Stoicism On Fire

Keep in mind that you should always behave as you would do at a banquet. Something comes around to you; stretch out your hand and politely take a portion. It passes on; don’t try to stop it. It has not come yet; don’t let your appetite run ahead, but wait till the portion reaches you. If you act like this toward your children, your wife, your public positions, and your wealth, you will be worthy one day to dine with the gods. And if you don’t even take things, when they are put before you, but pass them by, you will not only dine with the gods but also share their rule. It was by acting like that that Diogenes and Heracles and others like them were deservedly divine and called so. (Ench. 15) Epictetus uses a banquet as a metaphor in this lesson. However, this banquet appears different from anything we moderns would attend. The Greek word Epictetus used is συμποσίῳ. The title of Plato’s famous Symposium is derived from that same Greek word, and it provides a model for this metaphor. To make his point in this lesson, Epictetus asks us to imagine we are guests at such a banquet. However, to apply this lesson in our life, we must first understand the metaphor. A Greek banquet or symposium during the time of Plato was slightly different from those of Roman times. Epictetus’s students would have been familiar with the latter. However, those distinctions don’t affect the metaphor or the lesson. Let’s set the scene for such a banquet to help us understand this lesson. The host, a person you know, has invited you to a banquet. When you arrive, you’re led to a room filled with pillow-covered sofas. Participants are reclined on those sofas eating food, drinking wine, talking about important topics, and possibly delivering speeches. The room has a predetermined seating arrangement, so you recline on your assigned sofa and engage in conversation with others you know at the banquet. Occasionally, someone might deliver a speech, read a poem, or bring up a topic of political concern for discussion. While this is going on, servers enter the room with platters of food and pitchers of wine. The servers approach each reclined guest in a predetermined order and offer them a portion of what they are serving. You know the proper etiquette for a banquet, and that means you must wait for each server to come to you to take your portion. The preceding lessons in the Encheiridion focus on the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us. As a banquet guest, many things are not within your power—they are not up to us. So, let’s begin by determining what is and is not in our power in this banquet metaphor. Guests don’t choose the date or time of the banquet. Guests don’t choose who is invited. Guests don’t choose their seating location. Guests don’t choose what, if any, entertainment is provided. Guests don’t choose what food and wine are served. Guests don’t choose the portions of the dishes being served. Guests don’t choose the order in which the dishes and drinks are served, Guests don’t choose the order in which they will be served. The host makes all of those decisions. Therefore, Epictetus is reminding us of the only thing within our power. As guests at the banquet of life, the only thing up to us is the choice to reach out and take a portion of each item as it is offered. Interestingly, even though the items served at a banquet are indifferents, Epictetus encourages us to reach out and take a portion of those items offered to us. We are beginning to see why Epictetus chose an ancient banquet as a metaphor for this lesson—many of the circumstances and events in life are not in our power. Moreover, one of the essential aspects of Epictetus’ training program is understanding what is in our power and choosing only those things which are up to us. Nevertheless, there is an interesting change in Epictetus’ training program in Encheiridion 15. Chapters one through fourteen directed our attention away from externals and toward that which is exclusively within our power—what is up to us. Now, Epictetus is providing us with a lesson about dealing with externals—what is not up to us. He encourages us to stretch out our hand and politely take a portion of preferred indifferents when they are offered to us. Epictetus said: Something comes around to you; stretch out your hand and politely take a portion. Epictetus is telling us it’s okay to reach out and take a portion of good health, wealth, a prestigious title, a high-paying job, a desirable mate, a big house, sports car, diamond jewelry, etc., when the cosmos offers them to us. This highlights an important aspect of Stoicism. Stoics were not complete ascetics like the Cynics—they did not renounce all externals. Stoic practice does not entail rejecting indifferents; however, it does require us to abandon our desire for them. The second lesson is a little more complicated. In Encheiridion 15, Epictetus offers a banquet metaphor to teach us how to handle indifferents. However, there’s another critically important part of this lesson. Remember, the host decides almost everything that occurs at a banquet. Therefore, Epictetus reminds us that the only thing within your power—the only thing up to us—is the choice to reach out and take a portion of each item as it is offered.  Again, Epictetus said: Something comes around to you; stretch out your hand and politely take a portion. It passes on; don’t try to stop it. It has not come yet; don’t let your appetite run ahead, but wait till the portion reaches you. Here is the critically important part of the lesson: Don’t reach out and attempt to take what is not offered to you by the host. Don’t let your desire for what is being offered to others distract you from the primary goal of the banquet, which is not simply to eat and drink. Implicit in this metaphor is the idea we should not take a portion of any indifferent inconsistent with developing an excellent character. Let’s see if a modern example will help. Imagine you’ve been invited to the wedding of a good friend and the reception afterward. When you arrive at the reception, you see name tags at each table, and you look for the one with your name on it, and you take a seat. You notice the families of the bride and groom are seated in places of honor near the stage. After the bride and groom have entered and been announced, servers begin entering the room with platters of food and trays of champagne. Naturally, they serve the families of the bride and groom first and then work their way back to your table. After the meal, the servers bring in platters with dessert. Each of the four servers has a different desert, and only one of them has chocolate cake. You love chocolate cake, and this chocolate cake looks particularly delicious. Your table is close to the door where the servers enter the room, so you got a really good look at that cake. Your mouth starts to water in anticipation. However, you know you will not be among the first guests served. Your table is the eighth to be served. You could allow the impression of this cake as something “good” to well up and create a desire. Then, that desire might create an impulse to stop the server as he passes and take a piece of cake. However, that would be rude and entirely inappropriate. This is an example of the first warning Epictetus offers in this lesson. The chocolate cake has not been offered to you yet; it is passing on. Epictetus warns us. “don’t try to stop it.” Okay, let’s say you passed that test. Somewhere in the sequence between the impression of the cake as a “good” and acting on the impulse to stop the server, you stopped the impression, accepted chocolate cake is just a preferred indifferent, and you remembered why you are at the wedding—to honor your friend on their wedding day. You turn your attention back to the groom on the stage, telling everyone the story about how he met his bride. Occasionally, your attention is diverted from the groom’s story to the server with the chocolate cake. You just want to make sure some of that delicious-looking chocolate remains. It does, so your focus on the groom’s story again. Then, you hear a guest at the table next to yours say, “This cake is otherworldly.” You turn your head in time to see him take a big bite of cake, and you watch as his body melts into his chair as the flavor overwhelms his senses with satisfaction. You look at the platter and realize there are only two pieces of cake left, and four people are seated between you and that cake. The impression of the cake as “good” suddenly resurfaces, and a desire for a slice wells up inside you. You don’t even hear the words of the groom any longer. Your attention is now focused exclusively on that cake as you hope a piece will be remain when the server arrives at your seat. In Epictetus's words, you just made the mistake of letting your appetite run ahead. Obviously, Epictetus was not giving his students a lesson on banquet etiquette. Instead, knowing his students were already familiar with banquet etiquette, he used it as a metaphor to teach them how to behave appropriately toward preferred indifferents. So, what would be appropriate in our chocolate cake scenario? Epictetus would say: keep your attention on the groom’s speech because the purpose of this banquet is to honor him on his wedding day. In other words, you are there for fellowship, not chocolate cake. If your attention remains on the purpose of the event and the platter of chocolate cake is offered to you, reach out and take a slice. However, don’t let the impression of that chocolate cake distract you from the event or create an impulse to act inappropriately. Someone might ask: “Does this lesson mean I should abandon all ambition, accept my lot in life, and just wait for everything to be brought to me?” No, it doesn’t mean you should be passive or take a quietist approach to life....

If you want your children and your wife and friends to survive no matter what, you are silly; for you are wanting things to be up to you that are not up to you, and things to be your own that are not your own. You are just as foolish if you want your slave to make no mistakes; for you are wanting inferiority not to be a flaw but something else. But if your wish is not to be frustrated in your desires, this is in your power. Train yourself, then, in this power that you do have. Our master is anyone who has the power to implement or prevent the things that we want or don’t want. Whoever wants to be free, therefore, should wish for nothing or avoid nothing that is up to other people. Failing that, one is bound to be a slave. (Ench 14) There's nothing new in this chapter of the Encheiridion for those following the Exploring Encheiridion series. That is the nature of the Encheiridion, which Arrian created as a handbook a Stoic prokopton could keep readily available as a primer for Stoic doctrines. Therefore, many of the lessons are repeated in different forms. Nevertheless, as I was preparing for this podcast episode, I was struck by a question that inspired me to take this episode in another direction. The question is this: Why would anyone with a conscious or unconscious allegiance to the modern secular worldview consider Stoicism a viable way of life. Consider some other passages we’ve already covered in this Exploring Encheiridion series: When you kiss your little child or your wife, say that you are kissing a human being. Then, if one of them dies, you will not be troubled. (Encheiridion 3) Don’t ask for things to happen as you would like them to, but wish them to happen as they actually do, and you will be all right. (Encheiridion 8) Never say about anything, “I have lost it”; but say, “I have returned it.” Has your little child died? “It has been returned.” Has your wife died? “She has been returned.” “I have been robbed of my land.” No, that has been returned as well. (Encheiridion 11) These statements by Epictetus contradict what all moderns, those raised in the West at least, are taught from childhood. When a person views these statements from the perspective of modernity, they will likely ask: How can anyone past or present assent to ideas like this? What kind of worldview could possibly support such apparently odd and counterintuitive ideas? Therein lies the conundrum moderns face when moderns encounter the Stoic texts. We are confronted with words like God, logos, and providence from the ancient Stoic worldview and likely lack the necessary knowledge to understand the meaning of these words within the context of Hellenistic Greek culture and the holistic philosophical system known as Stoicism. If moderns have any familiarity with words like God, logos, and providence, it likely comes from religious training or college professors who mocked these ideas. Therefore, secular-minded, enlightened, educated moderns might feel justified in rejecting those ideas. In fact, moderns may feel compelled to reject them as antiquated, pre-Enlightenment ideas. Unfortunately, that judgment of Stoicism is based on a modern worldview with some underlying assumptions and consequences moderns may have never considered. I know that was true for me. As I’ve previously said on this podcast, I was a hardcore atheist when I started studying Stoicism. It took me almost a year to overcome the misconceptions and cognitive biases of my modern worldview. Worldviews are essential because they guide our beliefs and actions in ways that may evade our conscious awareness and circumspection. Jean-Baptiste Gourinat wrote about this in a paper titled Stoicism Today in 2009. He discussed the connection between Stoicism and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy—CBT—which is partly derived from Stoic principles. He wrote: Cognitive therapy is based on three hypotheses: (1) one’s behaviour springs from one’s view of oneself and the world, and our psychological difficulties and disturbances derive from these views and from our (misconceived) perception of external events; (2) this point of view may be modified; (3) this modification of our thoughts and opinions may have positive effects on our behaviour and emotions since the latter are dependent on the former.[1] The “view of oneself and the world” he refers to is one’s worldview. It’s a combination of a model of the world—the way the world is—and a model for the world—the way one should act in the world to survive and achieve their conception of happiness. Jeremy Lent provided some insight into the concept of a worldview in his 2017 book titled The Patterning Instinct. He wrote: Each of us conducts our lives according to a set of assumptions about how things work: how our society functions, its relationship with the natural world, what's valuable, and what's possible. This is our worldview, which often remains unquestioned and unstated but is deeply felt and underlies many of the choices we make in our lives. We form our worldview implicitly as we grow up, from our family, friends, and culture, and, once it's set, we're barely aware of it unless we're presented with a different worldview for comparison. The unconscious origin of our worldview makes it quite inflexible. That's fine when it's working for us. But suppose our worldview is causing us to act collectively in ways that could undermine humanity's future? Then it would be valuable to become more conscious of it.[2] Then, Lent opens his 2021 book, titled The Web of Meaning, with a story the “the speech” we are all likely to hear during our youth from some well-meaning adult who wishes the pass on their wisdom about the way the world is and how one must operate in it to survive and prosper. He points out this type of conversation is ubiquitous because they channel the “themes we hear every day from those in a position of authority,” including the talking heads on TV, successful business people, teachers, and school textbooks. He notes, “Even when the Speech is not given explicitly, its ideas seep into our daily thoughts” and can be distilled to some basic “building blocks.” He writes: These basic elements, give or take a few, form the foundation of the predominant worldview. They infuse much of what is accepted as indisputably true in most conversations that take place about world affairs. They are so pervasive that most of us never question them. We feel they must be based on solid facts – why else would all those people in positions of authority rely on them? That’s the characteristic that makes a worldview so powerful. Like fish that don’t realize they’re swimming in water because it’s all they know, we tend to assume that our worldview simply describes the world the way it is, rather than recognizing it’s a constructed lens that shapes our thoughts and ideas into certain preconditioned patterns.[3] So what is the worldview most people in positions of authority and influence embrace? It’s revealed in the assumed intellectual superiority behind demands like “follow the science” or “follow the facts.” It’s the appeal to authority underlying assertions like “the science tells us” or “science says.” It’s the assumed worldview upon which most moderns stand when they demand “proof” and “evidence” to support your assertions while they simultaneously declare their beliefs are based on science. It’s called scientism, and that label will be disputed by those who hold to that belief system as quickly and adamantly as the label fundamentalism will be rejected by those who demand strict adherence to a set of religious beliefs. So, what is scientism? Richard Williams, professor of psychology at Brigham Young University, offers the following definition: Scientism is, in its basic form, a dogmatic overconfidence in science and “scientific” knowledge. But, more importantly it is overconfidence in science, defined by, constructed around, and requiring that, the world must be made up of physical matter following particular lawful principles, and that all phenomena are essentially thus constituted. This gives scholars the great confidence that characterizes scientism. The confidence associated with this worldview is seen in the insistence that any scholarly endeavor that does not ground itself in that required set of constructs and ideas must be rejected as unscientific, and any knowledge claims made as a result of such endeavors are suspect. Such knowledge claims are to be rejected as being only metaphysical speculation, reflecting mere subjective bias, or, ironically, a devotion to religious orthodoxy.[4] Religious believers in centuries past rarely stopped to consider how some of their beliefs affected their psychology and behavior. Why? They didn’t need to; their worldview was mainstream and left largely unchallenged. In the same way, moderns neglect to consider how the scientific worldview that implicitly molds the spirit of our secular age affects their beliefs and behaviors. Why? Scientism and secularism are now mainstream, so their worldview is rarely challenged in modern times. Let’s consider some of the ideas perpetuated by modern orthodox science: The universe and human life are accidents; they result from a long sequence of chance events. There is no inherent meaning in the universe or human life. Everything is reducible to interactions of inert matter constrained by the physical laws. Humans are driven by selfish genes to propagate their genetic code into the next generation. Consciousness is an illusion—an epiphenomenon of neural activity. Free will is an illusion. There is no room for any freedom of the human will within the mechanistic, clocklike operation of the universe. Do the intellectuals and scientists who impose these beliefs on moderns ever stop to consider where those beliefs will lead us? Do they reflect on what kind of behaviors they might produce? ...

If you want to make progress, don’t mind appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned, and don’t wish to appear an expert. Even if some people think you are somebody, distrust yourself. It is not easy, you can be sure, to keep your own will in harmony with nature and simultaneously secure outward things. If you care about the one, you are completely bound to neglect the other. (Ench 13) After a short break from the Encheiridion, I start again with chapter 13. I will continue to work through the Encheiridion, chapter by chapter. However, I will take breaks from it occasionally to cover other topics or conduct interviews as I did recently with the authors of two new Stoic books. Epictetus opens Encheiridion 13 with a familiar refrain, “If you want to make progress,” and then lists what a prokopton must do to progress along the Stoic path. So, what is Epictetus prescribing for us to make progress? He lists two things in this lesson: First, don’t mind appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned. Why? Because it’s difficult to keep our will (prohairesis)—that which is within our power and up to us—in harmony with Nature while simultaneously desiring and seeking externals—those things not within our power and therefore not up to us. Second, don’t wish to appear as an expert. Why? Again, if we desire to appear as an expert, we seek something not up to us. Before we consider these two specific things Epictetus lists in this passage, let’s look at the overarching message. Some things are up to us, and others are not up to us. We learned that in Encheiridion 1. As a refresher, the things that are not up to us are external to us, like our health, financial status, other people’s opinion of us, etc. Obviously, our behavior can influence these externals; nevertheless, they are not entirely within our power. We can live a healthy lifestyle and still get cancer; we can work hard and save money and still end up broke and destitute during a widespread economic crisis; we can be kind, helpful, and act appropriately, and some people will still have a low opinion of us. On the other hand, our reasoning faculty (prohairesis) is entirely within our power; it is up to us. So much so, as Epictetus teaches in Discourses 3.3, not even Zeus can override this power granted to us by Nature. Therefore, once again, Epictetus confronts us with the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us. We will continue to see this theme in the Encheiridion because it is central to Epictetus’ teaching and critically important for developing our moral excellence and progress toward well-being. Now, let’s look at these two things not up to us Epictetus chose to highlight in this lesson. I will tackle the second item first because this episode will focus on the first. Epictetus warns us not to wish to appear an expert. If some people have that opinion of us, that’s fine, but it’s not up to us. Because it’s not up to us, desiring that others think of us as an expert is not in accordance with the nature of things. As Keith Seddon points out in his commentary, this passage could have two different meanings. When Epictetus warns against not wishing to appear knowledgeable about anything, he may mean this in a wholly general way – to have knowledge is one thing, but to have a desire to show it off and be regarded as a knowledgeable person is altogether something else, and is inappropriate for the Stoic prokoptôn – for placing one’s well-being (to however small a degree) on the satisfaction of this desire is to rely on something that is not in one’s power, something external and indifferent, and risks undermining one’s ‘good flow’ (euroia). But I suspect Epictetus means ‘knowledgeable’ to refer only to knowledge of good and bad, moral excellence, the indifferent and external things, and of Stoic ethics as a whole. However advanced our progress, it is unlikely ever to be complete, and to impose our views on others is not fitting, for however severe their faults may be, even if our faults are less, our efforts should be applied to diminish our own faults, not theirs.[1] Epictetus is focusing the attention of his students inward. If we desire to appear knowledgeable or more advanced in our progress toward virtue, we are making our well-being dependent on others who are external to us. We learned where that path leads in Encheiridion 1: …you will be frustrated, pained, and troubled, and you will find fault with gods and men. I want Epictetus’ message to be clear here. He is not instructing us to avoid seeking knowledge. The path of the prokopton entails the acquisition of knowledge. Virtue is a form of knowledge—the knowledge of good and bad. Likewise, we are not doing anything wrong if others happen to think we are knowledgeable. Again, that is not up to us. The danger to our well-being lies in our wish (desire) to appear knowledgeable to others. Social media makes this a more present danger in modern times. It’s pretty easy to fall into the social media approval trap where we measure our value by the number of people who “Like” our posts and comments. Now, we come to the second topic, the first item on Epictetus’ list in this passage. He said: If you want to make progress, don’t mind appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned. Why? Well, Epictetus tells us. Because it’s difficult to keep our will (prohairesis)—that which is within our power and up to us—in harmony with Nature while simultaneously desiring and seeking externals—those things not within our power and therefore not up to us. So, what could Epictetus possibly mean by appearing foolish and silly where outward things are concerned? With Stoic teachings in mind, I think it’s easy to imagine several ways a Stoic prokopton might appear foolish and silly to others. First, most people in ancient and modern times would consider it foolish to focus one’s full attention inward to experience well-being. Consider this imaginary scenario. You’re standing around with a group of your close friends one day when you suddenly feel compelled to tell them you’re embarking on a new philosophical way of life. “Cool,” one of them responds, “what is it?” It’s called Stoicism. Another of your friends chimes in, “I’ve heard of that. I guess you’ll be developing a stiff upper lip, ol’ chap.” You politely inform him that’s a mischaracterization of Stoicism. “What is Stoicism about then?” He asks. You tell them it entails paying attention only to those things that are up to me, like my judgment of impressions, desires, aversions, and intentions to act, rather than things like financial success, good health, promotions, fame, etc. Suddenly you realize the room went quiet, and everyone is staring at you curiously. Oh, but wait, you insist, there’s more to it than that! You tell your friends you don’t need those things because you’ve discovered something infinitely more valuable. Now they're interested. “What is more valuable?” Bill asks as he leans forward with anticipation of hearing about a great stock tip, Bitcoin cache location, or a cure for Covid. All their attention is now focused on you as your words pierce the deafening silence. Well, I’ve discovered that developing courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom is the only path to true well-being. John spits out his coffee; Tammy just stares at you disbelievingly. Your best friend Bill walks over, slaps you on the back, and says, “That was a good one; you had us all going there for a minute.” Seriously, you insist. I’ve learned not to ask for events to happen as I would like them to. Instead, I now wish for events to happen just as they do? “Really?” John asks incredulously. “Even if that means the loss of your job, your home, your legs, your child, or your spouse?” Yes, you reply as the laughter increases in volume. Your best friend Bill asks, “How can you possibly believe something like that?” As if the situation wasn’t bad enough, now you must reveal the truth about how it is you can hold such foolish and silly beliefs about tragic events. I believe the cosmos is providentially ordered. You say a little hesitantly. “What?” Tammy shouts! I must not have heard you correctly. What did you just say?” I said I believe the cosmos is providentially ordered. Things happen for a good reason. “Alright, now you’ve gone too far,” Tammy insists. “Don’t you know science has proved the universe and humans evolved from nothing?” Then, she tells you to sit down while she explains how the powerful double punch from Hume and Darwin made belief in things like providence “untenable” in modern times. “It’s all the result of chance,” she exclaims. “With enough time, anything can happen. That providence crap is pure nonsense,” she insists. “Worse, it’s nonsense of stilts. You need to stop reading those foolish and silly Stoics and start reading some of the ancient Sceptics.” The rest of your friends stopped laughing a while ago. They are simply staring at you with their hands over their mouths and a genuine look of concern in their eyes. Are you feeling foolish and silly yet? Many moderns will applaud the tongue-lashing Tammy delivered in the name of science in this imaginary scene. Why? Because they agree that a concept like a providential cosmos is nonsense. They think it’s foolish and silly. Meanwhile, they somehow overlook how foolish and silly the rest of Stoicism is to the average modern person. Here’s a challenge: go out to a busy street corner in any large city and try convincing those passing by that virtue is the only true good and it’s the only thing they need for well-being. I suspect you will get a response similar to the guy on the opposite corner telling people to repent because the return of God is at hand. Most people will consider you foolish and silly. Yet, some of these same moderns believe the Stoic axiom that virtue is the only good, almost unquestioningly,...

