[[NOTE: This is a reposting of my “Cato 2022” blog article with some modifications]]

The everyday expressions of earlier times are now archaic; and likewise the names of those who were highly acclaimed in earlier ages are now, in a sense, archaic; Camillus, Caeso, Volesus, Dentatus, and a little later, Scipio too and Cato, and then Augustus also, and then Hadrian and Antoninus. For all things are swift to fade and become mere matter for tales, and swiftly too complete oblivion covers their every trace. And here I am speaking of those who shone forth with a wonderful brightness …

Meditations 4.33 (trans. Hard)

A reoccurring figure in modern discussions of Stoicism is Cato of Utica (95 – 46 BCE) and today (April 12th) is the anniversary of his death. It’s important to commemorate this event since he’s very important to the Stoic tradition. I’ll briefly go over why.

Cato is often portrayed as one of the few examples of a sage (along with Socrates and Diogenes the Cynic), perhaps the only example of a Stoic sage, and certainly the only example of a Roman Stoic sage. But if you look through the works of the Stoics that succeeded him, you may find the evidence lacking. The only extant Stoic writing that spoke extensively of Cato’s virtue and wisdom is that of Seneca (4 BCE – 65 CE). The other noteworthy writer was Cato’s contemporary, Cicero, who used him as a mouthpiece to submit the details of Stoic philosophy for analysis (in his De Finibus and Paradoxa Stoicorum). Cicero also wrote many panegyrics of Cato to the dismay of Julius Caesar and his political allies. And I suspect that this is the real reason why the figure of Cato persisted: he symbolized virtuous opposition to tyranny.

But as the threat of imperial tyranny slowly receded with Nerva and Trajan (the first two of the five “good emperors”), the need to lionize Cato fell away and he was represented as a man with both good and bad characteristics. In turn, Christians always seemed ambivalent about Cato: yes, he divorced his wife and committed suicide—which are both very bad according to Christian law—but, as a poor pagan, he wasn’t bound by Christian law—so his actions were not as egregious [It’s worth mentioning that Dante did not place him in his Paradise, but he wasn’t in the Inferno either (where most pagan philosophers were); rather, Dante assigned him the strict and vigilant guardian of Purgatory]. It wasn’t until the revival of Stoicism in the Renaissance and Enlightenment that we see self-acclaimed Stoics (or, Neo-Stoics) referring to Cato as a potential sage— the very least, a figure of impeccable moral integrity. He was mythologized once again and used in opposition to perceived tyranny. A series of letters critical of the British government was penned with the pseudonym “Cato,” which in turn inspired the American Revolution (and the American “Cato Institute” a couple hundred years later).

As Marcus Aurelius said: “All things fade and quickly turn to myth.” After his death, Cato was immediately mythologized by Cicero, Brutus, and Lucan to support their own political causes. This Cato genre of writings actual succeeds despite of—and perhaps because of—the “anti-Cato” polemics written by Julius Caesar and his allies [As Seneca remarks “it needed both classes in order to make Cato understood: it wanted both good men, that he might win their approbation, and bad men, against whom he could prove his strength” (De Tranquillitate Animi 7.5)]. If you want to know about the historical Cato, you can read Plutarch (https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/e/roman/texts/plutarch/lives/cato_minor*.html) and maybe Cassius Dio (who drew heavily from Plutarch) books 18-43 (https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Cassius_Dio/home.html). If you want a biographical novel about Cato, I recommend Rome’s Last Citizen by Rob Goodman and Jimmy Soni (https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250042620).

So what insights did Stoics draw from Cato’s life and death? To answer this, I’ll just provide a survey of Seneca’s mentions of the man and a brief summary of the lesson we should take from each one. Please feel free to comment here or on our Discord channel (in the #stoic-holidays channel).

1. Cato was a real person who seems to have been really sincere in his pursuit of wisdom and virtue. Though he inherited a fortune, he was known to wear drab clothing, walk around Rome barefoot, and sleep on the ground with the troops he commanded. Seneca makes the general point that Cato is a legitimate candidate for sagehood:

You cannot say, as you often do, that this wise person of ours is found nowhere. We are not making up an empty paragon of human nature or inventing a huge image of something false. Rather, we have produced, and we will produce, such a one as we fashion—perhaps rarely, and just one, even after great intervals of time. For great things that surpass the normal and common measure are not generated often. And yet I feel awe to think that Marcus Cato himself, from whose mention this disputation proceeded, may surpass our model.

(De Constantia Sapientis 7.1, trans. Kerr)

2. Cato understood that nobody can harm you without your permission (for the only true harm is harm to one’s character—moral vice). Thus, Cato [reportedly] seemed somewhat immune to provocation, and this despite the allowances Roman culture may have made for retaliation. Seneca describes a couple incidents here and makes the general point that the sage must often go against social norms when doing the right thing:

When [Cato] was arguing a case, the notorious Lentulus—a wild, divisive statesman in our fathers’ lifetime—spat squarely in his face with all the slimy spittle he could muster. Cato wiped his face and said, “I’ll bear witness to all, Lentulus, that those who say you have no talent are dead wrong.”

(De Ira 3.38, trans. Kaster)

“But what will the wise person do when he is punched?” What Cato did, when his face was struck: he did not get angry, he did not avenge the injury, and he did not even forgive it, but rather he denied that an injury had been done. His ignoring it required a greater mind than would have been required for him to forgive it. […] He does not respect people’s judgments about what is shameful or pitiful. He does not go on the popular path, but as the planets pursue a course contrary to the movement of the heavens, so does the wise person advance against popular opinion.

(De Constantia Sapientis 14.3)

3. The wise man is permitted to engage in a political career as long as he does not undermine his virtue (prudence, courage, temperance, justice) and as long as he is willing to be ridiculed by others. Cato may serve as a model someone who was willing to make compromises in his actions (on rare occasions) without ever compromising his moral integrity. Seneca discusses the predicament he found himself in Caesar’s Civil War (49-45 BCE) when Cato had to align himself with Pompey, whom he often opposed in the senate during the First Triumvirate [of Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus].

Yet philosophy itself must be practiced calmly and with moderation. “What?” you say. “Do you think Marcus Cato practiced it with moderation, he who stayed a civil war with his word? He who took his stand amid the weapons of furious generals? He who, when some were giving offense to Pompey, others to Caesar, challenged both at once?” One could at this point dispute whether the wise man was obliged to engage in politics in that situation: “What are you up to, Cato? The contest is not for freedom; that was lost long ago. The question is whether Caesar or Pompey will possess the state. What have you to do with such a controversy? It is no business of yours to take sides in it. It is a master that is being chosen: what difference does it make to you who wins? It is possible that the better man will win, but it’s not possible to win without being the worse for it.” [[Seneca then points out that a man who retreats from public life and lives in solitude is not guaranteed safety either]] I cannot promise you that, any more than I can promise that a person of moderate habits will enjoy good health […]. Ships have been known to sink in harbor—but what do you think happens in the middle of the ocean? […] The skill remains, even when one is struck down through one’s armaments. In a word, the wise person considers intention, rather than outcome, in every situation. The beginnings are in our power; the results are judged by fortune, to which I grant no jurisdiction over myself.

(Epist. 14.12-13, 15-16, trans. Graver & Long)

4. Jumping of the last point Seneca made, the wise man regards the reasons for his actions, and not the results. In this way, success in what is truly good (virtue) may always be secured despite—and sometimes because of—the perceived “failure” in one’s outward endeavors. Cato pursued political office but only managed to secure the positions of Quaestor and Tribunal of the Plebes (under the consulship of Cicero). As a member of the Senate, he opposed the actions of the First Triumvirate every step of the way but he only delayed the inevitable. As praetor of a small province, Cato opposed the Second Triumvirate in battle alongside Pompey and Metellus Scipio—again, merely delaying what slowly appeared inevitable. Despite these failures, Seneca declares Cato victorious:

“What do you mean? Does it not matter whether Cato is elected praetor or rejected? Does it make no difference at all whether he is defeated at Pharsalus or defeats his enemy? Is this good that he has in remaining unconquerable when his side is defeated really equal to the good he would have had if he had won the battle, returned to his homeland, and established peace?” Why not? Virtue while defeating adversity is just the same as it is while holding the line in the midst of prosperity; yet virtue cannot be made larger or smaller: it has but the one size.

