In the Los Angeles Stoics “Frequently Asked Questions” page (https://lastoics.com/faq/), I made sure to include one of the most common sticking-points that folks (newcomers and veterans) have when Stoicism addressed the emotion of anger:

“Why do Stoics say that anger is bad? Isn’t there some kind of anger that’s ‘good’ or ‘righteous’–say, in the pursuit of justice?”

I gave the question short shrift with my usual response:

“Anger is a combination of distress and desire, two of the four primary irrational/unhealthy emotions (pathē). Anger first required distress at being harmed by another and then a desire for some kind of retaliation. This kind of distress is irrational because nobody can be “harmed” without the permission of the would-be victim; this kind of desire is irrational because retaliation is not warranted (since there is no harm) and retaliation would not bring about a “good” thing even it it was warranted.”

I thought that was a very succinct and accurate response, but I also acknowledged that it probably needed to be elaborated upon.

Here’s my first attempt at elaborating upon it. The following thoughts were motivated by the LA Stoics “Seneca Reading Group” and our ongoing study of Seneca’s On Anger. (which anybody is free to attend on the LA Stoics Discord server; we’re currently on Book 2).

The Greek Stoics promoted the idea that our emotions (the internal movements of our psyche) are created as the result of assenting to certain inferences (comprised of a series of dispositional beliefs and impressions). These inferences can be represented by as syllogisms (comprise of a series of propositions). If the inference/syllogism is sound, then it will necessarily produce an emotion (a pathos). This is called the “pathetic syllogism.” Aristotle and his “practical syllogism” (an inference that produces an action) was likely a major inspiration here.

Anger is complex (as I alluded to in my initial response above). There are two pathetic syllogisms that need to occur for its production.

FIRST, I need to have the impression of being harmed, which is/produces distress.

1. If something bad is present, then it’s appropriate to contract my psyche (i.e., experience distress)
2. X is bad
3. X is present
4. It’s appropriate to feel distress.

and

5. If someone else is the cause of my distress, they have harmed me.

THEN, I need to have the impression that harming them in return is good, which is/produces desire.

6. If something good is in prospect, then it’s appropriate to reach out my psyche (i.e., experience desire)
7. [Punishing someone who has harmed me (i.e., payback)] is good
8. [Payback] is in prospect.
9. It’s appropriate to experience desire

This desire for “payback” is ANGER.

As I said in my initial response, the issue is that Premise 2 (and usually Premise 7) is false. Therefore, the inferences are always irrational. This is why the emotion of anger is always irrational.

Here’s an example inspired by another LA Stoics member:

My child keeps running out into the street and I believe that’s an inherently bad thing … I have the impression that I’m harmed by this (I feel distress) … I have the impression that punishing the child would be a good thing … My desire for punishing is experienced as anger (and maybe an over attempt to harm them in return).

But the issue is that my child disobeying me and running into the street is dangerous, but not inherently bad. It does demand some kind of action insofar as I have an obligation to protect my child and help them learn, but the only “bad” thing would be my neglecting that obligation. And so my punishing them cannot be framed as a kind of retaliation or payback. Instead, it must be prompted by a compassionate desire to teach them. It may look like anger from the outside, but it is grounded in good reason and good intent.

Instead of anger, Seneca suggests that we rely on our obligations and a “proper sense of devotion” (pietas) to motivate us to action.

An objection: “Are you telling me that a good man doesn’t become angry if he sees his father being murdered, his mother raped?” No, he will not become angry, but he’ll be their champion and defender. Why are you afraid that a proper sense of devotion won’t goad him sufficiently, even without anger? … A good man will follow up his obligations undisturbed and undeterred, and in doing the things worthy of a good man he will do nothing unworthy of a man. If my father is being killed, I will defend him; if he has been killed, I will see the matter to a proper conclusion—because I know that’s right, not because I feel a grievance.
(On Anger 1.12.1-2)

What do you think? Comment below or join the discussion on Discord. Email me (justin[at]lastoics.com) if you have a question or need info/help getting connected.

-Justin K. (LA Stoics facilitator)

It’s Halloween today–a secular celebration of imagination and fear. What would the Stoics say of how we practice this modern Western holiday? How should you approach it if you ascribe to Stoic philosophy as a way of life?

To narrow my discussion I’ll just be discussing scary movies. I want to talk about this is because I’m often compelled to watch scary movies (whether I want to or not) and I want to get the most out of them–ideally, to use them for a kind of intellectual and moral exercise. Furthermore, I think we can extrapolate from the discussion on these to other activities that are intended to frighten us for fun’s sake.