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

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

Our situation is like that at a festival. Sheep and cattle are driven to it to be sold, and most people come either to buy or to sell, while only a few come to look at the spectacle of the festival, to see how it is proceeding and why, and who is organizing it, and for what purpose. So also in this festival of the world. Some people are like sheep and cattle and are interested in nothing but their fodder; for in the case of those of you who are interested in nothing but your property, and land, and slaves, and public posts, all of that is nothing more than fodder. Few indeed are those who attend the fair for love of the spectacle, asking, ‘What is the universe, then, and who governs it? No one at all? (Discourses 2.14.23-25) In this passage, Epictetus paints an unflattering picture of the mass of humanity. He suggests some of us treat the festival of life as a marketplace; we are distracted by the superficial endeavors of life. This chapter of the Discourses tells the story of a wealthy, influential Roman who was attending one of Epictetus’ with his son. Midway through the lecture, Epictetus instructs his students they must imitate God. With this, the father asked, “Where are we to start then?” The father now has Epictetus's undivided attention. I can only assume he did not know what that would entail. Epictetus acknowledges the father is wealthy and likely known to Caesar. Nevertheless, he informs the father he lacks what is most essential for happiness: …you know neither what God is, nor what a human being is, nor what is good, nor what is bad. (Discourses2.14.19) Next, Epictetus suggests most people behave like sheep and cattle, driven here and there by our appetites (desires). He argues that only a few love the spectacle of the festival of life. These few are the ones who inquire about the nature of the festival: The nature of the cosmos – “What is the universe, then, and who governs it? No one at all? And yet when a city or household cannot survive for even a very short time without someone to govern it and watch over it, how could it be that such a vast and beautiful structure could be kept so well ordered by mere chance and good luck?” (2.14.25-26) The nature of the divine – “So there must be someone governing it. What sort of being is he, and how does he govern it?” (2.14.27) Human nature – “And we who have been created by him, who are we, and what were we created for?” (2.14.27) The relationship between humans and the divine – “Are we bound together with him in some kind of union and interrelationship, or is that not the case?” (2.14.27) Epictetus continues to elaborate on this small group of people who seek to understand this festival of life. He asserts, “they devote their leisure to this one thing alone, to finding out about the festival before they have to take their leave” (2.14.28). Our quest as philosophers is to discover as much as we can about this festival we call life before we take our leave from it. Like Socrates, the true philosopher is naturally curious and cannot be stopped from inquiring—it is in a philosopher’s nature to seek wisdom. It is part of our human nature to inquire about the nature of the cosmos and humankind. Epictetus tells us: But God has brought the human race into the world to be a spectator of himself and of his works, and not merely to observe them, but also to interpret them. It is thus shameful for a human being to begin and end where the irrational animals do. Rather, he should start off where they do and end where nature ended with regard to ourselves. Now it ended with contemplation, and understanding, and a way of life that is in harmony with nature. Take care, then, that you don’t die without having contemplated these realities. (Discourses 1.16.19-22) Seneca offers a similar list of inquiries. Seneca’s list is found in his work appropriately titled Natural Questions. That list includes the following: What is the material that makes up the universe? Who is the creator or guardian of the universe? Is god concerned with humans? Is god immanent and acting in the world or created the universe and remains remote? Is god part of the world or the world itself? (Natural Questions I, praef. 1-2) The similarity between these lists is obvious. However, Seneca follows his list of ponderings with a remarkable statement, If I were not allowed access to these questions, it would not have been worth being born. For what could give mea reason to be glad that I had been included in the ranks of the living? Digesting food and drink? Stuffing full this body—which is vulnerable, delicate, and will perish if it is not constantly replenished—and living as nurse to a sick man? Fearing death, the one thing to which we are born? Take away this invaluable blessing, and life is not worth the sweat and the panic. (Natural Questions I, praef. 4) Marcus Aurelius makes a similar argument about the value of human life without the divine: Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. But taking your leave of the human race is nothing to be feared, if the gods exist; for they would not involve you in anything bad. If, on the other hand, they do not exist, or if they do not concern themselves with human affairs, why should I care to go on living in a world devoid of gods or devoid of providence? But they do exist, and they do show concern for human affairs, and they have placed it wholly within the power of human beings never to fall into genuine evils; and besides, if anything were bad for us, they would have taken measures too to ensure that everyone would have it in his power not to fall victim to it. (Meditations 2.11) Life without the rational fragment of the divine—the God within—each of us possesses is not worth living because that is an animal's life, not a human. As Epictetus asserts: Merely to fulfil the role of a human being is no simple matter. For what is a human being? ‘A rational and mortal creature,’ someone says. First of all, what does the rational element serve to distinguish us from? ‘From wild beasts.’ And from what else? ‘From sheep and the like.’ Take care, then, never to be like a wild beast; otherwiseyou will have destroyed what is human in you, and will have failed to fulfil your part as a human being. Take care that you never act like a sheep; or else in that way, too, you will have destroyed what is human in you.‘When is it, then, that we act like sheep?’ When we act for the sake of our belly or genitals, when we act at random, or in a filthy manner, or without proper care, to what level have we sunk? To that of sheep. What have we destroyed? What is rational in us. And when we behave aggressively, and harmfully, and angrily, and forcefully, to what level have we sunk? To that of wild beasts. There are, besides, some among us who are large ferocious beasts, while others are little ones, small and evil-natured, which prompt us to say, ‘I’d rather be eaten by a lion!’ By all such behaviour, the human calling is destroyed. (Discourses 2.9.1-7) More than two millennia later, most people still follow the herd and behave like animals rather than rational humans, and philosophers still contemplate the same basic questions. What is the nature of reality? What is this festival of life all about? Is there a purpose?  Is there inherent meaning? Unfortunately, many of us neglect to ask these questions because we believe there are no meaningful answers. Additionally, contemplation like this reminds us of the existential angst lurking in the shadow of our psyche. So, we continue to follow our impulses and behave like sheep and cattle. We follow the herd. We uncritically accept the worldview and values of the society in which we live. We absorb the spirit of the times (zeitgeist) without challenging the current orthodoxy. In the past, the herd followed religious orthodoxy. Today, the herd typically follows the orthodoxy of scientism combined with the latest, trendy sociopolitical theory. Neither of those paths is appropriate for the philosopher because both lead to soul-destroying behavior. They both demand that we follow the herd, which entails following authority figures rather than thinking for themselves. Most importantly, we neglect to examine our judgments, desires, and intentions. Why? Because exposing and then changing our thought patterns is hard work, and it requires self-knowledge we often lack. We are equally resistant to discovering and relinquishing the desire for things outside our sphere of control. These desires have driven us toward what we thought was happiness for so long that we cannot imagine abandoning them. Finally, many of us avoid examining our behavior because it may entail a change we are unprepared to face. Therefore, we continue to follow the herd. We ignore our troubled minds; we remain angry at God, the universe, and fellow humans. Besides, there is a sense of comfort, security, and belonging in the herd. Alternatively, we know that if we step outside the herd, we face what Epictetus predicted: [We] become an object of mockery for the crowd, just as the spectators at an ordinary festival are mocked by the traders; and even the sheep and cattle, if they had sufficient intelligence, would laugh at those who attach value to anything other than fodder! (Discourses 2.14.29) The challenge for us moderns is to step away from the herd long enough to do a thorough self-examination. As uncomfortable as it may be, we need to hear Epictetus’ diagnosis of our current state of mind: our desires are inflamed, our aversions are low, our purposes are inconsistent, our motives are out of harmony with nature, and our opinions are ill-considered and mistaken (Discourses 2.14.22). The diagnosis is harsh, the medicine is bitter, and the path to recovery will be long and occasionally quite challenging. However, the alternative is much worse. ...

The wise person is still not harmed by the storms of life—poverty, pain, and the rest. For not all his works are hindered but only those that pertain to others. He is himself, always, in his actions, and in the doing of them he is greatest when opposed by fortune. For it is then that he does the business of wisdom itself, which as we just said is his own good as well as that of others. (Letters 85.37) Fortuna, for Seneca, is not an anthropomorphized divinity with malicious intentions. Instead, Fortuna (fortune) is a metaphor for those events in life which appear to hinder or help us achieve our desires and intentions. Fortuna is the slow driver in front of us, making us late for work or school, the overbearing boss, the unexpected bill, the life-threatening medical diagnosis, the termination letter from an employer, the breakup of a relationship, etc. Alternatively, as Seneca points out, Fortuna may masquerade as an apparent good, tempting us to succumb to desires and aversions outside of our control. The appearance of good fortune may include lottery winnings, promotion, fifteen minutes of fame, a new lover, etc. As we can see, Fortuna can present herself as either an apparent good or an apparent evil when, in fact, she is neither. Fortuna is a metaphor for the externals outside our control and serves as grist for our character's mill. As such, those external circumstances, which Seneca labels Fortuna, are indifferents that have no inherent ability to affect our moral character (virtue). Nevertheless, they are the very things and events that challenge us and allow us to develop our moral character toward excellence. Without the challenges offered by Fortuna, we lack the means to develop our excellence of character fully. As Seneca points out: In fair weather anyone can be a helmsman. (Letters 85.34) Our character is not challenged and developed when the seas of life are smooth and the winds are calm and steady, blowing in the direction of our wishes. Instead, our character is tested and can thereby develop most rapidly, at those times when the sea becomes turbulent and blustering winds threaten to shred our sail. Therefore, the storms of life that threaten to drive the bow of our ship under the waves are the events that serve to test and strengthen our character. In Seneca’s words: To fashion a man [or woman] who can genuinely be called a [Stoic], a stronger fate is needed. For him, the way will not be flat: he must go up and down, he must be tossed by waves, and must guide his vessel on a stormy sea. He must hold his course against fortune. Many things will happen that are hard and rough—but things he can soften and smooth out himself. Fire proves gold; misery, brave men [and women]. (On Providence 5.9) When Fortuna stirs up a storm in your life and appears intent on driving your ship onto the rocks or into the depths, keep this truth from the Stoics in mind: Fortuna is not your enemy; she is your teacher. You can choose to welcome her into your life and learn the lessons she offers, or you can ignore the lessons of Fortuna, resist fate, and suffer the psychological consequences. We learn that Fortuna is not an existential threat by trusting the benevolence of a providential cosmos and focusing our attention on what is up to us. Our struggle with Fortuna is not a fight against external circumstances. Instead, it is a struggle with our desire for circumstances to be other than they are. As we learned from Encheiridion 8, the goal of Stoicism training is learning to wish for things to happen as they do. Again, this does not mean we wish for dispreferred outcomes in advance; that’s not what the Stoics taught. However, when those events occur, we need to use them to develop our character. Stoicism teaches us to look for the lesson in the storms of life. Fortuna may use a storm to redirect our ship toward a destination we did not originally intend. Alternatively, the squall we face today may prepare us for a more significant, unforeseen storm just over the horizon. Remember, it takes fire to prove gold, and Fortuna is the metaphorical fuel that feeds the flames of the refinery. Therefore, if we keep our attention (prosoche) on developing our character, we can view events in Nature, whether they appear good or bad, as indiffernets and act appropriately to develop our moral character. Stop it – When Fortuna confronts us with an impression of circumstance that appears either good or bad initially, we must remind ourselves to say “Stop it!” to that impression. When we mentally say, “Stop it!” to the impression, we create the mental gap we need to prevent the impression from carrying us away psychologically. The impression may be of a cancer diagnosis; it may be an offer for a “dream job” with a large salary. It doesn’t matter whether the circumstance appears good or bad; we must Stop it because we know as Stoics it is neither. Strip it bare –  Next, we need to set aside that immediate value judgment that this is either good or bad. We must Strip it bare to see it for what it is—just an event occurring in Nature. Remember, it is not the event that disturbs or elates us; it is our judgment of that event. See it from the cosmic perspective – Finally, we need to view these circumstances from a cosmic perspective. Yes, this cancer may kill me, but death is not bad. Death cannot harm my character, but my thoughts about death can disturb my mind and inspire intentions to act in inappropriate ways, which will damage my character. Yes, that is a dream job with a large salary, but it came from a company known to engage in unethical practices. If I take that job, I will indirectly contribute to the harm this company does to others. As I have said before, as Stoic prokoptons, we will occasionally encounter circumstances that overwhelm us. To bear and forbear may be the best we do under those circumstances depending on our level of Stoic training. However, we must move beyond bear and forbear toward willing engagement with Fortuna to develop our character. Following the events of Nature closely is an active rather than a passive approach to life. Character development requires constant attention (prosoche), discernment of what is ‘up to us’ and what is not, and a willingness to follow where fate leads with an attitude of gratitude toward a providential cosmos. Our intentions and actions must be in accord with the way things happen in Nature rather than in opposition to them. When we learn to live in agreement with Nature, we can look directly at the storm clouds forming on the horizon or the promise of riches that await on a distant shore without being overwhelmed by the passions either of those impressions typically invoke. We can welcome Fortuna into our lives as our teacher and proclaim, as Marcus did: Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in yourown good time. (Meditations 4.23)

Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. All is fruit for me that your seasons bring, O nature. All proceeds from you, all subsists in you, and to you all things return. (Meditations 4.23) The Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius was a deeply spiritual person, and that fact comes across clearly in his Meditations. The American philosopher and religious scholar Jacob Needleman suggests the combination of “metaphysical vision, poetic genius, and the worldly realism of a ruler” within the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius inspire us and give us “honorable and realistic hope in our embattled lives.”[1] As a result, he argues, [The Meditations] deserves its unique place among the writings of the world’s great spiritual philosophers.[2] Needleman elaborates on the spiritual impact Marcus’ Meditations has on many of its readers, Marcus is seeking to experience from within himself the higher attention of what he calls the logos, or Universal Reason, so too the sensitive reader begins to listen for that same finer life within his own psyche. That is to say, the reader— you and I— is not simply given great ideas which he then feeds into his already formed opinions and rules of logic. The action of many of these meditations is far more serious than that, and far more interesting and spiritually practical. In a word, in such cases, in many of these meditations, we are being guided—without even necessarily knowing what to call it—we are being guided through a brief moment of inner work. We are being given a taste of what it means to step back in ourselves and develop an intentional relationship to our own mind.[3] The practice of Stoicism for Marcus was a means to find his place in the cosmos. He sought congruity with Nature and learned to love what fate had in store for him because he trusted in a providential cosmos. As David Hicks asserts, The Stoicism in which Marcus believed is rooted in an all-encompassing nature. Everything in man and in the universe, everything that is or ought to be, everything fated and everything free, and the logos or rational principle that informs everything and ties everything together and is ultimately identified with the deity – all of this is found in nature, and there is nothing else.[4] Stoicism provided Marcus with more than an abstract, intellectual understanding of human and cosmic Nature. The religious nature of Stoic philosophy differentiated it from other philosophies as well as organized religions. I covered the religious nature of Stoicism previously, so I will not address it fully here. However, it is important to understand that Stoicism was more than an intellectual endeavor for Marcus. Stoicism provided a rational form of spirituality for Marcus, and it offers the same for moderns. Stoicism is an alternative for those who consider themselves spiritual but not religious. If you're uncomfortable with the dogmas of organized religion and the nihilism of atheism, Stoicism offers a middle ground. Stoicism provides a spiritual way of life guided by reason. Stoicism relies on our innate connection with the rationality permeating the cosmos to guide our human reason toward a relationship with the divine that inspires us to develop our moral character and thereby experience true well-being. As Mark Forstater wrote in his insightful book The Spiritual Teachings of Marcus Aurelius: Until the time of Neoplatonism, Stoicism was the most highly spiritualised form of philosophy in ancient Greece and Rome. It was so spiritualised that it is as accurate to call it a religion as a philosophy.[5] As Henry Sedgewick points out in his biography of Marcus Aurelius, the traditional religions did not provide what he was looking for, Marcus was seeking a religion, as I have said, but there was none at hand that he could accept. The old Roman religion was a mere series of ceremonies, with nothing sacred except lingering patriotic sentiment, and withal marred by superstitions, such as those at Lanuvium. Foreign religions were no better. Syrian priests, like mountebanks, trundled images of the Magna Mater about the countryside, hoping to wheedle peasants out of their pennies; the worshippers of the Egyptian gods offered sensuous exaltation, and mysteries that disregarded reason. Christianity, as we understand it, was utterly unknown to him. He was compelled to look for religion in philosophy; for there only, as he thought, and perhaps thought truly, could a man, without doing wrong to his reason, find spiritual help to enable him to do his duty and keep his soul pure.[6]  Marcus did not find consolation in the rituals of traditional religions or the mediation of priests. He was looking for psychological strength and consolation which could allow him to keep his mind pure in trying times and under troublesome circumstances. Marcus discovered the personal religious practice he was looking for within the deeply spiritual philosophy of Stoicism.[7] As a result, his life became an example of the power of Stoicism in a person’s inner life. Sedgewick argues, Marcus Aurelius is not a prodigy among men, unheralded by what has come before; on the contrary he is the ripe product of the spiritual movement that expressed itself in the Stoic philosophy, or rather, as it had then become, the Stoic religion.[8] As can be seen in his Meditations, Marcus followed the Stoic path and became his own priest, in service to the gods, For such a man, who no longer postpones his endeavour to take his place among the best, is indeed a priest and servant of the gods, behaving rightly towards the deity stationed within him, so ensuring that the mortal being remains unpolluted by pleasures, invulnerable to every pain, untouched by any wrong, unconscious of any evil, a wrestler in the greatest contest of all… (Meditations 3.4.3) In Meditations 3.16, Marcus draws upon the importance of the divine while discussing four models of human behavior. Body, soul, intellect: for the body, sense-impressions; for the soul, impulses; for the intellect, judgements. 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. If you share everything else with those whom I have just mentioned, there remains the special characteristic of a good person, namely, to love and welcome all that happens to him and is spun for him as his fate, and not to defile the guardian-spirit seated within his breast, nor to trouble it with a host of fancies, but to preserve it in cheerful serenity, 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. In this passage, Marcus outlined three aspects of the Stoic Self and their corresponding capacities; then, he uses these to delineate four behavior models. First, let’s look at the three aspects of Self: Body (soma)—sense-impressions (phantasia) Soul (pneuma)—impulses (horme) Intellect (nous)—judgments It would be a mistake to impose a Platonic conception of a divided mind here. The mind is a unified whole in Stoicism. As Christopher Gill notes in his note on the Robin Hard translation of Meditations, where Marus used this same language: This threefold division differs from the standard Stoic view that psychological processes are also physical and are functions of an animating ‘breath’ (pneuma); see LS 47, 53. However, the division is probably best taken as an essentially ethical one (Marcus urges himself to identify with his rational and potentially virtuous mind or ‘ruling centre’), rather than indicating the deliberate adoption of a non-standard, Platonic-style view of psychology.[9] In his Introduction to the same translation, Gill wrote: …[Marcus] sometimes stresses that we are, essentially, our ‘ruling’ or ‘governing’ centre (or ‘mind’, hēgemonikon), sometimes contrasting this with other aspects of our self, including ‘flesh’, and, more surprisingly, psuchē (which he uses to mean ‘breath’ or ‘vitality’).25 On the face of it, this looks like a shift towards a Platonic-style dualism, distinguishing between the disembodied mind and the body in a way that is quite inconsistent with the Stoic view that our psychological functions are also bodily ones. But, examined more closely, it is clear that such passages are really making an ethical point, and one that reflects the first Stoic theme noted earlier. What Marcus is stressing (like Epictetus in similar phrases) is that the really important aspect of human nature is the capacity to use the mind, or ‘governing part’, to try to live virtuously, rather than attaching supreme value to ‘matters of indifference’ such as material goods or sensual pleasures.[10] Next, Marcus uses these aspects of the Self to delineate four models of behavior: Those who are driven by sense impressions (phantasia): “To receive impressions by means of images is something that we share even with cattle.” Those who are driven by desires (horme): “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.” Those who are driven by their intellect (nous) alone: “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.” So far, we see the progression from behaviors we share with animals in #1 and #2 to the use of intellect (ra

Seneca’s writings reveal a committed Stoic, a pious soul, and an inspirational moral philosopher. Nevertheless, some of his actions and financial dealings have generated doubt about his genuineness. Seneca is a mixed bag if the historical record can be trusted. However, it is crucial to keep in mind that Seneca engaged in politics at the highest levels of the Roman Empire, which was the dominant world power of his time. Thus, he had powerful enemies, not the least of which was the infamous Emperor Nero. When I imagine a man like Seneca in our modern political game of character assassination, I can easily find room to believe much of his negative press was politically motivated. I’m not going to dive into the morass of conflicting scholarship about Seneca; However, I offer the following quote as a balanced opinion, Naturally, we can have no more certainty that Seneca actually followed his own moral teaching than we can have about any person from antiquity. At best, the sources allow us to extract certain implications for a prominent individual like Seneca. But common opinion about his person seems very much affected, first, by the bare fact that he was a wealthy man, as if that alone would have made him selfish and hypocritical by definition, and, second, by a peculiar fusion of the tutor and counselor Seneca with the student and Emperor Nero, who is best remembered for his bad morality. Here it seems to matter little that our sources suggest that the emperors ‘good period’ was in fact precisely when he was under Seneca's influence. The stereotyped image of Seneca as a pretentious hypocrite is amazingly widespread, often simply found ‘as a stock assertion dragged from one second-hand work to another’.[1] As Stoics, I think we should take Seneca's writings at face value. They inspired multitudes in the past, and they do the same today. Many of the early Christian Church Fathers thought highly of Seneca and considered him a moral exemplar. Tertullian, a second-century Christian apologist, even referred to him as “our Seneca.” Regardless of the ambiguous historical record, Seneca’s writings reveal his deep philosophical thought and reverence for divine Nature. Letters to Lucilius Throughout his writings, Seneca refers to the relationship between the gods and us. In Letters 1.5, he calls this relationship a “kinship” and claims it is “sealed by virtue.” Later, in Letters 31, titled Our mind’s godlike potential,[2] he suggests a committed devotion to philosophy, as a way of life, raises us above our human nature toward our godlike potential. How? Through virtue, which he defines as: [T]he evenness and steadiness of a life that is in harmony with itself through all events, which cannot come about unless one has knowledge and the skill of discerning things human and divine. (Letters 31.8) Again, in Letters 53, Seneca argues that a mind committed to philosophy will be near to the gods and can experience the “tranquility of God.” He points out the tremendous power of philosophy to “beat back all the assaults of chance” and claims, No weapon lodges in its flesh; its defenses cannot be penetrated. When fortune’s darts come in, it either ducks and lets them pass by, or stands its ground and lets them bounce back against the assailant. (Letters53.11-12) In Letters 41, titled God dwells within us, Seneca covers the topics of Stoic physics and theology in some detail. First, he makes a clear distinction between the practices of personal religion and those of conventional religions. As I discussed in previous episodes, Stoicism was never a religion in the traditional sense, with altars, temples, and priests. Nevertheless, the Stoics were deeply spiritual and reverential toward God, which they conceived as an immanent and creative force that permeates and providentially guides the cosmos and humankind. Seneca begins Letters 41 by asserting, You need not raise your hands to heaven; you need not beg the temple keeper for privileged access, as if a near approach to the cult image would give us a better hearing. The god is near you—with you—inside you.  I mean it, Lucilius. A sacred spirit dwells within us, and is the observer and guardian of all our goods and ills. However we treat that spirit, so does the spirit treat us. In truth, no one is a good man without God. Or is there anyone who can rise superior to fortune without God’s aid? It is God who supplies us with noble thoughts, with upright counsels. In each and every good man resides a god: which god, remains unknown. (Letters 41.1-2) Scholars suggest this reference to God as unknown comes from Virgil’s Aeneid, where King Evander leads Aeneas to a grove and says, …this hill with its crown of leaves is a god’s home, whatever god he is. (Aeneid 8.352) As an educated Roman, Lucilius would have been familiar with Virgil’s epic poem about the foundations of Roman civilization. However, this reference begs the question. Why would Seneca quote a passage referring to an unknown god in a letter about the God that dwells within us? I think this is illustrative of the Stoic conception of God. Cleanthes, the second Scholarch of the Stoa, referred to the divinity as the God of many names in his deeply spiritual Hymn to Zeus. For the Stoic, God is immanent in all of creation. Therefore, whether God, Nature, Zeus, universal Reason, etc., the name we choose does not matter. They all point to the same concept—divine rationality that permeates the cosmos and is the source of its ongoing existence. Next, Seneca discusses the religious awe many people experience while in the majestic presence of Nature. If you happen to be in a wood dense with ancient trees of unusual height, where interlocking branches exclude the light of day, the loftiness and seclusion of that forest spot, the wonder of finding above ground such a deep, unbroken shade, will convince you that divinity is there. If you behold some deeply eroded cavern, some vast chamber not made with hands but hollowed out by natural causes at the very roots of the mountain, it will impress upon your mind an intimation of religious awe. We venerate the sources of great rivers; we situate an altar wherever a rushing stream bursts suddenly from hiding; thermal springs are the site of ritual observance; and more than one lake has been held sacred for its darkness or its measureless depth. (Letters 41.3) Next, Seneca makes an interesting comparison. He compares this experience of the divine in Nature to the experience of encountering a sage-like person—a person who lives up to their godlike potential. He wrote: So if you see a person undismayed by peril and untouched by desire, one cheerful in adversity and calm in the face of storms, someone who rises above all humankind and meets the gods at their own level, will you not be overcome with reverence before him? That eminent and disciplined mind, passing through everything as lesser than itself, laughing at all our fears and all our longings, is driven by some celestial force. Such magnitude cannot stand upright without divinity to hold it up. In large part, then, its existence is in that place from which it has come down. (Letters 41.4-5) So, what is the source of this divinity which holds up the “eminent and disciplined mind” of this person? Seneca writes: Even as the sun’s rays touch the earth and yet have their existence at their point of origin, so that great and sacred mind, that mind sent down to bring us nearer knowledge of the divine, dwells indeed with us and yet inheres within its source. Its reliance is there, and there are its aim and its objective: though it mingles in our affairs, it does so as our better. (Letters 41.4-5) In other words, the god-like mind we see in this sage-like person has its source in “that great and sacred mind” that permeates the cosmos. As Pierre Hadot notes in his marvelous book The Inner Citadel, the Stoics thought: It is impossible that the universe could produce human rationality, unless the latter were already in some way present within the former.[3] Many moderns gloss over passages like this because they consider them religious nonsense. However, Seneca and the other Stoics thought this conception of the cosmos the most reasonable inference from their observations of nature. Seneca is arguing for the existence of an inherent intelligence in the cosmos, and many modern scientists agree. In response to an inquiry from a young girl, Einstein wrote: …everyone who is seriously involved in the pursuit of science becomes convinced that some spirit is manifest in the laws of the universe, one that is vastly superior to that of man. In this way the pursuit of science leads to a religious feeling of a special sort, which is surely quite different from the religiosity of someone more naive.[4] Einstein did not believe in a personal God, and he was not an advocate of organized religion; nevertheless, he asserted that “individuals of exceptional endowments” could rise to a “third stage of religious experience” he called “cosmic religion” where, The individual feels the futility of human desires and aims and the sublimity and marvelous order which reveal themselves both in nature and in the world of thought. Individual existence impresses him as a sort of prison and he wants to experience the universe as a single significant whole.[5] Einstein’s definition of cosmic religion is consistent with the theology and religious sentiment of the Stoics, who called this intelligence within the cosmos logos and considered it divine. For the Stoics, a fragment of the same logos (rationality) which permeates and rationally orders the cosmos also serves as our guiding principle or hegemonikon—our rational mind. Thus, when we live according to Nature, as the Stoics prescribed, our rational faculty is in coherence with the divine, rational mind (logos) permeating the cosmos. ...

