Exploring Encheiridion 20 – Episode 61

An interview with Will Johncock, author of Beyond the Individual: Stoic Philosophy on Community and Connection.

Set before your eyes every day death and exile and everything else that looks terrible, especially death. Then you will never have any mean thought or be too keen on anything. (Ench 21) That’s an interesting list: death, exile, and everything else that looks terrible. We can all relate to death and other things that look terrible. However, there is no modern equivalent to Roman exile. To full appreciate the inclusion of exile in this list, we need to understand that exile was a form of capital punishment under Roman law. It was an alternative to the death penalty. Sometimes, a person was allowed to choose exile instead of being put to death. That was considered voluntary exile. In other cases, people were banished and involuntarily removed from Roman territories. Musonius Rufus, Epictetus, and Seneca were all exiled at different times. It was not uncommon for philosophers to be exiled because they were often considered a threat to those in power. Why? Because philosophy taught people to think for themselves and have an allegiance to truth instead of political authority. We don’t fear exile today. Those with political power or far-reaching social influence may fear getting canceled in modern times. For some, that may be just as frightening as exile was in ancient times. Nevertheless, I suspect the list of terrible things in Encheiridion 21 would be different if Epictetus were teaching today. He might say: Set before your eyes every day death and social ostracism, pandemics, government lockdowns, inflation, high gas prices, exploding houses costs, recession, the war in Ukraine, mass immigration, mass shootings, high crime, racism, sexism, and everything else that looks terrible, especially death. Then you will never have any mean thought or be too keen on anything. The last sentence of Encheiridion 21 offers two extremes we can avoid if we practice setting death and everything else that looks terrible before our eyes daily. However, the phrase “mean thought” seemed a little vague to me, so I looked at every translation of the Encheiridion I have to see if they would provide some insight. Have any mean thought be too keen on anything A.A. Long Have any abject thought Yearn for anything W.A. Oldfather Harbour any mean thought Desire anything beyond due measure Robin Hard Entertain any abject thought Long for anything excessively Keith Seddon Think of anything mean Desire anything extravagantly George Long Have any abject thought Desire anything to excess Robert Dobbin Do you see the pattern here? In this passage, Epictetus is referring to aversions and desires. This lesson is another, among many, in which Epictetus reminds us that true freedom is internal. Freedom cannot be dependent on externals. When we fear external events and circumstances, we tend to blame others. We blame the other political party, another race of people, the opposite sex, those who have what we think we deserve, those with religious beliefs and lifestyles different from ours, etc. Those aversions tend to create abject and mean thoughts toward others. Likewise, those aversions typically entail excess desires for circumstances to be different. Before anyone concludes that Epictetus is preaching quietism here, look at the language. Epictetus did not instruct his student not to desire a change in circumstances. The English translations tell us not to be too keen on anything, yearn for anything, desire anything beyond measure, desire anything in excess, etc. As Stoics, we should desire and work for change leading toward a virtuous end. However, if your desire for change produces mean and abject thoughts toward those who disagree with you, you are a slave to your passions. You desire something excessively when you allow yourself to hate others you believe are preventing you from attaining it. Lesson 1 So, what is the message of Encheiridion 21? I think we can derive two important lessons from this short passage. The first is pretty obvious. Encheiridion 21 is a reminder to practice Premeditatio Malorum. By contemplating those events and circumstances we consider terrible, we prepare our minds so they will not be overwhelmed should they occur. Seneca wrote about this practice in Letters 24: But what I will do is lead you down a different road to tranquility. If you want to be rid of worry, then fix your mind on whatever it is that you are afraid might happen as a thing that definitely will happen. Whatever bad event that might be, take the measure of it mentally and so assess your fear. You will soon realize that what you fear is either no great matter or not long lasting. Nor do I need to cast about very long for examples to strengthen you with. Every age supplies them. (Letters 24. 2-3) As Seneca wisely noted, every age supplies us with circumstances and events to trouble our minds. However, the Stoic practice of premeditaio malorum helps to keep us on the path of virtue toward true freedom and well-being. Lesson 2 That is the obvious lesson of Encheiridion 21, and if we stop here, we have plenty of opportunity for practice and growth on the path of the Stoic prokopton. However, there’s an equally important lesson here I think we frequently overlook. While the practice of premeditatio malorum has us consider events in the future, its purpose is to prepare our minds for life in the present moment. As Stoicism teaches, the present is all we have, and we do not know how much time we are allotted. As Marcus noted: Remember how long you have been deferring these things, and how many times you have been granted further grace by the gods, and yet have failed to make use of it. But it is now high time that you realized what kind of a universe this is of which you form a part, and from what governor of that universe you exist as an emanation; and that your time here is strictly limited, and, unless you make use of it to clear the fog from your mind, the moment will be gone, as you are gone, and never be yours again. (Meditations 2.4) This passage reminds me of a famous scene from the 1989 movie The Dead Poets Society. The teacher, John Keating, played by Robin Williams, takes his young students into the hallway and has one of them read the opening lines from a poem by Robert Herrick, which reads: Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying. Keating then informs them the Latin phrase for this sentiment is carpe diem, which means “seize the day.” Keating then tells the class the poet used these lines to remind us that “we are food for worms.” Next, he has the students look into the school’s trophy case, which displays the photos of past sports teams alongside the trophies they won. Listen as Keating delivers a powerful lesson to his students. Audio clip from The Dead Poets Society. [1] Why does Keating want his student to consider their death? He has two goals in mind. He wants to discourage them from waiting until it’s “too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable.” Second, he is attempting to inspire his students to “seize the day” and make their lives extraordinary. Epictetus delivered this same message to his students in a variety of ways. He prodded, coaxed, and occasionally admonished them to abandon their enslaved manner of thinking and living so they could follow the Stoic path toward an extraordinary life. As we will see soon, Seneca counseled his friend Lucilius to do the same. Finally, we see the same throughout the Meditations. That is why Marcus reminded himself in Meditations 2.4 not to defer things but to use what time he has. Later, in book 12, Marcus wrote: In no great while you will be no one and nowhere, and nothing that you now behold will be in existence, nor will anyone now alive. For it is in the nature of all things to change and alter and perish, so that others may arise in their turn. (Meditations 12.21) …the life of every one of us is confined to the present moment and this is all that we have. (Meditations 12.26) Seneca echoed this sentiment when he wrote to Lucilius: I strive to make a day count for a whole lifetime. It’s not that I cling to it as if it were my last—not by any means, and yet I do look at it as if it could actually be my last. (Letters 61.1) Later, in Letters 93, Seneca wrote: What we need to be concerned about is not how long we live but whether we live sufficiently. For a long life, you need the help of fate; but to live sufficiently, the essential thing is one’s character. A life is long if it is full, and it is full only when the mind bestows on itself the goodness that is proper to it, claiming for itself the authority over itself. (Letters 93.2) During my career as a law enforcement officer, I learned first-hand how fleeting life could be. In the final three years of my law enforcement career, I was a traffic homicide investigator.  That means that every scene I arrived at involved the death of at least one person. Many fatal crash scenes involved a person simply driving to the store, to work, or a friend’s house, going out for a run, or a bike ride when they were struck and killed by a driver who was impaired or simply not paying attention. None of them could have predicted their life would end that day, but it did. None of us knows when our life will end, and our Stoic practice trains us not to fear death. However, I think we often overlook this equally important lesson as we prepare our minds for death and other terrible events and circumstances. It’s easy to lose sight of why preparation for death is such an important part of philosophy in general and Stoic practice in particular. We keep the specter of our death and other terrible things before our eyes to remind us of two important lessons. First, there is no reason to fear death or other seemingly terrible circumstances