WHAT IS FEAR

Stoics insist that fear is never good. It’s never good because it’s always irrational. Here’s a standard definition of fear (phobos) as provided by Arius Didymus, a 1st Cent. BC Roman Stoic:

Fear is [a] an avoidance which is [b] disobedient to reason, [c] its cause being forming an opinion that something bad is approaching, [d] when the belief has the fresh stimulation that it is really something worth avoiding

Stobaeus’ Anthology 2.10b, trans. Pomeroy

As you see, I divided the definition into four parts for the sake of clarity.

Part (a): Fear is an “avoidance” or withdrawal (ekklisis, lit. ‘leaning away’)— a kind of “movement of the psuche” away from something (Stob. 9). This movement is something that the fearful person senses or feels and which may or may not manifest in overt avoidant behavior.

Part (b): This psychic movement is “disobedient to reason” because once it begins, it cannot be stopped by any rational choice. Didymus says “those in the grips of passion, even if they know or have been taught that they need not . . . be afraid or be involved at all in the passions of the soul, nevertheless do not abandon them, but are led by their passions to being governed by their tyranny” (Stob. 10a).

Part (c): But, even though these emotions cannot be stopped with reason, they are the product of our rational faculties. Every emotion or passion (pathos) is produced when my rational faculty forms a faulty opinion of what’s going on—an incorrect judgment about what’s happening or about to happen. In the case of fear, its cause is “forming an opinion that something bad is approaching.” Such an opinion is often faulty because the only thing that is truly bad is bad character.

Part (d): Furthermore, though this part of the Didymus passage is often ignored in modern discussions of Stoic emotion, I think it will be important to our discussion: the opinion must be “fresh” (prosphatos). This is an indication of salience: what I think is bad must be happening soon, it must matter to me and, thus, be “worth avoiding”. The more the object of fear ‘hits closer to home’ in this sense, the more “fresh” the corresponding opinion is and the more fear I experience.

When I experience an emotion like fear, I experience two things: 1) a physical sensation or feeling—a movement of the psuche (here, related to the sensation of “avoidance” and “leaning away”) and 2) a intentional value judgment (here, that “something bad is happening soon”). And the more ‘fresh’ the object of that value judgment seems, the stronger the emotion.

Separating the analysis of emotion like this into two parts allows us to see a scenario where there’s (1) without (2)—that is, a scenario where there’s a sensation without the corresponding value judgment. In our case, this would mean that we could have some physical sensation related to fear without experiencing fear itself (which must include a value judgment). In fact, Stoics do allow for such a scenario which later Stoics called a “proto-emotion,” “pre-emotions,” or “proto-passion” (propatheia). Seneca seemed interested in this phenomenon and provided extensive descriptions on how a mere sensation is different from a full-blown emotion. Here’s an long excerpt that I think will help us a lot (I underlined the proto-emotions or, more accurately, the physical manifestations of proto-emotions):

(2.1) . . . any movements that occur independent of our will cannot be overcome or avoided, like shivering when we’re sprinkled with cold water, or revulsion at touching certain things, or the way our hair stands on end at bad news, or the blush that spreads when we hear obscene words, or the dizziness that comes over us when we look down from a cliff. Because none of these responses is in our power, no form of reason can argue against their occurring. (2.2) Anger, by contrast, is put to flight by instruction because it’s a fault of the mind subject to our will. It’s not among the things that happen to us just because of our lot as humans, and happen, accordingly, even to the very wise; and among these things must be included the initial mental jolt that stirs us when we believe we’ve been wronged. (2.3) This sensation comes upon us even when we’re watching shows at theatrical games and reading ancient history: we often seem to become angry with Clodius as he drives Cicero into exile, or with Antony as he orders his death. Who’s not stirred when faced with Marius’ arms or Sulla’s proscriptions? Who doesn’t hate Theodotus and Achillas and the actual child who dared a grown-up crime? (2.4) Sometimes a song sets us on edge, a double-time tune, the martial sound of war trumpets; a horrific picture stirs our minds, or the grim sight of punishments, however justly meted out. (2.5) For the same reason we answer others’ smiles with our own and grow sad in a crowd of mourners and feel the blood tingle while watching other men in competition. Such responses aren’t forms of anger, any more than what causes us to frown as we watch a staged shipwreck is true sadness, or fear that flashes through people’s minds as they read of Hannibal’s laying siege to Rome after Cannae. These are all movements of minds stirred despite themselves; they’re not passions but the first preludes to passion. . . (3.1) The term “passion” should be applied to none of these responses that merely chance to move the mind: the mind doesn’t so much cause them as suffer them, if I can put it that way. Passion, then, consists not in being stirred in response to impressions presented to us, but in surrendering ourselves to those impressions and following up the mind’s first chance movement. (3.2) Turning pale, shedding tears, the first stirrings of sexual arousal, a deep sigh, a suddenly sharpened glance, anything along these lines: whoever reckons them a clear token of passion and a sign of the mind’s engagement is just mistaken and fails to understand that they’re involuntary bodily movements. (3.3) Thus even the bravest man has often grown pale while donning his arms, even the fiercest soldier’s knees have trembled a bit when the signal was given for battle; the great general has sensed his heart leap before the opposing armies clash, the most eloquent speaker has felt his extremities go cold as he gathers himself to speak.