If I were a nightingale, I would perform the work of a nightingale, and if I were a swan, that of a swan. But as it is, I am a rational being, and I must sing the praise of God. This is my work, and I accomplish it, and I will never abandon my post for as long as it is granted to me to remain in it; and I invite all of you to join me in this same song. (Discourses 1.16.20-21) Epictetus is typically considered the most religious of the Roman Stoics. As such, some attempt to portray him as an outlier among the Stoics. However, as A.A. Long points out, In his conception of divine providence, creativity, and rationality, Epictetus is completely in line with the general Stoic tradition. His distinctiveness, in what I have discussed so far, extends mainly to the enthusiasm with which he commends obedience to God and to the warmth he infuses in his expressions of God's concern for human beings.[1] We find this same “notable religious sensibility” in the philosophy of Seneca, Musonius Rufus, and Marcus Aurelius,[2] and, as A.A. Long further notes, it is “broadly in line with traditional Stoicism.”[3] To a large degree, these religious sentiments result from the inherent “structural resemblance” between the rationality of humans and that of the divine logos, which allows for a “certain degree of personalistic theism in thinking and speaking about god”[4] in Stoicism. We see this language used frequently by Epictetus. Likewise, over the history of the Stoa, God will “assume more and more spiritual and personal traits” and “religiousness will tend to permeate” Stoicism and move it toward theism without fully arriving there.[5] Nevertheless, it is essential to balance the religious sentiments of Epictetus with the realization that he never claimed nor adhered to any form of divine revelation; neither did he express a need for religious faith, in the forms those concepts are commonly understood today. For Epictetus, to follow God means “we should pay attention to the God in us, i.e. to our reason, in order to determine what is the right thing for us, namely how we are to live in accordance with nature.”[6] As Andrew Mason, Teaching Fellow at the University of Edinburgh, points out in the introduction of a beautiful little volume on The Philosophy of Epictetus: Talk of God’s seeing, helping, guiding, speaking to and punishing us, and of God as our father, can be explained in terms either of God’s overall providence, or of our inner god or daemon, our reason, which is a fragment of the cosmic deity. Likewise prayer, for Epictetus, is not an appeal for intervention by an external God, but rather an admonition to oneself. Epictetus does differ from the early Stoics in the extent to which he uses personalistic language about God; this may be explained partly by his personal outlook, but also by the purpose of the Discourses, in the context of which God’s providence and his status as an ethical example are more important than the cosmological aspects of him which played an important part in early Stoicism.[7] A.A. Long sums up the difference between Epictetus and his predecessors in the Stoa by arguing he “proceeds from rather than to God.”[8] He points out, “Epictetus’ favourite formula for the goal of human life is ‘to follow the gods’ (Discourses1.12.5; 1.30.4; 4.7.20).”[9] The earlier Stoics used oikeiosis as the starting point to explain Stoic ethical theory; they taught theology last. Epictetus reversed that approach and made theology the starting point of ethics. Epictetus builds his ethical theory and practice on what Long calls THEONOMIC FOUNDATIONS.[10] Epictetus argues we are born with an innate moral sense (preconception) of the good and the divine.[11] Because each of us possesses a fragment of divine Reason (logos) as our guiding principle, we are innately capable of understanding and living according to the laws of God that are written in Nature. Thus, Epictetus’ instruction to ‘follow God’ is equivalent to ‘living according to nature’ (1.26.1). Nevertheless, Epictetus is not unique in this approach; as Plutarch noted, Chrysippus always put theology first when discussing ethical matters.[12] Here we see why the Stoic conception of Nature, derived from the study of physics and theology, is essential to understanding this holistic philosophical system. Both oikeiosis and theology fall under the topic of physics in Stoicism. Thus, whether the Stoics began with oikeiosis or theology, they grounded their ethical theory in physics—the study of nature. The Stoics did not conceive of God as a transcendent being; the Stoic divinity is immanent. As such, a fragment of the same logos that providentially orders the cosmos resides in us as our guiding principle (hegemonikon). A.A. Long suggests, The Stoics’ deepest religious intuitions are founded on their doctrine that the human mind, in all its functions – reflecting, sensing, desiring, and initiating action – is part and partner of God.[13] In his book dedicated to the application of Epictetus’ teachings to a philosophical life, A.A. Long writes, Whether [Epictetus] speaks of Zeus or God or Nature or the gods, he is completely committed to the belief that the world is providentially organized by a divine power whose creative agency reaches its highest manifestation in human beings.    That was orthodox Stoicism, and much else that Epictetus attributes to divinity is quite traditional. However, no theology is simply a matter of doctrine. Conceptions of the divine are indicated in numerous ways that go beyond such epithets as eternal, creative, providential, and beneficent, on all of which the Stoics were agreed. Awe, reverence, gratitude, joy, prayer, obedience-these are a sample of attitudes that a serious belief in a supreme divinity typically involves. Stoic philosophers, just like other believers, vary considerably over which of these attitudes they express and with what degree of emotional engagement.     When we review Epictetus from this perspective, his theology emerges as most distinctive in two respects: first, its serving as the explicit foundation for his moral psychology, and, secondly, its warmly and urgently personalist tone. More emphatically than any other Stoic in our record, Epictetus speaks of Zeus or God in terms that treat the world's divine principle as a person to whom one is actually present and who is equally present to oneself as an integral aspect of one's mind.[14] A word of caution is appropriate here. We must use due caution when approaching Stoicism with our modern conceptions of God, religion, and piety. If we fail to check our preconceived notions and biases, we are likely to misinterpret and misunderstand the Stoics by “falling victim to either over-assimilation or excessive differentiation.”[15] We moderns commit a serious error when we attempt to position the Stoics at either end of the modern metaphysical spectrum. The Stoics were neither theists nor atheists in the modern sense. Stoicism is a rational form of spirituality that arrived at a conception of divinity through reason rather than revelation. Therefore, the Stoic concept of a divine, providentially ordered cosmos resides in the open space between theism and atheism. Many scholars apply the label of pantheism to Stoic theology. However, it is clear a thread of theism was present from the founding of the Stoa, and this blend of pantheism and theism is expressed differently by various ancient Stoics. Nevertheless, as we will see, the Stoics, in general, and Epictetus, in particular, considered their worldview essential to their philosophical system. The difference in worldview—the nature of the cosmos and the nature of human beings—was one of the primary differentiators among the Stoics, Epicureans, Cynics, and Sceptics during the Hellenistic period. They all agreed that eudaimonia (a good flow) was the summum bonum of human life. Likewise, they all agreed an excellent character (virtue) was essential. The Cynics even agreed with the Stoics that virtue is both necessary and sufficient for eudaimonia. It was primarily their divergent worldviews, which subsequently affected their other doctrines and differentiated these philosophical schools. A.A. Long argues, The choice of Stoicism over Epicureanism, its principal rival, was decisive not only for one's ethical values and priorities but also for one's understanding of the world's general structure, one's theology, and the importance to be attached to systematic reasoning and the study of language. Yet, however much these and other schools disagreed over their accounts of such things, they all shared the view that philosophy should provide its adepts with the foundation for the best possible human life-that is to say, a happiness that would be lasting and serene. At Epictetus' date (and in fact, from long before) philosophy in general was taken to be a medicine for alleviating the errors and passions that stem from purely reactive and conventional attitudes. To put it another way, the choice of Stoicism over another philosophy depended not on its promise to deliver an admirable and thoroughly satisfying life (that project would not distinguish it from rival schools) but on its detailed specification of that life and on the appeal of its claims about the nature of the world and human beings.[16] Modern Stoic popularizers are simply wrong when they argue that physics and theology are not essential to the Stoic philosophical system. There is no support for such an assertion in the surviving texts or credible scholarship. One can abandon those aspects of Stoicism in modern times, as Lawrence Becker did, and attempt to create something entirely new for atheists and agnostics who reject the Stoic worldview.[17] Becker understood he was creating an entirely new synthesis of Stoicism; that’s why he called it “A New Stoicism.” Nevertheless, the Stoic worldview remains viable in the twenty-first

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

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

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

In all circumstances keep in mind to turn in to yourself and ask what resources you have for dealing with these things. If you see a good-looking man or woman, you will find self-control the appropriate power; if pain afflicts you, you will find endurance; if rudeness, you will find patience. By developing these habits, you will not be carried away by your first impressions. (Ench 10) While this passage deals directly with the discipline of assent, it also entails the disciplines of desire and action. When we pull this passage apart, we get a glimpse into how quickly assents to impressions can create desires and aversions and lead to impulses to act. The primary point of this lesson from Epictetus is to show us we possess the resources necessary to stop the quick progression from assent to impulse to act. Epictetus highlights three impressions in this passage and provides specific resources we can use to deal with each. Here’s the process as it applies in each of these three examples: In Step 1, an impression presses itself upon our mind. All of the impressions listed in this passage arise from sources external to our mind. I just saw a good-looking man or woman I feel a pain in my body, or I’m facing some other hardship. I just encountered a rude person. In Step 2, we immediately attach a value judgment to that impression: That good-looking man or woman is something “good” for me. That pain in my body is something “bad” for me. That person’s rude behavior is “bad” for me. In Step 3, that judgment creates a desire or aversion and a subsequent impulse to act. I desire that good-looking man or woman; I’m going to reach out to them. I fear this pain in my body or this hardship; I’m going to avoid it. That rude person offended me; I’m going make them stop, or I’m going to retaliate. If we were sages, we wouldn’t get past Step 1 because we would not place the value judgment on the impression. However, we are not sages, and neither were Epictetus’ students. That is why he is informing us we possess powers or resources we can use to interrupt this sequence after we’ve assented to the value judgment and before the impulse to act leads us into bad behavior. Before I tackle each of these examples, I want to make one point clear. Epictetus’ goal for this lesson is to help us develop habits that prevent us from being carried away by impressions into a state of emotional distress (pathos). The goal is not to turn us into Dr. Spoke-like, emotionless, disconnected observers of events. Epictetus is not telling us we should not find a good-looking man or woman attractive. He is not telling us to ignore the pain in our bodies or the effects of hardships. He is not telling us to be oblivious to rude behavior. Instead, Epictetus teaches us we have resources within ourselves to judge these impressions correctly and respond appropriately. This lesson is important because we frequently allow the initial judgment of an impression to carry us away and cause us to spiral out of control emotionally. Too often, this leads to an entirely inappropriate response. With that in mind, let’s look at each of the impressions Epictetus uses in this lesson and how we can use the resources we have to deal with them. The good-looking man or woman Let’s start with the impression of a good-looking man or woman. Observing and appreciating beauty is natural. There is nothing wrong with observing a man or woman and assenting to the judgment they are good-looking. Nature created us to appreciate beauty. The problem starts when we allow that first impression and initial judgment of beauty to carry us away with desire. We are mistaken if we assent to the impression that having that good-looking man or woman as a life companion or sexual partner is “good” and will bring us well-being (happiness). Their presence in our life could be a preferred indifferent at best. Alternatively, as many of us have experienced, it may lead to some real dispreferred indifferents we did not foresee when this good-looking man or woman initially captured our attention. Epictetus tells us we possess the power of temperance or moderation as a resource to deal with this impression before it becomes an impulse to act. But, how and when do we use this resource? We likely already attached the value judgment of “good” to the impression of a good-looking man or woman, and a desire may be starting to take control. If we let it take control, we may begin to fantasize about that good-looking person mentally. Then, we may be overcome by an impulse to act, which can lead to immoral behavior. In Encheiridion 10, Epictetus is referring to scenarios where the impulse to act would be immoral. We can think of numerous scenarios where assent to a person’s good looks might lead one to seek their company as a preferred indifferent without it being an immoral act. That is not the lesson Epictetus is presenting here. The Stoics did not advocate celibacy; however, they did teach moderation in all things. So how do we apply the power of temperance or moderation to this scenario? We must begin with the practice I taught in Episode 9. When the impression of a good-looking man or woman is presented to our mind, we need to “Stop it,” “Strip it” bare, and “See it” from the cosmic viewpoint. Refer to Episode 9 if you are unclear about this three-step practice to deal with impressions. The good news is this: as long as we engage in this process before we act upon the impulse, we can circumvent the bad action. In other words, we may have already assented to the idea this good-looking person is “good” for us, and we may already be driven by desire and feel the impulse to act. As long as we say STOP to ourselves before we act, it’s not too late. If we can “Stop it” before we act, we have time to “Strip it” bare. In case anyone is confused at this point, “Strip it bare” applies to the impression, not the good-looking man or woman. Please don’t strip them bare. That is not part of this Stoic practice, and it will likely get you into some serious trouble. So, we tell ourselves to “Stop it.” This is where the teacher within us from Episode 36 steps in to guide the child within us. When we “Stop it,” we create a gap that allows us enough time to consider this impression for what it is. That gap gives us time to “Strip” the impression bare. It gives us time to realize this good-looking man or woman is a potential preferred indifferent rather than something that is “good” and can affect our well-being. Finally, we “See it” from the cosmic perspective. How did this good-looking man or woman come into my awareness? Are they a stranger passing by on the street? Or, did you meet them under circumstances that might cause you to give more consideration to them as a preferred indifferent in your life? Sometimes, a confluence of events creates synchronicities that deserve our consideration. This is where we can apply the power of temperance and moderation. After we “Stop it” and “Strip it,”we can use the power of temperance and moderation as we See this impression from the cosmic perspective. We can ask ourselves: Is this desire for this good-looking person consistent with our values and goal of living in agreement with Nature? What might happen, good or bad, if I follow this impulse to act? Are my thoughts and behaviors moderated by a desire to act appropriately? Ultimately, the goal of Stoic practice is to move the “Stop it” step farther back in the chain of events. At first, we may only be able to “Stop it” at the impulse to act stage; before we act. Then, with practice, we can move the “Stop it” step back to where we first feel the desire or aversion taking hold of our psyche with practice and habituation. Finally, we can move it back further and learn to say “Stop it” to ourselves as soon as we recognize we have attached a value judgment to the impression. Pain or labor Like beauty, pain in our body serves a purpose. It’s a warning sign that something may be wrong. We would be foolish to ignore it completely. Unfortunately, we frequently allow pain to control our lives even when it’s minor; we don’t like pain and will do almost anything we can to avoid it altogether. I note that some translations use the word labor or hardship instead of pain in this passage. So, the problem starts when we allow the initial judgment of pain or hardship as “bad” to carry us away with aversion. We are mistaken if we assent to the impression that pain or hardship is “bad” for us and will detract from our well-being in any way. Epictetus tells us we possess the power of endurance as a resource to deal with pain or labor. But, how and when do we use this resource? The same way we did with the good-looking man or woman. We say “Stop it” to ourselves. “Stop it;”it’s just pain. “Stop it;” it’s just a hardship. It’s doubtful this is going to kill me. Then we “Strip it.” We recognize that pain is a signal, and we diagnose the urgency of the signal. It may be urgent enough that we need immediate medical attention. If that’s the case, we can still proceed calmly. A little premeditatio malorum may be helpful. What is the worst that can happen; I may die. If I am going to die, I can choose to die nobly and keep my good character intact. On the other hand, if this is just a minor pain or impediment to my body, I already learned how to deal with that in Encheiridion 9. Now, that we move to the “See it” from the cosmic perspective. We can ask ourselves: Is this pain or hardship really that bad? Can I endure this pain or hardship and be a stronger person as a result? Pain and hardship are not bad for our moral character. The Stoics argue that hardships actually help develop our character. Absent trials, struggles, and tests, how can we develop our moral character? In Discourses 1.6, Epictetus uses the mythological figure of Hercules to make this point....

Sickness is an impediment to the body, but not to the will unless the will wants to be impeded. Lameness is an impediment to the leg, but not to the will. If you tell yourself this at every occurrence, you will find the impediment is to something else but not to yourself. (Ench 9) Epictetus uses two dispreferred indifferents in this lesson, and both are related to our body: sickness and lameness. Then, he points out that each of these impairments presents a hindrance to our body but not to our will. The Greek word translated as “will” in this passage is prohairesis, and it has deep meaning in Stoicism. I discussed prohairesis briefly in Episode 34; however, I think a more detailed look at this concept will be helpful. However, before we cover prohairesis, let’s look at the concept of body in Stoic physics. This concept applies equally to all bodies, whether rocks, plants, animals, or humans, so it will shed some light on Encheiridion 9. In Stoicism, only bodies exist; therefore, everything that exists is a body. All bodies are a mixture of two principles—the passive principle (primary matter) and the active principle (logos or pneuma). The Stoic definition of a body is that which can act or be acted upon. Understanding this concept in Stoicism is essential because some people confuse it with modern reductive materialism. Some scholars even label the Stoics materialists, but they do not mean materialists in the modern sense where everything is reduced to matter. As Jacques Brunschwig points out in his chapter on Stoic Metaphysics in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, the Stoic version of ‘materialism’ is “vitalist-teleological” in contrast to the “mechanistic-antiteleological” version of the Epicureans.[1] The Epicureans were the reductive materialists in Hellenistic times. That is why it’s essential to understand when scholars refer to Stoics as materialists, they do not mean like the Epicureans or modern materialists. A.A. Long argues: It is misleading to describe the Stoics as ‘materialists’. Bodies, in the Stoic system, are compounds of ‘matter’ and ‘mind’ (God or logos). Mind is not something other than body but a necessary constituent of it, the ‘reason’ in matter. The Stoics are better described as vitalists.⁠[2] Here we see the basis of Stoic physics. Everything that exists is a body composed of matter and mind (God, logos, or pneuma). Therefore, humans are composed of matter and mind. I have more to say about this in a minute. First, let’s cover this concept of prohairesis in Stoicism. Scholars have used different English words to translate the Greek word prohairesis; here are some of them. Translations of prohairesis: will (A.A. Long; George Long) A.A. Long - WILL  A favorite term in Epictetus (Greek prohairesis ) for a human being’s power of self-determination and mental disposition. The word is sometimes translated by choice, purpose, volition, or decision, but in my opinion “will” is the most natural English expression for what Epictetus seeks to convey with it.[3] choice (Robin Hard, John Sellars) Sellers - choice (prohairesis) Epictetus' name for the conscious decision-making part of the commanding faculty; what might now be called the "will" or "I".[4] moral purpose (W.A. Oldfather) moral character (Keith Seddon) prohairesis ‘moral character’; the capacity that rational beings have for making choices and intending the outcomes of their actions, sometimes translated as will, volition, intention, choice, moral choice, moral purpose. This faculty is understood by Stoics to be essentially rational. It is the faculty we use to ‘attend to impressions’ and to give (or withhold) assent to impressions. Those things which are outside the scope of one’s prohairesis are the aprohaireta, which are aprohairetos and ‘external’ (ektos), and ‘not in our power’ (ouk eph’ hêmin); Discourses30.3, 2.16.1, 3.3.14, 3.8.1–3.[5] faculty of choice (Nicholas White) mind (Robert Dobbin) decision or choice (Christopher Gill) In his introduction to the Robin Hard translation of the Discourses of Epictetus, Christopher Gill, a recognized scholar of Stoicism, notes the following: The interface between ethics and physics provides a number of important Stoic ideas, centring on the idea that the natural universe provides an informing framework for ethical life. The universe, or its shaping, or ‘divine’’, element, does so either as a paradigm of order, structure, and rationality or as a source of providential care for the component parts of the universe, especially human beings, who share its ‘divine’ rationality. A related idea is that for human beings to exercise their capacity for rational agency is to act in line with the rational (divine) direction of the universe as well as with one’s own inner, rational ‘guardian spirit’ (daimōn).  This complex of ideas has a prominent place in the Discourses, as also in some other writings on Stoic practical ethics, notably, Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations.  Epictetus stresses especially the last idea, accentuating the idea of God as director of the universe and as the source of the divine rationality in us. Another theme stressed is that the capacity to exercise rational agency in developing towards virtue (expressed as our prohairesis) is a fundamental, or inalienable, human capacity, which is built into the natural, divinely shaped universe.[6] Now that I’ve covered both body and mind as conceived by the Stoics, it’s important to note the Stoics were not dualists. The mind is not something separated from matter in Nature. Remember that mixture of the passive and active principles. According to the Stoics, everything that exists—all the way down—is composed of both principles. Additionally, according to the Stoics, the mind is not a product of the brain. This contradicts the modern materialist theories of consciousness as an illusion or an epiphenomenon. Instead, for the Stoics, mind is there at the ground level, and its source is the same rationality (logos) that permeates the cosmos. As I pointed out in Episode 35, Pierre Hadot makes note of this in The Inner Citadel. He wrote: In fact, 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 the former.⁠[7] This is consistent with a theory that is currently gaining substantial traction in the scientific and academic community. The theory is called panpsychism, and it claims consciousness is a fundamental property of the universe. Modern panpsychism shares many similarities with the physics of the ancient Stoics. Were the Stoics panpsychists? That depends on how one defines panpsychism. David Skrbina, a senior lecturer in the department of philosophy at the University of Michigan, and author of a definitive book on the topic titled, Panpsychism in the West, certainly thinks they were. He wrote The Stoics were thus thoroughly panpsychist in their outlook on the world, and they developed a theory of the cosmos that was perfectly compatible with that outlook.[8] Whether or not the Stoics should be classified as panpsychists, the idea that consciousness is a fundamental property of the universe certainly provides some support for Stoic physics. Interestingly, an ever-increasing number of scientists, philosophers, and consciousness researchers are abandoning reductive materialism for panpsychism. Today, numerous prominent thinkers from various fields are ditching materialism and turning to panpsychism because it offers a coherent explanation for human consciousness. Do a little research, and you will find panpsychism is not a fringe idea anymore. Those moderns who remain committed to reductive materialism and claim Stoic physics is outdated and must be abandoned may soon be the ones left clinging to an obsolete theory. I hear Modern Stoics want to update Stoic physics based on the best available facts; in that case, we should replace the conception of a mechanical universe with the entangled cosmos discovered by quantum physics more than a century ago. Likewise, it’s time to discard the century-old promissory note from reductive materialism to solve the puzzle of human consciousness and consider the possibility an innate intelligence or rationality permeates the cosmos at every level, as panpsychism suggests. Modern Stoics who demand we “follow the facts” are relying on a rapidly waning worldview to make that demand. If we’re going to update Stoic physics, let’s do it right, with the best available facts and theories from the twenty-first century. Back to Encheiridion 9. Sickness and lameness are impediments to our body; however, they do not impede our will, purpose, volition, moral character, faculty of choice, or whatever English word we choose for prohairesis. Our ability to choose between what is up to us and what is not up to us is not impeded by impediments to our body. Obviously, we can create a list of diseases that affect the brain and inhibit or destroy our rational faculties. Epictetus is not talking about extreme cases like that. The list of sicknesses that can debilitate the body and leave the mind intact is substantially longer. If we want an extreme example of this, the brilliant scientist Stephen Hawking provides one. The point is this: the overwhelming majority of physical ailments or disabilities we can experience leave our prohairesis intact. Therefore, they do not affect our moral character unless we choose to allow them to do so. In his book Greek Models of Mind and Self, A.A. Long wrote: Most literally eudaimonia means a divinely favored dispensation. The daimon constituent of the word combines a generic sense of divinity with the notion of fate or fortune. By prefixing to daimon the adverb eu, which qualifies an activity or condition as excellent, the Greek language had a composite term for express

Don’t ask for things to happen as you would like them to, but wish them to happen as they actually do, and you will be all right. (Ench 8) This passage, and several other similar passages within the Stoic texts, present a huge, sometimes insurmountable, stumbling block for many people when they begin to study and practice Stoicism. As Simplicius notes in his commentary on this passage: But perhaps this injunction to ‘wish for it to happen as it happens’ will seem to some people to be harsh and impossible. What right thinking human being wishes for the occurrence of the widespread bad effects resulting from the universe – for instance, earthquakes, deluges, conflagrations, plagues, famine and the destruction of all sorts of animals and crops? Or the impious deeds performed by some human beings on others – the sacking of cities, taking prisoners of war, unjust killings, piracy, kidnapping, licentiousness, and tyranni cal force, culminating in compelled acts of impiety? …These things and others of this sort – of which there has been an excess in our own lifetime – who would want to hear of them, let alone see them, take part in them or ‘wish them to happen as they happen’, except a malevolent person and a hater of all that is fine?[1] Within the last month, I responded to emails from two Stoicism on Fire listeners who expressed concern about this concept in Stoicism. I will keep the identity of those listeners anonymous. However, I’m going to use the content of those emails to help express a concern that is likely shared by others. The first is from a man who wrote: I am hoping you may be able to help me with something which has been a source of some vexation to me.  I have been studying philosophy for most of my adult life and Stoicism is something I came to in the last 5-years or so.  The problem I have is to do with the discipline of assent. It seems that what the Stoic wants is to dispense with the value judgement part of the impression.  The idea seems to be that whatever is not in my control is to be expunged by simply not assenting to it.  Now, I can perfectly see the argument that when a driver cuts me up or someone says something insulting to me, I may want to remove my value judgements to preserve my equanimity.  All perfectly obvious.  But what you seem to be saying is that any value judgement based on something not in my control, should be “deleted” from the impression, in order to preserve my equanimity.  I’m afraid I find this absurd. Suppose you find yourself in a situation where one of your children has been taken hostage by a terrorist and is being threatened with a knife.  There is a high probability that something terrible will happen, but according to the discipline of assent, you will need to delete the value judgement (which any normal father would have) that my child is in danger!!. Having thus deleted the value judgement, you can observe events unfolding from your “Inner Citadel” completely unperturbed. The second email was from a woman, who wrote: I have been reading the Stoics for many years. They have served as my substitute for religion, my preferred cognitive therapy. However my major reservation is that Stoicism does not provide an adequate answer or comfort in times of personal or global tragedy or suffering. When something horrible happens to someone, how can we respond by saying we will things as they are, we will things to happen as they have? Stoicism does not provide a good answer to the natural human emotional response to personal tragedy. It does not appear to accept that it is ok to feel the natural emotional anguish that comes with personal tragedy. I have always seen this as the major weakness. A show on this could be helpful, i.e., how does Stoicism dictate that the practitioner should react to a personal tragedy in their life, and does this make sense? Is it rational to expect sentient human beings to react to tragedy by saying, yes, I will things to happen as they have? Well, here’s the episode you asked for; I hope it helps you with this challenging question about Stoic practice. First, I will say: I fully understand the sentiments of both listeners; I had similar thoughts about this concept when I first approached Stoicism. I suspect most of my listeners reacted similarly to passages like Encheiridion 8 when they first encountered them. Moreover, I’m sure some of you are still struggling with the idea that you should not judge tragedy as “bad” but wish for things to happen as they do instead. Many people will find this mindset wholly unacceptable and abandon Stoicism entirely or ignore this aspect of Stoic practice. For many people, this aspect of Stoicism is counterintuitive because they are judging it, consciously or unconsciously, from the perspective of a worldview that is not compatible with Stoicism. As A. A. Long and other scholars of Stoicism have pointed out, several aspects of Stoicism are counterintuitive apart from the theological worldview the Stoics relied on to create their philosophical way of life. For that reason, I think it will be helpful to consider this difficult aspect of Stoicism using the concerns expressed by these two listeners. I want to make it clear I am not criticizing these listeners. Quite the opposite, I hope to help them, and many others like them, to navigate this difficult aspect of Stoicism. To that extent, I want to thank them for expressing their concern to me and allowing me to address it for the benefit of others who may be concerned about the same thing. The first letter juxtaposes two scenarios. The first includes two relatively trivial incidents: a driver who cuts him off in traffic and someone who offers a personal insult. The second scenario involves a terrorist who is holding his daughter hostage at knifepoint. Obviously, to any rational person, there is a considerable difference in the degree of perceived loss between these scenarios. Only our ego is in play in the first case, and we will likely forget about the incident within minutes or hours. In the second, the life of a beloved daughter is at risk, and her loss could affect the loving father for the remainder of his life. Therefore, a reasonable response to these threats should be proportional to the potential loss. To that end, most people would consider it reasonable to use deadly force to stop the terrorist from harming the woman. Alternatively, it would be unreasonable and irrational to run the bad driver off the road for cutting you off. Likewise, punching, stabbing, or shooting someone who offended you with a personal insult would be a disproportionate and unreasonable response. Our laws are typically codified to prevent the later extreme reaction. On the other hand, laws typically protect those who use deadly force to save their own life or the life of another from an imminent threat of death. The second listener’s email expresses a similar concern more generically. She asks if it is rational for “sentient human beings to react to tragedy by saying, yes, I will things to happen as they have?” As we’ve seen from the commentary by Simplicius, these sentiments represent a common concern about Stoicism. So, if this is a common concern, how does Stoicism resolve it? How is it reasonable for the Stoics to tell us we should wish for what happens even when what happens is an apparent tragedy? I think there are two principles of Stoic doctrine at play here. The first is the difference between what is up to us and, therefore, truly “good” and “bad” for us as practicing Stoics. The second principle entails trust in a providentially ordered cosmos. The Well-Being Balance Scale For every event that occurs in our lives, even those we commonly consider tragic, we must begin with Encheiridion 1 and remind ourselves what is up to us and what is not up to us. Any event that is not up to us is an indifferent. No matter how tragic the event may appear, it does not affect our moral character (virtue) because it is external to our proairesis—our rational faculty, which is up to us and allows us to judge the event as good or bad. Remember, Stoicism teaches us our good character (arete, virtue) is necessary and sufficient for our well-being. Nothing but virtue is needed, and nothing else contributes to or detracts from our well-being. If we lose sight of this fundamental principle of Stoicism, nothing else in our practice will work, and we will not be alright. Therefore, the most common and typically the first mistake we make when apparent tragedy occurs is placing indifferents on the wrong side of the well-being balance scale. For this to make sense, I need you to visualize one of those old-fashioned balance scales. The ones where you put a known, calibrated weight on one side and the substance you want to weigh on the other side. The scale balances when the weights are the same. I will call this a well-being scale because we will imagine using it to weigh things of value to our well-being. I used this imagery in Episode 6 on the topic of what is up to us. The common conception of happiness would have us stack as many preferred indifferents, like wealth, good health, a good reputation, a great job, excellent life partner, etc., on one side of the scale and hope they outweigh any of the dispreferred indifferents, like poverty, illness, etc., that come into our life. The Stoics argue this approach to life can never create well-being. Why? Because it makes our well-being dependent upon externals that are not up to us. That is why the Stoics took a different approach to well-being. The Stoics argue the virtues—wisdom, justice, courage, and moderation, are the only things entirely up to us; therefore, our well-being should depend on virtue alone. As a result, the Stoic practitioner must use the well-being scale differently. Stoicism teaches us to place all externals—that includes preferred and dispreferred indifferents—no matter how seemingly pleasurable or painful they may be

