And for what function were people designed? To answer this question, the Stoics thought, we need only examine ourselves.On doing this, we will discover that we have certain instincts, as do all animals. We experience hunger; this is nature’s way of getting us to nourish ourselves. We also experience lust; this is nature’s way of getting us to reproduce. But we differ from other animals in one important respect: We have the ability to reason. From this we can conclude, Zeno would assert, that we were designed to be reasonable.
And if we use our reason, we will further conclude that we were designed to do certain things, that we have certain duties. Most significantly, since nature intended us to be social creatures, we have duties to our fellow men. We should, for example, honor our parents, be agreeable to our friends, and be concerned with the interests of our countrymen.19 It was this sense of social duty that led the Stoic Cato to be an active player in Roman politics, even though doing so cost him his life.
Although, as I have said, the primary concern of the Stoics was with ethics—with living virtuously and thereby having a good life—they were also interested in logic and physics. By studying logic, they hoped to perform well one of the functions for which we were designed; namely, to behave in a rational manner. And by studying physics, they hoped to gain insight into the purpose for which we were designed. The Stoics came up with various metaphors to explain the relationship between the three components of their philosophy. They asserted, for example, that Stoic philosophy is like a fertile field, with “Logic being the encircling fence, Ethics the crop, Physics the soil.”20
This metaphor makes clear the central role played by ethics in their philosophy: Why worry about the soil and why build a fence unless a crop will result? If we lived in perfect accordance with nature—if, that is, we were perfect in our practice of Stoicism—we would be what the Stoics refer to as a wise man or sage. A Stoic sage, according to Diogenes Laertius, is “free from vanity; for he is indifferent to good or evil report.” He never feels grief, since he realizes that grief is an “irrational contraction of the soul.” His conduct is exemplary. He doesn’t let anything stop him from doing his duty. Although he drinks wine, he doesn’t do so in order to get drunk. The Stoic sage is, in short, “godlike.”21
Such godlikeness, the Stoics will be the first to admit, is exceedingly rare. For the Stoics, however, the near impossi-bility of becoming a sage is not a problem. They talk about sages primarily so they will have a model to guide them in their practice of Stoicism. The sage is a target for them to aim at, even though they will probably fail to hit it. The sage, in other words, is to Stoicism as Buddha is to Buddhism. Most Buddhists can never hope to become as enlightened as Buddha, but nevertheless, reflecting on Buddha’s perfection can help them gain a degree of enlightenment.
Cleanthes (331–232 bc) was a pupil in Zeno’s Stoic school, and when Zeno died, he inherited leadership of the school. When Cleanthes grew old, though, he started losing students to other schools, and the future of Stoicism looked bleak.
When he died, leadership of the Stoic school was passed on to his pupil Chrysippus (c. 282–206 bc), under whose leadership the school regained its former prominence.
After the death of Chrysippus, the Stoic school continued to prosper under a succession of leaders, including Panaetius of Rhodes, who is remembered in the annals of Stoicism not as an innovator but as an exporter of the philosophy. When Panaetius traveled to Rome in around 140 bc, he took Stoicism with him. He befriended Scipio Africanus and other Roman gentlemen, got them interested in philosophy, and thereby became the founder of Roman Stoicism.
After importing Stoicism, the Romans adapted the doctrine to suit their needs. For one thing, they showed less interest in logic and physics than the Greeks had. Indeed, by the time of Marcus Aurelius, the last of the great Roman Stoics, logic and physics had essentially been abandoned: In the Meditations, we find Marcus congratulating himself for not having wasted time studying these subjects.22
The Romans also made subtle changes in the Greek Stoics’ ethical program. As we have seen, the primary ethical goal of the Greek Stoics was the attainment of virtue. The Roman Stoics retained this goal, but we find them also repeatedly advancing a second goal: the attainment of tranquility. And by tranquility they did not have in mind a zombie-like state. (To advocate that kind of tranquility, after all, would be a rejection of the rationality that the Stoics thought essential to virtuous living.) Rather, Stoic tranquility was a psychological state marked by the absence of negative emotions, such as grief, anger, and anxiety, and the presence of positive emotions, such as joy.