(Epist. 71.8)

5. One’s death can be the most important part of one’s life. Cato’s death was what really made him legendary in both Stoic and non-Stoic circles. After retreating to Utica and helping to coordinate the city’s evacuation, Cato committed suicide. He did this knowing that if he survived and was granted mercy by Caesar, then Cato’s very life would appear to legitimize Caesar’s authority. Knowing this, he spent his last evening reading Plato’s Pheado—preparing for his departure with equanimity—and then prudently, with courage and an eye to justice, ended his life. He also solidified his status as a role model for those facing tyranny and social injustice. Seneca certainly recognized the significance:

Wrest from Cato his sword, his guarantor of liberty, and you take away the greater part of his glory.

(Epist. 13.14).

I shall not weep for anyone [who dies] happy, or [who dies] weeping. The first has wiped away my tears himself; the other has shown by his tears that he is not worthy of any. Am I to weep for Hercules because he is burned alive, or Regulus because he is pierced by so many nails, or Cato because he wounds his own wounds? All those figures discovered at the expense of a little time how to become everlasting, and reached immortality by their death.

(De Tranquillitate Animi 16.4, trans. Fantham)

5. Thinking about and associating with people like Cato can motivate us on our difficult journey of moral progress. It can serve as a way to inspire us to love wisdom—perhaps the most difficult things to maintain. Intellectually, I can agree that virtue is the only good. But by dwelling on people like Cato, I have more striking proof to which I can constantly appeal on my steep uphill climb:

The likes of Clodius are to be found in every age; the likes of Cato are not. We tend toward the worse, because there’s always someone to lead the way and someone to follow. And even without them, the act goes on apace. We don’t just incline toward wrongdoing, we dive right in. In other skills, mistakes are an embarrassment to the craftsman, who is upset by his errors; in life, wrongdoing is a source of positive delight.

(Epist. 97.10)

6. Emulating people like Cato can serve as a kind of moral tree stake—it can help us grow straight and upright until we are strong enough to be self-reliant. But, Seneca also recognizes that there are many role models to select from. Cato is just the last of a long line of them, regardless of their sagehood status:

If you really want to be rid of your vices, you must stay away from the patterns of those vices [greed, lust, cruelty, conceit]. If a miser, or seducer, or sadist, or cheat were close to you, they would do you a lot of harm—but in fact, these are already inside you! Make a conversion to better models. Live with either of the Catos, or with Laelius, or Tubero; or, if you prefer to cohabit with Greeks, spend your time with Socrates or Zeno. The former will teach you, if it is necessary, how to die; the latter, how to die before it is necessary. Live with Chrysippus or Posidonius. They will educate you in the knowledge of things human and divine; they will tell you to work not so much at speaking charmingly and captivating an audience with your words but at toughening your mind and hardening it in the face of challenges.

(Epist. 104.21-2)

Take care. ―Justin K.

Commemorating of a Graceful Death

Today is March 17th, the day Marcus Aurelius died in 180 CE.

I’m of the somewhat strong opinion that we should commemorate deaths of notable people rather than their births. The time, place, and manner of their death actually speaks to the kind of life that they chose for themselves—the details of the event are more likely to remind us of why we admire the person.

So how did Marcus Aurelius die?

Marcus likely died in pain—enduring a high fever, severe headache, muscle aches, abdominal pain, and skin lesions. Many historians speculate that he contracted the eponymous ‘Antonine Plague,’ which was likely smallpox or measles. He was 58 years old.

Marcus died 700 miles from home. He was either in the city of Vindobona, the capital of “Upper Pannonia” (modern-day Vienna, Austria) or in the city of Sirmium, the capital of “Lower Pannonia” (modern-day Sremska Mitrovica, Serbia). He was in his well-furnished military quarters on the borders of the Roman empire.

Marcus likely died alone—far from his wife and children. Though Commodus was in camp, Marcus ordered him to keep his distance. Ancient historians said this was done so there would be no suspicion of murder, but this doesn’t make much sense to me. I suspect that Marcus didn’t want his contagious disease to spread to his child and heir. He had already seen seven of his children die and it would be reasonable for him to take precautions. And, besides, Commodus was already made co-emperor four years prior— no need for conspiracy.

So Marcus died painfully and alone. But this doesn’t mean he was suffering and it doesn’t mean he was lonely. If Marcus was able to internalize his Stoic training, then it is likely that he was able to preserve that part of himself that he valued most, that made him most human—his integrity, his character, his good will. If that’s the case, then Marcus was happy despite his circumstances. 

A glimpse at his Meditations show us that he was intent on preparing himself for this inevitably event and facing it with courage. At least thirty entries discuss death explicitly and many more discuss the theme of ‘change’—its inevitability but also its importance.

Our death is very important indeed. It can be the culmination of a life well-lived and a source of inspiration for others. I think Donald Robertson successfully illustrates how important death is in his book How to Think Like a Roman Emperor. The first chapter is a narration of Marcus Aurelius’s death—a description of it from a third-person perspective. His behavior and speech is indicative of a calm and tranquil mind, a mind which has come to terms with death and welcomes it as a friend. This prompts the reader to ask “why is Marcus so peaceful?”, “how did he become this way?”, and “how can I be like him?” The rest of the book follows the philosophical education of Marcus from childhood to adulthood, drawing from the Meditations, but also from Marcus’s correspondence with his friend Fronto, ancient historical accounts, and some educated guesswork. The last chapter (Ch. 8) returns to Marcus Aurelius’s death, but from the first-person perspective. And this is where is all pays off: Marcus is now given a chance to recount his Stoic teachings and welcome his fate as a happy necessity. Of course, the reader is allowed to see how one could draw from everything from Ch. 2-7 and apply it successfully to the last rite of passage that we all must undertake. I really like this device that Robertson uses. Chapter 8 of How to Think Like a Roman Emperor is especially poignant and powerful and I recommend reading it today if you have the book on hand.

If you don’t have Robertson’s book, here are some passages from Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations that touch on the theme of death (taken from the index of the Oxford World Classics edition). Spending time to read some of these today is time well-spent.

• On our impending death: Meditations 2.6, 4.17, 4.37, 5.33, 7.70, 10.15, 10.34, 12.1
• On the [in]significance of our death: Meditations 2.12, 2.14, 2.17, 3.1, 3.3, 4.32, 4.48, 5.29, 6.24, 6.47, 9.41, 10.31, 10.36, 12.34, 12.36

If you read nothing else, I’d like to leave you with a passage here. Below is the last entry in his Meditations, which I like to think he wrote right before his death—knowing that he would be ‘called off stage’ any moment. Note that when he uses the term “great city” (megalê polis) he is referring to the entire cosmos of which he is a citizen. Also remember that Marcus is speaking to himself…

My friend, you have been a citizen of this great city. What difference if you live in it for five years or a hundred? For what is laid down in its laws is equitable for all. Where is the hardship, then, if it is no tyrant or unjust judge who sends you out of the city, but nature who brought you into it? It is just as if the director of a show, after first engaging an actor, were dismissing him from the stage, ‘But I haven’t played all five acts, only three!’ Very well; when it is complete is he who once arranged for your composition and now arranges for your dissolution, while you for your part are responsible for neither. So make your departure with a good grace, as he who is releasing you shows a good grace.

Marcus Aurelius (121-180 CE), Meditations 12.36 (trans. Robin Hard)

Farewell

—Justin K.

Commemorating Friends and Ancestors Past

[[this post is an updated version of my 2022 version]]

Februarius XIII (Ides of February) marked the beginning of a nine-day Roman festival, Parentalia, which was held in honor of deceased ancestors. It seems like the festival acquired its name from parentes, 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 it as “relatives”—all relatives by blood or by marriage both near and distant. As the festival evolved over the centuries, members of the same collegium —a kind of professional or legal association—would commemorate each other after their death. With that in mind, I think it’s reasonable to use this time of the year to commemorate not only our ancestors but also our deceased friends and colleagues who we’d like to remember. 