On Anger 2.2.1-2.3.3, trans. Kaster

The proto-emotions vary drastically in how noticeable they might be to others. This speaks to the fact that these are movements of the psuche and not necessarily movements of the body (that is, the physical sensation of the proto-emotion should move the psuche, but may not provoke the body the move).

I could probably stop my article here and you would get a lot out of the passage I cited from Seneca: just substitute “watching shows at theatrical games” with “watching scary movies with our friends.” But I’d like to tease out some things so that we can prepare ourselves for any spooky events this evening.

UP TO YOU: FEAR OR PROTO-FEAR

After reflecting on what happens to me when I watch scary movies, I notice that there are two or three ways that I can engage in the spectacle.

First, I can remain distant and disconnected from what’s going on in the movie—either because it’s a poorly made movie or because I don’t allow myself to get immersed (sometimes I do this by making fun of how cheesy the movie is).

Second, I can ‘buy into’ what’s going on to some extent, become engrossed in the events of the story, and empathize with the fearful characters. This becomes heightened if others around me act accordingly (as Seneca describes at 2.5 above).

Third, once I get into lock-step with the characters of the movie, my engrossment or attentiveness may or may not additionally lead to my adopting some value judgment about the ordeals of the characters and whether they matter to me. You can see how the Stoic conception of fear comes into play here. This third way of watching scary movies is the only one that produces a harmful emotion, whereas the first and second may only produce a harmless proto-emotion.

What distinguishes between proto-fear and the full-blown emotion of fear is the fresh value judgment: “something bad is approaching and it matters to me.” Without this value judgment, I can have all the sensations that are normally associated with a good scary movie (unless I have a heart condition): turning pale, trembling, chattering teeth, being mentally jolted, set on edge, going cold, having my heart leap and my blood tingle. Those are some examples from Seneca, but I could add as many other figurative descriptions of these sensations as we want. And what’s more, they aren’t harmful to my character: they happen to us “just because of our lot as humans, and happen, accordingly, even to the very wise.” They’re not harmful because they fall outside the purview of my rational faculty and are entirely involuntary.

It’s when I ‘buy into’ a scary movie fully that something harmful may happen to me. When I do this, my mind is likely to make the incorrect value judgment that something truly bad is approaching. At that point, I experience the emotion of fear. The quality of ‘freshness’ plays a role here too. Let’s say I’m watching a movie about a malicious ghost. I may be upset by seeing the main characters get harassed so much, but it still may feel distant to me so long as I remember that I’m watching a movie. The more distant and irrelevant the movie seems to me, the less ‘fresh’ the bad things appear, and the less fear I might experience. It’s when the movie stops and my imagination starts that I experience the most fear. When my imagination places the bad thing near me in the real world rather than in the world of the movie—it’s then when my opinion becomes very ‘fresh’. Suddenly the ghost isn’t in that 19th Century haunted house somewhere in New England, suddenly it’s right behind my bedroom door! That’s what Didymus meant by ‘fresh’—it becomes very important that my mind attends to this approaching thing.

If you are known to do this kind of thing (become afraid that there are ghosts, monsters, or serial killers in your house), then it’s a sign of a general tendency—a tendency that many humans have to add more to a situation than the facts warrant. Here’s Seneca again warning his friend Lucilius about the power of imagination in everyday life: 

Often when no sign indicates that anything bad is on the way, the mind makes up its own false imaginings. Either it takes some ambiguous utterance and bends it toward the worse, or it supposes that someone is more gravely offended than he really is, thinking not how angry he is but how much he might be able to do in anger. But if fear goes to its fullest extent, then life is not worth living, and there is no end to our misery. . . We let ourselves be blown about by the breeze, alarmed by ambiguities as though they were confirmed facts. We lose our sense of proportion: the least cause of uneasiness turns right away into fear.

