In defense of the Stoic sage

Dear Greg,

Thank you for the challenge you posed with your interesting article, “Sidelining the Stoic Sage.” Even though my instinct is actually to agree with you, I thought I’d give a try to defending the concept and see what happens. After all, the early Stoics did think the figure of the Sage was important, so it may be worth reconsidering it for the 21st century.

Of course, even the ancient Stoics talked about the Wise Person with caution. Seneca, who mentions the concept countless times, nevertheless at one point says:

“I think that Panaetius gave a very neat answer to a certain youth who asked him whether the wise man should become a lover: ‘As to the wise man, we shall see later; but you and I, who are as yet far removed from wisdom, should not trust ourselves to fall into a state that is disordered, uncontrolled, enslaved to another, contemptible to itself.’” (Letter 116.5)

Early on in your essay you write: “ I don’t typically journal. I don’t gather up and memorize quotes. Rather than do daily practices (with occasional exceptions), I just keep on rereading Stoic texts, reflecting upon them, and applying ideas from Stoic texts when needed. I can honestly say that I can’t recall ever needing to apply the notion of the Stoic sage in my own practice of Stoicism, and I seem to be doing just fine without it.” And that, of course, is a perfectly valid approach to modern Stoicism.

But, equally obviously, not the only one. I, for instance, journal every day, and find the practice to be very useful. I do engage in a series of daily exercises, mostly of the sort listed by Philo of Alexandria in two of his books, and that Pierre Hadot uses as the basis for his discussion of the topic in his famous Philosophy as a Way of Life. And I have, at least occasionally, found the concept of the Sage useful as an inspiration. Certainly not because I regard myself as anywhere near sagehood, nor because I harbor any realistic aspiration of becoming a Sage, but as a point of reference and an answer to the hypothetical question: “What would (Socrates, Epictetus) do, here and now?” (I consider these two to be Sages, though they probably both would have recoiled in horror at the very thought!)

Your experience has been that sometimes the concept of the Sage becomes a distraction or even a stumbling block toward actual progress in Stoic practice, for some people. If so, then by all means, those people should stay away from the whole idea. But in my case thinking of what the ideal Wise Person would do and why has actually helped clarifying some important aspects of Stoicism. Take one of your examples: “Questions about who the Stoic sage is or might be, what their characteristics are, how one can possibly reach that level, even whether they would truly be ‘happy upon the torture rack’ or not, come up regularly. The topic just by itself tends to produce a variety of negative emotional responses in some, including anxiousness, frustration, and despair.” I don’t doubt it. But thinking about the Sage on the rack has enlightened me about the Stoic concept of eudaimonia: one can be eudaimon (which, as you know, doesn’t really translate to “happy”) on the rack meaning that even extreme suffering can be gladly endured if one lives a life of virtue, because that life is worth living though it may be devoid of pleasure and full of pain. I think of the twenty-eight years spent by someone like Nelson Mandela in prison and conclude that it was a worthy existence, and that it would have been even if Apartheid in South Africa had not been abolished, or if Mandela had died in prison before being released. Why? Because of what Epictetus calls the purple on the toga: it stands out and sets an example for generations to come. I don’t think I could be a Nelson Mandela, or a Socrates, but—again as Epictetus says:

“Even if you are not yet a Socrates, still you ought to live as one who wishes to be a Socrates.” (Enchiridion 51)

You correctly point out that the notion of the Sage was not limited to the Stoa, as the concept is used by Plato, by Aristippus, and even by Epicurus. To me, though, that signifies that the idea was important for the Greco-Romans, and that therefore it may be unwise to discard it prematurely.

As implied by your description of Sages, they are not supernatural beings, just optimally functioning human beings. But you immediately add that there is a flip side for the rest of us “poor slobs”: technically, if we are not wise then we are fools, and if we are not virtuous we are vicious. This, of course, is one of the famous “Stoic paradoxes” discussed in details by Cicero. I take this particular paradox to be a good reminder of the need for humility: most of us are not Sages (Seneca says those are as rare as the Phoenix: Letter 42.1), so let’s not go around pretending we are wise and virtuous. It’s the Stoic equivalent of the Christian notion that we are all sinners. This doesn’t imply that we cannot make progress. After all, Stoic practitioners referred to themselves as prokoptontes (m.) and prokoptousai (f.), or proficientes, terms meaning “those who make progress.” So, no need to despair or become depressed just because we haven’t attained sagehood!

What I do consider distracting are discussions of who may or may not have been a Sage: Socrates, Zeno, Cato the Younger. It truly doesn’t matter and anyone is welcome to their own opinion. What matters is that at least some of these people were sufficiently virtuous to provide us with viable role models, whether or not they qualified for true Sagehood (which nobody can say for sure, as there is no Pope of Stoicism).

You continue: “Getting to that level of wisdom and virtue doesn’t just seem difficult or unlikely for the average person, or even for that matter for an extraordinary one. The prospect seems instead entirely unattainable. And for a lot of people, realizing that can provoke negative emotions, like anxiety, frustration, and despair.” I honestly don’t see why. Christians don’t get depressed because they are not like Jesus, a condition truly unattainable in principle, since the guy was (allegedly) a god. I also don’t see a lot of Buddhists despairing of not being like Buddha. And so on. Those are, of course, other traditions’ equivalents of the Stoic Sage, particularly Buddha (since he’s not a god).

Correctly, you warn: “worrying too much about all of these vexing questions about the sage can suck up the time, thought, and effort that one could devote to all sorts of other important topics in Stoic philosophy.” Right, but the keyword there is “too much.” If one obsesses about the nature of the Sage then one is not really acting wisely and ought to redirect one’s thought elsewhere. But that’s the limitation of individual practitioners, not a problem with the general notion of sagehood. Indeed, near the end of your commentary, you yourself list five advantages linked with seriously considering the Sage, including that it provides us with a general idea of where we should aim in our practice, that it can be a role model, that it may help us reflect on how to deal with difficult circumstances, that it may be a useful object of contemplation, and that it may be treated as an imaginary entity looking over our shoulders and helping us do the right thing (there is empirical evidence from psychological research that the latter technique actually works).

At the end of the day, I don’t think the Sage should be sidelined, only that the cardinal virtue of temperance should be applied to the concept just like to anything else: if, and to the extent that, it helps, by all means let’s engage in discussions of sagehood. If, however, we find that it gets in the way of being good Stoics, let’s set it aside for another day.

Vale,
Massimo