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… And it is endowed with soul, as is clear from our several souls being each a fragment of it. (DL 7.142-3)[1] Some people think the idea of a conscious cosmos is an antiquated relic of ancient Stoicism that we must abandon in light of modern science. However, numerous modern scientists and philosophers describe the nature of the cosmos in ways that are compatible with the intuitions of the ancient Stoics. Some now suggest consciousness must be a fundamental aspect of the cosmos and refer to a mind-like background in the universe. A few boldly claim the universe is conscious, just as the Stoic did more than two thousand years ago. Modern thinkers frequently label this idea panpsychism, which entails consciousness as a fundamental aspect of the cosmos. When we consider a concept like a conscious cosmos and relate it to ancient Stoicism, we first must acknowledge that the Greeks did not have a word for conscious. The word first appears in English in the seventeenth century. Next, we must admit that many definitions of consciousness exist today. The ancient Stoics argued the cosmos is a living being (organism) that is rational, animate, and intelligent. I cannot imagine an entity that meets all those criteria we would deny is conscious. Instead of a conscious cosmos, we could say a rational, animate, and intelligent cosmos; however, that will not appease those who believe the universe is mechanistic, reductive to matter, and governed by laws that just happen, accidentally, to be conducive to life as we know it here on Earth. Therefore, the term conscious serves quite well as a substitute for a living being (organism) that is rational, animate, and intelligent. The ancient Stoics considered their unique conception of a conscious, providentially ordered cosmos a necessary element of their holistic philosophical system. They did so for good reasons. Today, Traditional Stoics think this conception of the cosmos is still viable. First, despite the objections offered by those who adhere to the metaphysical assumptions of the current scientific orthodoxy, there is no objective scientific reason to abandon the conscious cosmos of Stoicism. More importantly, Stoic practice relies on the essential relationship between the way the world is (physics) and the way we should act in the world (ethics). Chrysippus, the third head of the Stoa, argued that universal nature is the source of our knowledge of virtue, good and evil, and happiness. Further, according to Plutarch, Chrysippus asserted, “physical theory turns out to be ‘at once before and behind’ ethics.”[2] As I have written before, the conscious and providential cosmos is the soul of the Stoic philosophical system. Speaking of soul, the ancient Stoics believed the cosmos has a soul, and it is God. As Plutarch notes: In his On providence book 1 [Chrysippus] says: ‘When the world is fiery through and through, it is directly both its own soul and commanding-faculty.[3] Unfortunately, many people recoil, almost reflexively, from the concept of a conscious cosmos because it entails some form of intelligence that preexists human consciousness. They mistakenly assume such a concept necessarily invokes a supernatural divinity akin to those of traditional monotheistic religions. Likewise, many people are unaware of the increasing number of scientists and thinkers breaking out of the pre-twentieth-century, mechanistic, materialist, reductionist box and arguing that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of reality. I will highlight a few of those thinkers shortly. Consciousness was ignored by the mainstream hard sciences, including psychology, at the beginning of the twentieth century. Science could not explain consciousness via reductive materialism; therefore, they either ignored or explained it away as an illusion or epiphenomenon. They promoted the simplistic notion that the mind is what the brain does. Behaviorist psychology, a product of Logical Positivism, ignored the person's internal experience (consciousness) and treated the human mind as a black box. Behavior was quantifiable and could be subjected to the scientific method. Consciousness, on the other hand, was a metaphysical mystery. Quantum theory challenged the objective observer model of science at its foundation by discovering that consciousness interacts with the physical world. As a result, during the twentieth century, an ever-increasing number of scientists and thinkers began to give due consideration to the nature and role of consciousness. Many have suggested that consciousness, in some form, must be a fundamental property of reality. Interestingly, some are beginning to describe the essential nature of the cosmos in ways that sound remarkably like the intuitions of ancient thinkers such as Plato and the Stoics. Lothar Schafer, a physical chemist, points out several modern thinkers who think it is reasonable to infer consciousness to the cosmos. Here is an extended quote from his recent book: However you look at the matter, it seems reasonable to think that the human mind isn’t self-contained or self-sustained, but connected with a mindlike wholeness. “We can ‘infer’” Menas Kafatos and Robert Nadeau suggest, “that human consciousness ‘partakes’ or ‘participates in’ the conscious universe. As I have made sure to emphasize, science can’t prove that the universe is conscious. At the same time, the numerous suggestions by serious scientists, including Bohm, Dürr, Eddington, Fischbeck, Jeans, Kafatos, Lipton, Nadeau, and me, that a cosmic spirit exists can’t all be shrugged off as signs of dementia in these authors. It makes more sense to conclude, as psychiatrist Brian Lancaster has done, that “consciousness amounts to a fundamental property, irreducible to other features of the universe such as energy or matter.”[4] Likewise, the renowned American philosopher Thomas Nagel provoked a heated exchange about consciousness in 2012 when he challenged the core of the “neo-Darwinian conception of nature” in his book Mind & Cosmos. In one passage, Nagel speculated about the connection between human nature and the cosmos as a whole. His position is remarkably similar to the Stoic conception of that relationship. He wrote: We ourselves are large-scale, complex instances of something both objectively physical from outside and subjectively mental from inside. Perhaps the basis for this identity pervades the world.[5] The Stoics agree with Nagel. Reason (logos), which permeates the cosmos, is the basis for our identity as humans. The idea that rationality existed in the cosmos before human rationality plays a central role in Stoic theory. As 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.[6] Arthur Eddington, an astrophysicist, was a little more direct than Thomas Nagel in the 1930s when he wrote: To put the conclusion crudely—the stuff of the world is mind-stuff… The mind-stuff of the world is, of course, something more general than our individual conscious minds; but we may think of its nature as not altogether foreign to the feelings in our consciousness… Consciousness is not sharply defined, but fades into subconsciousness; and beyond that we must postulate something indefinite but yet continuous with our mental nature. This I take to be the world-stuff.[7] Eddington admits, “It is difficult for the matter-of-fact physicist to accept the view that the substratum of everything is of mental character.” Nevertheless, as he points out, “no one can deny that mind is the first and most direct thing in our experience, and all else is remote inference—inference either intuitive or deliberate.”[8] Furthermore, he asserts. We have seen that the cyclic scheme of physics presupposes a background outside the scope of its investigations. In this background we must find, first, our own personality, and then perhaps a greater personality. The idea of a universal Mind or Logos would be, I think, a fairly plausible inference from the present state of scientific theory; at least it is in harmony with it.[9] It is fascinating to see a physicist use a phrase like universal Mind and the word logos. Bernard Haish, another astrophysicist, agrees. He wrote: I am proposing that an equally likely—and perhaps even slightly more likely—explanation is that there is a conscious intelligence behind the universe, and that the purpose of the universe and of our human lives is very intimately involved with that intelligence.[10] These are not the ramblings of crackpot pseudo-scientists. As Paul Davies, another physicist points out: An increasing number of scientists and writers have come to realize that the ability of the physical world to organize itself constitutes a fundamental, and deeply mysterious, property of the universe. The fact that nature has creative power, and is able to produce a progressively richer variety of complex forms and structures, challenges the very foundation of contemporary science.[11] In his book, The Goldilocks Enigma, Davies argues,      Intelligent design of the laws does not conflict with science because it accepts that the whole universe runs itself according to physical laws and that everything that happens in the universe has a natural explanation. There are no miracles other than the miracle of nature itself. You don’t even need a miracle to bring the universe into existence in the first place because the big bang may be brought within the scope of physical laws too, either by using quantum cosmology to explain the origin of the universe from nothing or by assuming s

Keep in mind that what injures you is not people who are rude or aggressive but your opinion that they are injuring you. So whenever someone provokes you, be aware that the provocation really comes from your own judgment. Start, then, by trying not to get carried away by the impression. Once you pause and give yourself time, you will more easily control yourself. (Ench 20)   Full transcript coming soon.

Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. (Meditations 2.11) I cannot find a more fitting passage to describe the last few months of Dirk Mahling's life. Dirk departed from this life last Friday after a hard-fought battle with cancer. He was the President of New Stoa, a tutor, and mentor to many students at the College of Stoic Philosophers since 2016. Additionally, Dirk is one of several people who worked hard to keep the College alive when the founding Scholarch retired last year. He was bright, humorous, courageous, and a dedicated Stoic who was full of life to the end. Dirk was a friend, a colleague, and, more than anyone I know personally, an example of what it means to face death as a Stoic. Dirk told me about his terminal cancer diagnosis last August when I returned to the College of Stoic Philosophers after a long sabbatical. At that time, he thought he might have as many as two years left. He told me his challenge was figuring out how to live the rest of his life in that time. He didn’t appear sick in August; he looked like the Dirk I had known since 2015 when I mentored him through the Stoic Essential Studies course. I mentored many students at the college, but only a handful stand out in my memory. Dirk was undoubtedly one of those. When I returned to the College last year to discover he was the President of New Stoa, I teased him about being one of my most challenging students. He was bright and questioned everything. I enjoyed the challenge, and we had a great time together in the course. Dirk’s sense of humor was unbounded. His essay responses to lessons almost always included comics, memes, and humorous comments. In the Ethics lesson, he included a photo of Oikos yogurt with his essay response about the Stoic doctrine of oikeiosis. His answer to the question, “How do we become cosmopolitan?” was, “by reading Cosmo…” and he inserted a picture of a Cosmopolitan magazine cover. Yes, he also provided a correct answer. That was Dirk’s way of keeping Stoic philosophy fun and lite. He also included a comic with particular meaning as we consider Dirk’s life and death as a Stoic. The comic depicts two men in togas standing next to a grave. The headstone reads, “R.I.P. Zeno the philosopher—dead, but so what? The quote from one of the two characters underneath the comic reads, “He was a Stoic’s Stoic.” Dirk knew his end was near, but I certainly did not predict it was so close based on his behavior. He remained active at the College until the end and recently volunteered to mentor two students through the next term of the Marcus Aurelius Program beginning April 1st. He even joined the College faculty on our monthly Zoom conference call five days before he passed. Dirk was on oxygen during the meeting and told us he needed it because he gets short of breath when he talks. Dirk dedicated himself to the College’s mission of teaching students about Stoicism, and he remained at his post until the Captain called. To me, it appeared Dirk was living the practice of memento mori. Like Marcus Aurelius, Dirk did not fear death. Marcus 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) Dirk was still in his late prime and could have been bitter about his circumstances. He could have complained that his life was not long enough. He did not. As Seneca wrote: 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. (On the Shortness of Life 1.1) One paragraph later, Seneca wrote: 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). From what I know of Dirk’s life, he did not squander it. He lived life to the fullest until the very end. Pierre Hadot wrote, In the apprenticeship of death, the Stoic discovers the apprenticeship of freedom.[1] I believe Dirk found that freedom as he faced the end of his life. His example proved it to me. I am grateful to Dirk for all he contributed to the College of Stoic Philosophers. His presence will be greatly missed there. However, I am far more thankful for the example he provided for me. He gave me the opportunity to see how a Stoic should face death. Yes, I’ve read all the passages in the Stoic texts related to death, and they are powerful and convincing. However, nothing in those texts was as compelling and poignant as watching a friend and fellow Stoic courageously face death as Dirk did. The manner with which he faced death is a gift to anyone who witnessed it. Yesterday, I wrote a note to Erik Wiegardt, the founding Scholarch of the College of Stoic Philosophers, to let him know Dirk had passed away. He responded in his typically thoughtful and profound manner. He wrote: Now Dirk knows the answer to that greatest of philosophical questions. He’s right. Dirk learned what we the living cannot know: what happens when we die. Marcus spent a lot of time contemplating death. He wrote: Indeed, the very life of every one of us is like an exhalation from our blood or inhalation from the atmosphere; for such as it is to draw a breath of air into your lungs and then surrender it, so it is to surrender your power of respiration as a whole, which you acquired but yesterday or the day before at the time of your birth, and are now surrendering to the source from which you first drew it. (Meditations 6.15) I think Marcus’ answer here and in Meditations 4.23 provides Stoics with all we can and need to know about death—we return to our source. Since our soul is a fragment of the logos that permeates the cosmos, it will return to its source. In what form or capacity? No one knows. However, we will all discover the answer in the end. In the meantime, life goes on for us and provides us with the opportunity to contribute a verse, as Walt Whitman famously wrote.[2] Dirk certainly did contribute a verse—to his family, the College, the lives of students he touched there, and those of us who had the privilege of knowing him. Regardless of what happens to us at death, I believe Dirk’s parting message to us would be similar to that of Epictetus: You must wait for God, my friends. When he gives the signal and sets you free from your service here, then you may depart to him. But for the present, you must resign yourselves to remaining in this post in which he has stationed you. (Discourses 1.9.16) I believe that is what Dirk would say to us because that is how he lived until the end. He courageously remained at his post until the Captain called, and it was time for him to depart. By doing so, he gave us a wonderful example of a Stoic life lived well. I can confidently say that Dirk Mahling lived life and faced death as a prokopton whose practice of Stoicism was genuinely on Fire. Dirk, your legacy lives on in the lives you touched. Farewell, my friend. ENDNOTES: [1] Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, ed. Arnold Ira Davidson (New York: Blackwell, 1995), p. 96 [2] Whitman, W. (1892) Oh me! Oh Life! in Leaves of Grass