For the Roman Stoics, the goals of attaining tranquility and attaining virtue were connected, and for this reason, when they discuss virtue, they are likely to discuss tranquility as well. In particular, they are likely to point out that one benefit of attaining virtue is that we will thereupon experience tranquility. Thus, early in his Discourses, Epictetus advises us to pursue virtue but immediately reminds us that virtue “holds out the promise . . . to create happiness and calm and serenity” and that “progress toward virtue is progress toward each of these states of mind.” Indeed, he goes so far as to identify serenity as the result at which virtue aims.23
Because the Roman Stoics spent so much time discussing tranquility (as a by-product of virtuous living), they create the impression that they were disinterested in virtue. Consider, for example, Epictetus’s Handbook, also known as his Manual or Encheiridion. Arrian (one of Epictetus’s students) compiled this work with the goal of providing second-century Roman audiences with an easily accessible introduction to Stoicism. Although the Handbook is filled with advice on what, according to Epictetus, we must do if we wish to gain and maintain tranquility, Arrian saw no need to mention virtue.
One last comment is in order on the connection for the Roman Stoics between the goal of attaining virtue and the goal of attaining tranquility. Besides asserting that the pursuit of virtue will bring us tranquility, I think the Roman Stoics would argue that the attainment of tranquility will help us pursue virtue. Someone who is not tranquil—someone, that is, who is distracted by negative emotions such as anger or grief—might find it difficult to do what his reason tells him to do: His emotions will triumph over his intellect. This person might therefore become confused about what things are really good, consequently might fail to pursue them, and might, as a result, fail to attain virtue. Thus, for the Roman Stoics, the pursuit of virtue and the pursuit of tranquility are components of a virtuous circle—indeed, a doubly virtuous circle: The pursuit of virtue results in a degree of tranquility, which in turn makes it easier for us to pursue virtue.
Why did the Roman Stoics give the attainment of tranquility a more prominent role than their Greek predecessors did? Part of the answer to this question, I think, is that the Roman Stoics had less confidence than the Greeks in the power of pure reason to motivate people. The Greek Stoics thought that the best way to get people to pursue virtue was to make them understand what things were good: If a person understood what the truly good things were, he, being rational, would necessarily pursue them and thereby become virtuous. The Greek Stoics therefore saw little need to mention the beneficial by-products of the pursuit of virtue, including, most significantly, the attainment of tranquility.
The Roman Stoics, in contrast, apparently thought it wouldn’t be obvious to their fellow Romans why they should pursue virtue. They also recognized that ordinary Romans would instinctively value tranquility and would consequently be receptive to strategies for attaining it. The Roman Stoics therefore seem to have concluded that by sugarcoating virtue with tranquility—more precisely, by pointing to the tranquility people would gain by pursuing virtue—they would make Stoic doctrines more attractive to ordinary Romans.
Furthermore, Stoic teachers such as Musonius Rufus and Epictetus had another reason for highlighting tranquility: By doing so, they made their school more attractive to potential students. In the ancient world, we should remem
ber, schools of philosophy were in direct competition with each other. If a school taught a philosophy that people found attractive, it gained “market share,” but if a school’s philosophy fell out of favor with potential students, the school might have sunk into oblivion—which, as we have seen, almost happened to the Stoic school under Cleanthes.
To gain and retain students, schools were willing to be flexible in the philosophical doctrines they taught. It has been suggested, for example, that in the middle of the third century bc, the Academic and Stoic schools of philosophy, because they were losing students to the rival Epicurean school, decided to join into a philosophical alliance and modify their doctrines accordingly, with the common purpose of attracting students away from the Epicureans.24 Along similar lines, it is conceivable that the Roman Stoics, by accentuating tranquility in their philosophy, might have been trying to attract students away from the Epicureans, who also dangled the prospect of tranquility before their students.