A quick note: this festival was (and should be) 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! We’ll make sure to commemorate this in November as always.

What rites were involved?

I learned more about this ancient festival by reading an article 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.

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.

verses 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 (munera) 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 the food left for them.

My first impression of this holiday was that it seemed similar to the Mexican Catholic Dia 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 fragarent marigold flowers around the cemetery and their homes to guide the dead. 

The most important similarities between Parentalia and Dia de los Muertos is the celebratory atmosphere they foster. Participants of both festivals are known to have picnics or hold a commemorative dinner at gravesites. During Parentalia, some families would even host games (ludi) in the necropolis as a kind of offering to their ancestors. Music was not uncommon.

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 to a complete and happy life. Far from fearing death, we should embrace it. 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 was/is the festival meaningful

During Parentalia, the munera were offered out of a sense of duty (officium), piety (pietas), 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 importance is in the emotional, psychological, social, and overall moral significance of the holiday.

Parentalia persisted for centuries well past the onset of Christianity. 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 say that there is a universal human need to show respect and gratitude to those who came before us. It provides a way to properly frame death to mitigate grief and sadness. It also instilled a sense of shared identity within the Roman Empire, which spanned so many regions and absorbed so many 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” (152). This is partitularly 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.” The term was Cicero’s suggested translation of the Greek term kathêkon —the means by which we undertake Epictetus’ second field of study, the “discipline of action.” (see Epictetus’ Discourses 3.2.1-3). Presumably, fulfilling our duties in the context of Parentalia may help us live in accordance with our social nature as human beings. It provides a framework around which we may exercise virtue—in particular, the virtue of justice.

How to observe the holiday

OK. So how could we observe this festival? The following are some minimal suggestions—feel free to leave a comment to help us explore more concrete ideas.

For a certain length of time between Feb. 13th and Feb. 21st, do your best to keep your ancestors in mind. Do things that you think they would approve of or appreciate. Please feel free to also think of friends or colleagues that have past. It seems in keeping with the spirit of the festival to commemorate anyone who is deceased who served (while they were alive and/or in memory) as a role-model or inspiration. Think of their virtue or character strengths that you yourself would like to emulate.

As for me, I often think of my ancestors who had encountered and overcame hardship and serve as my role models. For example, my paternal grandfather put his education on hold and enlisted in the Army Air Corps during World War II. Because of his small stature, 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 the war to then get his PhD in political science. He taught in schools throughout the United States, Ecuador, and Pakistan, while raising—rather, helping my grandma raise—four boys including my father. The virtues that I see him exhibiting through his story are courage, a sense of justice, a love of learning, and a kind of prudence. From my personal experience of him, I can say that he also exhibited good humor—an important character strength too! He passed away over fifteen years ago, yet he still influences me:

More recently, my father-in-law excused himself from the proverbial dinner party last year. Though his final days with us were difficult, it seemed that he certainly left life satisfied. He and his spouse successfully settled in the United States and secured a stable foundation from which his six children could build their own lives. He cultivated a practical skill (tailoring), made sure to appreciate nature, and enjoyed simple pleasures and interests The virtues I see exhibited through his story are fortitude, patience, good-heartedness, generosity, and moderation… and good-humor.

I’ll be thinking of my grandparents, father-in-law, my mentors and colleagues, and several others throughout the week. I hope you find some time to do the same.

—Justin K.

As I’m sure you’re all aware, today is “Martin Luther King Jr. Day”, MLK’s birthday. If you have not read it (or have not read it in a while), I strongly encourage you to peruse his “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” In it, he explains the important difference between “legal” and “just.” Though MLK does not explicitly mention the Stoics as an influence (as far as I know), you can see similar claims made by them (for example, the idea that “natural law” and “conscience” should hold primacy over one’s actions is often credited to the Stoics).

You can read “Letter from Birmingham Jail” here: https://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html

You can listen to it here: https://shows.acast.com/words-matter/episodes/in-honor-of-dr-martin-luther-king-a-letter-from-birmingham-j

Here is a popular passage that resonates with me:

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.

It reminds me of a passage from Marcus Aurelius:

Among reasonable creatures [logikon zôon], constitutions, friendships, households, and gatherings were found, conventions too and armistices in war. Among the yet higher, even among beings in a sense separated, there subsisted a unity such as obtains among the stars. Thus progress towards the higher was able to produce a sympathy [sumpatheia] even in what are separated.

Meditations 9.9

All early Stoics from Zeno to Marcus Aurelius emphasized the objective fact that we are connected in at least three ways: first, as nodes in the cosmic web of cause-and-effect—what affects one part directly affects all other parts indirectly; second, as fellow citizens of socio-political communities whose destinies are bound together with the destiny of society as a whole; and, third, as fellow citizens of the cosmos, who are all responsive to universal reason and “natural law.”

MLK uses the important distinction between the second and third kind of ‘citizenship’ in his justifying certain tactics to his reader:

One may well ask: “How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?” The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that “an unjust law is no law at all.” […] A just law is a manmade code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law. To put it in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: An unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statutes are unjust because segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority and the segregated a false sense of inferiority.

St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas must have been inspired by Cicero:

Natural Law summons to duty by its commands, and averts from wrongdoing by its prohibitions. And it does not lay its commands or prohibitions upon good men in vain, though neither have any effect on the wicked. […] We cannot be freed from its obligations by senate or people, and we need not look outside ourselves for an expounder or interpreter of it. And there will not be different laws at Rome and at Athens, or different laws now and in the future, but one eternal and unchangeable law will be valid for all nations and all times, and there will be one master and ruler, that is, God, over us all, for he is the author of this law, its promulgator, and its enforcing judge. Whoever is disobedient is fleeing from himself and denying his human nature, and by reason of this very fact he will suffer the worst penalties, even if he escapes what is commonly considered punishment.

De Res Publicā 3.22.23

Cicero himself was inspired by the Greek Stoics, among whom the idea of ‘common law’ (koinos nomos) in agreement with nature was first promoted. You can trace it all the way back to the “Hymn to Zeus” by Cleanthes. Here’s Diogenes Laertius that speaks to this:

[L]iving virtuously is equivalent to living in accordance with experience of the actual course of nature, as Chrysippus says in the first book of his “On Ends;” for our individual natures are parts of the nature of the whole universe. And this is why the end may be defined as life in accordance with nature, or, in other words, in accordance with our own human nature as well as that of the universe, a life in which we refrain from every action forbidden by the law common to all things [koinos nomos], that is to say, the right reason which pervades all things, and is identical with this Zeus, lord and ruler of all that is. And this very thing constitutes the virtue of the happy man and the smooth current of life, when all actions promote the harmony of the spirit dwelling in the individual man with the will of him who orders the universe.

Lives of Eminent Philosophers 7.87-88

The relevant point here is that “the end” or “the goal” of life includes not acting against the ‘common law’ (a.k.a. ‘natural law’), regardless of whether it is the actual law of the land. So if there were self-acclaimed Stoics in 1960’s America, I would expect them to be actively against segregation and in support of the movement driven by Martin Luther King Jr.

[This is a reposting of the 2022 post]

Today corresponds to the birthday of Epicurus, the founder of Epicureanism. The date was well known in ancient times and has been preserved by historians like Diogenes Laertius:

He was born, according to Apollodorus in his Chronology, in the third year of the 109th Olympiad, in the archonship of Sosigenes [341 BCE], on the seventh day of the month Gamelion, in the seventh year after the death of Plato.

Lives of Eminent Philosophers 10.14

“[T]he seventh day of the month of Gamelion” in 341 BCE was the seventh day after the eighth new moon after the Summer Solstice of 342 BCE. According to the data on ancient lunar phases and solstices (and if we project the Julian calendar backwards), this day was Jan. 12th.

What wasn’t preserved for posterity was the birthday of Zeno, the founder of Stoicism (there may be more significance behind this than just the happenstance of history—more on this later). So, in the spirit of cosmopolitanism, we will share the date despite [or because of] the differences in the two historical figures. Join me in commemorating Zeno and the qualities that distinguish him and his philosophy from Epicurus and his philosophy.

The Figure of Epicurus

The biography of Epicurus is relayed in Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of Eminent Philosophers 10.1-22.