You can always win if you only enter competitions where winning is up to you. When you see someone honored ahead of you or holding great power or being highly esteemed in another way, be careful never to be carried away by the impression and judge the person to be happy. For if the essence of goodness consists in things that are up to us, there is room for neither envy nor jealousy, and you yourself will not want to be a praetor or a senator or a consul, but to be free. The only way to achieve this is by despising the things that are not up to us. (Ench 19) If anyone thought jealousy and envy of others is a modern phenomenon, Epictetus clarifies that these destructive emotions are not new. They are exacerbated by modern technologies, which provide a constant stream of social media posts with people showing off expensive clothes, jewelry, cars, houses, vacations, announcing their promotions, and displaying their bodies for the world to see. Social media turned “keeping up with the Joneses” into “keeping up with the Kardashians.” Most modern societies teach us these externals are associated with happiness. Indeed, we are inclined to think the lives of these rich, famous, beautiful people must be filled with happiness. The Stoics make it clear possession of these externals does not ensure happiness. We don’t need to rely on the Stoic conception of happiness to destroy this myth. Hollywood provides us with a constant stream of tragic stories about the lives of the rich and famous. Sadly, most people spend their lives chasing happiness in things that are not up to us. While the acquisition of externals almost always does provide an immediate feeling of happiness, it is always short-lived because this form of happiness is not the state of well-being offered by Stoicism. In this chapter of Encheiridion, Epictetus offers another serving of his consistent message: if we focus our attention on those things that are up to us—our faculties of judgment, motivation, desire, and aversion—we will avoid the pathological emotions that cripple the masses of people and make progress toward true well-being. Like I have said before, understanding the distinction between what is up to us and not up to us is quite simple. However, putting that understanding into practice consistently is extremely difficult. To make progress toward a virtuous character and its accompanying well-being, we must keep our attention (prosoche) on what is up to us our faculties of judgment, motivation, desire, and aversion—and despise everything else. This is the crux of Stoic practice. Does that mean we should despise my spouse, children, job, community, body, etc. since they all fall into the category of externals that are not up to us? No! It means we must despise our judgment of those externals as “good” because none of those externals will bring us the well-being we seek. We cannot remove externals from our lives. Even if we were to remove ourselves from the jealousy and envy of others by moving to a deserted island, without any channel of communication with others, we would still encounter externals like weather, animals, snakes, bugs, hunger, thirst, etc. We cannot escape externals, and we should not try. Externals provide us with the grist for the mill that develops our character. What would wisdom, moderation, courage, and justice mean apart from externals? So, what should we do when faced with the impression of someone we know who has a possession commonly judged as “good”? Especially when we may be inclined to think they didn’t earn it? What should we do when someone else gets the promotion instead of us, and we believe they are less worthy? Before jealousy and envy take hold of our psyche, we need to perform that three-step process on these impressions I highlighted in Episodes 9 and 37: Stop It Strip It Bare See It from the Cosmic Viewpoint If you don’t recall the details of that process, I recommend you go back and listen to Episodes 9 and 37 again. Additionally, regarding jealousy and envy of others who possess externals or receive honors we might be inclined to desire, we have to keep the lesson of Encheiridion 17 in mind. It is not up to us to determine the role assigned to us or others. Maybe the cosmos gave that beautiful person that role to play. That’s their role, not yours. Perhaps the cosmos assigned the role of a wealthy person to that billionaire. Again, that’s their role, not yours. Maybe the cosmos intended that person to hold a position of honor, power, and prestige in your company, community, or nation. That is their role, not yours. Remember what Marcus wrote: 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) Likewise, remember what we learned from Encheiridion 15. If the cosmos brings wealth, fame, power, prestige to you, reach out and take a portion. However, don’t allow your appetite (desire) for those externals to run ahead, and don’t attempt to stop the server if he passes by you. Remember that delicious-looking chocolate cake from the lesson on Encheiridion 15? In this lesson, Epictetus is taking it a step further. He is instructing us not to be jealous or envious of the person who does get a piece of that delicious-looking chocolate cake we talked about in that lesson. Steven Covey's Story – Wrong Ladder We make a grave mistake when we associate the possession of externals, of any kind, with happiness. The Stoics are quite clear that true well-being can only be found in what is up to us, and the only thing that is entirely up to us is the development of our moral character. The only way to be truly free from the pathology of destructive emotions is to despise our judgments of externals as “goods” and focus our attention on our faculties of judgment, motivation, desire, and aversion. Then, we will be climbing the ladder of moral excellence toward true freedom and well-being.

Whenever a raven croaks ominously, don’t let the impression carry you away, but straightaway discriminate within yourself, and say: “None of this is a warning to me; it only concerns my feeble body or my tiny estate or my paltry reputation or my children or my wife. But to myself all predictions are favorable if I wish them to be, since it is up to me to benefit from the outcome, whatever it may be.” (Ench 18) In ancient Greece and Rome, a raven was thought to be a messenger of the God Apollo, and the croaking of a raven was typically considered a sign of future bad luck. We moderns are likely to dismiss this kind of divination without further consideration. However, the Stoic’s conception of the cosmos inspired them to give serious consideration to the connection between signs and events. As professor Dorothea Frede wrote in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics: The uniform nature of the active and passive powers within the cosmic order also explains why there is, in contradistinction to Plato and Aristotle, no separation in Stoicism of the super- and the sub-lunary world. The heavenly motions are ruled by the same principles that operate on earth: All of nature is administered by the supreme divine reason, and hence there is a global teleological determinism that the Stoics identified with fate. The omnipotence of the active principle explains the Stoic conception of an overall sumpatheia within nature, an inner connection between seemingly quite disparate events. Divination, the study of divine signs and portents, is therefore treated as a science in Stoicism rather than as superstition. Careful observation leads to the discovery of certain signs of those interconnections, even if human knowledge does not fully comprehend the rationale behind the observable order of all things. This explains why the Stoics not only supported the traditional practices of divination, but also helped establish astrology as a respectable science in the Greek and Roman world.