If it seems implausible that ancient philosophers would “bend” philosophical doctrines in an attempt to attract students, we should remember that this is precisely how many ancient schools of philosophy got started. For example, when Potamo of Alexandria decided to start a school of philosophy, he had a stroke of marketing genius: He decided that the best way to draw students was to cherry-pick from the philosophical doctrines of competing schools.25 Those who joined his so-called Eclectic school could, he argued, gain the best that each of the competing schools had to offer. More to the point, we should remember that Zeno himself, to concoct Greek Stoicism, bent and blended the doctrines of (at least) three different philosophical schools: the Cynics, the Megarians, and the Academy.
By highlighting tranquility in their philosophy, the Stoics not only made it more attractive to ancient Romans but made it, I think, more attractive to modern individuals as well. It is unusual, after all, for modern individuals to have an interest in becoming more virtuous, in the ancient sense of the word. (We probably should be interested in becoming more virtuous, but the brutal truth of the matter is that most of us aren’t.) Thus, tell someone that you possess and are willing to share with him an ancient strategy for attaining virtue, and you will likely be met with a yawn. Tell him that you possess and are willing to share an ancient strategy for attaining tranquility, though, and his ears are likely to perk up; in most cases, people don’t need to be convinced of the value of tranquility. Indeed, if asked, he might go on at length about how his life has been blighted by tranquility-disrupting negative emotions.
It is for this reason that in the following pages I focus my attention on the Roman rather than the Greek Stoics, and it is for this reason that the primary focus of my examination of the Roman Stoics is not their advice on how to attain virtue but their advice on how to attain and maintain tranquility. Having said this, I should add that readers who follow Roman Stoic advice on attaining tranquility might thereby attain virtue as well. Should this happen, so much the better!
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THREE
Roman Stoicism
The most important of the Roman Stoics—and the Stoics from whom, I think, modern individuals have the most to gain—were Seneca, Musonius Rufus, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius.1 The contributions these four made to Roman Stoicism were nicely complementary. Seneca was the best writer of the bunch, and his essays and letters to Lucilius form a quite accessible introduction to Roman Stoicism. Musonius is notable for his pragmatism: He offered detailed advice on how practicing Stoics should eat, what they should wear, how they should behave toward their parents, and even how they should conduct their sex life. Epictetus’s specialty was analysis: He explained, among other things, why practicing Stoicism can bring us tranquility.
Finally, in Marcus’s Meditations, written as a kind of diary, we are privy to the thoughts of a practicing Stoic: We watch as he searches for Stoic solutions to the problems of daily life as well as the problems he encountered as emperor of Rome.
Lucius Annaeus Seneca, also known as Seneca the Younger, was born sometime between 4 and 1 bc in Corduba, Spain.
Although we have more of his philosophical writings than we have of any other Stoic, he wasn’t the most prolific of the Stoics.(Chrysippus was remarkably prolific, but his works have not survived.) Nor was he particularly original. Nevertheless, his Stoic writings are quite wonderful. His essays and letters are full of insight into the human condition. In these writings, Seneca talks about the things that typically make people unhappy—such as grief, anger, old age, and social anxieties—and about what we can do to make our life not just tolerable but joyful.
Seneca, like the other Roman Stoics I will discuss, was not stoically resigned to life; he was instead an active participant in it. And like these other Stoics, he was a complex individual.
Indeed, even if Seneca had never written a word of philosophy, he would have made it into the history books for three other reasons. He would be remembered as a successful playwright.
He would be remembered for his financial undertakings: He appears to have been a prototypical investment banker who became enormously wealthy in large part because of his financial acumen. And finally, he would be remembered for the role he played in the politics of first-century Rome; besides being a senator, he was a tutor and subsequently a principal advisor to Emperor Nero.