Letters 13.12-13

In order to address this tendency my suggestion is to not avoid scary movies, but use scary movies as an opportunity to train yourself for scary real-life situations that might be harder to dismiss.

HOW TO WATCH A SCARY MOVIE

To review, I proposed that there are three ways to watch a scary movie. First, I can prevent it from provoking any proto-emotions in me. Second, I can let it provoke proto-emotions in me, but prevent myself from producing any full-blown emotions by not endorsing any faulty opinions about what’s going on. Third, I can give way to full-blown emotions and then suffer the consequences.

As a Stoic, I will approach a scary movie in the first or second sense. If the movie is poorly made and cheesy, it would be easy to approach it in the first sense. And I have been known to watch movies for the fun of making jokes and fostering community with my fellow audience members (assuming that they also think it’s poorly made and cheesy). Watching bad movies can be a bonding experience. 

If the movie is well-made by any metric, then I can enjoy the movie experience with all the sensations that that might entail (as long as I don’t have a heart condition). The important thing is that I do not ‘buy into’ the movie to the extent that I believe that what’s happening in it is real or that it matters to me. I’ll know whether I’ve in fact done this by observing my behavior when the movie is over. If I approach the movie in this second sense, then I will not experience anything that feels like fear after the credits roll. 

If I approach a scary movie in the third way—where I actually endorse the incorrect judgment that something bad is approaching that matters to me—then I will experience fear even after the movie is over. This will manifest in my having sensations like those I had while watching the scary movie: I will be unusually jumpy while I walk through the dark, my heart will race if I hear a rustling outside my window, or I will feel cold while I stare at my bedroom door and imagine there’s something sinister behind it. The first time I wrote this article (in 2020) I reported on this happened to me briefly after watching a scary movie. I didn’t have trouble sleeping, but I woke up in the morning realizing that I still have some work to do to counteract this apparent tendency toward fear. It’s now four years later and I can’t recall being affected by a scary movie like this. Perhaps I’ve made progress.

I don’t think avoiding scary movies or watching them unreflectively or uncritically will do the trick if I already have a tendency toward fear. According to Stoicism, a tendency toward fear is just a tendency toward endorsing incorrect judgments. With this in mind, I think I would have to debrief with myself after (or even during) the movie to ensure that I do not endorse any false belief (that I don’t assent to any false impression). I should remind myself that most if not all antagonists in scary movies are not realistic. Insofar as werewolves, vampires, ghosts, or reanimated corpses of any type are posited as supernatural, they cannot exist in the natural world—that’s just syllogistic (here’s a quaint example of Stoic Eric Wiedardt reflecting on vampires and werewolves: https://modernstoicism.com/vampires-werewolves-by-erik-wiegardt/). I should also remember that human serial killers are not portrayed very realistically or, at the very least, how often they’re portrayed in movies is not representative of how rare they are in real life (here’s a long FBI document that discusses the myths and facts of serial murder in the United States: https://www.fbi.gov/stats-services/publications/serial-murder).
There are probably many techniques that Stoicism and psychotherapy might offer to counteract irrational fear (Donald Robertson had some helpful comments about “exposure therapy” in his book, How to Think Like a Roman Emperor). My concluding advice: choose the one that works best for you, watch as many scary movies as you’d like, and then examine your behavior afterwards. Stoicism is about slow and steady progress towards a more rationally coherent and prosocial life—that is, a happier life. Keep at it and don’t squander any opportunities to improve your good character. As far as I’m concerned, a scary movie is a prudent way to train yourself to combat fear without any physical or serious moral risk to your being (again, as long as you don’t have a heart condition).

Happy Halloween!

Today (May 12th) is the Stoic holiday of Politeia, which corresponds with the dramatic date of Plato’s Republic (set in 407 BCE). On this day, we do what Socrates did– we think and talk about justice.

Next week, Stoics will start observing Sokratia—a festival 30 days long that corresponds with the days Socrates spent in prison. The main events of Sokratia are the commemorations of the trial and death of Socrates, which took place on May 16th and June 15th respectively in the year 399 BCE.

Here is the page for Politeia: https://lastoics.com/politeia

Here is the page for Sokratia: https://lastoics.com/socrates.