[1] I’m not going to spend much time on divination in this episode because that is not the point of this lesson. Nevertheless, it’s important to understand the role it played in the founding of Stoicism. In the opening chapter of their book Being Better: Stoicism for a World Worth Living In, Kai Whiting and Leonidas Konstantakos do a wonderful job telling the story of Zeno’s calling to the life of a philosopher. They note that after being shipwrecked, Zeno was destitute and wondered what would become of his life. They continue: so he set off on a two-hundred-mile round trip to seek guidance from the Oracle of Delphi — the priestess of the Greek god Apollo — who was respected and revered all over Greece for her divinations. Even kings would travel for days to seek her counsel, and while today it might seem ridiculous to heed the utterings of a young woman in a trancelike state, a trip to Delphi was taken very seriously indeed. Every meeting was an involved process that had more in common with South American ayahuasca rituals than, say, visiting a clairvoyant. The Oracle required visitors to prepare in both body and mind, and as with ayahuasca ceremonies, those seeking answers at the Temple at Delphi had to adhere to strict rules in order to approach the ritual with reverence, respect, and sincerity. You couldn’t just rock up to the Oracle, hand over some coins, and demand that she saw you. Nobody could sit in the Oracle’s presence until they had properly considered the dangers of misinterpreting her advice and also understood and pledged to abide by the three maxims of self-discovery: “know yourself,” “nothing to excess,” and “surety brings ruin.” Wisdom seekers were told to listen carefully to what she said in relation to their strengths, weaknesses, personal quirks, and the specific roles they played in the wider world (as, say, a daughter, mother, Spartan queen). Zeno kept all this in mind as he told the Oracle the story of his shipwreck, and she advised him to “take on the pallor of the dead.” On his return journey home, Zeno weighed her cryptic words carefully because it was imperative that he interpret them well. What could they possibly mean? As Zeno approached Athens’ city gate, it occurred to him that, above all, he must commit to pursuing the ancient wisdom that had been passed down by venerated, and now long-dead, philosophers. He promised himself that he would reexamine the kinds of philosophical texts his own father had read to him while still a boy. In particular, he was determined to get hold of the ones that spoke about the “good life”; that is to say, a life worth living, not just one that is (or will ever be) easy, comfortable, or pleasant. In line with the Oracle’s prophecy, at the precise moment when Zeno was reading about Socrates, who Greek philosophers considered the wisest man to have ever lived, another well-known philosopher, Crates of Thebes, happened to stroll by. The two struck up a conversation, Crates agreed to mentor Zeno, and so began Zeno’s journey toward eudaimonia.[2] Within this story, we see Zeno turn the tragedy of a shipwreck and financial poverty into a new life by seeking the wisdom of the cosmos and then paying attention to the signs Nature provided. What happened for Zeno in that bookseller’s store was a synchronicity—it was more than coincidence, and Zeno knew it. That is why he paid attention to the sign and followed Crates. By following Nature, he changed his life and the lives of many others since who have chosen to follow the Stoic path he blazed. In Encheiridion 18, Epictetus tells his students why signs, no matter their source, cannot negatively affect them. Whether they appear good or bad, all signs concern externals that have no bearing on our moral character and well-being. Imagine being told to take on the pallor of the dead. Zeno certainly could have interpreted that as a foreboding message from the Oracle. Instead, he considered it thoroughly and waited until the cosmos made its meaning clear to him. No Oracle has not been present at Delphi for more than fifteen hundred years, and no one listening to this podcast is likely to be disturbed by the croaking of a raven. However, what about the croaking of a modern weatherperson, financial analyst, news anchor, or political talk show host? If Epictetus were delivering this lesson today, he might dissuade us from being concerned about: The croaks of the weatherperson about the coming hurricane or blizzard. The croaks of the financial analyst about the coming stock market crash The croaks of the political candidate about the foreboding social and economic implications of their opponent winning the election. The croaks of the news anchor about riots in the streets or the war abroad The croaks of the talk show host who tells us to fear those who disagree with us politically. The raven takes a different form for us today, but the result is the same if we allow the croaks of these modern messengers to convince us something bad is coming. If we allow the croaks of messengers to inspire inappropriate action or to discourage us from appropriate action, we harm ourselves. Does that mean we should ignore the predictions of the weatherperson, financial analyst, news anchor, etc.? No! It does mean we must remember those predictions, whether they be optimistic or ominous, apply to externals—indifferents that cannot touch our soul. Epictetus discouraged his students from misusing divination in Discourses 2.7: Because we resort to divination on the wrong occasions, many of us fail to carry out many appropriate actions, for what is a diviner able to see that extends beyond death, danger, or illness, or, in general, things of that kind? If one should be obliged, then, to run a risk on behalf of a friend, or if it is appropriate for me even to die for him, what occasion is left for me to resort to divination? Don’t I have a diviner within me who has taught me the true nature of good and bad, and can interpret the signs that indicate the one and the other? So what further need do I have of entrails or birds? And if a diviner says to me, ‘That is what will be of benefit to you,’ will I put up with it? Why, does he know what is beneficial? Does he know what is good? In learning to read the signs in the entrails, has he also learned the signs that are indicative of good and bad? For if he has knowledge of those, he also knows those that indicate what is right or wrong, and what is just or unjust. Man, it is your part to tell me whether the signs point to life or death, riches or penury; but to know whether these would be beneficial or harmful, is it really you whom I should be consulting? Why is it that you don’t speak out on points of grammar? And yet you do speak out on those matters on which all of us go astray and can never reach agreement? It was thus an excellent reply that the woman made when she wanted to send a boatload of provisions to the exiled Gratilla; for when someone said to her, ‘Domitian will merely confiscate them,’ she replied, ‘Better that he should take them away than that I should fail to send them.’ (Discourses 2.7.1-8) What is the lesson here? Appropriate actions are not guaranteed to succeed. The intention to act is the measure of appropriateness because the success of the action is not up to us. In his commentary, Simplicius offers a breakdown of Epictetus’ formula, and Keith Seddon makes it even more approachable.[3] The argument goes like this: (1) It is in your power never to desire or seek to avoid external things; (2) If you neither desire nor seek to avoid external things, you cannot be defeated (hêttaomai); (3) If you are not defeated, you cannot be in a bad situation; (4) If you are not in a bad situation, then nothing is a sign of something bad for you; (5) Therefore it is in your power to bring it about that nothing is a sign of something bad for you. This five-step argument,...

