Live From The Painted Porch Interviews – Becker, Gill, Robertson, Lopez, Pigluicci, and Sadler

Scott Perry (the Stoic Guitarist) recently conducted a series of interviews on his Live from the Painted Porch show with one of the most influential scholars articulating a modern interpretation of Stoicism – Lawrence Becker – and with five members of the Modern Stoicism team: Chris Gill, Donald Robertson, Gregory Lopez, Massimo Pigluicci, and Greg Sadler.  The series is called “Meet The Modern Stoics”, and is now available on iTunes.

You can also watch each of the roughly  half-hour-long interviews by following the links below:

You’ll find some interesting, useful, and applicable discussions of key ideas of Stoic philosophy in these interviews.  Among a range of many other topics covered, Scott Perry also brings his conversation-partners to focus on Stoicism’s relevance for creative people, their disciplines, and their ongoing work.

Stoicism and Suicide by Justin Vacula

What should a proper response be to existing in a world which contains innumerable amounts of suffering including hardship, loss, and disappointment? Should one commit suicide to escape from significant disturbances to everyday living?

I’ll explore passages in Seneca’s Letters from a Stoic relating to the topic of suicide which can encourage people to find the will to live by working to improve by taking action; enduring suffering; having a sense of gratitude; having hope for the future; reflecting on past accomplishments; accepting elements of chance and inevitability in life; being mindful of thoughts and emotions to have insight motivated toward change; preparing for hardships; being strong and brave; considering the impact suicide can have on others; and finding meaning in life.

Seneca, in his letters, repeats a theme of taking action to get oneself in order – to not significantly postpone or procrastinate ignoring that which can be remedied lest the problem get worse and eventually become overwhelming. Stoic writers, although they acknowledge personal change can be difficult and significant change may not happen in a short period of time, are optimistic about individuals’ capacity – perhaps aided with the help of others – to improve.

It’s important to note that if one has significant thoughts about suicide and/or has attempted suicide that help is available. People can take action by seeking counseling services, calling the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, seeking information online, talking with others, and working to improve the current situation. In his letter titled ‘On the Futility of Planning Ahead’ Seneca writes

Let us postpone nothing. Let us balance life’s account every day. The greatest flaw in life is that it is always imperfect, and that a certain part of it is postponed.

That life is imperfect – this is something we ought to come to terms with; we do not live in utopias. Seneca compares life life to a journey, that although there will be inevitable mishaps along the way, we can work to re-calibrate ourselves even if straying from a set path. Although there are some elements of life we may not like, we must not forget positive elements we can be grateful for.

Seneca writes about having a sense of gratitude in his letter titled ‘On Consolation to the Bereaved.’ He writes:

many men fail to count up how manifold their gains have been, how great their rejoicings.

In this passage, Seneca addresses someone who lost a friend noting that there have been many good things about the friendship including memories that live on and that one should be grateful for past gains. We can be grateful, too, for positives in the present looking at the whole picture rather than just focusing on some concerns. Perhaps we can look at our own lives as Seneca looks at the situation of a mourner. Although some things have changed and there may be feelings of despair and grief now, we can note the positives from the past and present. Seneca writes:

People set a narrow limit to their enjoyments if they take pleasure only in the present; both the future and the past serve for our delight.

The future indeed can serve for our delight and contain some hope.

Seneca, in his letter ‘On the Futility of Planning Ahead,’ talks about how the future, especially the far future, is uncertain. Perhaps we may think that our lives may be horrible at the moment and that there is no hope for change or reason for optimism, but this cannot be the case – there can be change and hope, a better station of life in coming years, weeks, or even days. Perhaps there are times, too, earlier in our lives, in which we faced significant despair but overcame suffering and had new opportunities and new hope even though we thought our struggle was hopeless and recovery was impossible. Although we might believe there is no hope for change, we should really challenge this line of thought given the uncertainty of the future and past examples of overcoming difficult times. Seneca writes,

For what disturbance can result from the changes and the instability of chance, if you are sure in the face of that which is unsure?

Simply put, we can’t be certain of a bleak future when the future is uncertain and out of our grasps.

One can embrace a sense of radical acceptance and mindfulness to accept that which has happened in the past knowing that, although we can learn from and reflect on the past, we cannot change what has happened. We can also accept emotions we are feeling and thoughts we are experiencing in the present while being aware of them. Without awareness and deliberation we may become simply reactive, impulsive, and not seek to improve ourselves or seek help from others. Rather than simply complaining or lamenting, especially about things we cannot change or have little to no control over, we can accept and work how to better react to events which may be associated with suicidal thoughts.

We shouldn’t deny our emotions or try to be emotionless, but rather analyze our thoughts and emotions working to respond more appropriately and productively to our woes in life instead of catastrophizing and compounding our troubles – we can accept what we are thinking and feeling. Seneca writes in his letter titled ‘On Consolation to the Bereaved’ addressing a mourner:

Tears fall, no matter how we try to check them, and by being shed they ease the soul. What, then, shall we do? Let us allow them to fall, but let us not command them do so; let us according as emotion floods our eyes, but not as mere imitation shall demand. Let us, indeed, add nothing to natural grief, not augment it by following the example of others.

It’s possible to extend our sense of suffering, to add to our despair, but surely this is not a helpful direction to move toward. Question why you might be feeling what you are feeling and work to improve yourself. After all, different people respond differently to different events, so surely it’s not the event or thought itself which causes the feeling, but rather one’s response to the event – it’s in our power, the Stoics would say, to alter our judgments, our impressions, the way we think about things. Seneca writes, “accept in an unruffled spirit that which is inevitable.” This noble and difficult goal is surely one which can help us bear hardships.

This unruffled spirit, bearing suffering and prevailing, is discussed in Seneca’s letter titled ‘On the Fickleness of Fortune’ in which Seneca repeats themes of uncertainty toward the future, anticipating hardships, and thoughts about having a strong resilient character. He writes several inspirational lines, models of a Stoic sage we can work toward emulating.

A bad man makes everything bad – even things which had come with the appearance of what is best, but the upright and honest man corrects the wrongs for fortune, and softens hardship and bitterness because he knows how to endure them; he likewise accepts prosperity with appreciation and moderation, and stands up against trouble with steadiness and courage.

Again we also see themes of gratitude, acceptance, not making our personal problems worse, and careful behavior in this passage.

How might we soften hardship? Surely Seneca’s letter titled ‘On Facing Hardships’ is a good starting point with which to gain perspective. Seneca talks more about inevitability in life and acceptance comparing life to a journey and a battle which includes some struggle we should even embrace in some cases. We can’t have life in a cafe without struggle and shouldn’t prefer it, Seneca thinks, but we can work to mitigate our despair, our worries, and our suffering. We can also display heroism and bravery in overcoming adversity. Here are some passages from Seneca writing to his friend Lucilius:

I shall pay up all my taxes willingly. Now all the things which cause us to groan or recoil are part of the tax of life – things, my dear Lucilius, which you should never hope and never seek to escape.