When you are on a voyage and the boat is at anchor, if you disembark to get water, you may pick up a little shellfish and vegetable on the way, but you need to keep your mind fixed on the boat and keep turning around in case the captain calls; and if he does call, you must drop all those things, to avoid being tied up and stowed on board like the sheep. That’s how it is in life too. If you are given a little wife and child, instead of a little vegetable and shellfish, that will not be a problem. But if the captain calls you, run to the boat and leave all those things without even turning around. And if you are old, never go far from the boat in case you are missing when he calls. (Ench 7) This parable is interesting, and I cannot find a similar story anywhere in Stoic texts. However, the fact that Arrian would include it in his Handbook for Stoic practitioners tells us its meaning would have been clear to the students of Epictetus. Since no story like this appears in other surviving Stoic texts, Epictetus is likely drawing on a commonly understood cultural reference. I am not an expert in Greek culture, literature, or history. Nevertheless, I found the following connections that appear to add some meaning to this passage. The imagery in Encheiridion 7 is similar to that of the ancient Greek myth of Charôn, the ferryman. He transported the souls of the deceased over the river Styx to the underworld. The Greek poet Euripides, who was writing almost 500 years before Epictetus, has his character Alcestis say: I see him there at the oars of his little boat in the lake, the ferryman of the dead, Kharon (Charon), with his hand upon the oar and he calls me now. ‘What keeps you? Hurry, you hold us back.’ He is urging me on in angry impatience. (Euripides, Alcestis 252) Likewise, Machon, a writer of comedies, who was writing approximately 300 years before Epictetus, wrote the following in his Philoxenus: But since Timotheos' Kharon (Charon), the one in his Niobe, does not let me dally but shouts that the ferry-boat is leaving, and gloomy Moira (Fate), who must be obeyed is summoning me. (fragment 786) Machon, the writer of this passage, is quoting from a work by Timotheus of Miletus titled Niobe, written approximately 200 years earlier and 500 years before Epictetus. Note the reference to a piece titled Niobe. There are several versions of the myth of Niobe, the bereaved mother whose children were killed by Apollo as punishment for her hubris. The story of Niobe is not essential for our discussion; however, as I will point out in a minute, the reference to Timotheus’ Niobe is important. First, I also want to point out that Seneca references Charon, the ferryman of the river Styx, several times in his literary writings. This supports the idea this imagery was commonly used and understood during the time of Epictetus. So, how does all of this relate to Encheiridion 7? I think you’ll begin to see the connections after I tie it all together in an often-overlooked passage by Diogenes Laertius’ on the death of Zeno, the founder of the Stoa: The manner of his death was as follows. As he was leaving the school he tripped and fell, breaking a toe. Striking the ground with his fist, he quoted the line from the Niobe: I come, I come, why dost thou call for me? and died on the spot through holding his breath. (DL 7.28) I’m going to set the details of Zeno’s manner of death aside because that is relevant to our discussion. However, Zeno’s response to his imminent death is noteworthy. We can infer two different attitudes from Zeno’s words in this story of his death. First, we could infer some resistance to death from his last words: “why are you calling me?” Alternatively, we can infer an attitude of bewilderment. The Greek word used in this passage means to “cry out, shout, call aloud.” Therefore, Zeno could have been saying, “I’m coming, of course, I’m coming; there’s no need to shout at me?” Zeno’s broken toe likewise provides some interesting symbolism, which may suggest he couldn’t move as fast as the Captain may like. Based on the totality of Stoic teaching and his reputation as the founding Scholarch, I think we have good reason to assume Zeno exhibited the later attitude upon receiving his call from the Captain. While Encheiridion 7 may initially appear obscure, the general meaning becomes more apparent when applying these ancient references. Epictetus is using this parable to highlight the fact our life is a transitory stop on a voyage that can end at any moment when the Captain calls us to return to the source of our existence. Let’s look closer at each of these aspects. Life as a transitory stop The transitory nature of human life is discussed frequently in the Stoic texts. Marcus Aurelius wrote, In human life, the time of our existence is a point, our substance a flux, our senses dull, the fabric of our entire body subject to corruption, our soul ever restless, our destiny beyond divining, and our fame precarious. In a word, all that belongs to the body is a stream in flow, all that belongs to the soul, mere dream and delusion, and our life is a war, a brief stay in a foreign land, and our fame thereafter, oblivion. So what can serve as our escort and guide? One thing and one alone, philosophy; and that consists in keeping the guardian-spirit within us inviolate and free from harm, and ever superior to pleasure and pain, and ensuring that it does nothing at random and nothing with false intent or pretence, and that it is not dependent on another’s doing or not doing some particular thing, and furthermore that it welcomes whatever happens to it and is allotted to it, as issuing from the source from which it too took its origin, and above all, that it awaits death with a cheerful mind as being nothing other than the releasing of the elements from which every living creature is compounded. Now if for the elements themselves it is nothing terrible to be constantly changing from one to another, why should we fear the change and dissolution of them all? For this is in accordance with nature: and nothing can be bad that accords with nature. (Meditations 2.17) Seneca wrote an extended essay on the topic titled, On the Shortness of Life. He opened with these lines: Most of mankind, Paulinus, complains about nature’s meanness, because our allotted span of life is so short, and because this stretch of time that is given to us runs its course so quickly, so rapidly—so much so that, with very few exceptions, life leaves the rest of us in the lurch just when we’re getting ready to live. (On the Shortness of Life, 1.1) Then, a paragraph later, he argues: 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) Collecting Indifferents How is it that life seems to pass by and leave us in a lurch if, as Seneca argues, we have plenty of time? Here we come to one of the main lessons of Encheiridion 7. While we are ashore during this transitory stop we call life; we will necessarily seek out some preferred indifferents like water and food. We may even choose other preferred indifferents like a spouse or a child. Nevertheless, Epictetus reminds us our primary responsibility is to focus our attention on the divine—represented by the ship and its Captain—while we engage with preferred indifferents to develop our moral character and prepare for the inevitable return of our constituent parts to their cosmic source—the rational, creative fire (divine logos). We are not here to simply drink water, eat, and procreate. That is not the purpose of human life. Yes, it is part of our human experience, but it is not our purpose. As Epictetus reminds us, It is thus shameful for a human being to begin and end where the irrational animals do. Rather, he should start off where they do and end where nature ended with regard to ourselves. Now it ended with contemplation, and understanding, and a way of life that is in harmony with nature. Take care, then, that you don’t die without having contemplated these realities. (Discourses 1.6.20-21) I think it’s interesting to note the items used in Encheridion 7 as possible distractions from our primary purpose. He used high-value preferred indifferents. Food and water are necessary for life, and child-rearing is needed to perpetuate humankind. He could have used more frivolous examples. Epictetus could have said, If you disembark to see the sights, you may search for gold, and gather some beautiful shells on the way, but you need to keep your mind fixed on the boat and keep turning around in case the captain calls. Instead, he used preferred indifferents necessary for life (food and water) and some that help us develop our moral character (a spouse and child). Nevertheless, Epictetus warns us not to let these preferred indifferents, even a spouse and child, distract us from our primary task—to keep our eyes on the divinity and develop our moral excellence, so we are ready when the Captain calls us back. As Epictetus warns us: But as things are, although we have it in our power to apply ourselves to one thing alone, and devote ourselves to that, we choose instead to apply ourselves to many things, and attach ourselves to many, to our body, and our possessions, and our brother, and friend, and child, and slave. And so, being attached in this way to any number of things, we’re weighed down by them and dragged down. (Discourses 1.1.14-15) Again, as I noted in the last episode, the Stoics did not prohibit the acquisition of preferred indifferents....

Don’t preen yourself on any distinction that is not your own. If the preening horse should say “I am beautiful,” it would be acceptable. But when you are preening and say, “I have a beautiful horse,” admit that you are preening yourself on a good quality that belongs to the horse. What, then, is your own? The management of impressions. So whenever you are in harmony with nature in the way you perform this function, that’s the time to preen yourself; for then you will have a good thing that is your own to preen yourself on.  (Ench 6) Don’t preen yourself on any distinction that is not your own. If the preening horse should say “I am beautiful,” it would be acceptable. But when you are preening and say, “I have a beautiful horse,” admit that you are preening yourself on a good quality that belongs to the horse. What, then, is your own? The management of impressions. So whenever you are in harmony with nature in the way you perform this function, that’s the time to preen yourself; for then you will have a good thing that is your own to preen yourself on.  (Ench 6) If Epictetus were teaching today, he would probably not choose a horse as the object of his lesson. Instead, he might say, “Don’t preen yourself on your expensive sports car, sparking diamond bracelet, large, finely appointed house, etc., because the good qualities of those possessions do not belong to you.” The object does not matter; the lesson remains the same. Preening Oneself The first thing we need to do with this lesson is to understand the meaning of the word “preen” in this passage. Most translators use the English word “elated” in Encheiridion 6. However, A.A. Long chose the word “preen” for his translation, and I think his choice brings out the whole meaning of this passage. When I referred to my resources, I discovered the Greek verb used in this passage means to “lift up and set on.”[1] There are two aspects of this verb: to lift up and to set on. Therefore, Epictetus is doing more than warning us not to feel a sense of elation or pride when we look at our expensive sports car, sparking diamond bracelet, large, finely appointed house, etc. We could feel that sense of elation or pride while we’re alone, lying in bed, or daydreaming sitting in a park. The word “elated” seems to overlook the public aspect of this passage, and that may be why A.A. Long chose the word “preen.” The online Oxford Learner’ Dictionaries offers the following definition of preen when used as a transitive verb, which is the case in this passage: [transitive] preen yourself (on something) (usually disapproving) to feel very pleased with yourself about something and show other people how pleased you are.[2] That definition helps us understand Encheiridion 6. Epictetus is warning us not to show off our possessions as if their good qualities somehow transfer to us and lift us up in the eyes of others. The word “preen” is often used to describe a person grooming and admiring himself or herself in a mirror. But that’s not the whole meaning here. Likewise, the word “preen” may bring to mind the myth of Narcissus. Many of you are likely familiar with that Greek myth, from which we get the psychological construct of the Narcissist. Narcissus was a beautiful young man who wandered upon a still pool of water while he was hunting. When he saw his own reflection in the pool of water, he fell in love with it and remained there staring at it for the remainder of his life. While Narcissus was quite happy to remain at the pool, staring at and loving his reflection, that is not the point of Epictetus’ lesson. However, with some modification and modernization of that myth, we can make Epictetus’ point clear. Imagine a modern version of Narcissus who walks into their bathroom one day and sees their reflection in the mirror. They feel elated by their own beauty. WOW, they think, I look hot. So, they pull their smartphone out and take a photo of themselves in the mirror. After admiring the picture for a second, they post it on Facebook, Instagram, and other social media platforms. Why? Because they want others to see how attractive they are. They are trying to lift themselves up by setting their attractiveness on display for others to see. They want others to attribute their beauty to them so they will be lifted up in the eyes of others. At this point, you might be thinking, but that is their attractiveness; that is a quality that belongs to them. Not exactly. Here is Epictetus on the topic: But what does Zeus  have to say about this? ‘If it had been possible, Epictetus, I would have ensured that your poor body and petty possessions were free and immune from hindrance. But as things are, you mustn’t forget that this body isn’t truly your own, but is nothing more than cleverly moulded clay. (Discourses 1.1.10-11) According to Stoicism, our body is not up to us. We do not create our bodies. Yes, we take care of our body, and we can make it look better in some ways. Nevertheless, we are not in complete control of what happens to our bodies, and we cannot prevent them from getting sick, broken, or old. In Encheiridion 1, our body is the first item on the list of things that are not up to us. If you prefer a more analogous modern equivalent, I will offer the person who takes a photo of his flashy sports car or her shiny diamond bracelet and posts it on social media for others to admire and envy. Again, they want others to think highly of them because of the possessions they own. My purpose here is not to analyze why people behave this way. Instead, I am interested in the reason Epictetus warns us about doing so. That brings us to the next concept in this passage we need to examine. Qualities that do not belong to us. Yes, you own a flashy red sports car, but Epictetus would tell you the qualities of that car do not belong to you; they belong to the sports car. That’s a beautiful diamond bracelet you own, Epictetus might say, but that beauty does not belong to you; it belongs to the bracelet. I hope you’re starting to get the point. The qualities of our possessions, even the qualities of our body, are not ours, and they are not up to us. Therefore, we are mistaken when we attempt to lift ourselves up in the eyes of others by wrongly thinking we can transfer the good qualities of our possessions to our soul or self. Sadly, there is a reasonable motive for the behavior Epictetus is warning us against in Encheiridion 6. People do judge us based on our looks and possessions. Our character is not typically the first quality society uses to evaluate us. In fact, a person’s character may be several places down the list of qualities most people look for in a friend, life partner, employee, etc. Here’s an experiment you can try to prove this point. Tell a young man you want to introduce him to a young woman you know. Then say, “She’s really sweet and a good person.” What image just popped in his head? You know what he’s imagining, and it’s not a gorgeous female who looks great in yoga pants. Do the same with a young woman. Hey, I think you should meet my friend. I think you’ll like him. “He’s a really nice guy and a good person.” What image just popped into her head. She’s probably not picturing a hot guy with a muscular physique and a flashy sports car. Even though we described both people with positive character traits, we may not get an immediate positive response. Why? A good character may not make the top three traits on their list. I don’t think that’s because people consistently undervalue character. I think it has more to do with the images our society offers as “good.” Movies, television, and commercials sell us images of the “good,” and we unconsciously buy into them. Additionally, we cannot see a person’s character immediately, so we look for other qualities to quickly determine another person’s value. In the West, in particular, we were raised to identify the value of other people by their appearance, job, clothing, the car they drive, the house they own, etc. Pick up any success book, and you will likely come across some version of the “fake it till you make it” strategy for success. What is that? It’s a tactic whereby you wear nice clothes, an expensive watch, and drive an expensive car to leave others with the impression you are already successful, even though you haven’t arrived yet. You fake it till you make it. Success books typically offer this tactic to salespeople where their image is thought to influence potential buyers. Many real estate agents and outside sales professionals employ this tactic, and it works. If you’re interviewing real estate agents to sell your house, you’re more likely to pick the one who drives up in a Mercedes wearing nicely fitted clothing over the Honda Prius driving disheveled looking realtor. We tend to make assumptions about people based on their appearance, which may not be justified at all. As Stoics, we must look beyond the façade and attempt to see a person’s character, and we cannot judge character by appearance. Consider Socrates. He was a pretty homely guy based on historical accounts, and he didn’t dress for success. If a modern equivalent to Socrates approached you today, would you ignore him based on his appearance and attire? I suspect most of us would. Before we move on, I want to make one point clear. The Stoics were not opposed to having possessions. Yes, they prescribed ascetic practices for training purposes, but they were not renunciates. In reference to another passage in the Discourses where Epictetus warned about placing value on possessions, the Stoic Scholar A.A. Long wrote: Does it not follow, then, that Stoic philosophy taught the utter indifference of owning and protecting property? It does not follow, and that for two reasons. The first reason is that, though wealth, as an external commodity, has no moral value in Stoicism, it has instrumental value for `living in agreement with nature',...

Uneducated people blame others when they are doing badly. Those whose education is underway blame themselves. But a fully educated person blames no one, neither himself nor anyone else. (Ench 5) In Episode 35, I covered the first part of Encheiridion 5, where Epictetus added death to the list of things outside of our full control and, therefore, not inherently bad. If you’ve listened to Stoicism on Fire for a while or read my Traditional Stoicism blog, you likely understand this concept, which is frequently called the Dichotomy of Control, and you’ve probably been attempting to adopt this Stoic mindset toward externals. However, understanding this concept intellectually and putting it into practice are entirely different things. The practice of Stoicism is hard. I have been at it diligently for ten years, and I occasionally feel like a complete beginner. I understand the Stoic doctrines; I had a firm grasp of those within a couple of years. But, the goal of Stoicism is perfect practice, not perfect doctrinal knowledge. Perfect practice is the ideal of Stoicism. That is the standard attributed to the Sage and one none of us are likely to achieve. Which begs the question, “What then is the point of Stoic practice?” The answer, of course, is progress. Even though we will likely never arrive at the level of wisdom the Sage possesses, we can make progress toward that ideal. In the second part of Encheiridion 5, Epictetus outlines a three-step progression by placing all people into one of three categories: the uneducated, those whose education is underway, and finally, those whose education is complete. I think it is vital for us to understand these categories and their implication for our Stoic practice. Before we get into the categories, it is essential to note that education for the Stoics was more than memorization of doctrines. Education meant training (askesis). The Stoic training regimen required the student to put Stoic principles into practice. In other words, the distinction in Encheiridion 5 is not between those who are entirely ignorant of Stoic doctrines and those who memorized them all and can recite them at will. Epictetus infers more than book knowledge in this passage. We could relabel these categories as follows: those who are untrained in Stoic practice, those whose training in Stoic practice is underway, those who have completed their Stoic training and are completely wise—the Sage. Now, let’s consider these categories in a little more detail. Pay attention to the observable behavioral characteristics Epictetus provides for each of these categories. The uneducated person lives his or her life desiring and seeking things that are not within their complete control (wealth, pleasure, fame, political power, a good reputation, etc.). Simultaneously, they fear and attempt to avoid other things beyond their complete control (poverty, pain, obscurity, death, etc.). Now, here’s the behavioral characteristic of the uneducated person: When they are doing badly, they blame others. The uneducated blame others when they are not getting what they desire and getting what they fear instead. If you doubt this truth, turn on the news for a few minutes. You will observe an endless parade of uneducated people who are angry because they don’t have what they think they deserve to make them happy. They frequently claim to be victims of circumstances or someone else’s bad behavior, and think others have the power to make them happy or miserable. Marcus described them in Meditations 2.1 as “ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, and unsociable people.” Then, he proposes that he remind himself each morning that these are the people he will encounter during the day. Marcus continues this passage by noting the reason uneducated people behave this way:  They are subject to all these defects because they have no knowledge of good and bad. (Meditation 2.1) The uneducated seek well-being in externals that are not within their complete control because they don’t know what is truly good (a virtuous character) and truly bad (a vicious character). In Encheiridion 1, Epictetus told us what happens when people desire and fear externals:  they will be pained, frustrated, and troubled, and they will blame gods and men. When we see “ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, and unsociable people” on the news or in public, we need to remind ourselves why they are that way. They are uneducated. They may be knowledgeable about many things. They may be college-educated. They may even have a Ph.D., but, as Marcus notes, they have no knowledge of good and bad. Therefore, they are angry that they are doing badly in life and believe the fault lies outside themselves. They think they are unhappy because society is unfair, unjust, or otherwise organized in a way that makes them a victim of circumstances. Let me offer a word of caution here. Marcus’ words about these uneducated people can take us in two directions attitudinally. We can use Meditations 2.1 to judge people because they have no knowledge of good and bad. Or, we can have compassion for them because they have no knowledge of good and bad. I have no doubt Marcus intended the latter when he wrote Meditations 2.1. That was his character. We need to use this reminder in the same way when we encounter ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, and unsociable people. As you likely know from listening to the podcast, I’m a law enforcement officer. I’m a detective now, but I started my career on the street in a tough, low-income, crime-infested area. What I experienced on the street drove me to seek out Stoicism more than a decade ago. Early in my Stoic training, I learned a practice called hypomnemata from my mentor. Essentially, that is what Marcus was doing when he wrote his journal, which we now call his Meditations. Hypomnemata can take various forms; one form is rewriting Stoic passages to personalize them for yourself. As you might imagine, Mediations 2.1 has special significance for anyone in law enforcement. Daily, the profession entails dealing with ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, and unsociable people. One of the hardest things for any cop to do is to maintain their humanity while they are submerged in the inhumane behavior of others. For that reason, in 2012, I personalized and rewrote Meditations 2.1 for my purposes as a law enforcement officer. I hope it expresses the message I’m attempting to deliver here. Namely, we need to have some compassion for the uneducated: When you are face-to-face with criminal behavior, remind yourself this person’s vice-inclined character is not entirely their making. They are morally responsible for their actions; however, the web of prior causes which formed their immoral character includes many causal agents and events—the actions and neglect of their parents, the culture of their community, tragedies they did not cause, and the zeitgeist of a society which fills their soul with anger and hatred toward others they blame for their circumstances. This person is both a perpetrator and a victim of the vice-inclined character, which drives their behavior. Remember, they are a human being—they share in the same divine mind as you. They are ignorant of the true nature of good and bad and have not learned to discipline their desires and fears. Temporarily remove them from society—your role requires that of you. However, do not judge them as evil; they cannot touch your soul. I encourage you to try hypomnemata using Meditations 2.1 as a model. Maybe your ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, and unsociable people are customers. Perhaps they are your students, coworkers, or your mother-in-law. You get the idea. Use Mediations 2.1 to help you withhold judgment from the impression these people can harm your soul and to remember they share in the same divine mind as you. Okay, that’s enough about the uneducated person. Now we’re going to contrast that with the person whose education is underway. This is the Prokopton, who is actively attempting to put Stoic principles into practice in their life. They are beginning to distinguish correctly between what is good and bad for their character. They understand that many things and events they used to consider good, like good health, a high-paying job, other people’s opinion of them, etc., are only preferred indifferents that do not affect their moral character or good flow in life. Likewise, they understand many things and events they formerly considered bad, are dispreferred indifferents that do not affect their moral character or good flow in life. The prokopton understands it is possible to have a good flow in life even while living in poverty, pain, or circumstances restricting their liberty. They might prefer circumstances to be otherwise, but they do not count on them for their good flow in life. The person whose training is underway understands moral excellence (virtue) is the only good, and moral vice is the only truly bad thing. They accept responsibility for their well-being because they know it does not depend on anyone else or any external circumstances. Therefore, when they are out of step with Nature and experiencing emotional distress, they know they are the only ones to blame for their unhappiness. They are far from perfect in their practice of Stoicism; however, they are paying attention to their desires, assents, and impulses to act. They are on the path of the Stoic prokopton, making progress toward the ideal of the wise Stoic Sage. Finally, we come to the educated person who does not blame anyone when things appear to be going badly. Why? Because, as Keith Seddon notes, The fully wise person whose Stoic training is complete will never be in a position to blame anyone at all (not even themselves), because this person has secured a ‘good flow’ (euroia) that is stable and enduring – they simply do not assent to false evalua