Birth and Heritage: Epicurus was born in 341 BCE on the island of Samos (off the coast of modern-day Western Turkey). He was a citizen of Athens due to his family’s helping maintain a militarily-strategic settler colony (klêrouchia) on Samos. His family may have been poor (since most wealth families who took allotments on the settlements just stayed in Athens while their slaves stayed abroad), but both his parents were from Athens and were said to be of the noble Philaid clan (supposedly descendants of the mythological Philaeus, son of Ajax). So Epicurus was certainly culturally and legally an Athenian.

Upbringing: Epicurus briefly lived in Athens in 323 BCE at the age of eighteen and supposedly attended the lectures of Xenocrates (head of Plato’s Academy at the time), but he had to quickly return to his family upon the collapse of Alexander the Great’s empire. The Athenians were driven out of Samos by 320 BCE and so he lived with his father and brothers in Colophon [near modern-day Istanbul]. It’s said that he started studying philosophy casually at the age of twelve or fourteen, but worked as a ‘language teacher’ (grammatodidaskalos) in Colophon for years before coming across the works of Democritus—perhaps in his early 20’s. At that moment, he promptly dedicated his life to philosophy; began articulating his own theories and practices; and started gathering students while teaching in Anatolia and Lesbos.

In Athens: Besides being inspired by Democritus (which he couldn’t have denied given his atomic theory of physics) and studying philosophy as an adolescent, it doesn’t seem that Epicurus took much advantage of the intellectual culture of Athens or had any literal teachers that helped shape his philosophy. Epicurus himself insisted that he was self-taught. In 306 BCE, he arrived in Athens intellectually fully-formed, bringing along with him a cadre of loyal students (Hermarchus, Metrodorus, Polyaenus, Colotes, Idomeneus, Leonteus, and Leonteus’ wife Themista). He quickly saw a lot of criticism from the Athenians for his advocacy of hedonism (the theory that pleasure is the chief good) as well as many false rumors, ad hominem attacks, and misrepresentation of his philosophy (DL 10.3-12).

His philosophy: The Epicureans, as they came to be known, lived in a compound called “the Garden” (ho kêpos) northwest of Athens proper on the road to Plato’s Academy. They avoided the pursuit of objects or activities that tended towards physical pain (algêdôn, ponos) or mental distress (lupê, taraxis) and moderated the pursuit of fleeting—so called “kinetic” (kīnêtikos)—pleasure. Rather, they encouraged the pursuit of simple living, strong friendships, and stable—so-called “static” or “katastematic” (katastêmatikos)—pleasure. Epicurus also discouraged participation in public life and politics—an extremely unstable arena. He taught primarily in private and through private correspondences (which inspired Seneca to do the same hundreds of years later).

His death: Epicurus died “in the second year of the 127th Olympiad in the archonship of Pytharatus” (270 BCE) at the age of seventy-one. Apparently, he died after a bout of severe kidney stones. After two weeks of illness, knowing his time was near, he wrote the following note to Idomeneus:

“On this blissful day, which is also the last of my life, I write this to you. My continual sufferings from strangury and dysentery are so great that nothing could augment them; but over against them all I set gladness of mind at the remembrance of our past conversations.”

Lives of Eminent Philosophers 10.22

You can read more about Epicurus’ philosophy in three of his personal correspondences (Letter to Herodotus concerning physics; Letter to Pythocles demonstrating his epistemology; and Letter to Menoeceus concerning ethics) along with some of his saying of his all preserved in Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of Eminent Philosophers 10.28-154.

[NOTE: Apparently, it was customary by the year of Epicurus’ death to celebrate his birthday on the tenth of Gamelion (the number ten was probably more auspicious than seven). It was also customary up until the common era to commemorate Epicurus and Metrodorus each month on the twentieth day (I’ve noticed that this practice even survives today among Modern Epicureans). I am aware of these other dates, but I have settled on the seventh for the time being.]

The Figure of Zeno

The biography of Zeno is relayed in Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of Eminent Philosophers 7.1-38.

Birth and heritage: Zeno was born around 335 BCE in a Phoenician town on Citium (modern-day Cyprus). Zeno and his family were Phoenician; he was known as “The Phoenician” (ho phoinix) among Athenians and the Cynic Crates would playfully call him “little Phoenician” (phoinikidion). Citium was conquered by Alexander the Great in 332 BCE, gained autonomy when Alexander died in 323 BCE, but was subsequently conquered again by the Greeks (Ptolomy I) in 312 BCE. I’m not certain about the relations between Athens and and Phoenicians but apparently they were well enough for Zeno and his father to feel comfortable traveling West for business..

Upbringing: Zeno was said to have been a merchant (like his father) throughout his twenties and into his thirties. We can expect him to have received only the most basic education (learning to read and write Greek, learning about poetry and maybe music) in addition to learning other useful languages besides his native Phoenician. There was no need for him to learn more than that, especially once the Aegean market opened up. Soon after Citium became a Greek client, Zeno made a sea voyage to Athens with the intent to sell them valuable purple dye—it seemed like he was in the right time and had the right business to make a very successful living despite his humble background.

In Athens: He did in fact make it to Athens in 312 BCE, but only after his ship was wrecked off the coast of Attica—close enough to Athens to finish the trip, but only after loosing his extremely valuable merchandise and means of livelihood. So there he was penniless and with little future prospects. Here’s what happened next according to the stories:

He went up into Athens and sat down in a bookseller’s shop, being then a man of thirty. As he went on reading the second book of Xenophon’s Memorabilia, he was so pleased that he inquired where men like Socrates were to be found. Crates passed by in the nick of time, so the bookseller pointed to him and said, “Follow yonder man.” From that day he became Crates’s pupil, showing in other respects a strong bent for philosophy.

Lives of Eminent Philosophers 7.2-3

There is a less sensational story—so, more likely true—that Zeno’s father would bring books about Socrates back from Athens (DL 7.32). Zeno then travelled to Athens and had full intentions of staying there, attaching himself to a philosopher. Either way, both stories have Zeno finding Crates upon arrival.

And so he studied under Crates and lived by the uncompromising ethics of the Cynics. At the same time, he also studied logic and dialectic from the Megarians (Stilpo, Diodorus Cronus, and Philo). He also attended the lectures of the Platonists (Xenocrates and Polemon). He lived like a Cynic, read the works of past philosophers, and studied under the greatest minds of the time for over ten years before starting his own school (some accounts say that he lived with Crates for ten years and then studied under the Megarians for another ten years).

His philosophy: In his forties or fifties, no later than the year 285 BCE, Zeno started to acquire his own students:.

He used then to discourse, pacing up and down in the painted colonnade (poikilê stoa) [. . .] his wish being to keep the spot clear of a concourse of idlers [. . .] Hither, then, people came henceforth to hear Zeno, and this is why they were known as men of the Stoa, or Stoics (Stôikoi); and the same name was given to his followers, who had formerly been known as Zenonians (Zênôneioi). So it is stated by Epicurus in his letters.

Lives of Eminent Philosophers 7.5

The Stoics agreed with the Cynics that the chief good is virtue and everything else is indifferent (that is, everything else does not make a difference to happiness). They distinguished themselves from the more hard-line and ascetic Cynics by acknowledging that there are preferred indifferents that one can use as instruments for virtue—to “live according to nature” as their slogan became. The important thing is that virtue is never compromised—sometimes this means that the “preferred indifferent” would be pain, physical hardship, public ridicule, or even death. But this also means that we can’t shy away from the public life if this becomes a way to exercise justice, courage, and prudence. Zeno became known for emphasizing the importance of “duty” or “appropriate action” (kathêkon); he wrote a treatise called “On Duty” which became a precursor to many other treatises by the same name. Another indication that the Stoics did not shy away from public life is the fact that they continued to gather under the Stoa Poikile at the heart of Athens for centuries.

His death: There are several inconsistent accounts of Zeno’s death. The most realistic account is supposed to have come from one of Zeno’s young students, Persaeus, who claims that he died at the age of seventy-two (around 263 BCE), having led his school for about thirty-eight years:

The story goes that Zeno of Citium after enduring many hardships by reason of old age was set free, some say by ceasing to take food . . . [Others say that] as he was leaving the school he tripped and fell, breaking a toe. Striking the ground with his fist, he quoted the line from the Niobe: “I come, I come, why dost thou call for me?” and died on the spot through holding his breath.

