This site is intended to be viewed with javascript enabled; please upgrade or reset your browser.

See here for more details.

Literature and Ideas

Showing posts marked with the following tag: Stoicism

Let the Madmen Applaud

I wrote recently about Marcus Aurelius and his Meditations. Epictetus was a Stoic who flourished just a few decades earlier, but the burdens he bore were very different: he had been born not into the Roman ruling class but into slavery, in Phrygia, off the eastern coast of Greece,1 and was, in the modern parlance, disabled.2

Stoicism can be seen as a deeply conservative philosophy, as it teaches the slave to embrace his condition just as much as the emperor, that all is part of a wider, unseen plan on the part of divine providence. To that extent, it is like the Christian philosophy of Gottfried Leibniz in the 18th century, which Voltaire famously lampooned, in his novella Candide, as based on the belief that we are living in “ce meilleur des mondes possibles”.3 In Asia, Buddhism and Jainism likewise taught that satisfaction is to be sought not in political change but through the cultivation of inner resources, assured in the knowledge that the universe possesses a karmic order greater than the earthly ones upheld by the violence of powerful men. We may rightly be suspicious of the quietism inherent in these traditions, but, for long sweeps of history, most people have had little power to influence much beyond themselves (some would characterise the present as one such sweep), and there is clearly a powerful therapeutic effect in the rigorous discipline of training oneself to become less perturbed by those forces outside of one’s control.

Divine providence did, in fact, look favourably upon Epictetus, who was manumitted early in life and went on to become a teacher of philosophy, first in Rome and then in the Greek region of Epirus, where he lived ascetically for many decades, dying late into old age. An aristocrat by the name of Arrian was one of the students who passed through his school’s portico, and it was he who preserved and compiled his tutor’s lecture notes into a text known today as the Discourses. In the following extract, Epictetus mocks a hypothetical and hypocritical philosopher who grandiloquently claims, as every good Stoic ought, to be indifferent to the vicissitudes of circumstance yet remains deeply affected by the judgements of others around him:

Whenever a man has reached his proper position in life, he doesn't strive for anything more. What about you?

I am quite satisifed if I desire or despise no more than nature allows, if I move towards those things that I am naturally attracted to and away from those that I am naturally repelled from, and if my purpose, my desires and my opinions are in accordance with these principles.

So why do you walk around as though you had swallowed a skewer?

I wanted the people who come across me to see my posture as imposing and my followers to proclaim me a great philosopher!

And who are these people that you want to revere you? Are they not the very same people that you used to call demented? And now you want to be acclaimed by madmen?
ὅταν τις ἣν δεῖ στάσιν ἔχῃ ἐν τῷ βίῳ, ἔξω οὐ κέχηνεν. ἄνθρωπε, τί θέλεις σοι γενέσθαι; ἐγὼ μὲν ἀρκοῦμαι, ἂν ὀρέγωμαι καὶ ἐκκλίνω κατὰ φύσιν, ἂν ὁρμῇ καὶ ἀφορμῇ χρῶμαι ὡς πέφυκα, ἂν προσθέσει, ἂν ἐπιβολῇ, ἂν συγκαταθέσει. τί οὖν ἡμῖν ὀβελίσκον καταπιὼν περιπατεῖς; ‘ἤθελον, ἵνα με καὶ οἱ ἀπαντῶντες θαυμάζωσιν καὶ ἐπακολουθοῦντες ἐπικραυγάζωσιν: ὦ μεγάλου φιλοσόφου.’ τίνες εἰσὶν οὗτοι, ὑφ᾽ ὧν θαυμάζεσθαι θέλεις; οὐχ οὗτοί εἰσι, περὶ ὧν εἴωθας λέγειν ὅτι μαίνονται; τί οὖν; ὑπὸ τῶν μαινομένων θαυμάζεσθαι θέλεις;


  1. The ancient region of Phrygia is today wholly bounded within the nation of Turkey.
  2. Sources differ over whether his disability was congenital or whether it had been the result of his master’s abuse. In either case, he was lame in one leg.
  3. A belief ridiculed when the eponymous Candide is sent on by the author to experience the many forms of suffering that flesh is heir to: first the Lisbon earthquake of 1755, then the rape and seizure of his beloved wife by Barbary pirates and Portuguese noblemen, before being almost roasted alive in Argentina by Incas who mistake him for a proselytising Jesuit.