KALĒ POLΙTEÍΑ

Feb. 13th: A Commemoration of departed role-models

Februārius XIII (Ides of February) marked the beginning of a nine-day Roman festival, Parentālia, which was held in honor of deceased ancestors. It seems like the festival acquired its name from the Latin term parentēs (sg., parēns), who were the primary recipients of the rites. The term was usually just applied to one’s biological parents, but its application was very flexible in the context of this festival. So it’s best to translate the term as “relatives”—all relatives by blood or by marriage both near and distant. As the festival evolved over the centuries, members of the same collēgium —a kind of professional or legal association—would commemorate each other after their death. ALL THIS TO SAY: I think it’s reasonable to use this time of the year to commemorate not only our ancestors but also our friends and colleagues and anyone who you’d like to remember. 

Lastly this festival was centered around the deceased. Gratitude certainly should certainly extend to everyone —the living and the dead—but we already have a holiday in the US for general gratitude: Thanksgiving! Let’s use this time to focus on those that are gone but not forgotten.

What rites were involved?

A great article about ancient Parentalia was written by Dr. Fanny Dolansky titled “Honouring The Family Dead on the Parentalia: Ceremony, spectacle, and memory” [in Phoenix , Vol. 65, No. 1/2 (2011), pp. 125-157]. A lot of the historical details are drawn from this work. 

Concerning the objects of commemoration, for example, she had this to say:

From the evidence for the festival in practice, it is clear that the Parentalia concerned a spectrum of kin, and honoured both vertical and horizontal bonds. The rites commemorated relatives who had departed long ago—grandparents and great-grandparents, who could legitimately be called ancestors (maiores)— but also those who had died more recently, such as siblings, spouses, and frequently children and youths

Dolansky, p. 130

Regarding the offerings or tributes themselves— called munera — Dolansky begins her discussion with a passage from Ovid’s Fasti:

Placate your fathers’ souls,
Bring tiny tributes to the erected pyres.
The dead desire little. They want piety,
Not rich gifts; deep Styx has no greedy gods.
A tile covered and arranged with wreaths is enough,
Sprinkled corn and a thrifty grain of salt,
And Ceres softened in wine and loose violets.
Leave them lying on a shard in mid-street.
I do not forbid larger gifts, but these appease wraiths.
Build hearths and add prayers and ritual words.

Ovid, vv. 533-542 (trans. Boyle and Woodard)

This is a remarkable passage and I’ll return to it a few times. At the moment, we can just take stock of the kinds of tributes (mūnera) that Ovid lists here, which are elaborated a bit by Dolansky: 

• decorating a clay or metal tile (which served as a makeshift temporary altar)
• dedicating—and sometimes burning— a kind of grain like wheat or barley (not maize corn)
• sprinkling salt on the altar
• pouring wine libations
• laying down garlands of roses, violets, or myrtle
• saying a few words of gratitude

These munera are offered either at the ancestral tomb in the local necropolis (the neighborhood outside the city walls that served as the cemetery) or in the middle of the road as Ovid suggests. This is because it was thought that—though the spirits of the dead resided in the necropolis—they were thought to wander around town during Parentalia and consume any food left for them.

My first impression of this holiday was that it seemed similar to the Mexican Catholic “Day of the Dead” (Día de los Muertos) festival celebrated around All Souls’ Day (Nov. 2). This is particularly important in Los Angeles considering that the largest religion represented here is Catholicism—and this is likely because of the large Mexican population. 

For Dia de los Muertos families set up altars (ofrendas) to their deceased loved ones; clean and decorate their graves; leave food and beverages as offerings; and lay fragrant marigold flowers around the cemetery and their homes to guide the dead. 

The most important similarities between the ancient Parentalia and Dia de los Muertos is the celebratory atmosphere they encourage. Celebrants for both festivals often have picnics or hold commemorative dinners at the gravesites. During Parentalia, some families would even host games (lūdī) in the necropolis as a kind of offering to their ancestors.

This idea—that we should celebrate our ancestors and that a festival commemorating them should not be too solemn—is in keeping with the Stoic approach to life and death. Life is a dinner party and it would be a faux pas to outstay our welcome; death is a natural culmination of a complete and happy life. Far from fearing death, we should accept it wholeheartedly. Far from being upset about the death of our loved ones, we should focus on the good that they did in life and the inspiration that they can still provide.

Why did people consider these rites meaningful?

During Parentalia, the munera are offerings given out of a sense of duty (officium), piety (pietās), reverence (reverentia), and honor (honor) to the dead. Recall Ovid’s line: “The dead desire little. They want piety, not rich gifts; deep Styx has no greedy gods.” You don’t need to give much or do much in order to stay in keeping with the spirit of the festival.