A long life includes all these troubles, just as a long journey includes dust and mud and rain.

And life, Lucillius, is really a battle. For this reason those who are tossed about at sea, who proceed uphill and downhill over toilsome crags and heights, who go on campaigns that bring the greatest danger, are heroes and front rank fighters; but persons who live in rotten luxury and ease while others toil are mere turtle-doves safe only because men despise them.

So, life will contain hardships, one may say, but how can we cope with those which spring upon us without warning? We can be suddenly devastated. Perhaps sudden unexpected events, those we didn’t prepare for, are linked to thoughts about suicide. Maybe a death of a loved one, a dissolution of a relationship, past trauma, reactions to an event – well, the past has passed and things outside of our control have happened. Perhaps, though, we can better prepare for the future in realizing chance can take its toll for the worst. We can learn lessons from the past and work to rebuild and strengthen ourselves.

Seneca wrote a letter titled ‘A Lesson to be Drawn From the Burning of Lyons’ in which he discusses a sudden fire which devastated an entire peaceful, prosperous, beautiful colony – there was no warning or opportunity to stop the fire whereas in other cases, fires have only damaged parts of valued places and people could have prevented destruction. He writes:

it is the unexpected that puts the heaviest load upon us. Strangeness adds to the weight of calamities, and every mortal feels the greater pain as a result which also brings surprise. Therefore, nothing ought to be unexpected by us. Our minds should be sent forward in advance to meet all problems, and we should consider, not what is wont to happen, but what can happen.

Surely being prepared will help us deal with hardships not if they arrive, but when they arrive. We shouldn’t have extreme anxiety about the future, especially thinking our present despair will last forever and even get worse as I discussed earlier, but rather than accept, anticipate, and better cope. After all, Seneca writes, hardship can emerge at any time – all are afflicted

No time is exempt; in the midst of our very pleasures there spring up causes of suffering. War arises in midst of peace, and that which we depended upon for protection is transformed into a cause of fear; friend becomes enemy; ally becomes foeman. The summer calm is stirred into sudden storms, wilder than the storms of winter.

Life and calm is fragile, Seneca calls to our attention, but we can work to keep ourselves together and have a steadfast mind which will allow us to weather the storms of life. Another quote on this line of thought, this accepting and preparing for an uncertain life and an uncertain future, is found in Seneca’s letter titled ‘On Liberal and Vocational Studies.’ Seneca writes:

I, for my part, do not know what is to be, but I do know what may come to be. I shall have no misgivings in this matter; I await the future in its entirety; and if there is any abatement in its severity, I make the most of it.

So, we accept that life, although it has many positive elements, will also have elements we do not like. We can respond by being brave.

Seneca writes about bravery in his letter titled ‘On the natural fear of death.’ He writes,

How can brave endurance of death by anything else than glorious, and fit to rank among the greatest accomplishments of the human mind

and

When truth is at stake, we must act more frankly; and when fear is to be combated we must act more bravely.

On Seneca’s view it can even be an act of bravery just to live although of course, we should work toward not just any life, but rather strive for a fulfilled life as Seneca mentions throughout his letters with his focus on the quality of life. We can think, too, about how others would mourn our tragic loss of life should we commit suicide. Seneca writes in his letter titled ‘On the Healing Power of the Mind’ talking about enduring an illness in his younger years:

I have often entertained the impulse of ending my life then and there; but the thought of my kind old father kept me back. For I reflected, not how bravely I had the power to die, but how little power he had to bear bravely the loss of me. And so I commanded myself to live. For sometimes it is an act of bravery even to live.

Shall we endure suffering, even if we can accept it as inevitable, something outside of our control, and even if we can better respond to events so we don’t plunge into utter hopeless despair? Is it worth the hassle? I wrote about having gratitude for the positives in life, but what about finding meaning – surely this can be an antidote to despair? Perhaps we can find meaning in helping others, bringing a smile to others’ faces, helping others to find joy in life through evaluating our own skills and talents, asking ourselves what roles we can play in life – how we can manifest virtue and contribute to society.

Seneca writes about helping others in his letter titled ‘On the Usefulness of Basic Principles.’

What a little thing it is not to harm one whom you ought to help! It is indeed worthy of great praise, when man treats man with kindness! […] let our hands be ready for all that needs to be helped, Let this verse be in your heart and on your lips: I am a man; and nothing in a man’s lot do I seem foreign to me. Let us possess things in common; for birth is ours in common. Our relations with one another are like a stone arch, which would collapse if the stones did not mutually support each other, and which is upheld in this very way.

Perhaps you can find motivation for living in recognizing your kinship with others and not only making their lives more tolerable, more fulfilled, but also improving yourself in the process for benefiting others is a type of reward. As Seneca writes in his letter titled ‘On Benefits.’

There is not a man who, when he has benefited his neighbor, has not benefited himself […] the wages of a good deed is to have done it.

Maybe through your chosen profession, volunteering, even talking to friends or family in need – even in difficult personal circumstances – there can be a light in the darkness, reasons to live and to find meaning. Maybe balance in life, not putting all of your time and effort into one thing or one person – depending on that for your happiness, but rather depending on yourself, working toward contentment, and appreciating the help of others – multiple people and things can offer us benefits. Maybe some leisure can help too – we can be entertained, entertain, and even learn in the process through engaging in a hobby, finding something new to do, exercising, playing a musical instrument, reading, and watching television shows or movies…the possibilities are vast.

To recap, we can find the will to live by working to improve ourselves by taking action; enduring suffering; having a sense of gratitude; having hope for the future; reflecting on past accomplishments; accepting elements of chance and inevitability in life; being mindful of thoughts and emotions to have insight motivated toward change; preparing for hardships; being strong and brave; considering the impact suicide can have on others; and finding meaning in life.

Justin Vacula produces content about Stoic Philosophy; serves as co-organizer and spokesperson for the Northeastern Pennsylvania (NEPA) Freethought Society; and hosts monthly Stoic Philosophy discussion groups for the Humanist Association of Greater Philadelphia. He is pursuing a degree in Marywood University’s graduate-level Mental Health Counseling program. To find out more about his activities and his podcast, visit his website.

Upcoming Stoicon-x Events In 2017

At present, there are three confirmed Stoicon-X events coming up worldwide during or around Stoic Week (mid-October).  Not only are they in different countries, but they are on different continents as well.