Keep in mind that you are an actor in a play that is just the way the producer wants it to be. It is short, if that is his wish, or long, if he wants it long. If he wants you to act the part of a beggar, see that you play it skillfully; and similarly if the part is to be a cripple, or an official, or a private person. Your job is to put on a splendid performance of the role you have been given, but selecting the role is the job of someone else. (Ench 17) This chapter runs counter to most modern western thinking. I’m an actor in a play, with an assigned role? No way! “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”[1] Of course, we are the masters of our fate and captains of our souls; however, not in the way most people typically interpret those famous lines from Invictus. We want to believe we control the externals that determine our fate. We want to believe: If we obtain adequate education and embark on a promising career, we will experience financial prosperity. If we invest properly, we can ensure our financial security for retirement. If we pick the right mate, we will be romantically fulfilled and happy. If we have a nutritious diet, exercise, and get adequate rest, we will be healthy. Etc, etc. Most people hold onto idealistic beliefs like these into their early adult life. However, as time passes, life happens. Events occur that make it quite clear we are not in complete control of our destiny. Technology replaces the knowledge and skills we acquired in college and developed during a career. Stock markets and housing markets crash. Deadly pandemics sweep the world. Car crashes, street violence, war, and disease unexpectedly take loved ones away from us. Spouses leave us for others or fall short of our expectations. Etc, etc. With age, we learn we are not in complete control of the events in our life. Sadly, those hard lessons can make us bitter and pessimistic about life, and we end up frustrated, pained, and troubled, and we find fault with gods and men (Encheiridion 1). So, what is the answer? Are we supposed to stop trying to make our lives and the world better? No! Absolutely not! As I have said before, Stoicism does not teach quietism. However, Encheiridion 17 does teach us to accept that we are not in complete control of events that shape our lives. We choose how well we play our part; however, we do not get to pick the role. Numerous externals constrain us, and our failure to understand and accept that truth leads to psychological distress. The popular idea that we can be anything we want to be, limited only by our will and effort to achieve our dreams, is a fantasy. It is a lie perpetuated by people who want life to be fair from the human perspective. However, life is not fair in that sense. Human talents are not distributed equally at birth. The socio-economic and political environments people are born into, differ significantly between nations, cities, communities, and families. Whether our role is that of a beggar, cripple, official, or private person is primarily determined by many factors outside our control. External factors limit us to a far greater degree than we want to admit. Therefore, if we measure the value of our existence by externals, life will never be fair. Genius is frequently overlooked, and ignorance is often exalted. Morally corrupt individuals make it into high office, and those with good character frequently struggle to get elected to a school board. Cheaters regularly win. Lawbreakers repeatedly get away with their crimes. Hard workers sometimes end up destitute, and lazy people win the lottery occasionally. That is why Stoicism teaches us another way to evaluate our existence. From the perspective of Stoicism, life is fair and perfectly egalitarian. Those born into poverty have an equal opportunity to develop an excellent character and experience well-being as those born into wealth. Likewise, physical infirmities are not moral disabilities. Your circumstances do not dictate your character; your choices do. Were you born into poverty? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Do you have a physical infirmity that limits you? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Are you in an official position that grants you power over people? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. Are you a middle-class citizen with a job, house, spouse, and children? Choose to put on a splendid performance. Your circumstance may or may not change, but your character will improve. A good character shines through no matter the role we are assigned to play. Our life circumstances determine our part, but they do not determine our character. We cannot predict if or when our circumstances will change; however, we can experience well-being in any role if we develop our moral character. Epictetus used this play metaphor in another Discourse where he makes the important distinction between the person or self and the role they are playing. The time will soon be coming when the actors think that their masks, and high boots, and robes are their very selves. Man, you have all of that only as your subject matter, your task. Speak out so that we may know whether you’re a tragic actor or a buffoon; for in other respects, both are just alike. Thus, if one deprives a tragic actor of his high boots and mask, and brings him on the stage like a ghost, has the actor disappeared or does he remain? If he has his voice, he remains. So also in life. ‘Take a governorship.’ I take it, and in doing so, show how a properly educated man conducts himself. ‘Take off your senatorial robe, dress in rags, and step forward in that role.’ What, then, hasn’t it been granted to me to display a fine voice? ‘In what role, then, are you coming on the stage now?’ As a witness summoned by God… (Discourses 1.2.41-47) A.A. Long offers the following in his commentary on this passage: Epictetus buys into the concept of performance, but he inverts its ideological conventions by proposing that every role persons find themselves occupying is equally apt as the setting for them to distinguish themselves. Thus, in the second excerpt above, the stage costume corresponds to external contingencies and the voice to the authentic self. The point is then: what reveals persons is not their appearance and the station in life they happen to occupy (their dramatic plot, as it were) but entirely how they perform and speak in these roles.[2] An excellent character is achievable regardless of our circumstances. That is the power of Stoicism. The circumstances of Epictetus, a slave, and Marcus Aurelius, a Roman Emperor, could hardly have been any more different. Neither deserved the role they were assigned, and we could question the fairness of a society that allowed for either role. Nevertheless, both had equal access to an excellent character and well-being. Likewise, both put on a splendid performance in the role the cosmos assigned to them. We hold both up as exemplars today because they played their parts splendidly. What is your part in the play of your life? Are you dissatisfied with your role? Would you rather have the lead role instead of being the supporting cast? Encheiridion 17 teaches us that it is not our choice. Our choice is to play the part we are presently in splendidly. The role may change in time; it may not. That is not up to us. Recall the words of Marcus: 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. Or is it perhaps that bodily things still have a hold on you? Reflect that the mind, as soon as it draws in on itself and comes to know its own power, no longer associates itself with the motions, be they rough or smooth, of the breath; and think too of all that you have heard, and have assented to, with regard to pleasure and pain. Or is it a petty desire for fame that draws you from your path? Consider, then, how swiftly all things fall prey to oblivion, and the abyss of boundless time that stretches in front of you and behind you, and the hollowness of renown, and the fickleness and fatuousness of those who make a show of praising you, and the narrowness of the confines in which this comes to pass; for the earth in its entirety is merely a point in space, and how very small is this corner of it in which we have our dwelling; and even here how few there will be, and of what a nature, to sing your praises. (Meditations 4.3) Again, Stoicism is not quietism. Stoic prokoptons are not to sit idly by as injustice prevails. Our role may be to combat injustice. However, every effort we make to change the external circumstances of our life or the lives of others must be undertaken with a reserve clause in mind. We can only control our choice to act; we do not control the outcome. The appropriate action for Stoics is to play our role splendidly and then wish for things to happen as they actually do (Encheiridion 8). In another powerful passage, Epictetus provides us a glimpse of the calm mind and strength of character that comes from accepting all events as they happen and living the role the cosmos assigns us. When someone has come to understand these things, what is to prevent him from living with a light heart and easy mind, calmly awaiting whatever may happen, and putting up with what has already happened. Is it your wish that I should be poor? Bring it on, then, and you’ll see what poverty is when it finds a good actor to play the part. Is it your wish that I should hold office? Bring it on....