Lives of Eminent Philosophers 7.31, 28

I think the message here is that Zeno left of his own free will—either by holding his breath or by refusing food (more likely)—and in a manner that he judged appropriate.

Similarities and Differences

I’ll be brief here—just highlighting some points from what I’ve already said. Epicurus and Zeno were both outsiders to some degree: Epicurus was an Athenian but was not born and raised there; Zeno was a Phoenician. Both were captivated by the earlier Greek philosophers: Epicurus was inspired by Democritus; Zeno by Socrates.

Obviously, their differences are more striking. Epicurus and Zeno were from different cultures and social classes: Epicurus was still a legal Athenian and could assume to be accepted into Athenian society upon his arrival; Zeno followed in his father’s footsteps as a merchant and presumably lived on the streets with the other Cynics upon his arrival in Athens. Epicurus started his school immediately and established it outside of town. It took Zeno at least ten years of education and training in Athens to begin taking students and, even then, he didn’t feel the need to buy property for the Stoa—no need to segregate his students from the public. Epicurus claimed to be self-taught while Zeno spent that ten plus years studying under others: Cynics, Megarians, Platonists. Perhaps it was because of this that Epicurus was the target of slander and criticism from the start, while Zeno endeared himself to the Athenian people (they awarded him with the keys to the city and erected a statue of him). They even died differently: Epicurus called the day he died of kidney stones and renal failure “blissful” while Zeno struck the ground and departed life with little ceremony. This may be indicative of the differences in their philosophies: Epicureanism values mental pleasure above all (or the absent of mental distress) whereas Stoicism insists that all pleasure and pain is indifferent and instead values virtue and freedom.

A Festival for Zeno?

So how do we commemorate Zeno today? Here are some ideas:

• Read Diogenes Laertius’ biography of Zeno (Lives of Eminent Philosophers 7.1-38)
• Read the book that inspired Zeno so much: Xenophon’s Memorabilia 2 (at least the “Education of Heracles by Virtue” at sections 1.28-41)
• Consider how to better embody the love of learning that Zeno apparently had
• Reflect on and draw inspiration from the poetic verses dedicated to Zeno (DL 7.27-30)

Below are the verses as translated by Pamela Mensch (2018):

Daunted not by winter’s cold, by endless rain,
By the heat of the sun, by sickness dire,
Shunning public feasts, never yielding,
He cleaves to his studies day and night.

Diogenes Laertius

One loaf, dried figs, a cup of water.
For he propounds a novel philosophy:
He teaches hunger, and gets pupils.

Philemon the Comedian

Here lies renowned Zeno, dear to Citium, who scaled Olympus,
Not by piling Pelion on Ossa,
Nor by toiling at the labors of Heracles. To the stars
He found the path: that of temperance alone.

Epitaph by Antiphon of Sidon

You invented self-sufficiency, casting aside
Haughty wealth, noble Zeno, gray of brow.
For you discovered a mighty doctrine,
And founded a school, a mother of fearless liberty.
If Phoenicia was your native land, why should we bear a grudge?
Came not Cadmus thence, who gave Greece her books and writing?

Eulogy by Zenodotus the Stoic

This one is about all the Stoics that studied under Zeno:

You who are adepts in Stoic learning,
And have committed to your tablets the finest doctrines,
Teaching that the soul’s virtue is the only good.
For it alone protects the lives and cities of men.
But pleasure of the flesh, an end adored by other men,
Only one of the daughters of Memory attains.

Athenaeus the Epigrammatist

Let me know if you have any more ideas, preferably some that are more concrete or specific. If nothing else, have a small loaf of bread, a glass of water, and maybe some figs for the occasion! Enjoy.

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“Commemoration of Love, Friendship, and Women”

[[ This post is adapted with edits from the 2022 post ]]

Plato’s Symposium is a complex and beautiful dialogue. Most of the dramatic events take place in Athens at the house of Agathon, a tragedian playwright who recently won his first victory at the festival of “Lenaia,” which is held in honor of “Dionysus of the Winepress” (Dionyos Lênaios). We can pinpoint the intended dramatic date to Jan. 5th, 416 BCE (See the very bottom of the page for more detail on how this date is calculated).

I want to use this festival as “a commemoration of love, friendship, and women.” I’ll say a little on each of these in order to direct your thinking about the holiday and to inform your practice.

Love and Friendship

Plato’s Symposium is titled this because it centers around a “symposium” [from the Greek symposion—literally, ‘an event/place (-ion) for drinking (-pos-) together (sym-)’]. It should be noted that a symposium was both a drinking party and a private religious ceremony (having fun and being religious were certainly not mutually exclusive in ancient Greece).

The theme of the dialogue and the event it portrays is love (erôs). The word erôs means love in the sense of romantic love, and certainly included sexual passion (though not necessarily). Though some scholars want to make a sharp distinction between love (erôs) and friendship (philia), I think it’s best to think of the former as an extension of the latter—at least when reading Plato and the Stoics. Erôs is distinguished as an intensified version of philia, which can be categorized as an unhealthy emotion (pathos) or as a healthy emotion (eupatheia) depending on whether we align it with reason. Socrates’s speech on love seems to assure us that this can be done. [see Plato’s Lysis for a dialogue dedicated to the theme of philia]

The guests are good friends of Agathon, who is the host for the evening. They include Phaedrus, Pausanius, Eryximachus, Aristophanes, Aristodemus, Socrates, and—later in the evening—Alcibiades.

These guests already had strong intimate relationships with each other by the time we find them at Agathon’s: Pausanias and Agathon were lovers; Eryximachus and Phaedrus were close friends; Aristophanes and Aristodemus were fellow-tribesmen; and Socrates and Alcibiades had a legendary relationship— lovers, military comrades, philosophers, tragic figures. To pass the time, all the guests are asked to give an encomium on love, the god known as ‘Eros’ by the Greeks (‘Cupid’ by the Romans). All of them oblige except for Aristodemus (who appears to have been skipped over) and Alcibiades (who gave an encomium on Socrates instead).

The speeches themselves run the gamut; they talk about love as one god, two gods, a natural force, a spirit (daimôn), and an abstract concept. There was as much disagreement about its qualities and ambivalence about its benefits in ancient times as there is in modern times.

The speech that Socrates gives is not quite Stoic, but he may be the closest to the Stoic position on love. Love is not good (that doesn’t mean it’s bad). Love is not beautiful (that doesn’t mean it’s ugly). Love is bad when it’s irrational, but can lead to beautiful things when it accords with reason—but only when we sublimate our desire for bodies to a desire for virtue.

IDEA FOR PRACTICE: Contemplate the love you have in all its manifestations (physical, intellectual, spiritual). Commit to never ignoring or repressing these feelings, but rather commit to finding ways to align them with your moral values. That is, take time to articulate what love looks like in the life to which you aspire.

Women

Though this may seemed shoehorned into this holiday, it’s not meant to be. The ancient festival of Lenaia—as with all Dionysian festivals—is thought to have been a time where women can celebrate together without fear of persecution. It’s difficult to know how they celebrated considering the secrecy of the Dionysian Mysteries in which women were inducted. But there likely would have been many liberating and cathartic gatherings of women—drinking and dancing in symposia and bacchanals. 

Perhaps Plato had this in mind when he had Socrates give his speech. In an endearing passage, Socrates admits that he is very self-conscious about his style of speaking (reminiscent of the first remarks he makes in the Apology). While other guests gave encomia on love demonstrating their rhetorical rather than their truth-telling abilities, Socrates would rather tell the truth about love as well as he could. This leads him quickly to correct Agathon and argue that love is not ‘good’ nor ‘beautiful’ strictly speaking. After his exchange with Agathon, Socrates gives a speech that he says originated with one of his teachers, a woman named Diotima.