It is not things themselves that trouble people, but their opinions about things. Death, for instance, is nothing terrible (otherwise, it would have appeared that way to Socrates as well), but the terrible thing is the opinion that death is terrible. So whenever we are frustrated, or troubled, or pained, let us never hold anyone responsible except ourselves, meaning our own opinions. Uneducated people blame others when they are doing badly. Those whose education is underway blame themselves. But a fully educated person blames no one, neither himself nor anyone else. (Ench 5) This passage complements Encheiridion 1, where Epictetus taught us that desiring and fearing things beyond our complete control will leave us “frustrated, pained, and troubled” and will cause us to “fault gods and men.” In Encheiridion 5, Epictetus takes this fundamental Stoic principle to its ultimate conclusion by adding death to the list of things we should not fear. He declares it is our opinion about death, rather than death itself, that troubles us. It is September 2021, and the Specter of death, in the form of the COVID pandemic, has been ever-present for more than two and a half years. This pandemic has changed our lives and our world. For some people, it has become an all-consuming fear. Yet, in this passage from the Encheiridion, Epictetus declares that death is nothing terrible. For most people, particularly those raised in the West, an assertion like this by Epictetus might seem bizarre, and it may even provoke a negative response or dismissal. Let’s be honest. This claim is completely counter to the way most of us think and attempt to live our lives. We were taught that externals like the negative opinions of others, poverty, sickness, and especially death are inherently bad and necessarily entail unhappiness. We learned this lesson early in our childhood, and we learned it well. So well, in fact, that we spend a great deal of time, money, and energy attempting to avoid all these externals, death in particular. However, practicing Stoics are repeatedly confronted with lessons like this in the texts that teach the opposite. Stoicism teaches us we can have a good flow in life regardless of our present situation. This doctrine is the crux of Stoic philosophical practice. At this point, some of you may be wondering, “In what way can that assertion by Epictetus be true? How can it be true that poverty, sickness, and even death are not terrible? How can it be that wealth, good health, and life are not inherently good?” Well, in every case except death, the answer provided by the Stoics is quite simple even though many people will likely find it unsatisfactory. The ancient Stoics teach us we must change our thinking about what is truly good and bad. They teach us that moral excellence is the only inherent good. Therefore, the Stoic path trains us to set aside our aversion to poverty, sickness, public shame, and everything that is not within our complete control, including death. There is no overstatement in this passage. Epictetus is not trying to shock us with hyperbole. He is simply restating a profound truth we repeatedly see throughout the Stoic writings. An excellent character (virtue) is the only true good, and a corrupted character (vice) is the only truly bad thing. Therefore, if we seek happiness in things and events we do not entirely control, we will be frustrated, pained, and troubled. Likewise, we will be miserable if we strive to avoid anything other than those irrational thoughts and wicked intentions that corrupt our character (soul). Okay, you may be thinking, I understand that virtue is the only good, and everything else is an indifferent and should not be desired as something good, in itself, or feared as something bad in itself. But how can death not be terrible? After all, Stoicism does not offer the consolation of an afterlife. To answer this question, Epictetus appeals to Socrates, one of the few the Stoics acknowledged as a Sage. He asserts that death is not terrible; otherwise, it would have appeared that way to Socrates. At first glance, this might appear to be a rather trite argument for not fearing death. Alternatively, it could appear as an unsophisticated appeal to authority. However, this passage has an unspoken message, which the students of Epictetus would have understood. Remember, the Encheiridion is a handbook designed to keep the lessons of Stoicism close at hand. Arrian created this handbook to remind practicing Stoics about the lessons with which they are already familiar. That is certainly the case here, so we need to dig a little deeper to understand this passage. As I noted in Episode 4, Zeno embarked on his philosophical path after reading about the life of Socrates in Xenophon’s Memorabilia. Socrates was considered a Sage by the ancient Stoics. Therefore, to understand the meaning of Epictetus’ appeal to Socrates, we must turn to Plato’s Apology, which tells the story of Socrates’ trial. This story is what Epictetus is referring to in Encheiridion 5, and his students would have understood it. As most of you likely know, Socrates was put on trial for impiety and other false charges. Socrates refused to beg, grovel, and weep for his accusers or the jurors during his trial. If you read Plato’s Apology, you will see Socrates was defiant, almost belligerent, during his trial. Then, after he was found guilty of the false charges, Socrates agreed with Meletus, one of his false accusers, that the sentence for these charges should be death. The jurors then held a second vote and condemned Socrates to death. After warning the jurors their fate would be worse than his for the injustice they have done, Socrates turned to those who voted for acquittal and explained why he did not consider his death sentence a terrible thing. He reminded the jurors about his inner daimon or spiritual guide that always warned him when he was about to do something wrong. Socrates said, At all previous times my familiar prophetic power, my spiritual manifestation, frequently opposed me, even in small matters, when I was about to do something wrong, but now that, as you can see for yourselves, I was faced with what one might think, and what is generally thought to be, the worst of evils, my divine sign has not opposed me, either when I left home at dawn, or when I came into court[1] Let’s unravel this. Socrates’ argument goes something like this: (P1) In the past, my divine sign, the Stoics called this a daimon or god within, always warned me when I was about to do something wrong, even if it was about a small matter. (P2) My divine sign has been silent since I left my home to come to this trial. It was quiet when I refused to beg and plead for my life, and it was silent when I agreed the death sentence was appropriate for the crime for which I was accused and judged guilty. (P3) The silence of my divine sign is evidence I have done nothing wrong, including recommending a death sentence for myself. (C1) “What has happened to me may very well be a good thing.” (C2) “Those of us who believe death to be an evil are certainly wrong.” This is what Epictetus was appealing to as evidence that death is not something terrible. Epictetus is not simply saying death is nothing terrible because Socrates said so. Instead, he is arguing death must not be terrible; otherwise, it would have appeared so to Socrates. How? Through a warning from his divine sign or daimon. The ancient Stoics held Socrates in such high regard; they trusted his experience with his daimon about death. Additionally, we must consider death within the context of Stoic theory. In Stoic physics, the cosmos is a divine, rational, living organism permeated by pneuma, which constituted its soul. Thus, the Stoics argued the cosmos is conscious. As Diogenes Laertius noted, The doctrine that the world is a living being, rational, animate and intelligent, is laid down by Chrysippus in the first book of his treatise On Providence, by Apollodorus in his Physics, and by Posidonius. It is a living thing in the sense of an animate substance endowed with sensation; for animal is better than non-animal, and nothing is better than the world, ergo the world is a living being. And it is endowed with soul, as is clear from our several souls being each a fragment of it. (DL 142-3) The Stoic reasonably argued that nothing comes forth from nothing. If humans are rational, that rationality comes from the cosmos. Therefore, the cosmos is rational. In his brilliant book, The Inner Citadel, Pierre Hadot notes, ...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 the former.[2] Throughout the surviving Stoic texts, we see an acknowledgment of a connection between the divine part of our individual nature and the divinity that is the cosmos. In Meditations 3.13, Marcus reminds himself to, ...keep your doctrines at the ready, to enable you to understand things divine and human, and so to perform every action, even the very smallest, as one who is mindful of the bond that unites the two realms… The daimon is a fragment of the divine within us. I covered this topic in a little more detail in Episode 25. In Letters 41.1-2, Seneca called this daimon the “sacred spirit” that dwells within us. In another of his Letters, Seneca tell Lucilius, You must devote your efforts to that which does not deteriorate over time, and which no obstacle can bar. What is that? It is the mind—but specifically this mind, which is upright, great, and good. What else would you call it but God dwelling in a human body? (Letters 31) Finally, here is one of many examples were Epictetus points out the relationship between us and the divinity that permeates the cosmos: But you for your part are of primary value; you’re a

Whenever you are about to start on some activity, remind yourself what the activity is like. If you go out to bathe, picture what happens at a bathhouse—the people there who splash you or jostle you or talk rudely or steal your things. In this way you will be more prepared to start on the activity, by telling yourself at the outset: “I want to bathe, and I also want to keep my will in harmony with nature.” Make this your practice in every activity. Then, if anything happens, that gets in the way of your bathing, you will have the following response available: “Well, this was not the only thing I wanted; I also wanted to keep my will in harmony with nature. I shall not do that if I get angry about what is happening.” The meaning of this profoundly important passage may be more relevant and applicable to us in modern times than it was to the young students of Epictetus almost two thousand years ago. Nevertheless, to fully appreciate and apply this passage to our modern lives, we must overcome one cultural hurdle to understand and appreciate its meaning entirely. Epictetus relies on the experiences of a Roman bathhouse to drive this lesson home for his students. However, few moderns have ever been to anything like a Roman bathhouse to bathe. Therefore, when Epictetus begins his list of things that occur at a Roman bathhouse—splashing, jostling, rude talk, stealing of clothing—we might be inclined to think of a modern public pool setting and consider it similar. However, that is not a good comparison, and it leaves us with an inadequate appreciation of the point Epictetus is making. Let’s take a closer look at Roman bathhouses and the types of activities that occurred there. In Encheiridion 4, Epictetus is relatively brief with his description of a Roman bathhouse because he did not need to elaborate further. His students related to his example immediately because these bathhouses were a standard part of Greek and Roman life. On the other hand, Seneca provides a more detailed picture of these bathhouses in a Letter to Lucilius. He writes: Call to mind every sort of awful noise that grates on the ears. When the stronger men do their exercises, swinging their hand weights about and straining with the effort (or pretending to), I hear the grunts each time they exhale, their rasping and gasping for breath. When I get some idle fellow who’s happy with an ordinary man’s massage, I hear the hands slapping his shoulders and the change of sound when they strike with the cupped hand or with the palm. Then if a ballplayer shows up and starts counting how many he catches, I’m done for! Now add the quarrelsome type—and the one caught stealing—and the one who likes to hear himself sing in the bath chamber—and also the ones who jump into the swimming pool with a great splash. Besides all these, who are at least using their normal voices, imagine the tweezer man screeching over and over in his shrill falsetto, just to attract attention: he is never silent unless he is plucking someone’s armpits and making him cry out instead. Now add the cries of the drink man, the sausage man, the bakery man, and all the different sellers of cooked foods, singing out their wares in their distinctive tones. (Letters 56.1-2) It’s hard to imagine a similar combination of distractions today. We would have to combine a Florida beach during spring break with an outdoor gym, some people playing catch, a bar full of quarrelsome drinkers, an open-air hot wax station, and food vendors shouting over the crowd to sell hotdogs and beer. Then, we might have a similar experience. If you do not relate to that, imagine a crowded shopping mall during the holiday season, a “Black Friday” sale at an electronics store, etc. You get the idea. Epictetus is trying to get his students and us to imagine environments where we typically get frustrated and angry with people and events. Why should we imagine these? Because this type of active imagination in advance of an event (premeditatio malorum) trains us to deal with these events appropriately. It prepares us to keep our will in harmony with nature even during events that might otherwise disturb our tranquil mind and make us angry. Scenarios: Family gatherings Derogatory remarks or criticism Regurgitating or replaying an old family drama Sibling rivalries extended into adulthood Trip to the shopping mall Rude drivers in the parking lot who take the spot you were waiting for Unsupervised children screaming and bumping into you in the stores Slow checkout lines Commute on the highway The driver who cuts you off The man who misses the first 10 seconds of the green light because he focused on his smartphone while driving The woman who does the same because she is putting on eye makeup while driving Commute on train, subway, or bus The people who push and plow their way to the front when the door opens The healthy young person who will not give up his seat to someone who appears to need it. The person singing aloud to the music playing in her earphones A day at the office The backbiting and backstabbing The grumpy boss Incompetent or lazy employees The political games played for promotion In this lesson, Epictetus teaches us to use the practice of premeditatio malorum for every situation where we may encounter people and events that can disturb us and put us in a state of disharmony with nature. He teaches us to remind ourselves what happens at the shopping mall, on the freeway and subway, at the office, family gatherings, etc., before we engage in those events. What is the ultimate goal of this practice? It enables us to participate in these activities without becoming irritated or angry. It thereby allows us to keep our prohairesis, the Greek word for our moral purpose, will, or faculty of choice in harmony with Nature. In this passage, A.A. Long translates the Greek word prohairesis as “will” and defines it as “a human being’s power of self-determination and mental disposition.” In the glossary of his translation of the Encheiridion, he further argues: 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.[1] Some people may balk at the idea of premeditatio malorum because it is a form of negative visualization. This practice appears to contradict some New Age teaching that suggests our thoughts directly create and control things and events external to us. On the other hand, Stoicism teaches us that all external things and events are outside of our control. Of course, that does not imply that our thoughts and intentions do not affect things and events external to us. However, as we learned in the lesson on Encheiridion 2, Nature does not grant us the authority or permission to control things and events that are external to us. Stoicism teaches these externals are not up to us. Premeditatio malorum does not create what some people call a self-fulfilling prophecy for two reasons. First, the Stoic practitioner learns these events are not indeed “bad.” Instead, the Stoic trusts that these events, which are brought about by a providentially ordered cosmos, are “good” for the whole of the cosmos even though they may be dispreferred indifferents to us. Again, I repeat Marcus Aurelius’ beautiful expression of radical acceptance toward the things and events that Nature: Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. All is fruit for me that your seasons bring, O nature. All proceeds from you, all subsists in you, and to you all things return. (Meditations 4.23) Second, Stoics do not visualize the possibility of adverse events because they fear them and want to avoid them. Instead, they envision them to develop the realization there is nothing about these events we should fear. As we will see in the next lesson, these seemingly adverse events cannot harm us. Instead, it is only our beliefs about those events that can and do bring us genuine harm. Therefore, Encheiridion 4 teaches us to keep our “will” in harmony with nature while engaging in activities where events might otherwise irritate us and make us angry. While the events themselves are not bad, the irritation or anger we allow to well up inside us is morally bad because it places our will in a state of disharmony with Nature. But what does it mean to be in a state of disharmony with Nature? To understand that, we must understand what it means to live in harmony with Nature. A. A. Long provides a succinct and poignant definition in the translation's glossary I am using here. He suggests that living in harmony with Nature means: To behave in conformity both to one’s human nature as a rational animal and to one’s predetermined and god-given circumstances.[2] Please notice that he did not stop with human nature. That is the mistake many moderns make in their practice of Stoicism. Without cosmic Nature, Stoic theory and practice lose their profound spiritual significance, and life lived in agreement with Nature loses its inherently moral purpose. So, how do we apply this practice of premeditatio malorum in our daily life? The applications are endless, but here are a few examples. Before your morning or evening commute, remind yourself how other drivers behave during rush-hour traffic. Then, when another driver cuts you off or causes you to miss a green light because they were not paying attention, you can look beyond the immediate goal of getting home or to another location and remind yourself: 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. (Ench 4) When you decide to go shopping at the mall, remind yourself that another driver may take the parking spot you were wait

This famous passage from Encheiridion 3 highlights the fact that this handbook is intended for practitioners who are already familiar with Stoic theory and practice. I say that because passages like this one, read in isolation, without an adequate understanding of Stoic teachings, can easily leave one with the wrong impression. In fact, absent the larger context of Stoic theory and practice, this passage, in particular, can appear inhumane or even pathological, and has turned people away from Stoic practice. As Lawrence Becker, the late professor of philosophy at the College of William and Mary points out: The image of the austere, dispassionate, detached, tranquil, and virtually affectless sage – an image destined to be self-refuting – has become a staple of anti-Stoic philosophy, literature, and popular culture. It has been constructed from incautious use of the ancient texts and is remarkably resistant to correction.[1] However, when we place a passage like this within the full context of Stoic theory and practice, the caricatures conjured up by these incautious interpretations are easily dismissed. By focusing on several key words and phrases used in this passage, we can see this is simply another, more advanced, application of the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us. So, let’s dissect this passage, place it in context, and see if a different picture of Stoic practice emerges. First, we need to consider three important phrases in Encheiridion 3. Epictetus offers three different categories of things. In summation, these categories include everything that attracts us or has its uses or that we are fond of in life. Let’s take a look at each of them: A thing that “attracts you” (ψυχαγωγούντων) – amusement (Discourses 2.16.37); fascination (Discourses 3.21.23); entertainment (Discourses 4.4.4). A thing that “has its uses” (χρείαν) – useful; can be used or put into service. This Greek word is used more than one hundred times in the Discourses and Encheiridion combined.  A thing “you are fond of” (στεργομένων) – love, affection. A form of this Greek word is used eleven times in the Discourses and Encheiridion. It is used six times in Epictetus’ lesson on family affection (Discourses 1.11). It is important to consider the broad range of external things these three categories include because it helps us understand the meaning of this passage and avoid a mischaracterization of Stoicism this passage frequently evokes. First, it includes external things we find amusing, fascinating, or entertaining. This may be a television, computer, or another electronic device that provides mindless entertainment; it may also be a beautiful painting or another piece of artwork we admire; or it could be a collection of coins, stamps, dolls, trinkets, etc. This list is nearly endless. Next, are those things we may find useful or of service. Again, many things come to mind: a favorite coffee cup, a smartphone, computer or tablet, car, house, a comfortable chair, etc. Once again, the list of things that fall into this category is extremely long. Finally, we have those things for which we feel love or affection.  Wait a second! Did Epictetus say love and affection? To be precise, Epictetus uses a Greek word that is typically translated as “fondness,” as it is here. However, the Greek root for this word means love or affection.[2] Interestingly, the fondness in this passage is directed exclusively at people. Specifically, this passage directs fondness toward our children or spouse. This highlights a sense of feeling and connection with loved ones that many mistakenly believe is absent in Stoicism. As we will see later, the image of the unfeeling, detached Stoic is a mischaracterization. This brings us to another extremely important aspect of this passage that is essential for the deconstruction of this mischaracterization and the development of a proper understanding of this frequently misunderstood passage. As already noted, this passage deals with a broad range of things—externals—in our lives. What is easily overlooked in this passage is the existence of a hierarchy from the most trivial of things, like a jug, up to those things for which we have a genuine love or affection—spouses and children. It is a gross misunderstanding of Stoic theory to suggest our affinity for a spouse or child should be comparable to our affinity for a jug. The Stoics certainly do place all of these things in the same category of preferred indifferents and teach us not to be “troubled” by the loss of any of them. Nevertheless, as this passage makes clear, there is a natural dissimilarity between our affinity for things that amuse us, entertain us, and are useful to us and those humans that are closest to us in our circle of affinity (oikeiosis).[3] In reference to Encheiridion 3, Brad Inwood argues, Epictetus “is not, of course, advocating utter indifference to one’s loved ones” any more than Chrysippus was “advocating indifference to one’s health” in the fragment preserved in Discourses 2.6.9-10. Additionally, Inwood argues: It must be remembered that this readiness for setbacks does not rule out determined efforts and actions to achieve one’s proper goals: staying healthy, keeping one’s children alive, executing the various plans and actions which make up a life of appropriate actions. But in the uncertainty of a human life, all these actions and plans, which are or depend on forms of impulse, should be carried out with the addition of reservation. In this way one may attain the smooth flow of life which is characterized by consistency with oneself and with the will of Zeus.[4] In fact, in Discourses 1.11, which addresses the topic of family affection, Epictetus makes it quite clear that “family affection accompanied by reason” is in accordance with Nature. That lesson takes the form of a dialog between Epictetus and a government official who claims his affection for his little daughter forced him to leave her presence when she was sick. He claimed he could not bear seeing his daughter suffer. By the end of the dialog, Epictetus leads the official to understand he left his daughter during her time of need because of his wrong judgment about what is appropriate rather than his affection for her. I encourage everyone to read and consider Discourses 1.11. It presents a case for familial love and affection that is frequently overshadowed by the misleading caricatures of Stoics derived from passages like this one in Encheiridion 3. Discourses 1.11 places challenging passages like Encheiridion 3 and Discourses 3.24.88 into context. In that latter passage, Epictetus instructs: From now on, whenever you take delight in anything, call to mind the opposite impression; what harm is there in your saying beneath your breath as you’re kissing your child, ‘Tomorrow you’ll die’? Or similarly to your friend, ‘Tomorrow you’ll go abroad, or I will, and we’ll never see one another again.’ (Discourses 3.24.88) Again, it is wholly inaccurate to suggest this passage teaches Stoics to be indifferent toward their loved ones. Instead, Epictetus is encouraging us to accept the true nature of human existence—it is fragile and temporal. Likewise, this passage serves as a reminder to practice premeditatio malorum because things break, people die, and events frequently do not turn out as we intend. Why should we practice envisioning the loss of possessions, the onset of dispreferred circumstances, and the death of loved ones? Because that practice helps to keep us on the path toward true freedom. To be free, we must disconnect our well-being from anything that is not up to us. As we learned in the last episode, to act otherwise is an attempt to claim authority over that which is not up to us, and that path leads us into slavery to externals, which produces a troubled mind. A Troubled Mind The whole point of Encheiridion 3 is to avoid a troubled mind by understanding and accepting the true nature of all external things and our lack of control over them. Jugs break and loved ones die. That is the normal operation of nature. To expect something different is unwise. The Greek word translated as “troubled” (ταραχθήσῃ) is used eight times within five passages of the Encheiridion. Two of those instances are here in chapter three. The use of that Greek word in the Encheiridion highlights the distinction between the psychological state of true freedom and that of a troubled mind.  Ench 1 – if we seek those things not up to us, we will be troubled Ench 3 – if we do not consider the true nature of things, we will be troubled Ench 5 – it is our opinions about things and events that trouble us Ench 12 – if we base our well-being on the outcome of our actions, we will be troubled Ench 28 – if we allow the insults of others to affect our mind, we will be troubled Each of these passages emphasizes the dichotomy between what is and is not up to us. The Stoic path requires us to understand that all externals—whether we seek them for entertainment, their usefulness, or love and affection—are outside of our control; they are not up to us. TVs, computers, smartphones, collectibles, beautiful and awe-inspiring artifacts, our favorite coffee cup, and family heirlooms can be broken, burned, lost, or stolen. Likewise, those people for whom we feel natural love and affection can become sick and die. Therefore, we set ourselves up for failure and psychological distress when we desire any of these things as goods and seek them as sources of happiness (well-being). Stoicism does not teach us to deny ourselves any of these preferred indifferents. Instead, Stoic practice trains us seek our good in one thing alone—our moral excellence (virtue), because it is only through the development of virtue that we can find true freedom and well-being.  ...

Encheiridion 1 focuses on what is up to us and contrasts the tranquil psychological state of those who focus their attention and impulse only on those things and events within their control with the troubled mind of those who attempt to control what is not in their power. The second chapter of Encheiridion further defines the concepts of desire and aversion and adds another important concept: things contrary to Nature. Encheiridion 2 opens with the following advice: Keep in mind that desire presumes your getting what you want and that aversion presumes your avoiding what you don’t want, and that not getting what we want makes us unfortunate, while encountering what we don’t want makes us miserable. We have a few things to unpack in this passage. First is that we should “keep in mind” the lesson of Encheiridion 2. This means we should memorize it, remember it, and regularly remind ourselves about it. The phrase “keep in mind” is translated from the Greek word Μέμνησο, which appears sixteen times within fourteen different chapters of the Encheiridion. As I noted in the introduction to this series, Arrian created the Encheiridion to serve as a handbook that can be kept close at hand or carried in the hand. Arrian filled it with reminders that help us “keep in mind” those Stoic doctrines that are essential to our practice. So, what is so important about the lesson of Encheiridion 2 that warrants keeping it in mind? In short, this lesson defines the key distinction between true freedom and slavery in Epictetus’ teaching, which entails wanting only what is up to us, avoiding only what is contrary to nature, and treating everything else as inconsequential to our goal of developing an excellent moral character and experiencing true well-being. To comprehend this lesson's meaning and its application in our daily lives, we must have a solid grasp of several key concepts, including desire, aversion, things contrary to nature, and reservation. Desires and Aversions Exist in our Psyche When we assent to a value judgment attached to an impression of a thing or event—that it is either good or bad—we create a desire or aversion that acts upon us in the form of an impulse to either seek or avoid that thing or event. Therefore, desires and aversions are not external entities that tempt us or frighten us. They do not exist out there in the world; they exist as real mental faculties in our psyche (soul) that we must restrain and ultimately retrain. The first time I read this new translation of Encheiridion 2 by A. A. Long, his use of the word “presumes” in this passage struck me as odd. I recalled no other translation using that word, so I checked a few others. Pay attention to the language used to describe the activity of desires and aversions in each of these translations: A. Long: desire presumes your getting what you want, aversion presumes your avoiding what you don’t want Robin Hard: desire promises the attaining of what you desire, and aversion the avoiding of what you want to avoid Thomas Higginson: desire demands the attainment of that of which you are desirous; and aversion demands the avoidance of that  to which you are averse W.A. Oldfather: the promise of desire is the attainment of desire, that of aversion is not to fall into what is avoided The language being used here is rather curious. It describes desires and aversions as real entities with the ability to make presumptions, promises, and demands. However, according to Stoicism, to act on us in this way, these desires and aversions and the impulses they produce must be real physical faculties in our psyche. In fact, they are. As Marcus Aurelius notes repeatedly in his Meditations, those impulses created by our desires and aversions control us like puppets (2.2; 6.16; 6.28; 7.3; 7.29; 12.19). We must be careful here lest we misinterpret this language to support a form of dualism where a separate mind acts upon our body. That is not the case in Stoic theory. As Christopher Gill, professor of ancient thought at Exeter University, points out: The normal Stoic standpoint is what we might call psychophysical monism or holism: the psyche is conceived as physical and identified with one of the natural elements, pneuma, a mixture of fire and air.[1] In Stoic theory, desires, aversions, and impulses are not external to our psyche; they are natural emotional states that get corrupted and become dysfunctional passions. This occurs when natural desires and aversions that can benefit us and promote our survival are transformed into passions that pull us around like puppets and leave us with troubled minds. We simply learned to value and fear the wrong things.[2] Simplicius, the sixth-century Neoplatonist, wrote the following about this chapter and the concepts of desire and aversion in his famous commentary on the Encheiridion: The promise and goal of desire is the attainment of what is desired, and the ‘fortunate’ are those who attain this. The promise and goal of aversion is that you will not encounter what you flee from, and this (i.e. not encountering it) is being ‘of good fortune’. Similarly, not attaining the object of your desire is ‘unfortunate’ (because you didn’t attain it), while encountering the object of your aversion is ‘ill-fortuned’–the contrary of good fortune–(because you attained something, but what you attained was bad).[3] The Presumption of Desires and Aversions Again, when I first read Long’s new translation of Encheiridion 2, I was struck by the word “presumes” in reference to desires and aversions. Therefore, after I read other highly regarded translations, I looked up the definition of presume and here is what I found. The Oxford online dictionary defines presume as a verb that means to “Suppose that something is the case on the basis of probability.”[4] My hardbound version of the Oxford English Dictionary defines presume as a verb that means to “Undertake without adequate authority or permission.”[5] Both of those definitions are quite helpful for the unpacking of this passage from Encheiridion 2, which reads: desire presumes your getting what you want, aversion presumes your avoiding what you don’t want (Ench 2) Using the first definition, a desire or aversion must have some reasonable probability of success otherwise it is nothing more than a pipe dream or whimsical fantasy. However, if we combine this with A.A. Long’s definition of desire, we get “a strong acquisitive attitude toward what appears good,” and we have a reasonable chance to obtain, like a better paying job, good health, a good reputation, etc. Likewise, an aversion is “a strongly negative attitude toward what appears bad,” and we have a reasonable chance to avoid, like poverty, sickness, public shame, etc. As we will learn in Exploring Encheiridion 15, it is acceptable to stretch out our hand and take a portion of any preferred indifferent providence has brought into our lives. However, we become enslaved by those externals when we stretch our desire out for them as things that are good in themselves. The opposite is true of those externals we wish to avoid. Why? The answer to that question invokes the second definition from above. Our desires and aversions entail the presumption there is a good probability we can obtain or avoid the externals we consider good or bad. However, as the Stoics make quite clear, Nature does not grant us the authority or permission to presume that we can obtain or avoid those externals—they are not up to us. Things Contrary to Nature (para phusin) This brings us to the next passage from Encheiridion 2, which reads: So if, among the *things contrary to nature you restrict aversion to those that are up to you, you will experience none of the things you don’t want, but if you are averse to sickness or death or poverty, you will be miserable. So move aversion away from everything that is not up to us and transfer it to the things contrary to nature that are up to us. This passage deals with the intersection of two sets of things and events. The first set includes those things and events that are contrary to nature. This refers to things contrary to our human well-being such as sickness, poverty, social isolation, and emotional disturbances (pathê). The second set includes only what is up to us, which includes our assents, desires and aversion, and impulses toward action. Epictetus is advising us that among those things contrary to nature, we should seek to avoid only that which is up to us—our passions (strong emotions). If we seek to avoid the others—sickness, poverty, a bad reputation, etc.—we will be miserable. As Keith Seddon writes: And this is what we must train ourselves in: we must let everything happen as it will with an open acceptance (Discourses 1.12.15–17), even those things to which we are usually averse, seeking to avoid only ‘those things contrary to nature amongst the things that are in our power’, and these are the passions (pathê), the ‘disturbing or violent emotions’ that constitute our misery. Passions are excessive impulses, ‘contrary to nature’ because they are ‘contrary to correct and natural reasoning’ (Stob. 2.7.10a), in that any one passion is, or is dependent upon, a false judgement concerning what is good and bad for us (see DL 7.111; LS 65G3); they are ‘excessive’ because they are ‘disobedient to the choosing reason or an irrational motion of the soul’ (Stob. 2.7.10, trans. Pomeroy; see also DL 7.110); and they are ‘in our power’ because it is entirely up to us how we evaluate things, and whether we assent to the judgements that sanction (or comprise) the passions...[6] Likewise, in Simplicius’ commentary on the Encheiridion we read: if you avoid disease or poverty, since fleeing from them is not completely up to us (because even if we have a power which some times helps us escape them, still it won’t always hold good, or do so entirely), you will inevitably be ill-fortuned when you encounter