Live More Like the Olive

Marcus Aurelius was a Roman Emperor who wanted to be a Stoic philosopher. Unlike his predecessors, he co-opted others to rule jointly over the Empire alongside him — first his adoptive brother, then his son — and so scraped together time to philosophise. His most famous work, the Meditations, was written as a collection of notes-to-self (and is, indeed, now often seen stocked on the self-help shelves of bookstores, next to Dale Carnegie and Napoleon Hill, despite the fact that his discipline was rather more austere than the teachings of those 20th-century preachers of the prosperity gospel), and not in Latin, but in Greek, the language of the cultured classes of Rome. It did not explicate a new or comprehensive system of thought, but assumed, as previous Stoics had taught, that forbearance and mastery of one’s own desires and mental impulses offered the surest route to contentment: it was a handbook of ideas and techniques that Marcus Aurelius used to keep himself grounded and composed under the pressure of his unsought position of authority, never intended for publication. In the extract below, he returns to the central themes of equanimity and how it can be cultivated by viewing the inevitable transition from life to death as a natural process, not to be sought or shunned, but accepted:

It repays frequent reflection to consider how many doctors have passed away after having spent their lives furrowing their brows at the bedsides of dying patients, how many astrologers have passed away after having predicted, with great confidence, the deaths of others, how many philosophers after having given thousands of pronouncements on death and the afterlife, how many chieftains after having slain hordes of their enemies, how many kings after having wielded the power of life and death, with the supreme and snorting arrogance of the all but immortal— indeed, how many entire cities, if I may put it so bluntly, have died, such as Helike, Pompeii, Herculaneum and innumerable others.

Then list, one after another, the many people that you have personally known: one man took care of another's burial only then to die himself and be buried by yet another, all within a tiny span of time. In short, look upon all human affairs as cheap and ephemeral: yesterday we were but blobs of mucus and tomorrow we will be on the embalming slab or the funeral pyre. So be in accordance with nature as you pass through this briefest opening of time, and you will come to a peaceful end, just as an olive ripens and falls, in reverence to the ground that nurtured it and in thanks to the tree that fruited it.
ἐννοεῖν συνεχῶς πόσοι μὲν ἰατροὶ ἀποτεθνήκασι, πολλάκις τὰς ὀφρῦς ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀρρώστων συσπάσαντες: πόσοι δὲ μαθηματικοί, ἄλλων θανάτους ὥς τι μέγα προειπόντες: πόσοι δὲ φιλόσοφοι, περὶ θανάτου ἢ ἀθανασίας μυρία διατεινάμενοι: πόσοι δὲ ἀριστεῖς, πολλοὺς ἀποκτείναντες: πόσοι δὲ τύραννοι, ἐξουσίᾳ ψυχῶν μετὰ δεινοῦ φρυάγματος ὡς ἀθάνατοι κεχρημένοι: πόσαι δὲ πόλεις ὅλαι, ἵν̓ οὕτως εἴπω, τεθνήκασιν, Ἑλίκη καὶ Πομπήιοι καὶ Ἡρκλᾶνον καὶ ἄλλαι ἀναρίθμητοι. ἔπιθι δὲ καὶ ὅσους οἶδας, ἄλλον ἐπ̓ ἄλλῳ: ὁ μὲν τοῦτον κηδεύσας εἶτα ἐξετάθη, ὁ δὲ ἐκεῖνον, πάντα δὲ ἐν βραχεῖ. τὸ γὰρ ὅλον, κατιδεῖν ἀεὶ τὰ ἀνθρώπινα ὡς ἐφήμερα καὶ εὐτελῆ καὶ ἐχθὲς μὲν μυξάριον, αὔριον δὲ τάριχος ἢ τέφρα. τὸ ἀκαριαῖον οὖν τοῦτο τοῦ χρόνου κατὰ φύσιν διελθεῖν καὶ ἵλεων καταλῦσαι, ὡς ἂν εἰ ἐλαία πέπειρος γενομένη ἔπιπτεν, εὐφημοῦσα τὴν ἐνεγκοῦσαν καὶ χάριν εἰδυῖα τῷ φύσαντι δένδρῳ.