blog posts referenced in this episode: The Connection Between Physics and Ethics Retaining the Soul of Stoicism

Does the cosmos have a purpose that gives human life inherent meaning? Or do we live in an accidental universe that lacks any inherent purpose and thereby makes our lives as potentially futile as that of the mythological Sisyphus, who is compelled for eternity to roll a boulder to the top of a hill only to have it roll down again? This question has puzzled and haunted the minds of numerous thinkers for many millennia; however, to seriously entertain the possibility that the cosmos has an inherent purpose today one must step outside the spirit of our time, which operates on the mostly unspoken and unprovable assumption that the universe is accidental and purposeless and the only meaning in human life is that which we create for ourselves. Stoicism stands staunchly opposed to that assumption. The Stoic worldview is so different from that of our secular age that most people who are interested in Stoicism today ignore the concept of a providential cosmos, and question or deny any difference it can make in the life of a practitioner. That is unfortunate. Originally, I intended this episode of Stoicism On Fire to move on to the spiritual exercise known as the discipline of action, which falls within the field of ethics. However, I think more attention needs to be focused on a distinction covered in the last episode before we move on. In episode eleven, I offered the following meme: Bear and forbear only gets us half the way there My goal in offering that meme was to highlight the vast gulf between the common caricature of a stoic as one who bears and forbears all the events in life with equanimity, and what we see in the Stoic texts. The accurate portrait of a Stoic presents a person who loves the events of nature and expresses gratitude for them—all of them. The Stoics were renounced for their resilience to the events of life. They considered it irrational to want things to happen differently than they do. However, Stoic practice did not stop there. If it did, the caricature of the Stoic as emotionless and detached would be justified. Yet, Epictetus said: I shouldn’t be unfeeling like a statue, but should preserve my natural and acquired relationships, as one who honours the gods, as a son, as a brother, as a father, as a citizen. (Discourses 3.2.6) Throughout the writings of Seneca, the Discourses of Epictetus, and the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, we see more than a grin and bear it acceptance of events. The point of Stoicism is not to tolerate events that occur; although, that is a significant step in the right direction. The ultimate goal of Stoic practice is more than bear and forbear. Again, as I said in the last episode: Bear and forbear only gets us half the way there The proper Stoic attitude is to love all events that occur as if we wished for them. In his lecture “On Contentment” (Discourses 1.12), Epictetus opens One who is still being educated should approach his education with this aim in view: ‘How may I follow the gods in everything, and how can I act in a way that is acceptable to the divine administration, and how may I become free?’ For someone is free if all that happens to him comes about in accordance with his choice and no one else is able to impede him. (Discourses 1.12.8-9) Here is a key point that is too frequently overlooked in Stoicism. Freedom does come from making ourselves psychologically immune from external things and events. Neither does it come from being the master of our fate and overcoming all of the obstacles placed between us and our goals. True freedom only occurs when everything happens in accordance with our choice. Only then are we unimpeded. That state of freedom only occurs when our choices are in accordance with what actually happens rather than what we wish happened.  Epictetus makes it quite clear that our human freedom rests on our understanding of what is and is not “up to us” and our practice of the discipline of desire.

This podcast episode refers to the blog post on The Discipline of Desire, which is being completely updated.

This podcast episode provides a new theoretical foundation for my previous blog post on The Discipline of Desire, which is being completely updated. Make sure to come back for the next episode where the spiritual exercise of the Discipline of Desire will build upon the theory of this episode.

This episode is a continuation of Episode 8, which covered the theoritical aspect of the this spiritual exercise. This episode cover the practice of this spiritual exercise. The Discipline of Assent blog post is currently being rewritten to reflect the material covered in these two podcast episodes.

This podcast episode provides a new theoretical foundation for my previous blog post on The Discipline of Assent, which is being completely updated for the release of Episode 9 of Stoicism on Fire. Make sure to come back for the next episode where the spiritual exercise of the Discipline of Assent will build upon the theory of this episode.