The holiday persisted for centuries well into the onset of Christianity and it could be argued that it still persists in festivals like Dia de los Muertos, although I’m not sure there is a direct influence there. At the very least, we can stay that there is a human need to show respect and gratitude to those who came before us. It provides a way to properly frame the death and mitigate grief and sadness. It also instills a sense of shared identity, which was likely why the festival was kept going up as the Roman Empire expanded across so many regions and local cultures.

Dolansky also proposes that the longevity of the festival can be attributed to “respect for pietas and officium as guiding moral principles” and “the appeal of the social dimensions of the rites” (p. 152). This is particularly relevant to Stoics. The term officium is often translated as “duty” (think Cicero’s On Duty), but it is more broadly construed as “appropriate action” since the Latin term was Cicero’s suggested translation of the Greek term kathēkon—the means by which we undertake Epictetus’ second field of study (sometimes called the “discipline of action”):

The second [field of study] has to do with appropriate behavior (kathēkon), because I shouldn’t be as unfeeling as a statue, but should maintain my natural and acquired relationships toward gods, father, brothers, children, and fellow citizens.

Discourses 3.2.1-3 (trans. Waterfield)

Presumably, fulfilling our duties in the context of Parentalia may help us live in accordance with our social nature as human beings. This means that the festival provides a framework around which we may exercise virtue—not just courage through confronting our mortality, but justice through fulfilling our social roles.

How to observe the holiday

OK. So how could we observe this festival as modern Stoics? The following are some minimal suggestions; feel free to reach out and help us explore more concrete ideas. 

For a certain length of time between Feb. 13th and Feb. 21st (the festival was nine days, remember), do your best to keep some departed role-models in mind: family, friends, colleagues, or historical figures from which you’ve drawn inspiration. Do things that you think they would approve of or appreciate.

Again, it seems in keeping with the spirit of the festival to commemorate anyone who is deceased who served as a role-model or inspiration. Think of their virtue or particular character strengths that you yourself would like to emulate.

As for me, I am privileged to have access to a detailed family history. I’ve come to learn a lot about some ancestors who have encountered and overcome hardship. Though I have not met most of them, I can still use them as role models. For example, my paternal grandfather put his education on hold and enlisted in the Army Air Corps during the Second World War. Because of his small frame, he was ultimately assigned to the ball-turret of a B-17 “Flying Fortress”—often considered the most dangerous position considering how exposed it was, hanging below the plane. He flew dozens of missions over Poland and Germany and survived to then get his PhD in political science, teach in Ecuador and Pakistan, and raise four boys including my father. The virtues that I see him exhibiting through all that are courage, justice, and a kind of prudence about prioritizing his values. From my personal experience of him, I can say that he also exhibited good humor—an important character strength!

Every year during Parentalia, I think of my grandfathers, grandmothers and several other deceased ancestors throughout the week. Sometimes, I schedule a trip to the Forrest Lawn cemetery in Glendale in order to spend time at my great grandparents’ plots (another privilege of mine). Perhaps one day I will have a picnic there and play some games.

BONA PARENTĀLIA!

A Commemoration of Chrysippus, without whom there would be no Stoa

Pyanopsia was a Greek festival held in commemoration of Apollo on the seventh day of the month of Pyanepsion. The festival was connected with the myth of Theseus, who—before his trial against the Minotaur—gave thanks to Apollo by offering a stew of beans and grains from Athens and an olive branch brought from the Acropolis. Thus, the name of the festival it inspired literally means “bean-stewing” from the Greek words púanos (“bean”) and hépsô (“to boil”). Part of the festival involved a public feast of bean stew shared among all the people of Athens along with a procession of children carrying decorated olive branches, singing and dancing through the streets.

Since Apollo was the god of—among other things—reason and truth, Stoics find it fitting to commemorate Chrysippus on this date. Chrysipus of Soli had an immense influence on the development of Stoic logic and the systemization of Stoic philosophy as a whole. Thus, it is said that “Had there been no Chrysippus, there would have been no Stoa” (DL 7.183). On the year of his death (207 BCE), the Pyanopsia would have fallen on the October 22nd.

Here’s a passage from Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of the Eminent Philosophers (trans. Mensch) that emphasizes Chrysippus’ influence on the field of study called “dialectic,” which uses logic and language to determine what is true or false:

He became so renown among the dialecticians that most people thought that if the gods had a dialectic, it would be none other than that of Chrysippus. [. . .] His industry was unequaled, as is clear from his writings, which number more than 705. He increased their number by repeatedly treating the same doctrine, setting down everything that came to mind, making many corrections, and citing a great many authorities”

DL 7.180

Yes, 705 writings attributed to Chrysipppus and yet none — zilch! zero! — have survived today except as echoes in the extant texts of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius.