The idea behind Stoicon-X is that, for those people who can’t make it to the main Stoicon conference (this year, in Toronto – tickets are still available), there could be smaller regional conferences or events, featuring speakers and workshops for those who want to learn more about Stoicism and its contemporary applications.  Like the main conference, these are a great place to meet and have conversations with fellow modern Stoics.

For those who might be interested in planning and hosting a Stoicon-X, we have developed a set of very useful and thorough guidelines – you can download them here.  Stoicon-X events don’t have to be all that large  – they can feature just a few talks, workshops, or other activites – the key is that they are well-organized for their participants.

Right now, there are three main upcoming Stoicon-X conferences that have been brought to our attention.  If you are planning or hosting one, and don’t see it here, please contact Greg Sadler, and he will make sure that your Stoicon-X gets into our comprehensive listings of events for this year.

Stoicon-X Brisbane, Australia – October 7, 10:30 AM- 3:15 PM.  This event will take place at the Mitchelton Library, 37 Heliopolis Parade, Mitchelton QLD 4053, Australia. Tickets available here.

Stoicon-X Toronto, Canada – October 15, 9:30 AM – 1:30 PM.  This will take place at Ryerson University, in the George Vari Engineering and Computing Centre, which is located at 245 Church Street, Toronto, Ontario.  Tickets available here.

Stoicon-X London, Great Britain – Date, Time and Location TBA at this point.  More information will be forthcoming in future posts.

Stoicism and Auschwitz by Piotr Stankiewicz

The general question that the modern take on Stoicism faces is – by definition – how can Stoicism be applied and useful in our own time?  A question which immediately follows is about if and how Stoicism should be adjusted to the specificity of our own times. My position in this regard is clear. We shouldn’t copy and paste the teaching of the ancients. Doing so would be counterproductive, or even naive. Also, my guess is that the Stoic Founding Fathers themselves wouldn’t have applauded it either. My position is that we need to add our own thought to the system. We need to think how the Stoic ideas can be translated into the conceptual framework of our own time and we need to consider how Stoicism should respond to the challenges of our times.

There is little doubt that Auschwitz and its legacy is one of these challenges. Auschwitz, which is both a singular event and a symbol of Auschwitz itself, Kolyma, Rwanda, and all other horrors of the 20th century, may be seen as a turning point in human history but also in the history of ethics. There is no denying that Auschwitz has profoundly changed the way we think. The questions of how it was possible, why it happened and – above all – what moral obligation it imposes on us are among the key questions of our time.

Interestingly, these questions are untouched in the present discourse on Stoicism. In my opinion this is a very serious shortcoming. If we want Stoicism to be a comprehensive system of modern living, if we want it to be truly relevant and fully up-to-date, then we just don’t have the luxury of not having a stance on this matter. We can’t pretend that it doesn’t pose a problem to Stoicism. It does, in a fourfold way at least.

First of all, according to the very basics of Stoic ethics, all people other than myself fall into the “not within my power” bracket. This is clear and unequivocal. Whatever exists and happens in the world can be categorized as either “within my power” (like my thoughts, values, life goals, my preferences and tendencies, my imagination and the story I tell myself about myself and about the world) or “not within our power” (like virtually all else, i.e. whatever happens beyond my mind, all physical objects, all other living beings, the phenomena of society, history and weather). That said, the core Stoic principle is to focus on the former and not bothered by the latter. Clean and simple.

The problem is that all fellow human beings, all of our family, friends and strangers are undoubtedly “not within my power” and thus we need to be indifferent to them. We shouldn’t hold that their well-being or lack thereof is in any way good or bad. Their life, health and happiness is not within our power, hence we needn’t be concerned about them. And this, certainly, constitutes the first chapter of the problem. Just consider it: this train of thought brings us directly to the conclusion that whatever happened to a prisoner of Auschwitz, it wasn’t evil since it didn’t concern our own moral virtue. And there is no need to explain why such a statement is hard to swallow for the 21st-century sensibility.

Second, in the traditional interpretation of Stoicism there is a certain tone of harshness, which sounds disturbing in the world after Auschwitz. For instance, let take a look at a passage from Epictetus (Discourses, I.28). “Wars and factions and deaths of many men and destructions of cities? […] Why, what is there great in the death of many oxen and many sheep and the burning and destruction of many nests of swallows or storks? ‒ Is there any similarity between this and that? ‒ A great similarity. Men’s bodies perished in the one case, and bodies of oxen and sheep in the other. Petty dwellings of men were burned, and so were nests of storks. What is there great or dreadful about that?”

Now, let’s imagine that someone applies this “stork argument” to Auschwitz. Suggesting that “there is nothing dreadful” about what happened there because it’s just “men’s bodies perished” just as “bodies of oxen and sheep” is beyond any acceptable ethical discourse. And it holds, basically, for any other genocide or war of recent memory. Think about the war in Syria, the freshest of the sadly never-ending stream of pertaining examples. Do we really want to say that there is “nothing dreadful” in it, that “destruction of cities” and “dwellings of men being burned” are nothing else than “storks’ nests destroyed”? This reasoning is difficult to hold. It just don’t fit anymore in the way we think of ethics.

Third, another vital point of the Stoic teaching is that, in brief, adversities are challenges. In other words, it is a requirement of the Stoic ethics that all the mishaps, misfortunes and tragedies of human life should be treated like challenges, or even opportunities to practice virtue. In other words, whatever blows and arrows fortune throws at us, they aren’t actually blows and arrows, but rather softballs to exercise Stoic abilities. “All […] adversities [a Stoic] counts mere training,” says Seneca (On Providence, 2.2). Or, in the words of Epictetus, “[Make use of a difficulty] as an athlete makes use of a [sparring partner] to wrestle with” (Discourses, I.24).

This all sounds nice and neat, it seems to make perfect sense. And yet, again, the problem begins when we apply this line of thought to Auschwitz. The idea that the grounds of the camp were “mere training,” or that genocide is a fine sparring partner “to wrestle with,” seems off limits for the contemporary ethical thinking. To make it plain: imagine a TV studio in which a moral philosopher schools a Holocaust survivor: “you just should have become a Stoic and you would have been OK! And actually, you should be glad that you were imprisoned in Auschwitz, since this was a top-notch opportunity to practice your resilience.” This is downright unthinkable. And not even that. Notice that even a slight change in the title of this piece, turning it from “Stoicism after Auschwitz” to “Stoicism in Auschwitz” would be problematic.

Fourth and finally, there is the cosmic problem, so to speak. We need to remember that in the original view of the ancient Stoics the world, to put it concisely, was well organized and rational. It wasn’t random, chaotic or evil. It was purposeful and carefully organized towards good. The ancient Stoics admitted of course that evil things happened all the time, but, importantly, they all happened for a reason. All the flaws of reality were in there for purpose. They actually increased the grand total value of the world. As the famous metaphor went, the pains and inconveniences of life were just like occasional clumsy lines in a script. They are required for the harmony and completion of the whole work. When we take a larger look, the picture always turns out good.