If Diotima was real, then she would have given Socrates two of the most important lessons of his life. First, philosophy is literally ‘love’– love of wisdom, love of virtue, love of beauty. Second, insofar as you ‘love’ something, you cannot yet possess it; love is an activity of pursuit that ends with the possession of that which you pursue. Thus, philosophers do not yet possess wisdom, virtue, or beauty otherwise they would not be pursuing these things [only the Sage (sophos) has wisdom]. The implications of these lessons are powerful and explains why Socrates never admits that he has wisdom or virtue. He will only admit that he knows ‘the ways of love’ (erotikê) (Symposium 177e)

IDEA FOR PRACTICE: Feminist philosophers who promote an “ethics of care” recommend that we cultivate virtues that have often been neglected by those in power (i.e., intellectual, political, and religious authorities, often men). Instead, these virtues have historically been fostered by women in the course of their domestic duties: empathy, sensitivity, discernment, cooperation. More complex virtues associated with childcare include a disposition toward ‘preservative love’ (work of protection with cheerfulness and humility), a disposition towards fostering growth (sponsoring or nurturing a child’s development), and a disposition towards training for social acceptability (a process of socialization that requires conscience and a struggle for authenticity). If you think you’ve neglected these virtues, how can you rectify this? Remember that the goal is to be a well-rounded human being regardless of gender—rational and good. To that end, contemplate on whether you’ve neglected certain character traits because of cultural expectations around your gender. Think of ways you can cultivate those traits more deliberately.

Foreshadow: Tragedy in Comedy

There’s one last theme that I would like to mention.

The year that symposium takes place, 416 BCE, would have had significance for contemporary readers. Within a year, three of the party-members—Phaedrus, Eryximachus (along with his father), and Alcibiades—would be accused of sacrilege. Soon afterwards, Alcibiades would be leading Athens on the notorious Sicilian Expedition, only to be recalled and forced into exile. In seventeen years, Socrates himself would be charged with impiety and executed (a fact that readers are reminded of throughout Alcibiades’ speech as he ‘accuses’ Socrates, calls ‘witnesses’ against him, and appeals to the ‘jury’).

Do these facts cast a shadow over the merry-making and affection they show each other in the Symposium? Or is the message that we all will experience tragedy and death, yet that should not detract from enjoying life? Does Socrates exemplify how we should all make the most of the time we have—by not getting belligerent and forgetful but, rather, being persistent in our pursuit of truth and virtue? I think Socrates would like us to think that tragedy and comedy are one and the same thing as evident of the last scene in the dialogue:

[Aristodemus] awoke towards dawn, as the cocks were crowing; and immediately he saw that all the company were either sleeping or gone, except Agathon, Aristophanes, and Socrates […] ; and Socrates was arguing with them. […] the substance of it was, he said, that Socrates was driving them to the admission that the same man could have the knowledge required for writing comedy and tragedy—that the fully skilled tragedian could be a comedian as well. While they were being driven to this, and were but feebly following it, they began to nod; first Aristophanes [the comedian] dropped into a slumber, and then, as day began to dawn, Agathon [the tragedian] also. When Socrates had seen them comfortable, he rose and went away,—followed in the usual manner by my friend [Aristodemus]; on arriving at the Lyceum, [Socrates] washed himself, and then spent the rest of the day in his ordinary fashion; and so, when the day was done, he went home for the evening and reposed.

223c–d

IDEA FOR PRACTICE: Treat every day as special and every day as ordinary. Recall to mind that your life is a tragedy by definition—it will end in death—but that doesn’t mean that it’s not a comedy as well—it will end in happiness.

Reading 

At the very least, you should read some of the Symposium. It’s moderately long, so if you’re short on time, just read sections 193e-212c for the philosophical essence. Here are all the sections with my recommendations. Of course, readers get the full impact of the work when they read it from beginning to end.

• Read sections 172a-175e (for background): Apollodorus’ and Aristodemus’s Prologues
• Read sections 176a-177e (for background): Speech-giving Preliminaries
• Skip sections 178a-189b (read to detect later references and ring structure of dialogue): Encomia on Love by Phaedrus, Pausanias, and Eryximachus
• Skip sections 189c-193d (read to detect later references and to appreciate its beauty… and if you’re a fan of Hedwig and the Angry Inch): Aristophanes’s Folktale on Love
• Read sections 193e-212c (for its philosophical substance): Agathon’s encomium on love up to the end of Socrates’s teachings of Diotima)
• Read [if time allows] section 212d-223a (for its insight into Socrates the man): Alcibiades’s Antics and Encomium on Socrates
• Read 223b-223d (for closure): Epilogue

Postscript

Here’s more detail about the calculations for the date.

Athenaeus of Naucratis (3rd Century CE) in Bk. 5 of his Deipnosophistae sets the date of Agathon’s first victory with his first tragedy as the Linaean festival of the 4th year of the 90th Olympiad, which would correspond to 416 BCE. This corresponds with the two in-text support we have: (A) The festivities seem to take place during Lenaia (the 12th day of the month of Gamêliôn) since Agathon mentions Dionysus at 175e, Aristodemus mentions that it was a long winter’s night at 223c, and Lenaia is the only Dionysian festival that took place during winter; and (B) the events certainly took place after the Peace of Nicias (421 BCE) but before the Sicilian Expedition (415 BCE) that led to Alcibiades’s exile since Alcibiades is there himself to recount Socrates’s courage during the first half of the Peloponnesian War at 219e-221c. Since Athenaeus’s date hasn’t been seriously disputed by the scholarship, I think it’s reasonable to adopt that date and year: 12 Gamêliôn, 416 BCE. If use data on summer solstices and moon phases during the 417-416 BCE solar year (the Attic Calendar was lunisolar) and extend the Julian calendar backwards, the 12th day of Gamêliôn in 416 BCE fell on Jan. 5th.

Careful readers will note that the symposium that Socrates attended actually took place the day after Lenaia as reported at 174a. This would mean that the dramatic events took place on Jan. 6th—a notable day for Western Christians (Epiphany) and, since 2020, for all Americans. I decided against shifting the date so that Stoics and philosophers can have more space to contemplate Plato’s Symposium.

WORKS CONSULTED

Allen, R.E. (1991). The Dialogues of Plato, Vol. II: The Symposium. Yale University Press.

Hannah, R. (2005). Greek and Roman Calendars: Constructions of time in the classical world. Bristol Classical Press.

Nails, D. (2002). The People of Plato: A prosopography of Plato and other Socratics. Hackett Publishing Company.

Parke, H.W. (1986). Festivals of the Athenians. Cornell University Press.

Scullard, H.H. (1981). Festivals and Ceremonies of the Roman Republic. Cornell University Press.

[THIS POST HAS BEEN ADAPTED FROM THE 2021 VERSION]

On December VII, 43 BCE Cicero was finally overtaken by the forces of the Second Triumvirate after being designated an enemy of the state by Mark Antony and his once-friend Octavian. Let me commemorate him today with some words about his life and death.

Cicero was born into rural nobility in a small villa southeast of Rome (a member of the equitēs like Seneca and Musonius Rufus after him— not a member of the Patrician class). He struck a balance between being ambitious (though not as much as his once-friend, Julius Caesar) and being a scholar (though not as much as his friend Atticus). He was a student of philosophy and history and dedicated much of his time to these subjects while he was either exiled or semi-retired. But he was equally dedicated to elevating the name “Cicero” in Roman politics. He advanced quickly through the Roman cursus honōrum —the “ladder of offices” that afforded opportunities to those that were not born into aristocracy. At 30 years old, he was elected Quaestor (and, thus, granted a lifetime membership in the senate). At 39, he was elected Praetor. At 43, he became—in effect—the sole consul of Rome (the highest public office in the Republic). With all that power and with his great oratorical ability for exposing the poor character of his political opponents (and, sometimes, of his allies), he made a lot of enemies. Reading his biography, I was stuck that he survived as long as he did.

A couple other takeaways from his biography, briefly: 

• Cicero loathed Roman militarism and violence. Although he was forced to punish those who conspired against the government while he was consul, he seemed to express remorse over his actions. Later in life, his political opponents cited his sidestepping of habeas corpus to justify his exile … and Cicero obliged them. 
• He was—perhaps naively—an ardent conservative (a so-called optimās). This lead him to push back against dictators, but also to push back against reform. Because his own political status was always tenuous owing to his lack of both aristocratic ancestry and any military record, he made many compromises that some would find distasteful.