The Path to Freedom vs the Path to Slavery As I noted in the last episode, the focus of this podcast series exploring the Encheiridion will be Epictetus’ concept of freedom, which is not the same as the commonly held concept of freedom as a human right or political entitlement. Epictetus designed his Stoic training program to free us from the judgments, desires, and impulses that enslave us psychologically. This program works even if we are bound in real physical chains, constrained by prison bars, or living under a tyrannical rule that denies us that commonly held conception of freedom. Therefore, as we proceed through the Encheiridion, we must set aside the idea of freedom as it relates to our physical autonomy and political liberty. That is not what Epictetus is talking about. For him, enslavement does not entail chains or bars. Instead, the slave is the person bound by their passions and false beliefs. Freedom, therefore, is emancipation from those psychological bonds, and Stoic training is the path toward that true form of freedom.[1] This opening chapter of the Encheiridion presents us with two paths: the path of slavery and the path of freedom. Most people choose the path of slavery and remain bound by their desires for things and events not within their control—not up to us. They desire and seek things powerless to produce true well-being, servile to external circumstances, and impeded by the actions of others. As a result, they are frustrated, psychologically pained, have a troubled mind, and blame external circumstances (God) and other people for their unhappiness. Fortunately, Epictetus provides us with an alternative path—the Stoic path toward true freedom. This path teaches us to break the bonds of those externals and to desire and seek only those things that are in our complete control and thus are naturally free from external circumstances, unimpeded by others, and unconstrained by Nature. Epictetus makes an astounding promise to those who follow the Stoic path toward that true form of freedom. He says: No one will ever put pressure on you, no one will impede you, you will not reproach anyone, you will not blame anyone, you will not do a single thing reluctantly, no one will harm you, you will have no enemy, because nothing harmful will happen to you. (Ench 1) When we read that promise, it naturally inclines us to ask: Who wouldn’t want that? Who wouldn’t want that life of ultimate freedom? Almost everyone will nod in agreement and say they want that life of psychological well-being. However, most people will not follow the Stoic path toward true freedom because it requires significant effort and entails a commitment to the transformation of our thoughts and behaviors. That commitment deters most people. Sadly, most people choose to remain enslaved by their passions and false beliefs. They lack the motivation needed to achieve these “great things” the Stoic path promises. Those who do find the motivation to embark on a philosophical way of life do so for a variety of reasons. Whatever the motive, those who embark on the Stoic path are seeking something they do not currently have, and that is psychological well-being. They may have been seeking happiness in externals such as wealth, health, reputation, etc., and now realize those things only provide the illusion of well-being. This brings us to the point of departure for the Stoic path—the choice to desire and seek only what is up to us and treat everything else as indifferent to our true well-being. As Epictetus makes perfectly clear, the list of things completely within our control—up to us—is quite short: That list includes “our faculties of judgment, *motivation, *desire, and *aversion—in short, everything that is our own doing.” The alternative list—not up to us—includes “our body and property, our reputations, and our official positions—in short, everything that is not our own doing.” William Irvine, who popularized the phrase “dichotomy of control”[2] also attempted to expand it into a “trichotomy.” That is not what Epictetus, or the other Stoics, had in mind when they delineated what is and is not up to us (eph’ hêmin). As Keith Seddon, an independent scholar and practicing Stoic notes: When Epictetus talks of things being in our power or not in our power (Handbook 1.1–2) he means this in an absolute sense. For Epictetus, for something to depend on us, to be in our power, in our control, or up to us, this must be so invariably and always.[3] In other words, if any event or thing is even partially under the control of or dependent upon another person or external circumstance, then it is NOT up to us. For those who have questions about this concept, I refer you to What Is “Up to Us”? - Episode 6 of Stoicism On Fire. For our purposes, keep in mind that up to us means completely up to us. If a thing or event is only partially in our control, it is not up to us. The Choice The choice Epictetus is presenting us is simple to understand yet exceedingly difficult to practice consistently. Nature presents us with two distinct paths, and we must choose which one to follow. The traveler of the first path desires and seeks good health, physical beauty, possessions, a good reputation, and high office or power, etc.—things that are not up to us—and ends up emotionally frustrated, psychologically pained, with a troubled mind. In the end, they blame external circumstances, including God other people, for their unhappiness. However, the traveler of the Stoic path desires and seeks to develop an excellent character by developing their faculties of judgment, eliminating inappropriate desires and aversions—things that are up to us—and are therefore unimpeded, unharmed, do nothing reluctantly, have no enemies, and blame no one for their circumstances. They experience true freedom—psychological well-being. The choice Epictetus presents us with could not be clearer or more distinct—we choose the path toward a troubled mind or the path to psychological well-being. The choice is ours, but the choice is not an easy one and neither is the path we must continue to follow after that initial choice is made. Nevertheless, before we continue, I want my listeners to be clear about what this choice does not entail. First, it is not a choice between good and bad things; that is a different topic. This is a choice between what is and is not up to us. Many of the things that are not up to us are, nonetheless, preferred indifferents that we may appropriately choose under the right circumstances. Some, like participating in the care of one’s family, community, nation, and all of humanity are actual duties we should engage in as Stoics. As Stoics we are called to step out of the Epicurean garden and into the Stoic cosmopolis, and we should engage in just causes with courage, wisdom, and moderation. Nevertheless, our success or failure in these endeavors has no bearing on our psychological well-being. Ultimately, we must accept that all quests for social justice, political equality, world peace, environmental conservation, etc., are externals that are not up to us. We must keep that in mind. Second, this choice is not a call to renounce indifferents entirely; it is the choice to understand their true nature and treat them as inconsequential to the development of our moral character and our well-being. As Epictetus instructs, we may need to renounce many externals for a while; however, Stoicism is not a call to the life of an ascetic renunciate. We need to keep an important distinction in mind as we proceed on the Stoic path. Preferred indifferents like good health, property, reputation, and positions of power and authority are not incompatible with the Stoic path toward freedom; they are inconsequential to it. Possessing externals does not impede our path toward freedom. Instead, it is our desire for them and our fear of not having them that leads to psychological distress. As we will see in Encheiridion 15, if fate brings us these preferred indifferent while we are at the banquet of life, we can stretch out our hand and take a portion. However, we must not extend our desire toward them. Stoicism teaches us we can be truly free even while imprisoned, living in slavery or under tyrannical rule, or while sick and impoverished. This is certainly counterintuitive when viewed from the perspective of modernity. However, it is the most profound truth Stoicism has to offer—any psychological misery we endure is the misery of our own making via our judgments, desires, and aversions. The corollary is also true. If we desire and seek externals for our happiness, “everyone with authority over any of our circumstances is bound to be our master” (Discourses 4.1.59). Epictetus makes this point perfectly clear: If you desire externals, “you are giving yourself up to slavery and submitting your neck to the yoke” (Discourses 4.1.77). A Demanding Path This bring us to the reason why most people remain on the path of slavery to our desires and false beliefs. Epictetus tells us we must be “highly motivated” if we want to “achieve such great things.” What are those great things? A life that is naturally free from external circumstances, unimpeded by others, and unconstrained by Nature because it seeks only what is within our complete control—an excellent moral character. It is a life of virtue and well-being. The Stoic path of freedom is not an easy path. We should not expect it to be easy when we consider the “great things” it offers. As Epictetus makes clear, the path requires that we “forego some things completely, and postpone others for the present.” Why? Because we cannot pursue those “great things”—freedom and well-being—while we simultaneously desire and pursue preferred indifferents like “prominence and wealth.” Epictetus advises that if we pursue both simultaneously, we “will probably not get” prominence and wealth and we “certainly will not get” those “great

This episode of Stoicism On Fire kicks off an exploration of the powerful, poignant, and perennially inspiring Encheiridion of Epictetus. The fifty-three chapters of this Stoic handbook will provide the primary content and plan for this exploration of Stoic theory and practice. However, I will incorporate other Stoic texts and the insights of scholars when it's appropriate for the subject at hand. In this introductory episode, I will provide some background on the Encheiridion. Then, in the next episode of Stoicism On Fire, we will begin the chapter-by-chapter exploration with the frequently quoted chapter one. About the Encheiridion Origin and Authorship The Encheiridion, like the Discourses, was written by Flavius Arrian, who was a student of Epictetus and later became a public servant under Emperor Hadrian, and a respected historian. In a letter to Lucias Gellius, Arrian claims the Discoursesare “word for word” taken “as best I could” from the lectures of Epictetus.[1] The Encheiridion, frequently referred to as the Handbook, is a compilation of passages drawn from those Discourses. As a result, many of the chapters in the Encheiridion can be directly correlated to passages in the Discourses; those that cannot are likely from portions of the Discourses that are lost to us. History The Encheiridion, more so than the Discourses, has been the historical gateway into the thought of Epictetus. For example, Simplicius, a sixth-century Neoplatonist, wrote a commentary on the Encheiridion that served as an introduction to Neoplatonist philosophy. Additionally, as Christopher Gill notes in his introduction to the Robin Hard translation of Epictetus, The Handbook was also adopted, with some modifications (including replacing the name of ‘Socrates’ with ‘St Paul’), by Christian monks, and used for centuries by the Eastern (Greek Orthodox) Church. Through Syriac Christian scholars, Epictetus’ thought spread to the Islamic East, influencing, for instance, the teaching on ‘dispelling sorrow’ by al-Kindī, a major figure in the study of Greek texts in ninth-century Baghdad.[2] The fact that the Encheiridion served as the sole source of Epictetus’ teaching for many who are not otherwise interested in Stoicism produced a negative side effect. As W. A. Oldfather, the author of the Loeb Classical Library translations of Epictetus points out, the “necessary aridity and formalism” of this condensed version obscures “the more modest, human, and sympathetic aspects of [Epictetus’] character.”[3] Unfortunately, a compendium like this can easily create misunderstanding and result in unwarranted criticism of Epictetus’ thought. This brings up an excellent point. The Encheiridion is not a substitute for the Discourses of Epictetus. Instead, its passages should serve as reminders for those who are already familiar with Stoic teachings. Purpose According to Simplicius, Arrian wrote a letter to Messalenus that describes the Encheiridion as a “selection” of those passages from the Discourses that are “most timely and essential to philosophy, and which most stir the soul.” Simplicius further suggests: The aim of [the Encheiridion]—if it meets with people who are persuaded by it, and do not merely read it but are actually affected by the speeches and bring them into effect—is to make our soul free, as the Demiurge and Father, its maker and generator, intended it to be: not fearing anything, or distressed at anything, or mastered by anything inferior to it.[4] Because the Encheiridion was created to serve as a handy reminder of Epictetus’ teaching, I waited to address it on the Stoicism In Fire podcast until I covered the essentials of Stoic theory and practice. The Encheiridion is not a standalone text of Stoic doctrine. Instead, it serves to remind us about teachings with which students and practitioners of Stoicism should already be familiar. This podcast series will explore the Encheiridion with that in mind; therefore, I assume the listener is already familiar with basic Stoic doctrines and practices. If you are new to Stoicism, please take the time to listen to Stoicism On Fire podcast episodes 1 through 14 before proceeding. Those episodes will provide a foundation that will allow you to get the most out of this exploration of the Encheiridion. How to Be Free This series of podcasts will use A.A. Long’s translation of Encheiridion from his 2018 book, titled How to Be Free: An Ancient Guide to the Stoic Life. A. A. Long is one of the most, if not the most, respected Stoic scholars of our time. His scholarship is always of the highest quality. Therefore, in deference to him, I will use the title Encheiridion instead of Handbook throughout this series and I will spell it, as Long does, with the additional “e” in the middle. I strongly encourage my listeners to purchase a copy of this book. This is an inexpensive hardbound book and is a worthy addition to the library of anyone who is studying and practicing Stoicism. As A. A. Long makes clear by his book title, freedom is a central theme in the teachings of Epictetus. On the front flap of the dust cover, Long writes: Freedom, for Epictetus, is not a human right or a political prerogative but a psychological and ethical achievement, a gift we alone can bestow on ourselves. This is consistent with his previous book on Epictetus, where he argues “Four principal concepts give Epictetus' philosophy its unity and coherence: freedom, judgement, volition, and integrity.” On the principle of freedom, Long wrote: FREEDOM, underwritten by the theology we have just observed, has nothing to do with liberty in a social or political sense. The freedom that interests Epictetus is entirely psychological logical and attitudinal. It is freedom from being constrained or impeded by any external circumstance or emotional reaction.[5] We will see each of these four principles—freedom, judgement, volition, and integrity—during our exploration of the Encheiridion. However, freedom will be emphasized because that principle is pervasive in the teachings of Epictetus. This focus on freedom is likely because Epictetus was a slave before being freed and becoming a Stoic teacher. As a result of that experience, where his external circumstances were controlled entirely by the whims of his master, Epictetus developed a profound understanding and appreciation for true freedom, which is naturally free, unimpeded, and unconstrained (Ench. 1). As A.A. Long notes, for Epictetus: Freedom, according to this notion, is neither legal status nor opportunity to move around at liberty. It is the mental orientation of persons who are impervious to frustration or disappointment because their wants and decisions depend on themselves and involve nothing that they cannot deliver to themselves.[6] Epictetus reminds us that true slavery has nothing to do with chains, freedom of movement, or the ability to carry out one’s intentions. As a result, he teaches the slave how to be truly free while simultaneously reminding the free person they are enslaved by their desires and aversions. Nevertheless, as Long points out, this conception of freedom is not the invention of Epictetus. According to Zeno, the original head of the Stoic school, freedom is the exclusive prerogative of those who are wise, while inferior persons, who comprise the majority of people, are not only fools but also slaves.[7] Therefore, when Epictetus calls his students “slaves” in his lectures, he is not insulting them. Instead, he is reminding them their psyches are controlled by the puppet strings of desires and aversions just as much as the slave’s body is controlled by chains and whips. In other words, he is reminding his students they are not free; he is encouraging them to seek true freedom.  As Stoic practitioners, our goal during this exploration of the Encheiridion is to cut a few more of those puppet strings that bind us like chains to our desires and aversions. By doing this, we will make a little more progress along the Stoic path toward true freedom. A.A. Long’s Stoic Values Diagram The diagram below is from A.A. Long’s book, How to Be Free(pg. xxx). The first edition hardbound book included an ERRATA insert to correct this diagram. The version of the diagram below is a recreation that includes the correction. Goods Bads Indifferents Essentially beneficial Essentially harmful Neither essentially beneficial nor harmful up to us up to us not up to us virtue, wisdom, happiness faultiness, folly, unhappiness e.g., poverty, wealth mind dependent mind dependent not mind dependent harmony with nature disharmony with nature Glossary A.A. Long provides a helpful glossary of terms in the back of his new book How to Be Free. I will provide those definitions as they are in his book. I will not provide a consolidated glossary like that from the book. Again, I encourage all of my listeners who intend to follow this series of podcasts on the Encheiridion to purchase a copy of Long’s excellent book. Primary Sources The following sources will be relied upon and quoted from during this exploration of the Encheiridion. Additional sources, if used, will be noted in the Stoicism On Fire episode where they are used. Brennan, T., & Brittain, C. (2002). Simplicius: On Epictetus Handbook 1-26. Ithica, NY: Cornell University Press. __________ (2002). Simplicius: On Epictetus’ Handbook 27-53. Ithica, NY: Cornell University Press. Dobbin, R. (1998). Epictetus: Discourses, Book 1. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press. Hard, R. (2014). Epictetus: Discourses, Fragments, Handbook. (C. Gill, Ed.). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Long, A. A. (2002). Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. New York: Oxford University Press. Long, A. (2018). How to Be Free: An Ancient Guide to the Stoic Life. Princeton,...

In the last episode of Stoicism On Fire, I focused on the Stoic doctrine of an excellent human life and the fact that such a life requires agreement with both human nature and cosmic Nature. The corollary of that doctrine is that human reason alone is not enough to lead us toward an excellent moral character; we must bring our human reason (logos) into agreement with universal Reason (Logos). As I pointed out, the concept of human reason as a fragment of the Logos permeating the cosmos relates to the inner guardian the Stoics referred to as a daimon. With those concepts in mind, we are ready to continue with Marcus’ list of characteristics of a good person. When Marcus reminds himself not to defile his daimon, he notes the good person will exhibit the characteristic of: following God in an orderly fashion, never uttering a word that is contrary to the truth nor performing an action that is contrary to justice. We see three related characteristics here; they are: following god, speaking truth, and acting justly. Following God in an Orderly Fashion First, what does it mean to follow God in Stoic practice? The instruction to “Follow God” may inspire curiosity or provoke resistance among secular moderns. This is not equivalent to following the commands of a sacred text; the Stoics had no such texts. Recall that God is equivalent to Nature in Stoicism. Therefore, to follow God is to follow Nature. However, we misrepresent this aspect of Stoic practice if we remove the divine and providential characteristics of Nature the Stoics attributed to her. Nature devoid of providence is not the cosmic Nature with which the ancient Stoics tried to live in agreement. Absent providence, some version of a chance universe like that of the Epicureans remains. The Stoics opposed this model and found it inadequate as a guide for ethical human life. That is the reason they emphasized the relationship between us and a purposeful (providential) cosmos. Throughout the Meditations, we see Marcus seeking a relationship with cosmic Nature and attempting to align his life with its universal Law. In several passages, Marcus expresses this as following God: Hearten yourself with simplicity and self-respect and indifference towards all that lies between virtue and vice. Love the human race. Follow God. (Meditations 7.31) And he has put aside every distraction and care, and has no other desire than to hold to the straight path according to the law, and by holding to it, to follow God. (Meditations 10.11) In the final passages of his Meditations, Marcus instructs himself to constantly consider, those who have been greatly aggrieved at something that came to pass, and those who have achieved the heights of fame, or affliction, or enmity, or any other kind of fortune; and then ask yourself, ‘What has become of all that?’ Smoke and ashes and merely a tale, or not even so much as a tale. (Meditations 12.27) Then, he reminds himself how “cheap” those things are we strive for and reminds himself of those things that are worthy of our pursuit such as wisdom, justice, temperance, and obedience to the gods. Marcus then imagines a dialog with those who doubt or deny the existence of the gods. He writes: To those who ask, ‘Where have you seen the gods, or what evidence do you have of their existence, that you worship them so devoutly?’, I reply first of all that they are in fact visible to our eyes, and secondly, that I have not seen my own soul, and yet I pay it due honour. So likewise with the gods; from what I experience of their power at every moment of my life, I ascertain that they exist and I pay them due reverence. (Meditations 12.28) Finally, he asks himself a deeply probing question and provides himself with an answer. What is it that you seek? The mere continuation of your life? To experience sensation, then, and impulse? To grow, and cease from growing? To make use of your tongue, and your mind? And what is there in that which strikes you as worth desiring? But if all these things are worthy of contempt, take the final step, and follow reason, follow God. (Meditations 12.31) The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius are the best expression of Stoicism we have before the Stoa ceases to exist a short time after his death. Within this text we see a deeply held reverence for the divinity of Nature along with a desire and commitment to follow God. This attitude of reverence is not unique to Marcus. As Pierre Hadot emphasizes while writing about the Discipline of Desire, All this corresponds, then, to a religious need: the need to personalize that power, to the will of which the discipline of desire instructs us complacently to consent. This is why Marcus Aurelius, like Epictetus, often employs the expressions "follow the gods" or "obey the gods" to describe this attitude of consent.[1]However, this concept of following God does not begin with Epictetus or Marcus. It can be traced to the founding of the Stoa. In the Discourses of Epictetus we see the “follow God” theme more frequently and, as Hadot points out, to follow the gods “means to accept their will, which is identical with the will of universal Nature.”[2] Likewise, A.A. Long points out, “Hence for Epictetus, the goal of `following God' is equivalent to `living in accordance with nature' (1.26.1), which was the standard Stoic definition of the good life.”[3] Let us look at what Epictetus had to say about this topic in several passages: And 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?’ (Discourses 1.12.8) For does it in fact take long to say that ‘our end lies in following the gods, and the essence of the good in the correct use of impressions’? (Discourses 1.20.15) ‘Tell me further, what were the things that you regarded as being “goods”?’—‘The right exercise of choice and right use of impressions.’—‘And what is the end?’—‘To follow God.’ (Discourses 1.30.4) Again, "following the gods" was the language used throughout the history of the Stoa as equivalent to living in agreement with nature. This is clear from the writings of Chrysippus, the second founder and third Scholarch of the Stoa. In Diogenes Laertius’ ancient book Lives of Eminent Philosophers, we read: Chrysippus says in the first book of his De finibus; for our individual natures are parts of the nature of the whole universe. 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, lord and ruler of all that is. (DL 7.87-8) If that is not clear enough, Chrysippus followed up with this unambiguous statement: And this very thing constitutes the virtue of the happy man and the smooth current of life, when all actions promote the harmony of the spirit dwelling in the individual man with the will of him who orders the universe. (DL 7.88) Virtue and happiness, according to Chrysippus, result from the harmony between “the spirit dwelling in the individual” (daimon) and “the will of him who orders the universe” (Zeus, God). Considering that Chrysippus was the third Scholarch of the Stoa, these quotes get us close to the founding. However, we can get closer. On four occasions in the Discourses of Epictetus, he repeats a prayer he attributes to Cleanthes, whom Zeno selected to succeed him as the second Scholarch of the ancient Stoa. The most famous version of Cleanthes prayer is found in Enchiridion 53: Guide me, O Zeus, and thou, O Destiny, To wheresoever you have assigned me; I’ll follow unwaveringly, or if my will fails, Base though I be, I’ll follow nonetheless.[4]For those who are unfamiliar with Stoic theology, it is important to note that the name Zeus does not refer to the anthropomorphic figure of Greek mythology or a transcendent deity. Instead, it refers to the God of many names that is the immanent and active force within all of Nature. As professor Keimpe Algra of Utrecht University writes: we know that the Stoics were willing to link their philosophical monotheism or pantheism with at least parts of traditional polytheism. They were prepared to call their one cosmic god by many traditional names—Zeus, Hera, etc.[5]The Stoic God is a philosophical God—one arrived at by observation and reason. Nevertheless, as the surviving texts make clear, the Stoics were not playing mere word games by declaring the cosmos divine as some modern scientific pantheists do. The reverence to Nature and individual piety is clearly present from Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus at the founding all the way to Marcus’ Meditations as the flame of the Stoa grows dim. As A.A. Long argues, Epictetus' theological language betokens a personal belief and experience as deep and wholehearted as that of any Jew or Christian or Muslim.[6]This evidence makes it abundantly clear that the idea of following God was there from the founding of the Stoa. The instruction to “follow the gods” cannot be dismissed as Epictetus’ “own version” of the Stoic edict to follow nature.[7] It is also important to remember a fragment of that logos resides in each of us. Therefore, as A.A. Long points out: We don’t need God, as distinct from ourselves, to tell us what to do; but we are able to tell ourselves what to do only because of the way our nature has been constructed. And the author of our nature's construction is God. Hence for Epictetus, the goal of `following God' is equivalent to `living in accordance with nature' (1.26.1), which was the standard Stoic definition of the good life.[8]Just in Word and Deed ...