But there is no good picture that Auschwitz is a part of! Whatever bigger image Auschwitz is a part of, it is indelibly and perennially stained. There is no “greater good” that could justify Auschwitz, or, in a stronger version, there is no conceivable amount of good that could – even theoretically – outweigh what happened there. From our modern point of view Auschwitz is the radical, cosmic evil, that cannot be rationally incorporated into any universal harmony. And the interpretation that it was actually a part of some “plan” and a necessary step towards some higher goal is plainly unacceptable.


How we, the Stoics, can respond to these problems? What sort of reinterpretation, maybe even a transformation of the Stoic doctrine is needed? Do we need a more emphatic version of Stoicism? Is it necessary to drop some part of the harsh traditional Stoic rhetoric and arguments? Do we require a milder strategy in teaching it, one which avoids pushing others too much about what the should and shouldn’t do? Should we consider letting go of the teleological view of the universe, just as Lawrence Becker proposes? Or maybe some combination of these is required?

I don’t know have the answers to these questions right now. Yet, I’m certain that the discussed problems constitute the key, defining challenges to our modern attempts to revive Stoicism. We need to address them. If, of course, we want Stoicism to be a serious, viable option and if we want to go forward and develop the doctrine.

 

Piotr Stankiewicz, Ph.D. is a lecturer affiliated with the University of Warsaw in Poland, and the author of a bestselling Polish handbook of Stoicism (“Sztuka życia według stoików”).  He is currently working on making his Stoic books available in English. In the meanwhile he advances Stoic and non-Stoic agendas in his native Polish.

Hadot’s “Active” Stoic Exercises by Anitra Russell

In this post I will explore the importance of spiritual exercises in Stoicism, what the French philosopher Pierre Hadot meant by “active” spiritual exercises, and the origin of these active exercises: Stoicism’s “three disciplines,” which Epictetus laid out in his Enchiridion and Discourses. I will ultimately suggest specific Enchiridion passages that the modern practitioner of Stoicism might incorporate into daily, “active” exercises in order to progress in these three disciplines.

Supplementing Stoic Precepts with Concrete Practices

Ancient philosophies such as Stoicism stressed autarkeia – independence and inner freedom, or as Pierre Hadot writes, “that state in which the ego depends only upon itself.” He goes on to say that

we find in all philosophical schools the same awareness of the power of the human self to free itself from everything which is alien to it.

 Implicit in this wording is the acknowledgment that humans are typically enslaved by things that are by nature alien to us. To return to themselves, the Stoics put their philosophy into practice by means of daily exercises. According to Hadot,

all spiritual exercises are, fundamentally, a return to the self, in which the self is liberated from the state of alienation into which it has been plunged by worries, passions, and desires.

The ancient Stoics believed that philosophy is not merely to be learned, but lived. As Hadot writes in What is Ancient Philosophy?

According to the Stoic Epictetus, [some people] talk about the art of living like human beings, instead of living like human beings themselves . . . as Seneca put it, they turn true love of wisdom (philosophia) into love of words (philologia).

 Likewise, Musonius Rufus cautioned against “sophists” who “inflate themselves [with] a multitude of theories” and of so-called philosophers who are “decadent and soft.” He said young people no longer need to absorb all of these “theories that truly are enough to consume a man’s life.” Epictetus also complained about those of us who

never carr[y] out our reading or our writing in such a way that, when it comes to action, we could use the representations we receive in a way consonant with nature; instead, we are content . . . when we can analyze syllogisms and examine hypothetical arguments.

In contrast, philosophy was meant to be more than just a set of theories, but rather “a method for training people to live and to look at the world in a new way.”

The Stoics prescribed the use of “exercises” to strengthen and internalize our intellectual understanding of Stoic precepts, so that we are prepared to meet a range of misfortunes, whether minor irritations or serious adversities, with equanimity. It is not mere selfishness that makes us want to glide through life unperturbed. Consider how difficult it is to help someone–whether by physically lending a hand, volunteering your time, or listening to someone vent when they are suffering–when you yourself are weighed down with troubles. Stoicism provides a foundation for an ever-shifting terrain, thus enabling us to meet life’s inevitable setbacks more effectively. In turn, we can use this strength and stability to be more present in the world and to be better prepared to support those we love.

Hadot’s “Active” Stoic Exercises: Self-mastery, Accomplishment of Duties, and Indifference to Indifferent Things

Hadot describes several types of “spiritual exercises,” including the more well-known morning and evening meditations–in which you look ahead at the day to come, or reflect on the day that has passed, and consider how you either will, or did, follow Stoic teachings and pursue a sage-like path. He also discusses premeditatio malorum, in which you imagine misfortunes that could befall you and think about how you will meet them with strength and grace, as they are “indifferent,” are not up to us, and are therefore not evils.

Hadot goes on to mention, briefly, “active” Stoic exercises, including “self-mastery, accomplishment of duties, and indifference to indifferent things.”And, while Hadot does not elaborate in this essay on the background or origin of those exercises, he does describe them as “practical exercises, intended to create habits.” As it turns out, Hadot’s three types of active exercises correspond perfectly to Epictetus’ three areas of Stoic practice, known in Stoic commentary as the “three disciplines.”

In an essay on Marcus Aurelius, Hadot writes that Epictetus -“in Marcus Aurelius’ day, the greatest authority in questions of Stoicism”-noted three areas in which things “depend on us,” borrowing language from the famous dichotomy in Book One of the Enchiridion, stating that some things depend on us, and other things do not. According to Epictetus, “What depends on us are value-judgments, inclinations to act, desires, aversions, and, in a word, everything that is our doing.”

As Hadot writes

What depends upon us is the acts of our own soul, because we are able freely to choose them. . . . Among the acts of the soul which do depend on us, some correspond to the area of judgment and assent, others to the area of desire, and, finally, still others correspond to the area of inclinations to action.

 Of Hadot’s active exercises, then, self-mastery refers to desire, accomplishment of duties corresponds to action, and indifference to indifferent things refers to the proper use of judgment and assent.

Self-mastery (enkrateia)

Hadot stresses that to achieve self-mastery, one has to pare down one’s desires and aspirations drastically and limit them solely to moral virtue, which is the only thing that is “up to us.” Likewise, our aversions should be pared down to moral evil. Anything beyond these two spheres is not up to us, and to worry about it is therefore a waste of our time.