His influence is still felt, though, via a form of modern logic still studied today (something you may have studied in high school or college, actually) called ‘propositional logic.’ Though the Megarians were the first to formalize the rules of logical thinking with propositions, Chrysippus perfected it. [Note: Aristotle and Theophrastus formalized logic with types or categories now called ‘categorical logic’]

When I start talking on and on about propositions and how important propositional logic is at least one person asks me “What do you mean by the term ‘proposition’?”… That’s actually a very important question that modern academic philosophers might debate about. So let’s try to establish the definition of a proposition that Chrysippus would agree on.

Chrysippus defines a proposition as “that which is true or false, or a complete thing that can be affirmed on its own” (DL. 7.65). That is pretty much how modern philosophers use the term; a proposition is anything that can be expressed in a complete statement that is either true or false. The examples that Chrysippus used are “It is day” and “Dion is walking.” Someone who says “It is day” is asserting that it is day. “And if it is day, the proposition being advanced is true; if not, it is false” (ibid.).

The importance of propositions becomes relevant when you start forming arguments with them. Here’s an explanation of “arguments” that Chrysippus might have used:

An argument [. . .] consists of a major premise, a minor premise, and a conclusion, for example, “If it is day, it is light. But it is day. Therefore it is light.” The major premise is “If is is day, it is light.” The minor premise is “But it is day.” The conclusion is “Therefore it is light.” (DL 7.76).

Lastly, a valid argument is one whose conclusion you must accept if you assent to the premises. That is, the contradiction of the conclusion is impossible if the premises are true.

Putting all these ideas together, you can adequately appreciate what Margaret Graver calls the Pathetic Syllogism (Cf. Ch. 2 of her Stoicism and Emotion). There are at least four versions of this syllogism (called “pathetic” because each version centers around a particular pathos) and they are all valid (so the conclusion follows from true premises):

1. “If a good is present, it is appropriate for me to elevate my psyche. A good is now present. It is now appropriate for me to elevate my psyche (this is experienced as delight or joy)”
2. “If an evil is present, it is appropriate for me to contract my psyche. An evil is now present. It is now appropriate for me to contract my psyche (this is experienced as distress)”
3. “If a good is in prospect, it is appropriate for my psyche to reach for it. A good is now in prospect. It is now appropriate for my psyche to reach for it (this is experienced as desire or wish)”
4. “If an evil is in prospect, it is appropriate for my psyche to withdraw from it. An evil is now in prospect. It is now appropriate for my psyche to withdraw from it (this is experienced as fear or caution)”

Again, a valid argument is one whose conclusion you must accept if you assent to the premises. The task of a Stoic practitioner then is deciding whether or not the first premise is actually true: Is a good actually present or in prospect? Is an evil actually present or in prospect? If not, then the inference will not go through and you will not accept the conclusion. This practice has come to be known as the Discipline of Assent.

Though you may not know what a “proposition” was, Chrysippus and the Stoics seem to think that we automatically interpret the world propositionally. In fact, the types of arguments above and the propositions they contain are the source of our emotional and moral lives. Thus, getting a handle on propositional logic will likely help us identify errors in our thinking and help us on our journey towards virtue and happiness. 

For example, when you feel anxiety (a type of distress), ask yourself “What ‘evil’ am I judging as present?” If, upon reflection, you feeling anxiety about not meeting a deadline, ask yourself “Is not meeting a deadlines evil?” The answer should be “no, only not trying to meet deadlines—being irresponsible or careless about an obligation—is evil.” But you have power over your intentions and attitudes, so you can ensure you will not commit such an evil. Going through this process can help you step back, reassess, and reframe upsetting situations. 

For all that they have done to help me effectively undergo the discipline of assent, I express gratitude today to Chrysippus and the logical system built. I’ll enjoy some beans today in honor of him. Valē.

COMMEMORATING CLEANTHES AND THE RELIGION OF PHILOSOPHY

The second ‘scholarch’ of the Stoic school, Cleanthes of Assos, died in 232 BCE.

In what would have corresponded to October 6th of that year (15th of Boedromion), one of the most significant religious event occurred in Athens under the Stoa Poikile: under the painted colonnade where the Greek Stoics congregated, prospective initiates (mystai) into the Greater Eleusinian Mysteries were gathered together for official registration.