The last episode closed with a thought-provoking passage from the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius that places our human reason into the proper Stoic perspective. It reads: to have the intellect as a guide towards what appear to be duties is something that we share with those who do not believe in the gods, with those who betray their country, with those who will do anything whatever behind locked doors. (Meditations 3.16) As a transition to this episode, I will highlight the important point Marcus makes in this passage for a second time. Human reason is not the ultimate guide for ethical behavior in Stoic practice. On the contrary, universal Reason—cosmic Nature—is the sole arbiter of good and bad in Stoicism. Chrysippus, the third scholarch of the Stoa, argued this point when he wrote: For there is no other or more suitable way of approaching the theory of good and evil or the virtues or happiness than from the universal nature and from the dispensation of the universe… For the theory of good and evil must be connected with these, since good and evil have no better beginning or point of reference and physical speculation is to be undertaken for no other purpose than for the discrimination of good and evil.[1] Again, in his book titled On Ends, Chrysippus argued: And this is why the end may be defined as life in accordance with nature, or, in other words, in accordance with our own human nature as well as that of the universe, a life in which we refrain from every action forbidden by the law common to all things, that is to say, the right reason which pervades all things, and is identical with this Zeus.[2] In this passage, Chrysippus makes it quite clear a “life in accordance with nature” is one lived in agreement with “the right reason which pervades all things, and is identical with this Zeus” (emphasis added). The Greek word translated as “reason” in this passage is logos. According to the Stoics, every entity that exists is comprised of a mixture of matter (the passive principle) and pneuma(the active principle). Humans are unique among all existing entities because the pneuma within us comprises our soul (psyche) and “constitutes itself as reason, logos.”[3] Seneca articulated this as follows: What, then, is the distinctive property of a human being? Reason. It is by reason that the human surpasses animals and is second to the gods. Therefore perfected reason is the human’s distinctive excellence; everything else is shared with animals and plants. (Letters 76.9) As A.A. Long emphasizes, “The [goal-directed] assumptions which this argument requires for its validity are too obvious to need discussion.” Accordingly, “'the goodness of living according to reason' is derived from, and not the grounds of, 'living according to Nature'.” In other words, any “goodness” we can attribute to living according to human reason is due solely to the fact that human reason is derived from cosmic Reason (logos). Therefore, the Stoics looked to Nature for ethical norms to guide our lives and society. Chrysippus articulated this in his“third book on the Gods,” where he wrote: It is not possible to discover any other beginning of justice or any source for it other than from Zeus and from the universal nature, for thence everything of the kind must have its beginning if we are going to have anything to say about good and evil.[4] In his paper titled The Logical Basis for Stoic Ethics, the renowned scholar of Stoicism A.A. Long points out: Nature is available to all people as a moral principle through the 'impulses towards virtue' which human beings have as a Natural endowment. The wise man is marked out by his voluntary submission to what Nature wills; he chooses, in some sense of choice, to act according to Nature. The actions of bad men are necessarily contrary to Nature's will… By giving human beings reason, Nature provides the necessary conditions of good or bad actions; for actions are good or bad if and only if the reason of their agents accords with or fails to accord with Nature. By endowing man with 'impulses towards virtue' Nature provides conditions sufficient to direct him towards what accords with Nature.[5] In the conclusion of this paper, A.A. Long argues against the circular reasoning that “life according to nature must be followed because it is the reasonable life or life according to reason.” He refutes the idea that “the reasonable life” constitutes living according to Nature[6] and maintains: That is a complete misrepresentation of the logical basis of Stoic ethics. Life according to reason is entailed by life according to Nature; but life according to Nature is not obligatory because it accords with reason. Nature stands to human beings as a moral law commanding him to live by rational principles, viz., those principles of thought and action which Nature, a perfect being, prescribes to itself and all rational beings.[7] Stoic theory and practice rely on the premise that each human mind is a fragment of the universal, divine mind that permeates and orders the cosmos. Therefore, our ultimate human good is developed by bringing our human reason and will into agreement with universal Reason (cosmic Nature, Logos). Again, in the conclusion of his masterful study of Marcus’s Meditations, Pierre Hadot points out: 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[8] Additionally, Hadot contends, 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 the former.[9] It is simply impossible to make Stoic ethical theory and practice fully coherent if we begin with the modern scientistic assumption that human life and human reason are accidental byproducts of a random universe. We make a serious mistake when we unseat cosmic Nature from its rightful place as the supreme guide for human action and rely solely on our human intellect to guide us towards what appears to be good. This is true of Stoicism and ancient virtue ethics in general. As A.A. Long argues, if we ignore the “symbiosis of cosmic and ethical perspectives” in ancient ethics “we shall not only misrepresent one of its most basic features; we shall also fail to understand why ancient philosophers were so absolute in their claims about the power of reason to guide human life and to deliver prosperity.”[10] Thus, Marcus highlights the fact that using human “intellect as a guide towards what appear to be duties” makes us no different from those who are impious toward divine Nature, disloyal to their country, and engage in soul-destroying behavior. Again, the evil in the world is committed by humans who are using their intellect; they are using their human reason to accomplish their vicious ends. Unfortunately, their human reason is not in agreement with universal Reason. The ancient Stoics understood human reason alone—disconnected from cosmic Reason—is insufficient to guide us toward virtue. Why? Because human reason can be easily corrupted by errant assents to impressions, and desires and aversions that create impulses to act contrary to the will of Nature. The path to virtue requires more. It requires harmony between human reason and cosmic Reason. It requires an understanding and appreciation for universal Reason as the source of our human reason. The Special Characteristic of the “Good Person” With that in mind, we can move on to Marcus’ list of characteristics of those who do use their capacities appropriately. He writes:  If you share everything else with those whom I have just mentioned, there remains the special characteristic of a good person (Meditations 3.16) Love of Fate (Amor Fati) First on Marcus’s list of characteristics of the good person is the fact they will “love and welcome all that happens to him and is spun for him as his fate.” In his commentary on this passage, Pierre Hadot wrote: We have already seen that, for the Stoics, what is present for me is that which is currently happening to me: in other words, not merely my current actions, but also the present event with which I am confronted. Here again, as in the case of the present in general, it is my thought and my attention which singles out from the flux of things that which has meaning for me; at which point my inner discourse will declare that such-and-such an event is happening to me. Moreover—whether I know it or not—the overall movement of the universe, set in motion by divine Reason, has brought it about that I have been destined, from all eternity, to encounter such-and-such an event.[11] I dealt with love of fate extensively in previous episodes, so I’m not going to say much about it here. However, I will remind you of the difference between bowing to the necessity of fate and the Stoic practice of loving every event of Nature. As I have noted in a previous episode: Bear and Forbear Only Gets Us Half the Way There. Care of the Daimon Next, Marcus suggests the good person will exhibit three characteristics with regard to their daimon—the guardian spirit within: They will not defile the guardian spirit within. They will not trouble it with a host of fancies. They will preserve it in cheerful serenity.[12] Marcus focuses on the care of his inner daimon throughout his Meditations. This daimon is the guardian or inner “genius” that must be cared for lest it becomes corrupted by incorrect assents to impressions and desires and aversions that lead to impulses to act contrary to the universal law of Nature. In Meditations2.13, he pities those who seek happiness outside themselves and fail to understand “it is enough to hold fast to the guardian-spirit within him and serve it single-mindedly; and this service is

In Meditations 3.16, Marcus Aurelius notes three different capacities of the human psyche and the corresponding character traits of bad people who are controlled or guided by them. He writes: To receive impressions by means of images is something that we share even with cattle; and to be drawn this way and that by the puppet-strings of impulse, we share with wild beasts, with catamites, and with a Phalaris or a Nero; and to have the intellect as a guide towards what appear to be duties is something that we share with those who do not believe in the gods, with those who betray their country, with those who will do anything whatever behind locked doors. This passage is fascinating. The first two capacities relied on by those with a bad character will get near-universal nods of agreement from Stoic practitioners. However, the third—those who use their intellect as a guide—may raise eyebrows and will need explaining. Let’s look at each of these in detail. Those Who Are Operating on Sense Impressions (Phantasia) Alone Marcus begins by comparing those who rely only on sense impressions to cattle. If we seek a human parallel, slaves and prisoners come to mind. Like cattle, others control the movements of slaves and prisoners. Likewise, they must eat what is put in front of them lest they starve. A sense impression of food is presented to them and they respond by eating it. A sense impression of downtime is presented to them, so they rest or sleep. Others make all of their significant choices for them; there is no need to make judgments, so they are simply responding to sense impressions. It is possible to imagine a human who is not a literal slave or prisoner but lives in an environment where they are cared for by others and every significant choice is made for them. This would be unlikely in modern times. However, we can imagine a prince or princess of a powerful king living in such circumstances in the past. No matter what we imagine, I think we will agree these circumstances are dehumanizing—this is not the life of a human being; it is the life of cattle. For us, the important lesson here is how we handle sense impressions, and that skill falls under the practice known as the Discipline of Assent. As I noted in a previous episode, we need to set up a Stoic roadblock for impressions. This allows us to Stop every impression, Strip it bare, and See it from the cosmic viewpoint. If we wrongly assent to the almost involuntary value judgments that typically accompany sense impressions—that is “good” or that is “bad”—we develop or further ingrain the desires and aversions that disturb us. That brings us to the next capacity on Marcus’ list. Those Who Are Driven by Impulses (Horme) Marcus likens those who are driven by the impulses that arise from desires and aversions to “wild beasts.” Clearly, wild beasts differ from the cattle that rely on sense perceptions. Animals in the wild are not fed and cared for by others. Instead, they must hunt or forage to eat, and they are free to move about, sleep where they want, and procreate as they desire. These wild beasts are driven by impulses that arise from innate desires (longings) and aversions (fears)—we typically call these instincts. Wild animals do not question their desires and aversions; they do not consider whether their actions are good or bad. If they are social animals, they may tend toward certain behaviors and avoid others because there are rewards or repercussions from others in their group. However, that is not rational behavior; it is conditioning. Marcus argues that people who exhibit this characteristic are “drawn this way and that by the puppet-strings of impulse.” He uses this puppet analogy several times in his Meditations. He admonishes himself not to be “tugged this way and that, like a puppet, by each unsociable impulse” (Meditations 2.2), and cautions against being “pulled around like puppets by our impulses” (Meditations 6.16). Additionally, he finds some consolation in death because he will be free from “the impulses that pull us around like a puppet” (Meditations 6.28). When we are honest with ourselves, as Marcus was, we recognize the power of desires and aversions to control us like puppets. They do pull us around. When we are presented with the impression of something we desire as a “good” or wish to avoid because we consider it “bad,” our impulse to move toward or away from that thing or event can be psychologically overwhelming. That is why Epictetus repeatedly emphasizes the importance of eliminating our desires and aversions. This is the practice known as the Discipline of Desire. He even teaches us that the only thing powerful enough to overpower a desire or aversion is another desire or aversion (Discourses 1.17.24). In other words, our desire for an excellent character must become strong enough to overpower our desire for good health, wealth, power, and reputation and our fear of the opposite externals. Otherwise, we will continue to have a troubled mind and we will find reasons to blame others and the cosmos (Enchiridion 1). Left unchecked, our desires will turn us into immoral humans. Worse yet, if we are placed in a position of power, those desires and aversions can turn us into tyrants like Phalaris or Nero. Therefore, if we succumb to desires and aversions, we will turn into the human equivalent of wild beasts. Epictetus teaches us, “It is thus shameful for a human being to begin and end where the irrational animals do” (Discourses 1.6.20). He scorns those who choose to live as irrational animals. He declares, you “should lie down and go to sleep, and lead the worm’s life that you’ve judged yourself to be worthy of; eat and drink, and copulate, and defecate, and snore!” (Discourses 2.20.10). Those Who Are Guided by Their Intellect (Nous) At this point, one might assume that using our divinely given human rationality will inevitably lead us away from those characteristics shared by cattle and wild beasts and toward an excellent character (virtue). Unfortunately, that assumption is incorrect. Human history makes it quite clear that we are capable of using our reason to achieve evil ends. In fact, as Cleanthes highlights in his Hymn to Zeus, the only evil in the world is that which wicked men do. It is common for us moderns to observe and consider the evil deeds of other humans and conclude they must be crazy—irrational. However, the Stoics did not consider evil acts to be the result of irrationality. Instead, evil is the misuse of rationality. The Stoics did not divide the human psyche into rational and irrational parts as Plato did. Instead, they argued for a unified human psyche that is thoroughly rational even when it is morally corrupt and vicious. The Stoics would argue that Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, and Charles Manson relied on their human rationality to carry out their morally vicious actions. Consequently, we moderns make a serious mistake when we equate rationality with virtue because human reason can be used for both good and bad ends. That is why the Stoics argue that human reason must be brought into agreement with (όμολογουμένως) the nature of the whole universe (DL 7.87). Stoicism teaches us the current state of our character is the product of all of our previous assents to impressions and our currently held desires and aversions. Therefore, our response to any present impression of a thing or event will be the product of our present character. There is no magic in Stoic psychology; if we wish to behave differently in the future, we must change our character. To change our character, we must correct our errant judgments and eliminate our desires for and aversions to externals that are not “up to us.” An excellent character (virtue) will produce appropriate responses to things and events, while a bad character (vice) will produce the opposite. Chrysippus likened our individual character to the shape and composition of a cylinder. He argued: Just as the person who pushed the cylinder gave it its beginning of motion but not its capacity for rolling, likewise, although the impression encountered will print and, as it were, emblazon its appearance on the mind, assent will be in our power. And assent, just as we said in the case of the cylinder, although prompted from outside, will thereafter move through its own force and nature. (Cicero, On Fate, 43) To help us understand this cylinder metaphor and its application to human character, I think it is helpful to imagine two different cylinders. First, imagine a cylinder that is perfectly round, balanced, and composed of uniformly smooth, durable, and weighty metal. Label this cylinder “virtue.” Now imagine a second cylinder that is slightly out of round, imbalanced, and composed of a soft, porous wood like North American pine that is full of knots. Label this one “vice.” If we place both cylinders on the same smooth, slightly inclined surface and give them both a nudge of equivalent force, they will not roll in the same manner. Why? Because their nature is quite different. Likewise, two human characters, one virtuous and the other vicious, when acted upon by the same impression of an external thing or event, will respond differently. How can evil acts be considered rational? Because their rational faculty was corrupted. It is not that their rational faculty is broken; it is misguided. Their rational faculty is guided by wrong judgments about what is “good” and “bad” and driven by desires for externals beyond their control. Using the language of Marcus, each used their “intellect as a guide” to achieve what appeared “good” and “right” to them. As the old saying notes, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Even though we all share a portion of the same divine mind, that fragment of the divine we each possess can become corrupted. This raises a critically important point for our Stoic practice; it is not enough to rely on human rationality....

Stoic practice is distinct from academic philosophy because it is a way of life—an art of living—supported by a holistic philosophical system. The Stoics never intended their system to be a primarily intellectual endeavor. Nor was it created as a quick fix, self-help program. This is obvious from the surviving Stoic texts. Unlike academic philosophical tomes, the writings of Seneca, Discourses of Epictetus, and Meditations of Marcus Aurelius challenge and inspire us. It is quite apparent that something profound motivated these Stoics to live uncommon lives. For two thousand years, their lives have encouraged people like us to live up to our full potential as humans who are capable of developing moral excellence and experiencing true freedom and well-being. Nevertheless, the path Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus, and the other ancient Stoics trod toward that goal was not an easy one. As Pierre Hadot suggests, the practice of Stoicism will “turn our entire life upside down.”[1] While contemplating what that means, an image I found helpful was that of a farmer tilling a field. The process of tilling turns the soil upside down, and that serves several functions that help cultivate crops: It disrupts the root structure of existing weeds, it breaks up and loosens hardened soil, and it exposes fresh soil that is better able to absorb nutrients and support the growth of new seeds. Interestingly, these functions are analogous to cultivating our psyche, so it can bear the fruit of moral excellence. If a Stoic practitioner neglects to till the field of their psyche and instead scatters the seeds of Stoicism across untilled soil, they are unlikely to get the crop yield promised by the Stoics—eudaimonia. The initial excitement that comes from seeing the first signs of a plant breaking through the soil may be short-lived. That is because seeds scattered on hard, untilled soil may grow shallow roots if they can penetrate the soil at all. Those new seeds are forced to compete with preexisting weeds for water and nourishment. This is analogous to the modern Stoic practitioner who tries to apply Stoic sayings and techniques to their mind that is still entangled with the preexisting psychic weeds from a lifetime of false judgments, wrong desires, and irrational fears. Many people come to Stoicism in the twenty-first century looking only for psychological techniques, mind hacks, or inspirational aphorisms that will help them overcome obstacles and achieve their preexisting personal goals. Likewise, many seek a means of developing tranquility in our chaotic times. Judging by the current popularity of Stoicism on social media, it appears that many people are benefitting from applying Stoic principles and practices to help them get a better job or promotion, manage a company, become a better athlete, recover from a breakup, etc. However, what many moderns overlook is the fact that seeking externals is not the goal of Stoic practice. In fact, as Epictetus teaches us in Enchiridion 1, desiring and chasing after those externals will keep us enslaved and cause us to lament and have a troubled mind. Likewise, moderns may overlook the fact that others can apply those same techniques to make them a better criminal, corrupt business person, tyrannical political leader, or an uncaring, disconnected human being. Therefore, we must keep this important truth in mind: If we apply Stoic techniques and practices to an untilled psyche, it will fertilize Stoic seeds and preexisting weeds. To experience true well-being, our Stoic practice must be aimed at an excellent moral character rather than externals like health, wealth, office, and reputation. Stoic practice helps us develop new patterns of thought to replace our old errant judgments, misdirected desires, and disturbing aversions (weeds) so we can develop our moral excellence (virtue) and experience true well-being (eudaimonia). However, for those new seeds of thought to flourish and produce fruit, we must discover and disrupt the root system of those existing thoughts that create our psychological disturbances. That requires serious, ongoing effort. It requires us to till the soil of our psyche. Again, when we scatter seeds of Stoicism atop the hard ground of our psyche, amidst the weeds that have already taken root, and then use Stoic practices, techniques, or mind hacks to fertilize those seeds we are nourishing both the new Stoic seeds and the preexisting weeds. The Stoics never intended to help us achieve better health, more wealth, increased fame, a better reputation, etc. If we leave the desire for those externals in place, they will likely grow alongside the seeds of Stoicism. This means the trees of our Stoic orchard will be competing with preexisting weeds and they may never bear the fruit (moral excellence) Stoicism promises. That is why Stoic practice requires tilling the soil of our psyche. Stoicism requires us to turn the soil of our psyche (soul) upside down to disrupt those false judgments, desires and aversions that enslave us and trouble our minds. Then we can plant new seeds and reap a better harvest of well-being. To expose errant judgments, wrong desires, and irrational aversions we must focus our attention (prosoche) on them. Then, we can use the discipline of assent to uproot those weeds. Simultaneously, the discipline of desire will help us select only the best seeds to plant in the tilled soil of our psyche—seeds that can produce moral excellence. Finally, we can apply the fertilizer of Stoic practice to the fresh soil and new seeds. That is the path of the prokopton, and the Stoics promise us it will bear fruit. To do so, however, we must understand and apply all three fields of study—logic, physics, and ethics. The ancient Stoics offered the simile of an orchard to represent the holistic nature of the Stoic system for good reason. A Stoic orchard must be protected by the fence, built via the discipline of assent to impressions (logic), so the soil and trees of appropriate desires (physics) can produce good fruit (ethics). In modern times, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) demonstrated the effectiveness of this ancient Stoic practice of examining and changing deeply held beliefs to effect change in one’s behavior. As Aaron Beck, the founder of Cognitive Therapy, points out, our behavior is motivated by three levels of cognition: core beliefs, dysfunctional assumptions, and negative automatic thoughts. “Core beliefs, or schemas, are deeply held beliefs about self, others and the world.”[2] These core beliefs create a worldview—a map that represents the way the world is. The connection between a person’s worldview, their perception of events, and their behavior is fundamental to CBT practitioners. Jean-Baptiste Gourinat highlighted this connection in his 2009 paper titled Stoicism Today. He notes that“one’s behavior springs from one’s view of oneself and the world, and our psychological difficulties and disturbances derive from these views and from our (misconceived) perception of external events.”[3] The ancient Stoics understood the connection between beliefs, behavior, and psychological well-being. As a result, they developed a philosophical system that supported a way of life designed to develop an excellent moral character (virtue) and promote well-being. This way of life is far more holistic than CBT alone, which does not prescribe or promote any particular model of reality. As I have pointed out in several episodes, Stoic theory and practice, as the ancients conceived it, rely on trust in a providentially ordered cosmos. Therefore, it is unreasonable to think we can remove or ignore the Stoic worldview from their interdependent, holistic system without changing the system as a whole. That does not prohibit a modern from adapting Stoicism to an atheist worldview. However, such an adaptation will require significant modification to Stoic ethical theory and practices as well. Consequently, moderns who attempt to modify Stoicism in this way should be aware they are doing something the ancient Stoics did not conceive of, and their mileage may vary. As Pierre Hadot suggests, the Stoic art of living is an “exercise” that consists of a “concrete attitude and determinate lifestyle, which engages the whole of existence.” He further points out, “The philosophical act is not situated merely on the cognitive level, but on that of the self and of being.”He argues this “conversion” is one that “turns our entire life upside down, changing the life of the person who goes through it.” As a result, we can rise above our “inauthentic condition of life, darkened by unconsciousness and harassed by worry” to an “authentic state of life” that includes “self-consciousness, an exact vision of the world, inner peace, and freedom.”[4] I have dedicated the last seven years of my life to the serious study of Stoic theory and a consistent—albeit far from perfect—attempt to put that theory into practice. During that time frame, I have also mentored numerous students through the basic course at the College of Stoic Philosophers and tutored students through the year-long advanced course known as the Marcus Aurelius School. From my personal experience and my observations of those I have mentored, I am convinced the results one gets from the practice of Stoicism are directly proportionate to one’s commitment to the Stoic path. A half-hearted commitment to the Stoic path will not create the psychological resilience and greatness of character we see in ancient Stoics. Why? Because, as Seneca points out: To fashion a [Stoic] who can genuinely be called a [Stoic], a stronger fate is needed. For him, the way will not be flat: he must go up and down, he must be tossed by waves, and must guide his vessel on a stormy sea. He must hold his course against fortune. Many things will happen that are hard and rough (On Providence, 5.9) Why are trials and hardships essential to the Stoic path?...

From everything that happens in the universe it is easy to praise providence, if one has within him two things: the faculty of taking a comprehensive view of the things that happen to each person and a sense of gratitude. For, otherwise, one will either fail to recognize the usefulness of what has come about, or else fail to be truly grateful if one does in fact recognize it. (Discourses 1.6.1-2) Psychological resilience is a by-product of Stoic practice; it is part of the good flow or well-being (eudaimonia) a Stoic practitioner experiences as a result of developing an excellent character (virtue). In his expression of the dichotomy of control, found in Enchiridion1, Epictetus contrasts the psychologically resilient Stoic with those who have a troubled mind—those who will be hindered, lament, and blame gods and humans for their troubles. Simultaneously, Epictetus declares that “no harm can affect” the Stoic who has developed a resilient mind. Nevertheless, as he points out, the development of a resilient mind requires significant effort and change in our lives. People have troubled minds because of their thoughts, desires, and intentions. As I have written before, Stoicism is not a topically applied balm we can use occasionally to make us feel better. Instead, it is internal medicine and it requires constant attention and practice. Stoicism works from the inside out, beginning with our thoughts, desires and aversions, and intentions to act. Progress depends on our willingness to turn over the soil of our psyche to disrupt the roots of our entangled thoughts, so we can plant new seeds that can grow into new patterns of thinking. In the above passage from the Discourses 1.6, we see two elements that are necessary to develop psychological resilience: a comprehensive view of things, and gratitude. A Comprehensive View of Things The first part of Epictetus’ prescription for psychological resilience involves developing a cosmic viewpoint. The cosmic viewpoint allows us to escape our human-centered view of things and events and the judgments associated with that limited perspective. Life is not easy. Like Shakespeare’s Hamlet, we all must face the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” However, there is good news. Stoic practice equips us to “take arms” against that “sea of troubles” we call life; it prepares us “to be” despite life’s vicissitudes that may cause us to question whether it is better “not to be.” To begin, we must abandon our limited human perspective and view events as if from above. The “view from above” is more than a view from a distance that trivializes things and events on Earth. The cosmic viewpoint teaches us to accept the cosmos as a holistic organism, where events have a purpose that is larger than our human-centered view of things typically allows us to see.[1] From this cosmic perspective, seemingly tragic events are neither good nor evil. Instead, these events are simply the way our purposeful cosmos is bringing about what is best for the whole. As practicing Stoics, we can use the cosmic viewpoint to transcend the false expectations which cause a troubled mind. As I wrote in a previous post, Once we understand the nature of the cosmos and our place in it, we begin to understand that external events are neither good nor bad, in a moral sense, because they are beyond our control. The only events that have moral implications for us are those we can control—our judgments. External events cannot harm our inner Self; only our thoughts about events can.[2] Epictetus makes this point succinctly: It isn’t the things themselves that disturb people, but the judgements that they form about them. (Enchiridion 4) Pierre Hadot considers the cosmic viewpoint the beginning of Stoic practice. He writes, Putting theory into practice begins with an exercise that consists in recognizing oneself as a part of the Whole, elevating oneself to cosmic consciousness, or immersing oneself within the totality of the cosmos. While meditating on Stoic physics, we are able to see all things within the perspective of universal Reason. To achieve this, we must practice the imaginative exercise which consists in seeing all human things from above.[3] When we are confronted with events that might appear unsettling, disturbing, or even tragic, we are wise to take a step back and try to envision those events from a cosmic viewpoint. From the perspective of the whole cosmos, those events can take on an entirely different meaning. No matter how tragic the events may appear, we will be wise to recall the famous aphorism: Things turn out best for those who make the best of the way things turn out. (source unknown) If we make the best of the way things turn out, we may be able to see purpose in those events. From the cosmic viewpoint we can relinquish our anthropocentric judgments of those events and learn to develop an attitude of gratitude for everything that happens in our lives. For those who may be inclined to claim, “That’s just a placebo!” Maybe, but what is the alternative? While others are stomping their feet, screaming, crying, and venting their anger at the universe and humans (Enchiridion 1), the Stoic who adopts a cosmic viewpoint can assume all events have some greater purpose and make the best of them. Will they not be far better off for doing so? If this is nothing more than a placebo, it is a damn good one. To those who then claim, “Well, I can’t make myself believe the world is providentially ordered.” Agreed, but you can allow yourself to live as if it is and see what happens. After all, you are probably quite familiar with what it feels like to believe that tragic events are random, meaningless accidents. Or have you fully considered what you actually believe and the ramifications of those unexamined beliefs? Are you living as if the universe is a random accident? How is that working out for you? Are you willing to consider an alternative approach? What if you could replace the anger and sadness you still carry from those unsettling, disturbing, and tragic events that occurred in your life? What if you could see those events from a perspective that allowed healing and provided a sense of meaning because those events actually had a purpose? That is what the cosmic viewpoint can do for you if you are willing to adopt it. Stoics do not simply attempt to put a positive spin on events. Instead, Stoics seek to understand the nature of reality, human nature, and humankind’s place within Nature. The cosmic perspective helps us deal with life’s vicissitudes. How? By teaching us to limit our concerns to what is “up to us”—our judgments of events—and to love what we cannot control. We can learn to love, rather than simply tolerate, the events of Nature by trusting they have a purpose and thereby provide our human lives with inherent meaning. From that perspective, we can transform our anger and resentment from past events into gratitude for all the events that occur in a rationally ordered, divine cosmos. An Attitude of Gratitude The second part of Epictetus’ prescription for psychological resilience in Discourses 1.6 involves developing a “sense of gratitude” for everything that happens. An attitude of gratitude distinguishes a love of fate (amor fati) from mere resignation and fatalism. How does a Stoic avoid resignation and learn to love fate? By choosing to see challenging events as opportunities for growth in virtue (excellence of character). Trials either make us bitter or they can make us better. The choice is ours. Consider this: What would Stoics do without the people on Facebook who annoy us, the inconsiderate drivers who cut us off in traffic, the thoughtless actions of our loved ones, the unreasonable demands of a boss or customer who does not appreciate us, the pains in our bodies, or the occasional tragedies visited upon us? How would we grow in virtue without these dispreferred indifferents to shape our character? How would we test or measure our growth without them? Finally, how much would we value virtue (arête) and well-being (eudaimonia) if they came easy, without much effort? If we accept that unsettling, disturbing, and apparently tragic events beyond our control are going to happen, what would it look like to take our Stoic practice to the next level? What if we adopt an attitude of gratitude toward all those events that are “not up to us”? Imagine the psychological strength and equanimity that would spring from such an attitude. Marcus provides us with a wonderful example of an attitude of gratitude: Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. All is fruit for me that your seasons bring, O nature. All proceeds from you, all subsists in you, and to you all things return. (Meditations 4.23) Marcus had that attitude of gratitude because he trusted that, “Nothing happens to anyone that he is not fitted by nature to bear” (Meditations 5.18.1). Epictetus also highlights that same attitude of gratitude toward what happens when he instructs us: Don’t seek that all that comes about should come about as you wish, but wish that everything that comes about should come about just as it does, and then you’ll have a calm and happy life. (Enchiridion 8) As Robert Emmons, professor of psychology at UC Davis, wrote in his book on the practice of gratitude: In modern times gratitude has become untethered from its moral moorings, and collectively we are worse off because of this. When the ancient Roman philosopher Cicero stated that gratitude was the queen of the virtues, he most assuredly did not mean that gratitude was merely a stepping stone toward personal happiness. Gratitude is a morally complex disposition, and reducing this virtue to a technique or strategy to improve one’s mood is to do it an injustice.[4] He argues that gratitude is typically considered a