From ancient sources we see additional nuances of self-mastery. Diogenes Laertius describes the Stoic Zeno as a paragon of self-mastery and of the autarkeia or self-sufficiency described above. Zeno was known for his “frugality, contentment with poverty [and] detachment in social behavior.” An epigram by Zenodotus described Zeno as an inventor of self-sufficiency (autarkeia) who gave up wealth and founded a school that would be the “mother of fearless liberty.”

A. A. Long notes that Zeno lived in the public eye, but

in a manner which displays his indifference to the conventional marks of success and his profound satisfaction with what others would call asceticism.

 Long writes that enkrateia is not exactly the same thing as ataraxia (an untroubled state of mind), but nevertheless “all three Hellenistic movements posit an ideal of tranquility, for the attainment of which the essential condition is rational control of one’s desires.”

Although the emphasis for Zeno appeared to have been on renouncing material goods, there are a plethora of things in life that we could wish for that money cannot buy. Hadot describes “such desiderata as wealth and health” as not depending on us, and thus things that can make people unnecessarily unhappy when they are not present in life. It is true that health may depend on economic status, but even people with the most expensive health insurance get sick, and sometimes with little recourse.

Sometimes I find myself wanting peace and quiet so that I can read a book. This costs nothing, but it is still a desire to which I am at times overly attached. Another personal example is that I would like my child to act a certain way, e.g., respectfully and deferentially to dear old mom. Again, this is not a material good, but it is a desire, and it puts me at the mercy of a five-year-old who, while charming in many ways, does not always – or in fact ever – put my desires first.

Instead of working backward and subtracting things from a typical, non-Stoic way of viewing what is “necessary” or simply desirable in life -money, health, status, a romantic relationship, a quiet room, an abnormally sweet child – we need to brush it all aside and start with the bare minimum, and add to that. Moral virtue is all we should desire if we wish to achieve self-mastery. On the other side of the coin, moral evil is all we should seek to avoid. Difficult? Yes. Requiring superhuman abilities? Probably.

Indeed, Long observed that just as modern anthropology views people’s interests and needs as “largely social constructs,” the Hellenistic philosophies’ emphasis on austerity and self-renunciation amounted to “an invitation to enter an alternative world and acquire a new self.” He therefore describes Stoicism and other sects as “paradoxical,” but in the original etymological meaning of the word, namely, that they are “incongruous with commonplace beliefs [doxa].”

“Acquiring a new self” is certainly not something people, then or now, routinely do or even consider doing. It is a paradox in the sense that it is a teaching that it is completely out of step with common beliefs. People are entwined with their desires and identify with them strongly, hence their grave disappointment when things do not turn out as they wish. To acquire a new self would necessitate leaving the old one behind, abandoning the hopes, dreams and desires accumulated over many years.

Similarly, Hadot describes Stoicism and the other Hellenistic schools as requiring “a kind of self-duplication in which the ‘I’ refuses to be conflated with its desires and appetites, takes up a distance from the objects of its desires, and becomes aware of its power to become detached from them. It thus rises from a partial and particular vision to a universal perspective, be it that of Nature or that of the Spirit.” Instead of a completely new self, this seems more akin to a radically pared-down self, divorced from its desires and wedded instead to a cosmic viewpoint.

Hadot’s notion of a self “conflated” with its desires pinpoints the problem for us moderns. We have grown to believe that our desires are a part of us, an extension of our identity. (Witness the proliferation of “bucket list” broadcasts on social media.) Ridding ourselves of them feels like a loss of identity. And yet, it is only by accepting that we can stand alone, self-sufficient, wanting nothing but to be good people, that we free ourselves of dependence on things outside of us, whether money, social status, health, people who do what we want them to do, or whatever we else we have let ourselves believe we “need” to be happy.

The Enchiridion provides useful guidance on self-mastery, accomplishment of duties, and indifference to indifferent things. The self-mastery passages below can aid in fostering autarkeia. Per the first passage, if the company you are in does not affect your behavior, it means you are growing in self-sufficiency, and what the ancient Stoics described as a “steadfast disposition.” The remaining three remind us that the mind should be our primary concern. Desire for delicious food, luxurious accommodations, or fine clothing is seldom satisfied, but rather seems to grow the more we have those things. Keeping pleasure in perspective is crucial. Pleasure does not further your progress toward goodness, and is too often dependent upon outside stimuli. Pleasure can leave as quickly as it came, and one ought not attach oneself to such ephemera.

Self-Mastery Exercise Passages

“Lay down from this moment a certain character and pattern of behavior for yourself, which you are to preserve both when you’re alone and when you’re with others.” (Enchiridion, 33.1)

“In things relating to the body, take only as much as your bare need requires . . . exclude everything that is for show or luxury.” (33.7)

“It is a sign of a lack of natural aptitude to spend much time on things relating to the body . . . . No, these things should be done in passing, and you should devote undivided attention to your mind.” (41)

“When you receive an impression of some pleasure, take care not to get carried away by it, as with impressions in general; but rather, make it wait for you, and allow yourself some slight delay.” (34)

Accomplishment of duties (kathekonta)

Accomplishment of duties differs from the other two active exercises in that it ultimately depends on other people. It is key to recall the distinction between what depends on us and what does not, and to recognize that as we carry out our duties to others, what is up to us is our moral intention as we do it. The result of our efforts – how they are received, whether our relationship with the other person improves, whether their expectations are even higher in the future – this is not up to us.

Newcomers to Stoicism are sometimes surprised by the social element of the philosophy, having thought instead that it was about repressing the emotions and withdrawing from the world to minimize suffering. Such an approach, however, would not enable us to live in accordance with our nature, which is that of a rational human being who has obligations depending on the part we play: citizen, friend, parent, spouse. As Marcus Aurelius wrote:

For we are made for cooperation, like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of the upper and lower teeth. To act against one another then is contrary to nature; and it is acting against one another to be vexed and to turn away.

 Seneca similarly tells us:

No school has more goodness and gentleness; none has more love for mankind or is more devoted to the common good. The goal which it assigns to us is to be useful, to help others, and to take care, not only of ourselves, but of everyone in general and of each person in particular.

 Hadot writes:

To find a basis for this theory of ‘duties,’ the Stoics return to their fundamental intuition: that of the living being’s instinctive, original accord with itself, which expresses the deepest will of nature. Living beings have an innate tendency to preserve themselves and to repel that which threatens their integrity. When human reason appears, natural instinct becomes reflective, reasoned choice: something is chosen because it responds to the natural tendencies, such as the love of life and of children, or love for one’s fellow citizens, which is based on the instinct of sociability.