Surely, Cleanthes and his teacher, Zeno, would have had a great familiarity about this cult of the “Two Goddesses” (Demeter and Persephone) considering its prominence among the Ancient Greek world and its use of the very Stoa that would serve as the namesake of Stoicism. It wouldn’t be surprising if Cleanthes himself was initiated into the mysteries considering the religious sentiments expressed in his Hymns to Zeus. Here’s one that Epictetus seemed to appreciate:

Lead me, Zeus, both you and Destiny,
Wheresoe’r you have ordained for me,
And I shall gladly follow. And if I am unwilling
Out of wickedness, still I shall follow.

Handbook 53.1-2; Cf. Discourses 3.22.93, 4.1.131, 4.4.34

Though we can’t be certain Cleanthes was actually initiated into the mysteries (or any Greek Stoics for that matter), the fact that Marcus Aurelius was initiated 400 years later and that he considered it one of the most important events of his life indicates that the teachings that the mysteries conveyed where in some sense consistent with the Stoicism of Marcus Aurelius (and likely that of Epictetus). According to the Historia Augusta, Marcus made a point to be inducted into the Greater Mysteries when he enjoyed a brief respite during the Marcomannic Wars (in 176 CE):

After [Marcus] had settled affairs in the East he came to Athens, and had himself initiated into the Eleusinian mysteries in order to prove that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and he entered the sanctuary unattended.

Life of Marcus Aurelius 27.1

It seems like Marcus was allowed to be initiated alone and perhaps in an expedited fashion (the perks of being an emperor), but normally thousands of initiates would spend an entire week preparing for and carrying out the initiation rites. During the time of Cleanthes, the first day took place under the Stoa Poikile on the 15th day in the month of Boedromion. In 232 BCE (again, the year of Cleanthes’ death), this would correspond to today.

On the LA Stoics Discord channel, I’ve been posting every day–describing the activities, talking about Cleanthes, and about how we may be able to commemorate this event today. Join our server and follow along if you’d like. Here’s today’s thoughts:

Oct. 6th (15 Boedromion)

The first official day of initiation was called Agyrmos (the “Gathering” or “Assembly”). All those seeking initiation into the Greater Mysteries that year gather under the Stoa Poikile in central Athens where the Eleusinian priests would make an announcement to the crowd, officially beginning the rites. Each would-be initiate publicly declares to have “a soul conscious of no evil and [to] have lived well and justly” (Inscriptiones Graecae II.2.1078). They would then be officially registered before moving on to the next stage.

There were no restrictions on age, nor gender, nor citizen status, and no distinction was made between freeborn, freedmen, and slaves (and emperors for that matter!). They were—in theory—equally entitled to admission into the Mysteries. In practice, though, the initiation fee of 15 drachmas may have barred entry to people who were impoverished. You may think that Cleanthes was among them—arriving in Athens with four drachmas in his pocket, with not enough money to buy a bit of papyrus to take notes on. But, despite his low income, minimal needs, frugal spending, and the charity of others allowed him to save money.

They say that he was brought into court to give an account of how, being in such fine condition, he made his living. He was acquitted when he presented as his witnesses the gardener in whose garden he drew water and the barley seller for whom he cooked the grain. The Areopagites were satisfied and voted him a donation of ten minas [or, a thousand drachmas], though Zeno would not let him accept it. We are also told that Antigonus [of Macedonia] gave him three thousand drachmas. […] Zeno trained him [through manual labor] and exacted an obol [a sixth of one drachma] from his wages. One day Zeno brought his followers a handful of coins and said, “Cleanthes could also support a second Cleanthes, if he liked, whereas those who have the means to support themselves look to others for their necessities, even though they have plenty of time for philosophy.” Hence Cleanthes was also called a second Heracles.

DL 7.168-170

Cleanthes was likely making about 5 obols for every evening of digging and drawing water (after giving Zeno his allowance). So if he was careful with his money (which it seems like he was), then he could have saved up the 15 drachmas (90 obols) registration fee with a few months of steady work. This was surely the kind of dedication we would expect from someone who would make the trek to Eleusis and to undertake the trials to come.

What are you spending your money on? Since money is a proxy of your time and effort, let’s rephrase the question: What do you consider valuable enough to spend your time and effort on? Upon reflection, are you evaluating things appropriately?

For Cleanthes, virtue and that which reliably produced virtue was sacred, but there were surely other things that Stoics considered valuable–things that are morally indifferent in themselves, but provide opportunities for virtue. All things being equal, such “preferred indifferents” usually include physical health (and the food and water to sustain it), strong relationships, and the offices or roles from which you can help your community. These are the things Cleanthes would have spent his money on and not much more. This further explain how he could have saved money for the registration fee despite being considered “extremely poor” (DL 7.168)

– Justin K.