It seems like Cicero was not a Stoic. He claimed to be a disciple of Academic Skepticism (specifically, of Philo of Larisa), which may have suited his temperament as an orator, who needed to argue all sides of a case. 

He was certainly highly sympathetic to Stoicism (he studied it with the help of a man named Diodotus) and was especially fond of THREE Stoic doctrines:

1) the necessity of duty or “appropriate action” (lt. officium, gr. kathêkon) in the ethical life;
2) the importance of civic engagement (as opposed to Epicurean quietism) in the ethical life; and
3) the unity of God and Nature. 

[NOTE: After reading biographies of Cicero and treatises by him in different times during his life, I get the impression that he got closer to the Stoic position after the death of his daughter, Tullia, in 45 BCE and as his ability to survive the new political regime became more precarious.]

For more of his life, it does seem that TWO aspects of Stoicism likely rubbed him the wrong way: 

1) fortune—both political and personal— is indifferent to happiness. This was contrary to his uncompromising political views; his personal ambitions; and his tendency to display his prosperity in the form of large estates within Rome and country villas.
2) extreme emotions are unhealthy. This was contrary to his apparent belief that skilled emotional rhetoric can be a force for good. He also had a tendency to indulge in his grief, depression, and anger: when his daughter died, he mourned for months; when he lost favor with the Senate, he grew out his beard and wore black robes in public; when his once-friends turned their backs on him, he would rant about it in his correspondences with Atticus.

Despite these things that I would consider flaws, I think he did better than most in such a dangerous political climate. But in addition to how one lives, I think it’s most illuminating to look at how one dies in order to really understand and appreciate the quality of their character. To that end, we should put more weight on his last moments…

LONG story short: After the assassination of Julius Caesar, there was a power vacuum that was ultimately occupied by more of Julius Caesar’s allies—specifically, Octavian (Caesar’s heir), Mark Antony, and Lepidus. Historians call this the “Second Triumvirate,” a prelude to the Roman Empire which would be founded by Octavian a.k.a. Augustus… Before all that though, the Second Triumvirate had to wipe the slate clean, and so they began a proscription— a long list of official “enemies of the state” that could be killed on site by anyone looking to get a reward. Cicero and his family made the list since he applauded Julius Caesar’s assassination and implied that it should have gone further, taking out Antony and Octavian as well (oops). Octavian might have been willing to forgive Cicero, since the latter was Octavian’s mentor prior to his ascension. But Antony was certainly not willing to forgive: Cicero ordered the execution of Antony’s step-father, Lentulus Sura, twenty years prior and more recently said some very nasty things about his wife, Fulvia. So Cicero was proscribed (basically given the death penalty without a trial) and, after a brief chase, he was caught in Formia. Once soldiers captured him and he realized there was no escape, Cicero calmly stretched out his neck in order to ease his executioner’s task (as reported by Seneca the Elder and the historian Aufidius Bassus).

Is all this enough to commemorate Cicero? Maybe not. So let me summarize his contributions to Stoicism and to philosophy in general:

• He dedicate much of his later life to writing great doxographies on the different philosophical schools, including Stoicism. 
• He has helped us understand and appreciate the Stoic doctrine of duty or “appropriate action” (lt. officium, gr. kathêkon) with his treatise De Officiis
• With his vision for a well-working democratic republic, prudent statesmen, and engaged citizenship (especially in his treatise the Republic (De Re Publica), he has provided us with a road map for us to actualize his vision the best we can.
• He has provided us with inspirations images that highlight the unity of God and Nature

This last point brings me to one of the most wonderful passages we have from Cicero’s Republic (6.9-19) often called “Scipio’s Dream”—I’ll just end the post with to provide a window into the mind of Cicero during a particularly vulnerable part of his life (the mid/late 50s while watching in vain as Julius Caesar gained power).

In “Scipio’s Dream,” Scipio Aemilianus is recounting a dream he had in which he encounters his father (Paulus Macedonicus) and grandfather (Scipio Africanus). His grandfather is guiding him through the heavens and giving insight into life on the Earth from that lofty perspective.

When I saw [my father] I poured forth a flood of tears, but he embraced and kissed me, and forbade me to weep. {15.} As soon as I had restrained my grief and was able to speak, I cried out: “O best and most blameless of fathers [. . .] Why should I remain longer on earth? Why not hasten thither to you?”  

“Not so,” he replied, “for unless that God, whose temple is everything that you see, has freed you from the prison of the body, you cannot gain entrance there. For man was given life that he might inhabit that sphere called Earth, which you see in the centre of this temple, and he has been given a soul out of those eternal fires which you call stars and planets, which, being round and globular bodies animated by divine intelligences, circle about in their fixed orbits with marvellous speed. Therefore you, Scipio, and all good men, must leave that soul in the custody of the body, and must not abandon human life except at the behest of him by whom it was given you, lest you appear to have shirked the duty imposed upon man by God. {16.}  But, Scipio, imitate your grandfather here, imitate me, your father; love justice and duty, which are indeed strictly due to parents and kinsmen, but most of all to the fatherland. Such a life is the road to the skies, to that gathering of those who have completed their earthly lives and been relieved of the body, and who lie in yonder place which you now see” (it was the circle of light which blazed most brightly among the other fires), “and which you on earth, borrowing a Greek term, call the Milky Circle.”    

When I gazed in every direction from that point, all else appeared wonderfully beautiful. There were stars which we never see from the earth, and they were all larger than we have ever imagined. The smallest of them was that farthest from heaven and nearest the earth which shone with a borrowed light [i.e., the moon]. The starry spheres were much larger than the earth; indeed the earth itself seemed to me so small that I was scornful of our empire, which covers only a single point, as it were, upon its surface.    

{17.} As I gazed still more fixedly at the earth, Africanus said : “How long will your thoughts be fixed upon the lowly earth ? Do you not see what lofty regions you have entered ? These are the nine circles, or rather spheres, by which the whole is joined. One of them, the outermost, is that of heaven; it contains all the rest, and is itself the supreme God, holding and embracing within itself all the other spheres; in it are fixed the eternal revolving courses of the stars. Beneath it are seven other spheres which revolve in the opposite direction to that of heaven. One of these globes is that light which on earth is called Saturn’s. Next comes the star called Jupiter’s, which brings fortune and health to mankind. Beneath it that star, red and terrible to the dwellings of man, which you assign to Mars. Below it and almost midway of the distance [between heaven and Earth] is the Sun, the lord, chief, and ruler of the other lights, the mind and guiding principle of the universe, of such magnitude that he reveals and fills all things with his light. He is accompanied by his companions, as it were – Venus and Mercury in their orbits, and in the lowest sphere revolves the Moon, set on fire by the rays of the Sun. But below the Moon there is nothing except what is mortal and doomed to decay, save only the souls given to the human race by the bounty of the gods, while above the Moon all things are eternal. For the ninth and central sphere, which is the earth, is immovable and the lowest of all, and toward it all ponderable bodies are drawn by their own natural tendency downward.”

{18.} After recovering from the astonishment with which I viewed these wonders, I said : “What is this loud and agreeable sound that fills my ears?”

“That is produced,” he replied, “by the onward rush and motion of the spheres themselves; the intervals between them, though unequal, being exactly arranged in a fixed proportion, by an agreeable blending of high and low tones various harmonies are produced; for such mighty motions cannot be carried on so swiftly in silence; and Nature has provided that one extreme shall produce low tones while the other gives forth high. Therefore this uppermost sphere of heaven, which bears the stars, as it revolves more rapidly, produces a high, shrill tone, whereas the lowest revolving sphere, that of the Moon, gives forth the lowest tone; for the earthly sphere, the ninth, remains ever motionless and stationary in its position in the centre of the universe. But the other eight spheres, two of which move with the same velocity, produce seven different sounds, – a number which is the key of almost everything. Learned men, by imitating this harmony on stringed instruments and in song, have gained for themselves a return to this region, as others have obtained the same reward by devoting their brilliant intellects to divine pursuits during their earthly lives. Men’s ears, ever filled with this sound, have become deaf to it, for you have no duller sense than that of hearing. We find a similar phenomenon where the Nile rushes down from those lofty mountains at the place called Catadupa [i.e., the first Nile cataract at Aswan]; the people who live nearby have lost their sense of hearing on account of the loudness of the sound. But this mighty music, produced by the revolution of the whole universe at the highest speed, cannot be perceived by human ears, any more than you can look straight at the Sun, your sense of sight being overpowered by its radiance.”    