The Missing Evidence is Evidence I recently decided to start covering Modern Stoic Fallacies periodically. I have been combatting some of these fallacies for years on Facebook, in my blog, and on my podcast. However, I typically only mention them briefly and haven’t provided much analysis. All of these fallacies have the same goal: to justify removing Stoic physics from the holistic system the ancient Stoics created to make Stoicism compatible with agnosticism and atheism. Before I go any further, I will repeat what I have stated numerous times before. I support the development of a modern, agnostic version of Stoicism? However, there is a condition. A modern, agnostic version of Stoicism must not be built on a foundation of fallacies that distort, misrepresent, and discredit the traditional theory and practice as the ancient Stoics created it. I fully support Modern Stoics, like the late Lawrence Becker, who openly stated he intended to abandon Stoic physics to create a “new” synthesis of Stoicism. I do not support those who claim their new synthesis is essentially the same as that produced by the ancient Stoics or what it would have become if the Stoa remained active into modern times. Those assertions are wishful thinking at best. Some of my listeners might wonder why I am spending time refuting Modern Stoic fallacies. That is a fair question. I believe these Modern Stoic fallacies must be refuted for three reasons. First, those entirely new to Stoicism may wrongly assume these fallacies are supported by historical facts, scholarship, or logical thinking. They are not. Second, Traditional Stoics need to understand these Modern Stoic fallacies do not discredit or refute the deeply spiritual form of Stoicism they know and appreciate from reading the Stoic texts and recognized Stoic scholarship. Finally, these fallacies unintentionally opened the door to other newly minted adaptations of Stoicism that bring disgrace to the tradition of the ancient Stoa. Some of these fallacies are repeated so frequently on social media platforms they become memes. One pervasive example most anyone who has been on Stoic social media platforms has seen is, “Stoicism is not a religion.” While that statement is factually accurate, it is used to infer something false about Stoicism. I will covert that in a future episode. The first fallacy I will tackle is what I call The Missing Evidence is Evidence Fallacy. This fallacy proposes the possibility some of the ancient Stoics were agnostics. Curiously, rather than offering evidence supporting this possibility, the author speculates that the evidence might exist in Stoic texts no longer available to us. In other words, he wants to leave open the possibility that missing Stoic texts might lend credence to his hope that some of the ancient Stoics were agnostic about the providential nature of the cosmos. Again, I call this The Missing Evidence is Evidence Fallacy. This Modern Stoic fallacy is not repeated as often as others on social media. I hope that is because many people see the errant reasoning used in this fallacy and understand the unintended consequences of its use. Nevertheless, like most Modern Stoic fallacies, this one serves a specific purpose—it attempts to justify removing Stoic physics, which includes the concept of a divine and providential cosmos, from Stoicism. Here is the source of this Modern Stoic Fallacy: Only about 1% of the ancient Stoic writings survive today, at a rough estimate.  We have substantial texts from only three authors: Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius.  They were all late Roman Stoics and we have only fragments from the early Greek Stoics, including the founders of the school.  (Also some important ancient secondary sources, especially in the writings of the Platonist Cicero.)  None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics themselves but others may have been.[1] To be fair, this is not the whole argument presented by this Modern Stoic to support his conclusion that “Marcus Aurelius and perhaps also Epictetus believed that agnosticism or even atheism may have been consistent with the Stoic way of life.”[2] In fact, this particular piece includes several pages of supporting circumstantial evidence and contains several Modern Stoic Fallacies I will address in future episodes. Nevertheless, it is clear from this passage alone the author is appealing to missing textual evidence to support his final claim. Let’s begin by placing this fallacy into the structure of an informal logical argument to analyze it. Premise #1: Only about 1% of the Stoic texts survive today. Premise #2: Most of what we do know about Stoicism comes from a small sample of sources, and most of that is from the Roman Stoics (Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius). Fragments from the founders and secondary writing are notably helpful) Premise #3: None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics. Conclusion: However, other Stoics may have been agnostics. In this format, we quickly see this is a classic example of a non sequitur, which means “does not follow” in Latin. In other words, the conclusion that “some other ancient Stoics may have been agnostics” does not logically follow from the fact that only a tiny percentage of the ancient Stoic texts are available to us today. Before I tackle the conclusion drawn from this Modern Stoic fallacy, I also want to address a word in Premise #3 that is critical to assessing it. The word is “appear,” and it’s used in the final sentence of the passage that originated this fallacy. Again, that reads: None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics... [bold emphasis added] The word “appear” is a guarding term in this sentence. People use guarding terms to protect an assertion from attack by reducing its claim and leaving open the possibility it may be wrong. Guarding terms serve a legitimate purpose in philosophical dialogue because many philosophical assertions are not provable in any objectively testable way. Therefore, honesty often necessitates guarding terms to point out a degree of uncertainty or limit the scope of an assertion. Nevertheless, guarding terms can also be deployed to gently persuade a reader or listener to accept an otherwise questionable assertion as true. That is why guarding terms are used so frequently by lawyers in the courtroom to sway a jury toward a conclusion of innocence or guilt based on evidence that can be ambiguous. In philosophy, guarding terms can deliver insinuations and inferences the facts or logical arguments do not fully support. This type of argumentation is called sophistry. A sophistry is a clever but fallacious argument intended to establish a point through trickery.[3] In this Modern Stoic fallacy, the guarding term “appear” is used to subtly call into question the beliefs of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. Again, the author asserts that none of these Stoics appear to be agnostics. However, this guarding term implicitly leaves open the possibility they may have been agnostic. It would have been easy for the author of this fallacy to write:  None of these Stoics were agnostics themselves... However, the author chose to write it differently. Again, he wrote: None of these Stoics appear to have been agnostics themselves... [bold emphasis added] The word “appear” helps guard the conclusion, which reads: …but others may have been. [emphasis added] Within this conclusion, we see another guarding term. In this instance, it’s the phrase “may have been.” The combination of these guarding terms encourages the reader to assent to the possibility some of the ancient Stoics may have been agnostics while simultaneously guarding the author’s conclusion from refutation. The use of these guarding terms allows the author to suggest a possibility—that some ancient Stoics may have been agnostics—without making a factual claim that can be directly challenged with evidence. If the author made an unambiguous assertion that one or more of the ancient Stoics were agnostics, he would be left unprotected from the question: “Which ones?” Nevertheless, this fallacy only works for those who have not read the Stoic texts and scholarship or those willing to ignore the facts about Stoicism. This assertion may work in a court of public opinion, where fellow agnostics and atheists populate the jury. However, it does not stand up to the historical evidence. Such an assertion would never withstand the scrutiny of peer-review by credible scholars of Stoicism. While it is certainly true Stoic theology, as expressed in the surviving texts, varied slightly between individual Stoics and over time. There is no evidence any ancient Stoic was agnostic as that word is commonly understood today. They were all deeply committed to belief in the existence of God in the form of a providentially ordered cosmos. I am not aware of a single credible scholar who has argued otherwise. Trust me when I say I have looked. I have also asked the author of this article, publicly and repeatedly, to reference any scholar who supports his assertion. To date, I have received none. This highlights one common feature of Modern Stoic fallacies: they never reference credible scholars to back their assertions. Why? In this case, no credible scholar would suggest Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, or any other ancient Stoic was agnostic about the existence of God. Let’s get back to the Modern Stoic Fallacy I’m addressing in this episode. Again, I call this The Missing Evidence is Evidence Fallacy. It opens with an accurate assessment of the current state of Stoic texts. Only a tiny percentage of the known Stoic texts survived and are available today. Archeologists may discover more in the future from archeological sites like Herculaneum;[4] however, we cannot rely on that being the case. Neither is it reasonable to assume a future discovery will support an argument or doctrine clearl