Today’s podcast is an introduction to the concept of Stoic spiritual exercises. Over the next few episodes, I will be covering three Stoic spiritual exercises: the discipline of assent, the discipline of desire, and the discipline of action. These three exercises or disciplines are the core of what I call the path of the prokopton. In episode 5, I covered the concepts of attention (prosoche). In episode 6, I covered what is and is not “up to us,” which is commonly called the dichotomy of control. As I noted in that episode, Pierre Hadot refers to these as the fundamental Stoic spiritual attitude and the fundamental rule of life respectively. Together, they constitute what Hadot calls the Stoic moral attitude, which is the attitude a prokopton takes toward all the events that occur in life. The Stoic spiritual exercises are the practices that develop that moral attitude and lead us farther along the Stoic path toward an excellent character and well-being. Those who are familiar with the writing of the French philosopher Pierre Hadot will recognize the concept of spiritual exercises. It is a constant theme in his books. He did not invent it; however, he applied the term to ancient philosophical practices and thereby illuminated the meaning and significance of these exercises. Before Hadot, the idea of philosophy as a way of life had largely been lost. Modern academic philosophy deviated so far from the concept of philosophy as a way of life that a 2016 critique was able to highlight the “pathologies” of contemporary academic philosophy and point out its complete abandonment of the philosophical practices of Socrates. The authors of that critique write: Universally venerated by contemporary philosophers, the actual philosophic practice of Socrates is rejected or ignored. Socrates could never get a position today in a philosophy (or any other) department.[1] This divergence from the philosophical practices of Socrates is important to twenty-first-century practitioners of Stoicism for two reasons. First, Socrates in the grandfather of Stoicism, and his way of life served as a model for the Stoics. As I noted in episode 4, Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, was inspired to follow the philosophical way of life after reading about the life of Socrates in Xenophon’s Memorabilia. That portrait of Socrates inspired Zeno to ask, “Where can I find men such as these? ”Second, because the path of the Stoic prokopton is a spiritual practice—it relies on the transformational power of these spiritual exercises that are largely, if not wholly, ignored by modern academic philosophers. Even where Stoicism is taught in academic environments, it is unlikely that any attention will be paid to these practices. Modern academia has little if any tolerance for anything considered spiritual. That is why it was necessary for Pierre Hadot to reintroduce the modern world to the spiritual nature of the ancient philosophical way of life. Philosophy as a way of life is so radically different from the mind-numbing, logic-chopping positivism that turns many people away from philosophy, we can argue it belongs in a different category. As Michael Chase wrote in the introduction of a published set of essays honoring Hadot: Hadot’s work, written in a plain, clear style that lacks the rhetorical flourishes of a Derrida or a Foucault, represents a call for a radical democratization of philosophy. It talks about subjects that matter to people today from all walks of life, which is why it has appealed, arguably, less to professional philosophers than to ordinary working people, and to professionals working in disciplines other than philosophy.[2] If you doubt the difference between Hadot’s approach to the ancient Stoics and that of modern academia, here is an experiment. Read and compare two books, both published in English in 1998 and both dealing with the application of Stoicism in the life of practitioners. The first book,

Epictetus, the freed slave turned Stoic philosopher and teacher, said the following: Some things are within our power, while others are not. Within our power are opinion, motivation, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever is of our own doing; not within our power are our body, our property, reputation, office, and, in a word, whatever is not of our own doing. (Enchiridion 1) In episode 5 of the Stoicism On Fire podcast, I covered the practice of attention (prosoche), which is, according to the philosopher Pierre Hadot, the fundamental Stoic spiritual attitude.[1] In this podcast, I will cover the category of things to which we are to pay attention—those are the things that are within our complete control. The popular term for this concept is the Dichotomy of Control, which Epictetus distinguished as what is and is not“up to us” (eph’ hêmin). Pierre Hadot called this distinction the fundamental rule of life for the Stoic practitioner.[2] Therefore, when we focus our attention on what is “up to us”, we combine the fundamental Stoic spiritual attitude with the fundamental rule of life and end up with what Hadot calls the fundamental Stoic attitude or Stoic moral attitude. This attitude is what enables us to make progress along the Stoic path—the path of the prokopton. Hadot defines this fundamental Stoic attitude in detail. Referring to Enchiridion1.1, Hadot writes: Here, we can glimpse one of the Stoics' most fundamental attitudes: the delimitation of our own sphere of liberty as an impregnable islet of autonomy, in the midst of the vast river of events and of Destiny. What depends on us are thus the acts of our soul, because we can freely choose them. We can judge or not judge, or judge in whatever manner we please; we can desire or not desire; will or not will. By contrast, that which does not depend on us—Epictetus lists our body, honors, riches, and high positions of authority—is everything that depends upon the general course of nature. Our body, first: it is true that we can move it, but we are not completely in control of it. Birth, death, sickness, involuntary movements, sensations of pleasure or of pain: all these are completely independent of our will. As for wealth and honors: we can, to be sure, attempt to acquire them, yet definitive success does not depend upon us, but upon a series of human factors and events which are exterior to us; they are imponderable and do not depend upon our will. Thus, the Stoic delimits a center of autonomy—the soul, as opposed to the body; and a guiding principle (hegemonikon) as opposed to the rest of the soul. It is within this guiding principle that freedom and our true self are located.[3] The key phrase in that passage from Hadot’s book The Inner Citadel is “the impregnable islet of autonomy.” As we consider what is and is not “up to us” it is easy to see this fundamental rule of life as limiting. However, throughout the Discourses and Enchiridion, Epictetus teaches this rule for the opposite reason. It is by understanding what is and is not “up to us” that we can find true freedom. It is not an accident that Epictetus, a freed slave, emphasizes this rule and the freedom it provides—he understood the nature and value of true freedom as a result of high life experience. The Stoics understood that externals cannot bring us the well-being we seek. Possessing them is indifferent with regard to our moral character; however, desiring them and pursuing them is the path to psychological anguish. Why? Because they can all be taken away in a moment—in a fire, a life-threatening illness, a hostile take-over of a company, a layoff, a market crash, a divorce, a terrible accident, etc. They may make us temporarily happy, but that is not what the Stoics meant by the Greek word eudaimonia. The eudaimonia of the Stoics was the sense of well-being that comes from the pursuit of virtue, or human excellence in the areas of wisdom, courage, justice, and moderation.