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

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

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

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

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

Love of Fate (Amor Fati) What is most important? Being able to endure adversity with a glad mind, to experience whatever happens as though you wanted it to happen to you. For you ought to have wanted it to, if you had known that everything happens according to god’s decree. Crying, complaining, and moaning are rebellion. (Seneca, Natural Questions III, praef. 12) From the perspective provided by the cosmic viewpoint (Day 2), we can learn to love what happens in our lives. The Stoics propose that we should love all events, even those that appear tragic from our human perspective. Why? Because to do otherwise is “rebellion” according to Seneca. It is an act of rebellion against the cosmos because we are claiming more power than we truly have. If we act virtuously with the intent to have result “A” happen but “B” happens instead, “crying, complaining, and moaning” about it indicates we think we have more power than we actually have. As Epictetus repeatedly teaches, it is a psychologically damaging mistake to assume we have the power necessary to bring about the end we seek. Our intention to act is “up to us” but our ability to complete the act and the result are beyond our control. This is the primary lesson of the dichotomy of control. The truth is that neither “A” nor “B” are completely “up to us.” Only our thoughts and intentions toward “A” and ‘B’ are “up to us.” Therefore, when a Stoic intends result “A” and engages in actions to bring that about, they must do so with a “reserve clause” that acknowledges fate may not cooperate. Obviously, love of fate and the cosmic viewpoint are interdependent. Together, they allow us to aim at an appropriate goal “A” and intend to bring about that goal with the attitude that we will accept and love outcome “B” if that is what happens. That is love of fate. Keep in mind that loving “B” does not preclude appropriate actions to bring about “A” a second, third, fourth, or thousandth time. There might be a reason it took numerous attempts at “A” to bring it about. Likewise, “A” may never happen. Marcus Aurelius accepted and loved fate because he trusted the cosmos was providentially ordered. He wrote: Providence permeates the works of the gods; and the works of fortune are not dissociated from nature, but intertwined and interwoven by all that is ordered by providence. Everything flows from there; but necessity is implicated too, and the benefit of the whole universe of which you are a part. (Meditations 2.3) In Meditations 12.24, Marcus tells us how to act in accordance with fate: Always act with a “definite aim” in accordance with Justice. Remember that “whatever happens to you from outside is due either to chance or to providence.” In other words, the result is “not up to us.” We “should neither blame chance nor bring accusations against providence.” Interestingly, this attitude toward fate does not result in a fatalistic pessimism among the Stoics. The popular caricature of the stoic as someone who grins and bears the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune is an unfortunate mischaracterization. Seneca pointed out the difference between the grin and bear it attitude of “grudging obedience” and “willing obedience” to providence: No matter which is true, Lucilius, or even if they all are, we must still practice philosophy. Perhaps the inexorable law of fate constrains us; perhaps God, the universal arbiter, governs all events; perhaps it is chance that drives human affairs, and disrupts them: all the same, it is philosophy that must preserve us. Philosophy will urge us to give willing obedience to God, and but a grudging obedience to fortune. It will teach you to follow God; to cope with chance. (Seneca, Letters 16.5) Grudging obedience to fate is a philosophical attitude; however, it is not the Stoic attitude. Marcus Aurelius provides a beautiful expression of the Stoic attitude that comes from willing obedience to a providential cosmos, Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. (Meditations 4.23) This same attitude was expressed by Epictetus: But if I in fact knew that illness had been decreed for me at this moment by destiny, I would welcome even that; for the foot, too, if it had understanding, would be eager to get spattered with mud.’ (Discourses 2.6.10) Contrast the attitude expressed by Seneca, Marcus, and Epictetus with the “crying, complaining, and moaning” of those who rebel against events they do not like and you begin to see the true nature of the Stoic attitude toward fate.Stoics do not grin and bear it; they welcome and love all events as if they wanted them to occur. Pierre Hadot describes this Stoic love of fate as follows: By consenting to the present event which is happening to me, in which the whole world is implied, I want that which universal Reason wants, and identify myself with it in my feeling of participation and belonging to a Whole which transcends the limits of individuality.[1] Fate is a big pill to swallow for moderns who believe they can apply the famous lines from Invictus, “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul”[2] to overcome external obstacles of any kind. The Stoics understood that we are the masters of our thoughts and intentions alone. Our ability to act on those intentions and the outcome are simply “not up to us.” The truth of the matter is this: We are far more constrained and, therefore, far less free than we like to admit. We are constrained by time and place of birth, genetics, environment, social circumstances, educational opportunity, etc. We cannot change those facts; they are “not up to us.” Fortunately, in spite of all those external constraints, there is profound freedom within our thoughts and intentions, and they are “up to us.” Moral excellence (virtue) and a good flow in life (happiness) are not constrained by any of the externals listed above. Regardless of whether one is constrained by the lowly circumstances of slavery, as Epictetus was, or the fortunate circumstances of the Roman emperor, like Marcus Aurelius, Stoicism provides a way of life that can transcend external events. Yes, we are the dog tied to the cart of fate in the famous Stoic metaphor. However, we do not have to be dragged, yelping and howling, behind the cart. There is a better way. We can choose to follow the cart willingly toward an excellent life. We can follow the path of the Stoics by adopting a cosmic viewpoint and loving all events that occur. Try the following during some quiet time: Make a list of the apparently “bad” or “tragic” events that are significant in your life and then ask the following about each of them: In hindsight, do those events seem different than they did at the time? If so how? For each of those events, find at least one valuable lesson you learned or one way in which you are a better person as a result of that event. Don’t stop at one; list as many as you can. If you change your mind about those apparently “bad” or “tragic” events in your past and decide to view them as trials (see Day 2), which provided an opportunity for personal growth and character development, how would your attitude about those events change? Would that attitude change affect your life positively? If so, why not try to see things from a cosmic viewpoint for a while and see what happens? Why not try loving all the events that occur in your life for a while and see if it makes a difference in your well-being? Throughout the day, commit yourself to do the following and pay attention to your mental state as you do so. First, every time you set out to do something, say to yourself, “I intend this outcome fate permitting.” This will remind you that the result is not up to you. Then, whatever the result may be, remind yourself the outcome is a moral indifferent and repeat Marcus’ affirmation: Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. (Meditations 4.23) ENDNOTES: [1] Pierre Hadot, The Inner Citadel: the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998), p. 145 [2] William Ernest Henley, Invictus (1875)

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

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

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

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

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. If we desire and fear those things and events in life beyond our complete control, we will end up just where Epictetus warns: We will have a reason to lament, we will have a troubled mind, and we will find fault with both gods and human beings.[1] Epictetus opens this passage with a question. He asks, Is it, then, only in this most grave and important matter, that of freedom, that it is possible for me to desire according to my whim? (Discourses 1.12.15) Epictetus’ Response to the question: In no way, but rather true education consists precisely in this, in learning to wish that everything should come about just as it does. And how do things come about? As the one who ordains them has ordained. (Ibid) In other words, Stoic education and training, which leads to true freedom, teaches us to accept all things and events as if they come from a providentially ordered cosmos. But how? How can a person go beyond “bear and forbear” for seemingly tragic events like the death of a loved one or a stage four cancer diagnosis? In truth, “bear and forbear” may be the best we can do with some life events—we are not sages. Nevertheless, it is important to understand that Stoicism does provide a path beyond “bear and forbear” that can teach us to praise providence for everything that happens in life. Yes, I said everything. Here is what Epictetus has to say about it: 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 onedoes in factrecognize it. (Discourses 1.6.1-2) Consider what Epictetus did not say. He did not say, “From everything that happens in the universe it is easy to tolerate misfortune if one has within him two things. Likewise, he did not say: “From everything that happens in the universe it is easy to bear and forbear, if one has within him two things. He said: From everything that happens in the universeit 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) That is the whole point of this episode: To make certain our sights on the correct target of Stoic practice. Our goal is not a grim acceptance of events; our goal is much greater than bear and forbear, even if that is all we can achieve on occasion. Our ultimate goal is a loving agreement with the events in nature. Our goal is to learn to love them and agree with them, even while those around us are distraught, anguished, angered, and destroyed by those same events because they view them as something “bad.”. As A.A. Long, a respected scholar of Stoicism points out, resignation to the deterministic events of a mechanical universe does not get us to the “rationality and dignity” the Stoics claimed were part of human potential. He writes, The deterministic thesis explains why Stoics find it irrational and pointless to wish that things might be otherwise than what they actually experience. But if that were all, Stoicism would be largely an attitude of mere realism, fatalism, or resignation. The crucial step is the combination of determinism with providence. If the situations in which we find ourselves are providentially determined, and if, further, we are equipped with minds that can understand this dual aspect of things, then we have reason not only to accept everything that happens as inevitable but also to regard whatever impinges on our individual selves as the allotment that is right for us and as the requisite opportunity for us to discover and play our human part in the cosmic plan. Hence committed Stoics will interpret circumstances that are conventionally regarded as misfortunes as challenges to be accepted and even welcomed because they give them the means of proving and showing their rationality and dignity as fully-fledged human beings.[2] In this quote, A.A. Long is emphasizing a point he repeatedly makes in his scholarship. Providence is an essential part of Stoic theory and practice. In fact, he argues it is acceptance of providence that allows us the means of “proving and showing” our “rationality and dignity as fully-fledged human beings.” That’s a pretty powerful assertion coming from one of the most prominent, if not the most prominent scholar of Stoicism in the last century. The goal of Stoic practice is not to train us to “grin and bear” or “bear and forbear” the events of life. Instead, the goal is to love them. Ok, you ask, but how do we get there? Fortunately, Epictetus provides the answer. He tells us we must have two things within ourselves to arrive at that place of loving acceptance of all things and events. First, we must develop the ability to taking a comprehensive view of events that happen. Second, we must possess an attitude of gratitude. A Comprehensive View of Events The cosmic viewpoint allows us to escape our human-centered view of events and the judgments associated with that limited view. Once we understand the nature of the cosmos and our place in it, we can begin to see that external events cannot affect our moral character in either a “good” or “bad” way because they are beyond our control. The only things that affect our character and well-being are those we can control—our judgments. Epictetus makes this point succinctly: It isn’t the things themselves that disturb people, but the judgements that they form about them. (Enchiridion 4) Pierre Hadot considers the cosmic viewpoint the beginning of Stoic practice. He writes, Putting theory into practice begins with an exercise that consists in recognizing oneself as a part of the Whole, elevating oneself to cosmic consciousness, or immersing oneself within the totality of the cosmos. While meditating on Stoic physics,...

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, written from the perspective of modern academia, is Lawrence Becker’s A New Stoicism. The second book is Pierre Hadot’s The Inner Citadel. The contrast between these views of Stoicism highlight the problem with modern academic philosophers attempting to apply Stoicism to daily life. Becker abandons the worldview of the Stoics because from his academic perspective, “a credible work of ethics” cannot include the Stoic teleological (providential) worldview.[3]In contrast, Hadot writes, 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. Whether the world is ordered or chaotic, it depends only on us to be rationally coherent with ourselves. In fact, 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 the former.[4] The idea that universal Reason exists and provides us with human rationality and the laws that serve as a guide for our ethics is anathema to a modern academic like Becker. Therefore, instead of approaching Stoicism and its practice as the ancients intended, he demands that Stoicism conforms to the worldview that holds sway over modern academic philosophy and makes it irrelevant to most moderns. The philosophical way of life is not primarily aimed at knowing, although that is certainly an essential aspect of it. Instead, the philosophical way of life is aimed at a mode of being; its goal is the transformation of the Self into the best possible human beings we are capable of becoming. The Greeks called this state of human excellence arete. We translate that word as virtue in English; however, virtue does not fully express the concept of arete, which encompasses the whole human being rather than just ethical behavior. Hadot not only reintroduced the modern world to philosophy as a way of life, he also revived the practice of spiritual exercises, which predate the Christian conception of those practices attributed to Ignatius of Loyola. Interestingly, Hadot argues the spiritual exercises of Ignatius are “a Christian version of a Greco-Roman tradition”[5] that emphasized askesis(philosophical practice or exercise). So, what does Hadot mean by the term spiritual exercise? Why did he choose to call them spiritual exercises instead of philosophical exercises or something else? In defense of his use of the adjective “spiritual,” Hadot writes, The expression is a bit disconcerting for the contemporary reader. In the first place, it is no longer quite fashionable these days to use the word "spiritual." It is nevertheless necessary to use this term, I believe, because none of the other adjectives we could use –"psychic," "moral," "ethical," "intellectual," "of thought," "of the soul''–covers all the aspects of reality we want to describe.[6] In the passage that follows the one above, Hadot addresses three reasonable alternatives that might come to mind and explains why they are inadequate to fully describe the scope of these exercises. Thought Exercises Hadot argues, ‘the word "thought" “does not indicate clearly enough that imagination and sensibility play a very important role in these exercises.’ Intellectual Exercises He claims ‘we cannot be satisfied with "intellectual exercises," although such intellectual factors as definition, division, ratiocination, reading, investigation, and rhetorical amplification play a large role in them.’ Ethical Exercises Hadot concedes that ‘“ethical exercises”is a rather tempting expression, since, as we shall see, the exercises in question contribute in a powerful way to the therapeutics of the passions,  and have to do with the conduct of life. Yet, here again, this would be too limited a view of things. All of these are inadequate because these exercises “correspond to a transformation of our vision of the world, and to a metamorphosis of our personality.” They address more than the practitioner’s mere thoughts, they entail “the individual's entire psychism.” Therefore, according to Hadot, the word "spiritual" “reveals the true dimensions of these exercises” because by means of them, “the individual raises himself up to the life of the objective Spirit; that is to say, he re-places himself within the perspective of the Whole ("Become eternal by transcending yourself")."[emphasis added][7] Our Place Within the Whole This concept of replacing our own personal perspective with that of the Whole is a primary goal of Stoic practice. This theme if repeated frequently within the pages of Marcus Aurelius’Meditations. 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. Now for every part of nature, the good is that which universal nature brings, and which serves to sustain that nature; and the universe is sustained not merely by the changes of the elements, but also by the changes of the bodies compounded from them. Let these doctrines, if that is what they are, be enough for you. As for your thirst for books, be done with it, so that you may not die with complaints on your lips, but with a truly cheerful mind and grateful to the gods with all your heart. (Meditations 2.3) Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. All is fruit for me that your seasons bring, O nature. All proceeds from you, all subsists in you, and to you all things return. (Meditations 4.23) All things are interwoven, and the bond that unites them is sacred, and hardly anything is alien to any other thing, for they have been ranged together and are jointly ordered to form a common universe....

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. The Stoics teach us it is possible to live an excellent (virtuous) human life, and thereby experience well-being, under any circumstances. That includes being imprisoned, enslaved, and even tortured. That is an entirely novel concept to most moderns. We tend to measure our happiness by externals—what we own, our health, job, relationships, etc. The Stoic argument against this measurement of happiness is really quite simple: Our human excellence (virtue) and resulting well-being cannot be dependent on anything we do not have complete control over. Otherwise, to use Epictetus’ language, we are a “slave” to those externals. What Is “Up to Us”? Enchiridion 1.1 makes it quite clear what is “up to us” and the list is quite short: Focus on the contents of the circle in the diagram above for a moment. That is our unimpeded circle of control. Nothing, no one, not even God can influence what is inside that circle. Epictetus teaches us that we have complete control over all three items in that circle—we are the master of that inner domain. Unfortunately, we typically desire to control those things outside of that circle—what the Stoic called “externals” or “indifferents.” We desire good health, some wealth, a good reputation, etc., and we fear sickness, poverty, low social status, etc. Epictetus repeats one profound truth throughout the Discourses and the Enchiridion, and it is quite easy to understand; however, most of us refuse to consider it. What is that truth? We spend most of our lives desiring and fearing things that are not “up to us” because we consider them “good” or “bad,” and that leads to our misery. Meanwhile, we neglect the things that are wholly within our control: our judgments, desires and aversions, and impulse to act. How important is this distinction between what and is not “up to us”? Epictetus mentions it in fifty of the ninety-six chapters of the Discourses, and sixteen of the fifty-three chapters of the Enchiridion. Chapter 1 of the Discourses is focused exclusively on the topic. In Enchiridion1, Epictetus draws a sharp contrast between two paths, and it serves as both a promise and a warning. Indifferents There is a lot of confusion about “indifferents” in Stoicism. It is a mistake to assume the Stoic practitioner—prokopton—is indifferent to all externals, if by ‘indifferent’ we mean a total lack of interest in them and no pursuit of them. Food, water, and shelter are “indifferents” in Stoicism. However, we will not survive long without them. It is a natural human impulse to survive; therefore, we will pursue food, water, and shelter. Additionally, Stoicism teaches us that we are social animals and it is our duty to be involved in society. If we misinterpret a life in agreement with nature, and misunderstand indifferents, we could easily turn Stoic practice into the ascetic life of a renunciate hermit. That is most certainly not what the Stoics had in mind. If you are living a life in isolation from as many externals as possible, including other humans, how will you develop your virtue? What would a life of wisdom, courage, justice, and moderation even look like without externals? The practice and development of virtue requires externals. Therefore, as a Stoic prokopton, we cannot deny all externals. The question that naturally arises then is this: What did the Stoics mean when they categorized all externals as indifferents? They meant they have no inherent moral value. They are neither “good” nor “bad” in the sense that possessing them makes us more or less virtuous. If we had a scale to measure value and we placed wisdom, courage, justice, and moderation on one side, that side of the scale would immediately drop as the value of virtue is immense. Now we start stacking indifferents on the other side—health, wealth, reputation, a house, high office, a long life, friends, family, a just government, etc. We keep stacking and stacking, but the scale doesn’t even budge. Why? Because none of those externals has any inherent value when measured against those virtues. Image adapted from - WorldArtsMe Nevertheless, there is an extremely important point that is frequently misunderstood about externals or “indifferents” (I use the words “externals” and “indifferents” interchangeably because all externals are indifferents): While they do not have any inherent value, many of them do have practical value. That means we can and must use some indifferents in our daily life—the Stoics labeled them “preferred indifferents.” These are indifferents that may be useful in the development of our human excellence (virtue). Therefore, our task as a Stoic prokopton is not to deny that indifferents have any value. Instead, our training must lead us to the realization that indifferents will not bring us happiness. Equally important is the understanding that desiring externals will bring us the opposite of virtue and happiness: It will result in psychological distress. Living Between Denial and Desire That brings us to where the rubber meets the road in our daily lives, where we must make choices about indifferents. Again, the Stoics were not renunciates; they did not renounce property, money, public office, social relationships, etc., as the ancient Cynics did. The Stoics did not deny the value of externals entirely; they denied their inherent value. The Stoic message is quite clear: Virtue is the only good; therefore, if we seek externals as a good, we will be hindered, we will lament, we will have a troubled mind, and ultimately, we will blame gods and humans for our distress (Enchiridion1). Nevertheless, we do choose some externals in our daily life as a part of being a social creature and fulfilling our duties. Epictetus uses the analogy of a banquet to drive this point home. Remember that you should behave in life as you do at a banquet. Something is being passed around and arrives in front of you: reach out your hand and take your share politely. It passes: don’t try to hold it back....

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. We are going to fail occasionally. There is no question about that. When we do, we have to keep in mind that we do not have to be perfect to make progress. Our failure is only momentary. However, we have to stay on the path. If you have a bad moment, a bad day, if you get knocked down, don’t sit there and ruminate about it. Get up and get back in the fight. Learn from your failure and move on. Remember; attention; not perfection. What is Prosochē? Pierre Hadot, the French philosopher who helped reintroduce the concept of philosophy as a way of life wrote the following: Attention (prosoche) is the fundamental Stoic spiritual attitude. It is a continuous vigilance and presence of mind, self consciousness which never sleeps, and a constant tension of the spirit. Thanks to this attitude, the philosopher is fully aware of what he does at each instant, and he wills his actions fully. Thanks to his spiritual vigilance, the Stoic always has "at hand" (procheiron) the fundamental rule of life: that is, the distinction between what depends on us and what does not.A “fundamental attitude” of “continuous attention, which means constant tension and consciousness, as well as vigilance exercised at every moment.”[3] [T]he fundamental attitude of the Stoic philosopher was prosoche: attention to oneself and vigilance at every instant. For the Stoics, the person who is " awake" is always perfectly conscious not only of what he does, but of what he is. In other words, he is aware of his place in the universe and of his relationship to God. His self-consciousness is, first and foremost, a moral consciousness. A person endowed with such consciousness seeks to purify and rectify his intentions at every instant. He is constantly on the lookout for signs within himself of any motive for action other than the will to do good. Such self-consciousness is not, however, merely a moral conscience; it is also cosmic consciousness. The "attentive" person lives constantly in the presence of God and is constantly remembering God, joyfully consenting to the will of universal reason, and he sees all things with the eyes of God himself.[4] Obviously, the practice of prosochē is not easy. To use an old, worn-out adage, “If it were easy, everyone would be doing it.” The adjectives used to describe prosochē (tension, vigilance, self-consciousness, etc.) are enough to deter mere mortals. However, it is not as daunting as it first appears if we remember Epictetus taught us that perfection is “impracticable.”  Our goal is to focus on the continuous practice of attention, rather than the perfection may likely never achieve. Moreover, Marcus Aurelius offered some practical advice which further reduces the perceived burden of prosochē by limiting the span of our attention to the present. Attention to the Present In Meditations 7.54 Marcus Aurelius applies the focus of his attention on the present. Everywhere and all the time it lies within your power to be reverently contented with your present lot, to behave justly to such people as are presently at hand, and to deal skilfully with your present impressions so that nothing may steal into your mind which you have not adequately grasped. According to Marcus, it lies within our power: To be reverently contented with our present lot – the discipline of desire To behave justly to such people as are presently at hand – the discipline of action To deal skillfully with our present impressions – the discipline of assent Since we are dealing with attention to the present, it is interesting that time does not exist in Stoicism; it only subsists, which means it is less real than corporeal reality. Time is a passing moment. Time is like the Heraclitan river that is perpetually changing. In the same way that we can never step into the same river twice; we cannot experience the same moment twice. Therefore, when we dwell on the past, we are ruminating on something that no longer exists in reality. The past only exists in our mind and only to the extent that we relive it mentally. Nevertheless, many people struggle to relinquish their compulsion to ruminate over the past and worry about the future. That creates mental anguish for us. If we want to travel the path of the prokoptōn, we must relinquish the past and future as externals over which we have no control. They are not up to us. We cannot make progress if we remain scattered and constantly distracted. The fleeting attention most of us give to the events of our lives epitomizes the attitude of mindlessness—not prosochē. As a prokoptôn, we must constantly apply the fundamental rule of life—the distinction between ‘what is up to us’ and what is ‘not up to us’—and that is accomplished by focusing our attention on that which is within our control at this present moment. Additionally, through the practice of attention, we begin to see the connection between our inner world of beliefs, desires, fears, and intentions, which constitute our moral character, and the outer world of action. Awareness of that connection exposes the causal web (or chain) where our moral character plays a causal role in the world. Our thoughts shape our desires, which molds our character, and then generates the impulses of our will toward action. Recognizing that sequence and taking responsibility for the judgments and thoughts that generate it is necessary to make progress on the Stoic path. Practicing Prosoche in the Present Seeing the World Anew Seneca, in Letters 64.6, writes about the inspired attitude a mere glimpse of virtue brings him. Even though he spends a great deal of time absorbed in thought about wisdom, he writes that he is no less astonished by her than when he looks up into the heavens as if seeing them for the first time. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, and during the summers I spent many nights on what we called sleepouts. That meant rolling a sleeping bag out on the ground and sleeping