The three disciplines–desire, action, and assent–overlap, as I will discuss further in the next section. To abnegate or rise above one’s own desires can be helpful as one embarks on carrying out duties to others. If we are too self-absorbed and focused on getting what we want, it impedes ethical growth. If we are spending all of our time in the office in hopes of getting a lucrative promotion, it is not likely we will be able to help a friend. If we are traveling the world checking items off of our bucket list, we may miss a phone call from an ailing parent.

The following passages from Enchiridion together form an overview of various facets of the Stoic obligation to be dutiful servants of others. One facet is that our role is not chosen, but assigned. This may strike us as constrictive, but it is simply reality. Naturally, we did not choose to be the child of our parents; that role was assigned. Our roles as citizens are also – usually – determined at birth. If we are parents, that general role is sometimes chosen, sometimes not; at any rate, if we decide to bear offspring, we do not know who that child will be. Our role as parent of this particular child is assigned. Since that is the case, it is fruitless to equivocate on our responsibilities in these roles: As the second passage notes, the social relationship is the measure of appropriate actions. We want to be the best child, citizen, parent we can be–even when it is difficult. The last passage reminds us that the ultimate outcome is beyond our control.

Accomplishment of Duties Passages

“Remember that you’re an actor in a play, which will be as the author chooses, short if he wants it to be short, and long if he wants it to be long. If he wants you to play the part of a beggar, act even that part with all your skill; and likewise if you’re playing a cripple, an official, or a private citizen. For that is your business, to act the role that is assigned to you as well as you can; but it is another’s part to select that role.” (Enchiridion, 17)

“Appropriate actions are measured on the whole by our social relationships. . . . ‘My brother is wronging me.’ Very well, maintain the relation that you have towards him; don’t look to what he is doing, but to what you must do if you are to keep your choice in harmony with nature.” (30)

“If anyone wants to be free, then, let him neither want anything nor seek to avoid anything that is under the control of others; or else he is bound to be a slave.” (14)

Indifference to Indifferent Things

This exercise is the one that relies most on our capacity for rationality, and which is most aligned with the Stoic topos of logic. Hadot describes logic as “the mastery of inner discourse.” By keeping a close watch on that inner discourse, we can see whether our logic is erroneous and thus conducive to emotional disturbances. The crux of this exercise is exactly as Marcus Aurelius described it in 11.16 of the Meditations:

One soul finds within itself the power to live a perfectly happy life, if we can remain indifferent towards indifferent things.

 Hadot describes this as an “interior” exercise, as opposed to self-mastery and accomplishment of duties, which are more focused on the world outside of our minds.

It is useful, since we are discussing logic and, by extension, wisdom, to look at that virtually unattainable yet nonetheless instructive ideal: the Stoic sage. Hadot quotes French philosopher Bernard Groethuysen, who emphasizes the sage’s relation to the cosmos:

The consciousness he has of the world is something particular to the sage. Only the sage never ceases to have the whole constantly present to his mind, never forgets the world, thinks and acts in relation to the cosmos. . . . The sage is part of the world; he is cosmic. He does not let himself be distracted from the world, or detached from the cosmic whole. . . . The figure of the sage and the representation of the world form, as it were, an indissoluble unity.

Once you re-orient yourself, you realize the universe is vast, is not a one-man show, and contains an infinite number of moving parts among which we should “make no difference” – Hadot’s clarification of the concept of “indifferents” in Stoicism. Indifference to indifferents does not mean closing yourself off emotionally from anything that might cause pain, and in the process leading a small, isolated life. On the contrary, by examining our inner discourse logically, in the context of this vast backdrop, we grow nearer to our ideal, the sage whose life is marked by ataraxia and autarkeia.

Along with an expanded view of the environment in which one lives, indifference to indifferent things encourages a refined focus on the one thing that is not indifferent: our moral intention. Hadot stresses that this “engages human beings to modify themselves and their attitude with regard to the world.” There is some overlap between this exercise and self-mastery because we focus only on the things that we can control and are important, so that we can achieve greater self-sufficiency. Indifference to indifferent things also meshes with accomplishment of duties; as we focus on the things we can accomplish in this life, we may turn our gaze to others and see opportunities to exercise our virtue there–and practicing indifference to indifferent things means we are not discouraged by the outcome of our attempts to help others.

The following passages should help us to clarify our thinking when logic eludes us and negative emotions take over.

Indifference to Indifferent Things Passages

Remove your aversion, then, from everything that is not within our power, and transfer it to what is contrary to nature among those things that are within our power. (Enchiridion, 2.2)

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. (8)

Practice, then, from the very beginning to say to every disagreeable impression, ‘You’re an impression and not at all what you appear to be.’ (1.5)

With regard to everything that happens to you, remember to look inside yourself and see what capacity you have to enable you to deal with it. . . . And if you get into the habit of following this course, you won’t get swept away by your impressions. (10)

Conclusion

It is a pitfall of Stoicism that in attempting to understand the elaborate taxonomy of topoi, disciplines, cardinal virtues, and so on, we might forget to put philosophy into practice. I myself have found that getting lost in an abstract world of concepts that originated thousands of years ago can be an attractive antidote when one has overdosed on social media and “fake news.” It is by putting Stoicism into practice via philosophical exercises, however, that we resist the temptation to become sophists ourselves, who have lost sight of the transformative, ethical purpose of Stoicism: to lead virtuous lives and live up to our potential as rational humans and citizens of the world. Pierre Hadot and other modern commentators are invaluable in that they have read between the lines of the ancients’ teachings to distill plausible exercises that we can use today. By reflecting every day on the themes animating these teachings, we inch toward wisdom and tranquility.

Anitra Russell studied classical languages and literature in high school and at university and has recently renewed her studies. She blogs about Stoicism at astoicremedy.com.

Announcing Stoic Mindfulness and Resilience Training (SMRT) 2017

Article announcing Stoic Mindfulness and Resilience Training (SMRT) 2017 with details of live webinar sessions, etc.

Marcus TV GifEnrolment is now open for the Stoic Mindfulness and Resilience Training (SMRT) 2017 online course.  This is a free eLearning course, which Donald Robertson has been running once or twice each year for Modern Stoicism since 2014.  You can access the preliminary area now and the four weeks of the course will officially begin on Sunday 16th July, when enrolment will close.  This year over 500 people enrolled within the first 48 hours after it was announced on social media.  Around 650 people are now enrolled and we anticipate that will have increased to nearly 1,000 by the course start date.

SMRT was designed as an alternative to Stoic Week, which is more intensive, and lasts for weeks rather than one.  It was modelled on training methods for other psychological skills, such as treatment protocols for clinical trials on cognitive-behavioural therapy (CBT).  It is not a general introduction to Stoicism.  If that’s what you’re after try Stoic Week first.  However, if you want a “deep dive” into core Stoic psychological skills then SMRT may be just what you’ve been looking for!