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.

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...

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,

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.

Since this is the inaugural episode of Stoicism On Fire it would be natural for you the listener to wonder what this podcast is about. Obviously, it’s about Stoicism, but What is Stoicism on Fire? As the introduction states, this podcast is about Stoicism as a philosophical way of life, which includes a rational form of spirituality. That form of Stoicism has become known as traditional Stoicism in modern times. Ancient Stoicism: 300 BCE – 200 CE Many credible sources are available to explore the doctrines of Stoicism. Both of these trusted sources provide accurate explanations of Stoic doctrines and contrast that with modern or contemporary versions of Stoicism: Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy - Stoicism Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy – Stoicism Neo-Stoicism: 16th and 17th centuries Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy – Neo-Stoicism Modern Stoicism Has its roots in Lawrence Becker’s book A New Stoicism in 1998 – an attempt to revive Stoicism in a secular form. Modern Stoicism Blog Traditional Stoicism Grew out of Erik Wiegardt’s creation of the New Stoa in 1996. Traditional Stoicism is an attempt to make sense of the ancient Stoic way of life in light of what we have learned about human nature and the cosmos over the last two thousand years while remaining true to the deeply religious nature of Stoicism. Traditional Stoicism Blog The History of Philosophy Without Any Gaps Peter Adamson, Professor of Philosophy at the LMU in Munich and at King's College London, takes listeners through the history of philosophy, "without any gaps." The series looks at the ideas, lives and historical context of the major philosophers as well as the lesser-known figures of the tradition. Lectures 60 through 68 address Stoicism; they can be found here: 60 – Walking on Eggshells: the Stoics on Logic 61 – Nobody’s Perfect: the Stoic on Knowledge 62 – We Didn’t Start the Fire: the Stoics on Nature 63 – Like a Rolling Stone: Stoic Ethics 64 – David Sedley on Stoicism 65 – Anger Management: Seneca 66 – You Can Chain My Leg: Epictetus 67 – The Philosopher King: Marcus Aurelius 68 – John Sellars on the Roman Stoics John Cooper John Cooper, of Princeton University, also provides a great one-hour long lecture on ‘The Stoic Way of Life’ as part of the 2011 John Locke lecture series produced by University of Oxford. Some key points of interest for traditional Stoics: @ 6:29 – The coherence of the Stoic philosophical system @ 6:48 – John Cooper argues: “In order to understand properly the Stoic way of life and its philosophical basis, we’re going to have to learn a great deal about their metaphysical and physical theory into which, as I have said, their ethical theory is set as the centerpiece of their whole philosophical system. @ 13:55 – The human relationship to the divine mind The full lecture can be found here: John Cooper Lecture A Box of my favorite things Kevin Patrick Jr wrote a blog post in November of 2015 that has remained quite relevant as the modern Stoic movement grows. He asks, How many of us have a box of our favorite things which we’ve haphazardly scrawled “STOICISM” across the side?  Inside this box of decades’, generations’ worth of baggage, is there much room leftover for the ideas of Epictetus? Kevin's post is worth reading; he blogs as Mountain Stoic and this post can be found here: A box of my favorite things, with “STOICISM” scrawled on the side Pierre Hadot Maybe more than any other modern philosopher, Pierre Hadot reintroduced moderns to the concept of philosophy as a way of life. His books emphasize the deeply spiritual nature of Stoicism. In his book on the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, he wrote in the conclusion: All the dogmas of Stoicism derive from this existential choice. It is impossible that the universe could produce human rationality, unless the latter were already in some way present within th...