Whenever you see someone grieving at the departure of their child or the loss of their property, take care not to be carried away by the impression that they are in dire external straits, but at once have the following thought available: “What is crushing these people is not the event (since there are other people it does not crush) but their opinion about it.” Don’t hesitate, however, to sympathize with them in words and even maybe share their groans, but take care not to groan inwardly as well. (Ench 16) This passage refutes the characterization of Stoics as Mr. Spock-like beings completely lacking appropriate emotional responses toward others. As Margaret Graver wrote in her brilliant book, Stoicism and Emotion: The founders of the Stoic school did not set out to suppress or deny our natural feelings; rather, it was their endeavor, in psychology as in ethics, to determine what the natural feelings of humans really are. With the emotions we most often experience they were certainly dissatisfied; their aim, however, was not to eliminate feelings as such from human life, but to understand what sorts of affective responses a person would have who was free of false belief.[1] The conception of the Stoic as an emotionless person who lacks sympathy for others is an unfortunate caricature. Fortunately, it is repudiated by the Stoic texts. The Letters of Seneca are primarily motivated by his desire to counsel and help his close friend Lucilius. The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius are full of his sympathy for others. In Meditations 2.1, he reminds himself we all share a portion of the same divine mind; therefore, it is contrary to nature to refuse to work with others. Likewise, Epictetus reminds us of our duty to others in several of his Discourses. Encheiridion 16 provides a formula for Stoics to engage with and help people experiencing emotional distress. This formula can be broken down into two parts, and it’s essential to get these parts in the proper order. Otherwise, we may do more harm than good to ourselves and others while attempting to help them. These parts are: Take care not to be carried away by the impression the person is in dire external straits. Don’t hesitate to sympathize with them in words and groans. Now, let’s consider the parts of this formula in their appropriate order. Part 1: Take care not to be carried away by the impression the person is in dire external straits. This part is preparation. Epictetus is warning us to be in the appropriate state of mind before engaging with someone in emotional distress. As a Stoic prokopton, this might appear easy at first. We know the person’s distress is caused by their assent to a judgment that something bad has happened. Additionally, we understand that no external event can truly harm what is essential to our well-being—our inner character. Nevertheless, the Stoics observed the effects of what modern neuroscientists only recently discovered in the form of mirror neurons. We are indeed interconnected. No person is an island. Our mirror neurons react whether we are experiencing events firsthand or observing others experience those events. Modern science proved what the ancient Stoics observed: our interconnectedness is a fundamental aspect of Nature and human nature. For this reason, the Stoic prokopton has to be cautious when dealing with people in emotional distress. If we are inadequately trained, our sympathy for others can quickly turn into a bad emotional response that overwhelms us. I’ve been a law enforcement officer for over fifteen years and a detective for ten of those years. I was already exposed to death and human tragedy before moving to my current position as a traffic homicide investigator three years ago. However, part of my responsibility in this new position is to notify the next of kin when someone dies in a traffic crash. Each time I do so, I mentally prepare myself as I drive to their home to deliver the news. It’s never easy. I have to find a balance between being sympathetic for their loss and simultaneously being the person they can rely on to objectively investigate the crash that killed their loved one. In his commentary on this Encheiridion 16, Simplicius share some insight about striking this balance: But now what follows? Is a reasonable person supposed to be unsympathetic to people feeling crushed, and to ignore them because he condemns their belief? Not at all; rather, he is supposed to go along with them and be accommodating to a certain degree by both speaking a sympathetic word, and even groaning along with him if it is necessary, not pretending to – for pretence is not fitting for the reasonable person – but groaning at human weakness (the kind of thing he considers worth groaning about).[2] My job as a traffic homicide investigator required me to learn how to speak sympathetically and groan genuinely with people as they process the news a loved one was killed in a crash. However, as I said earlier, it’s not always as easy as it appears to find that balance. Shortly after moving to this new position, I encountered a situation I was not adequately prepared for. A young couple was driving home from the mall with their four-month-old daughter strapped into her car seat in the back of their SUV when they became the victims of a violent collision that sent their SUV airborne. Their infant daughter died from the injuries sustained in the crash. The following day, I went to the hospital to interview the injured mother and father. As I stood at the foot of the hospital bed, asking this grieving mother what she recalled about the crash, I became overwhelmed by her emotion. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I got so choked up I couldn’t continue the interview. I had to ask her to excuse me as I stepped toward the window and regained my composure before continuing with the interview. Was my emotional response inappropriate? Yes. A Stoic sage would have been capable of sympathizing with that grieving mother without being overwhelmed by her emotion. You see, for those few moments while I was overwhelmed by my emotions, I could not perform my role as a Traffic Homicide Investigator. Furthermore, if I had allowed her flood of emotions to continue dragging me in, I would not have been able to help her at all. However, I believe an important distinction must be made here. What if I was in a different role in that hospital room? If I was this mother's close friend, would my emotional response have been inappropriate as a Stoic? I don’t think so. Epictetus said we can “sympathize with them in words and even maybe share their groans” Therefore, it seems reasonable that having tears well up in my eyes and getting a little choked up can be counted as sharing in the groans of a grieving friend. The distinction for any Stoic lies in the difference between the roles of an investigator and a friend. Epictetus encourages us to sympathize with grieving people to help them. However, if our sympathizing and groaning goes too far and prevent us from fulfilling our role, we are not helping. That is why Simplicius continued his passage above by highlighting Epictetus’ warning: But he must be careful how far his accommodation goes, lest he too be led in his sympathy to groan at the event from inside himself; otherwise he won’t be able to help the griever any more. For someone who intends to help with the emotion and drag the griever back from it must be accommodating to a certain degree, while remaining securely anchored himself. After all, someone remaining entirely on his own ground won’t be able to snatch up a person being swept away by a flood, any more than someone who is completely caught up in it along with him. The one who stands completely aloof won’t persuade the person suffering the emotion, because he seems to be unsympathetic; while the other one needs help himself, because he too is worsted by the emotion.[3] An appropriate response for a Stoic lies somewhere between an unfeeling statue and being overwhelmed by the emotions of others. Using Simplicius’ metaphor, I wadded too deep into the flood of that mother’s emotions and got swept away momentarily. However, I couldn’t help her if I remained safely aloof from her distress. My job was to step into the water just far enough to reach that grieving mother without losing my footing and being swept away with her in that flood of emotion. That is the challenge the Stoic prokopton faces when dealing with people in distress. Wouldn’t it be safer not to sympathize at all? Safer, yes. Appropriate, no! That is why Epictetus instructs us not to hesitate to sympathize in words and groans. Part 2: Don’t hesitate to sympathize with them in words and groans. Chrysippus argued we have “a natural congeniality to ourselves, to our members, and to our own offspring.”[4] In Stoicism, this is called the doctrine of oikeiosis, which is often translated as orientation or affinity. According to this doctrine, animals and humans alike are driven by an orientation toward self-preservation. The doctrine of oikeiosis comes from Stoic physics—the study of how Nature operates. The doctrine of oikeiosis is the foundation of Stoic ethical doctrine, and this relationship highlights the interconnected nature of the holistic philosophical system created by the Stoics. In Stoic ethics, oikeiosis begins with the orientation toward self-preservation and then expands as a human matures to include one’s family, society, and humanity as a whole.  Epictetus tells us it is in our nature as humans “to do good, to be helpful to others, to pray for them” (Discourses 4.1.122). In Discourses 3.2, Epictetus outlines a training program for those who wish to make progress. The first area of study is related to desires and aversions, the second with appropriate behavior, and the third with avoiding hasty judgments. While expounding on appropriate action, the second area of training,...