Or follow this link: Enrol on Stoic Mindfulness and Resilience Training.

In the first year, over 500 people took part in SMRT and data was collected from participants, using the Stoic Attitudes and Behaviours Scale (SABS) and a battery of validated outcome measures of the kind used in research on CBT and positive psychology.  You can download a PDF of our report here showing the findings in detail:

SMRT Report

We were actually quite taken aback by the findings.   They are consistent with the data we’ve collected from Stoic Week participants over the years and we’d expect four weeks of intensive training to produce bigger improvements than one week.  However, the results from SMRT were more impressive than we had anticipated.   Improvements were found on the Satisfaction with Life Scale (27%), scale of positive emotions (SPANE_P, 16%), scale of negative emotions (SPANE_N, ­22.7%),
and Flourishing Scale (17%).  These changes were almost double the size of those found in Stoic Week.

This year SMRT will be essentially the same except that we’re hoping to include four live webinars, hosted by the course creator and facilitator, Donald Robertson.  Donald will be reviewing the materials for the week, providing tips, and answering questions you post in the the live chat area.  Don’t worry if you miss one of the webinars, though.  They’re not absolutely essential and you’ll be able to access them later to replay a recording.

Donald recently did a 20 minute Facebook Live session about Modern Stoicism in general, touching on Stoicon, Stoicon-x, Stoic Week and SMRT.  This Wednesday at 2pm Eastern Time, you’re invited to join him for a “pilot” webinar session using YouTube Live.  You can follow the link below right now to set up a reminder for yourself on the YouTube page.

YouTube Live Session

Donald will be testing the software out by giving a brief overview of SMRT and answering some of your questions about the course live on video.  A recording of this session will also be made available afterwards.

Confessions of a Stoic Hypochondriac: Stoicism And Major Surgery by Alexander Ott

I’ve been dying since the age of 8. I’ve died from leprosy, AIDS, brain tumors, cholera, TB, rabies (at least four times), the plague, and many other oft-mortal afflictions I have since forgotten. Amazingly, from all these, I have recovered. Further, I’ve been going blind for years, but still miraculously see—albeit with assistance of pretty strong glasses. I am—or perhaps was—a full-blown hypochondriac.

You can imagine, then, when my primary care physician identified a heart murmur (caused by a leaky heart valve) in a regular physical when I was 31—meltdown time. Add in some suspect family history of heart issues, and now I clearly had something medically verifiable to worry about!

And so it went—sometimes better, sometimes worse—for about 15 years, with regular, rather terrifying trips to the cardiologist for an echocardiogram to ensure that the heart valve wasn’t getting worse, necessitating surgery. Until about three years ago, that is, when my uncle introduced me to Stoicism. This ancient Greek and Roman philosophy of life fundamentally reoriented my perspective on my condition in particular and on my life more broadly. It ultimately helped me make it through what I consider the three stages of my health “event”; let’s call them:

  1. Bad news coming? Prepare for it.
  2. Open-Heart surgery: Why worry?
  3. Surgery is done: I made it, right? 

Bad news coming? Prepare for it.

I scheduled my regular echocardiogram for 3 pm on Thursday, November 10, 2016. Instead of my usual approach to the echo, trying to pretend it’s not happening, I decided to use Stoic philosophy to prepare. Having immersed myself for the past three years in the thoughts and practices of the ancient Stoics—Epictetus, Seneca, Marcus Aurelius—as well as those of modern interpreters such as Donald Robertson, Ryan Holiday, and Pierre Hadot, this seemed an ideal opportunity to confront my life-long existential fears.

In preparation for the echo appointment and the possible bad news I would receive, I practiced the premeditatio malorum, the anticipation or premeditation of adversity. The Stoic concept here is that anticipating a difficult scenario allows one to better handle it when the scenario or something similar to it occurs. As the Roman Stoic and Statesman Seneca noted: “He robs present ills of their power who has perceived their coming beforehand.” This notion is borne out by research on similar approaches in cognitive behavioral therapy—which itself has origins in Stoic thought (see Donald Robertson’s Stoicism and the Art of Happiness).

Approximately once every other day in the three weeks leading up to the appointment, I would close my eyes on the train ride home from work (don’t try this if you drive to/from work) and engaged in a very specific premeditatio malorum: imagining receiving bad news from the cardiologist. This “imagining” took the form of a 10-15 minute meditation in which I would picture myself arriving at the cardiologist’s office, doing the echocardiogram, talking to the cardiologist, and receiving the news that I would need open heart surgery or that my problem was so severe that it was inoperable. (I know this sounds really uplifting, but bear with me!) While this wasn’t a particularly pleasant imagining, becoming accustomed to the negative news prepared me well for the actual “bad news” event.

Additionally, in the meditation I constantly kept the fundamental Stoic notion in front of my mind: certain things are in our control, and others are not. And Stoics consider those things not in our control to be “indifferent.” In the Stoic view, they should not bear upon our sense of peace and tranquility because we cannot control them. Matters including the body—such as whether my heart is malfunctioning—are clearly beyond my direct control. However, what I can control, through training and practice, is how I react mentally to those things beyond my direct control. As Shakespeare’s Hamlet noted, in a very Stoic phrase, “Nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so.” Or, as the Stoic teacher Epictetus put it: “It is not things themselves that upset us but our judgements about these things.”

I’m happy to report that, given my preparation, receiving the “news” from the cardiologist that I would need open-heart surgery was nearly an anti-climax. I expected it. Even the candor and bluntness from my cardiologist about my situation was more amusing than disturbing. It was almost like watching a movie I had seen many times before—it had lost its emotional punch.

Open-Heart surgery: Why worry?

After discussing the echocardiogram results with multiple cardiologists—essential due diligence—it was clear that surgery was the best courses of action to repair or replace the leaky valve sooner rather than later. Waiting for it to develop into a geyser was medically inadvisable, shall we say. The good news was that the likelihood of a successful repair or, if needed, replacement of the valve was very high. The bad news was that it was open-heart surgery. As in, they cut you open, stop your heart, cut around in it, restart said stopped heart, and close you back up. For a hypochondriac, even a newly Stoic one, yikes!

I settled upon two approaches to the impending surgery. The first was to embrace the Stoic concept of “hic et nunc”—the here and now. That is, an intense focusing—a mindfulness really—on the immediate moment. The Stoics believed that one of the challenges of humanity is its ability to ruminate on the past and anticipate the future.

As Seneca noted:

Wild beasts run away from dangers when they see them. Once they have escaped, they are free of anxiety. But we are tormented by both the future and the past.

Roman emperor and Stoic Marcus Aurelius admonished himself to

Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.