Seneca’s involvement with the imperial court got him into trouble. When Claudius became emperor, he condemned Seneca to death for (allegedly) committing adultery with Claudius’s niece Julia Livilla. The sentence was commuted to banishment and confiscation of all property, and so in the year 41, Seneca, then in his forties, was sent off to the “barren and thorny rock” that we call Corsica.2 During this time, he read, wrote, made a study of the island—and presumably practiced his Stoicism.
In 49, Agrippina married Claudius and talked him into recalling Seneca from banishment so he could act as tutor for her son Nero, who was then eleven or twelve. Thus it was that after eight years of banishment, Seneca returned to Rome.
Again ensconced in Roman society, he became, we are told, “the most renowned citizen of his time: the greatest living writer in prose and verse, the greatest name in literature since the golden age at the beginning of the century, and the favorite of the imperious empress.”3 Seneca was as surprised as anyone by his success in life: “Is it I,” he asked, “born in the station of a simple knight and a provincial, who am numbered with the magnates of the realm?”4
When Nero became emperor, Seneca was promoted to the job of counselor. Indeed, he and Sextus Afranius Burrus, the prefect of the Praetorian guard, became Nero’s inner circle. At first, Seneca and Burrus did a good job of keeping Nero’s licentious tendencies in check, and the Roman empire enjoyed five years of good government. Seneca also flourished during this period: He became incredibly wealthy. This wealth has given rise to the charge that Seneca was a hypocrite, that he advocated Stoic restraint while living a life of extreme affluence. Readers need to keep in mind, though, that unlike Cynicism, Stoicism does not require its adherents to adopt an ascetic lifestyle. To the contrary, the Stoics thought there is nothing wrong with enjoying the good things life has to offer, as long as we are careful in the manner in which we enjoy them. In particular, we must be ready to give up the good things without regret if our circumstances should change.
After the death of Agrippina in 59—Nero had her killed— Nero began to chafe at the guidance of Seneca and Burrus. In 62, Burrus died, either from illness or as the result of being poisoned. Seneca realized that his days at court were numbered, and he attempted to retire from politics, pleading ill health and old age. Nero finally agreed to let him retire, but the retirement was short-lived. The counselors who replaced Seneca convinced Nero that Seneca had been involved in a conspiracy against him, and in 65, Nero ordered Seneca’s death.
When the friends who were present at his execution wept over his fate, Seneca chastised them. What, he asked, had become of their Stoicism? He then embraced hi
s wife. The arteries in his arms were slit, but because of age and infirmity, he bled slowly, so the arteries of his legs and knees were also severed. Still he did not die. He asked a friend to bring poison, which he drank but without fatal consequences. He was then carried into a bath, the steam of which suffocated him.5
Seneca’s essay “On the Happy Life” was written for his elder brother Gallio—the same Gallio, by the way, as is mentioned in Acts 18:12–16 of the New Testament for his refusal to try St. Paul in Corinth. In this essay, Seneca explains how best to pursue tranquility. Basically, we need to use our reasoning ability to drive away “all that excites or affrights us.” If we can do this, there will ensue “unbroken tranquility and enduring freedom,” and we will experience “a boundless joy that is firm and unalterable.” Indeed, he claims (as we have seen) that someone who practices Stoic principles
“must, whether he wills or not, necessarily be attended by constant cheerfulness and a joy that is deep and issues from deep within, since he finds delight in his own resources, and desires no joys greater than his inner joys.” Furthermore, compared to these joys, pleasures of the flesh are “paltry and trivial and fleeting.”6
Elsewhere, we find Seneca telling his friend Lucilius that if he wishes to practice Stoicism, he will have to make it his business to “learn how to feel joy.” He adds that one of the reasons he wants Lucilius to practice Stoicism is because he does not wish Lucilius “ever to be deprived of gladness.”7 Those who are accustomed to thinking of the Stoics as a glum bunch might be surprised by such comments, but these and other remarks make it clear that the phrase “joyful Stoic” is not an oxymoron.8
A Guide to the Good Life Page 4