Instead of getting lost in worry over the future surgery, I did my best to enjoy and live in the moment—appreciating the beauty and wonder of all the things around me, from my own ability to walk, talk, and see, to the company of colleagues, friends, and loved ones. If anything, my ability to do this successfully was amplified by the upcoming surgery as I was able to more easily appreciate the things around me.

At certain times, though, such as during a morning or evening meditation, I did consider the upcoming surgery—after all, Stoicism does ask us to prepare for challenges. We are not to live in ignorance of challenges that will arise, but we are to prepare rationally and within the context of what we can control and not control. What, then, was the Stoic attitude I took toward the upcoming operation? Acceptance—it is what it is. As the Stoic teacher Epictetus exhorted his students: “make the best of what is in our power, and take the rest as it naturally happens.” Once it was clear that surgery was the logical approach, the only thing to do was to accept it as simply necessary. Those things we cannot control we should accept as a natural part of existence.

Ah, but what if I died because of the surgery? While this wasn’t likely, it wasn’t impossible either. Having the operation was a whole lot more dangerous than my average day, after all. The doctors seemed quite confident, but, then again, it wasn’t their heart that was getting stopped, cut up, and restarted. Not only that, but if I didn’t die from surgery, surely I will die at some point (we all do—sorry to be a downer!). As Epictetus noted: “I am not eternal, but a human being; a part of the whole, as an hour is of the day. Like an hour I must come and, like an hour, pass away.” While I cannot claim to have overcome this existential challenge, I was able to wrestle with the issue without too much fear. One approach I took was to appreciate that there are far worse ways to die than on the operating table—after all, you are out cold and unaware of what is occurring. As I went into surgery early on March 22, this thought provided some comfort.

Surgery is done: I made it, right?

I wake up with a start; I have tubes coming out of everywhere and my arms are strapped down. Breathing tube, chest tube, catheter, etc. My wife is talking to me—nurses, machines, beeping. I motion for something to write on and scrawl something about the breathing tube and when it might come out. My wife says that it’s coming out soon, but the nurse needs a doctor’s approval. I write, “I can take it out—I’m a doctor,” and then I sign it. That makes her laugh: I’m a doctor of education—not an MD—so while I might be able to theorize about an educational problem, I’m not exactly qualified to remove anyone’s breathing tube, never mind my own. Well, at least my sense of humor is intact.

Two main issues arose while recovering in the hospital: First, the loss of independence and control. Second, the fear that something bad was going to happen—some sort of complication. I did better with the first issue than the second, but Stoicism was helpful for both.

Being in recovery from major surgery means a radical loss of control of bodily things. You can’t even go to the bathroom on your own. Thankfully, Stoicism is perfectly aligned for this sort of challenge. As already mentioned, Stoics view things outside the mind as fundamentally not in our (full) control. This applies to all the things that happen to us—those things in the hands of Fortune—as well as the bodily matters over which we exercise only partial control. This acceptance of loss of control is an essential way to remain content and tranquil when in what otherwise would be a frustrating situation. Epictetus exhorted his students as follows:

Being educated [in stoic philosophy] is precisely learning to will each thing just as it happens.

The Stoics often advocated going beyond acceptance of external events. One should embrace the situation as you find it thrust upon you, for it exists as it is at the instant it is occurring and so it cannot be otherwise. As Seneca said:

A good person dyes events with his own color… and turns whatever happens to his own benefit.

How, then, to turn this event to my own benefit? The flip side of your lack of bodily autonomy after surgery is your dependence on others—in particular, the nurses, technicians, and other health care professionals whose job it is to help you get better. In these exceptional human beings a wonderful Stoic opportunity presents itself. Stoicism, in contrast with the stereotype of a “stoic” person, encourages us to engage fully with other people, for they share a spark of the divine in their ability to reason. As our brothers and sisters, according to Marcus Aurelius:

We were born to work together like feet, hands, and eyes, like the two rows of teeth, upper and lower.

Seneca notes of Stoicism that

No school has more goodness and gentleness; none has more love for human beings, nor more attention to the common good.

I’m naturally an outgoing person, very engaged with those I meet. But I made a special effort to be so in the hospital—as much as possible treating each person as an individual, thanking them for the work they do, and being upbeat and optimistic about whatever somewhat unpleasant thing they needed to do to me next—poking me with needles, waking me up at 3 am to take my blood pressure, making me eat hospital food. The good cheer I gave out was returned to me many, many times over, not only by the staff but simply by my own actions. As Marcus Aurelius asked:

How then can you grow tired of helping others when by doing so you help yourself?

The most difficult part of recovery was the implicit existential threat—amplified by the incessant beeping of the monitors to which I was connected. Two days after surgery, I developed atrial fibrillation (“AFib”), which is the heart beating rapidly and out of sync—mine was moving at 130 beats per minute. AFib is common enough after open-heart surgery, but that didn’t make it any less scary. To deal with this unexpected challenge, I returned to Stoic meditations, in particular, one known as the “view from above.”

This meditation involves imagining yourself leaving your body and floating up above it, slowly moving up to a perspective far above the earth. In doing this, you picture yourself surveying all around you and seeing how small you are in the broader scheme of existence—just one soul and one life among billions, all inhabiting a planet that, from a distance, looks to be just a “pale blue dot” in the words of astronomer Carl Sagan. This meditation helped me put my life in perspective, as only one among many, part of a broader whole. True, it, too, will end; if not now, then in 10, 20, or 30 years. Acceptance of this fact can help one live a fuller life, while we have one to live. Contemporary Stoic author Ryan Holiday notes, “Reminding ourselves each day that we will die helps us treat our time as a gift.”

I’m happy to report that I’m home now as I write this, with surgery three weeks in the past, feeling quite well. AFib is now under control, thanks to a well-calibrated “Zap!” from a defibrillator last week. My wife says my heart has got the beat now, thankfully! I am extraordinarily thankful to all those who helped me get through this—from an incredibly skillful surgeon, caring and talented doctors, nurses, and other health care workers to loving and supportive family, friends, and co-workers. I am also thankful for an ancient philosophy called Stoicism, which is as powerful at addressing the human condition today as it was in Ancient Greece and Rome.

Would I still consider myself a hypochondriac? Perhaps at times, but one far better equipped to deal with life’s challenges. I have found that this experience, and my reaction to it in a Stoic context, has changed my perspective on life in a fundamental way, undermining the fear at the root of hypochondria. I am hopeful that this article can help others discover ways to overcome their personal challenges—both real and imagined!

 

Dr. Alexander Ott is associate dean of academic affairs at Bronx Community College of the City University of New York. He holds an undergraduate degree in philosophy from SUNY Geneseo and a master of arts and doctor of education degrees from Fordham University. Dr. Ott has been studying and practicing Stoicism for three years.