While gazing at these wonders, I was repeatedly turning my eyes back to earth. {19.} Then Africanus resumed :   

“I see that you are still directing your gaze upon the habitation and abode of men. If it seems small to you, as it actually is, keep your gaze fixed upon these heavenly things, and scorn the earthly. For what fame can you gain from the speech of men, or what glory that is worth the seeking? You see that the earth is inhabited in only a few portions, and those very small, while vast deserts lie between those inhabited patches, as we may call them ; you see that the inhabitants are so widely separated that there can be no communication whatever among the different areas [i.e., among the four quadrants of the Earth relative to you]; and that some of the inhabitants live in parts of the earth that are oblique, transverse, and sometimes directly opposite your own [quadrant]; from such you can expect nothing surely that is glory.    

[. . .]

{21.} “But even if future generations should wish to hand down to those yet unborn the eulogies of every one of us which they received from their fathers, nevertheless the floods and conflagrations which necessarily happen on the earth at stated intervals would prevent us from gaining a glory which could even be long-enduring, much less eternal [Cf. Seneca, Naturales quaestiones 3.27 ff]. But of what importance is it to you to be talked of by those who are born after you, when you were never mentioned by those who lived before you, {22.} who were no less numerous and were certainly better men; especially as not one of those who may hear our names can retain any recollection for the space of a single year? For people commonly measure the year by the circuit of the sun, that is, of a single star alone; but when all the stars return to the place from which they at first set forth, and, at long intervals, restore the original configuration of the whole heaven, then that can truly be called a revolving year [Plato called this “the Great Year” (Timaeus 39)]. I hardly dare to say how many generations of men are contained within such a year; for as once the sun appeared to men to be eclipsed and blotted out, at the time when the soul of Romulus entered these regions, so when the sun shall again be eclipsed at the same point and in the same season, you may believe that all the planets and stars have returned to their original positions, and that a year has actually elapsed. But be sure that a twentieth part of such a year has not yet passed .   

{23.} “Consequently, if you despair of ever returning to this place, where eminent and excellent men find their true reward, of how little value, indeed, is your fame among men, which can hardly endure for the small part of a single year? Therefore, if you will only look on high and contemplate this eternal home and resting place, you will no longer attend to the gossip of the vulgar herd or put your trust in human rewards for your exploits. Virtue herself, by her own charms, should lead you on to true glory. Let what others say of you be their own concern, whatever it is, they will say it in any ease. But all their talk is limited to those narrow regions which you look upon, nor will any man’s reputation endure very long, for what men say dies with them and is blotted out with the forgetfulness of posterity.”    

{24.}  When he had spoken thus, I said: “If indeed a path to heaven, as it were, is open to those who have served their country well, henceforth I will redouble my efforts, spurred on by so splendid a reward, though even from my boyhood I have followed in the footsteps of my father and yourself, and have not failed to emulate your glory.”

He answered: “Strive on indeed, and be sure that it is not you that is mortal, but only your body. For that man whom your outward form reveals is not yourself; the mind is the true self, not that physical figure which can be pointed out by the finger. Know, then, that you are a god, if a god is that which lives, feels, remembers, and foresees, and which rules, governs, and moves the body over which it is set, just as the supreme God above us rules this universe. And just as the eternal God moves the universe, which is partly mortal, so an immortal mind moves the frail body.    

{25.}  “For that which is always in motion is eternal, but that which communicates motion to something else, but is itself moved by another force, necessarily ceases to live when this motion ends. Therefore only that which moves itself never ceases its motion, because it never abandons itself – nay, it is the source and first cause of motion in all other things that are moved. But this first cause has itself no beginning, for everything originates from the first cause, while it can never originate from anything else ; for that would not be a first cause which owed its origin to anything else And since it never had a beginning, it will never have an end. For if a first cause were destroyed, it could never be reborn from anything else, nor could it bring anything else into being; since everything must originate from a first cause. Thus it follows that motion begins with that which is moved of itself, but this can neither be born nor die, or else all the heavens must fall and all nature perish, possessing no force from which they can receive the first impulse to motion.

{26.} “Therefore, now that it is clear that what moves of itself is eternal, who can deny that this is the nature of minds? For whatever is moved by an external impulse is mindless, but whatever possesses a mind is moved by an inner impulse of its own , for that is the peculiar nature and property of a mind. And as a mind is the only force that moves itself, it surely has no beginning and is immortal. Use it, therefore, in the best pursuits! And the best tasks are those undertaken in defence of your native land; a mind occupied and trained in such activities will have a swifter flight to this, its proper home and permanent abode. And this flight will be still more rapid if, while still confined in the body, it looks abroad, and, by contemplating what lies outside itself, detaches itself as much as may be from the body. For the minds of those who are given over to sensual pleasures and have become their slaves, as it were, and who violate the laws of gods and men at the instigation of those desires which are subservient to pleasure – their minds, after leaving their bodies, fly about close to the earth, and do not return to this place except after many ages of torture.”   

He departed, and I awoke from my sleep.

[[this post is adapted and expanded from a 2020 post of mine]]

TODAY is Thanksgiving in the United States. It has been celebrated on and off every year since the first pilgrim and puritan settlers – presumably passed down from earlier European Christian traditions. It was made a federal holiday after the Civil War by Abraham Lincoln and eventually fixed to the fourth Thursday of the month by FDR. You can read all about it on its wikipedia page if you’d like or this , which cites many interesting historical documents.

I would like to discuss how the ancient Stoics perceived giving thanks or expressing gratitude; how we should approach these things (on a daily basis and during the holidays); and also—as a bonus—how we as Stoics should approach Black Friday and Cyber Monday.

First off: Did the ancient Stoics really find gratitude helpful? Or else is it included in the long list of irrational and harmful affections?

We can answer this question pretty easily after recognizing that Marcus Aurelius dedicated the entirely of the first book of his Meditations to those that positively influenced him and whose examples he wished to model: his biological father, mother, and grandfather, his adoptive father (Emperor Antoninus Pius), his colleagues, and his many teachers. Note that he omits any mention of his adoptive grandfather (Emperor Hadrian), who was probably not a good role model by Stoic standards. We should not be thankful toward anyone – be they relatives or acquaintances – who serve as bad examples or who undermine our ability to be virtuous somehow.

To drive the point home, I would also cite the longest treatise from Seneca that we have: On Benefits. This is made up of seven books and hundreds of pages about the practice of giving and receiving benefits (beneficia). Though Book 3 is especially concerned with expressing gratitude when one receives a benefit, it is at the beginning of the entire treatise where Seneca makes this remarkable statement:

Within the wide range of mistakes made by those who live recklessly and without reflection [. . .] there is almost nothing, I would claim, more harmful than our ignorance of how to give and receive benefits. [. . .] [A]mong the large number of extremely grave vices, none is more common than those stemming from an ungrateful mind.

―Seneca, On Benefits 1.1-2 (trans. Trans. by Griffin & Inwood)

Thus, the long treatise. And, thus, the length of Book 1 of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations (longer than Books 2 and 3 at least). My post here can’t be that long, so I’ll try to focus on how to express gratitude in relationships with with loved ones [rather than expressing gratitude towards colleagues, fellow citizens, the gods/nature, or toward yourself (Cf. On Benefits 5.7-11)]. In this vein, I think the Stoics can impart two general lessons regarding this gratitude.

LESSON 1: Gratitude and Desire

We should differentiate gratitude for current or past relationships with a desire for those relationships to continue. I’m thankful for my mother, but that should not imply that I desire or—or worse, expect—an unconditional show of support and love. Other people and the relationships we have with them ultimately fall outside our power of control. That is, we can’t guarantee that any of our relationships will continue after today. And to desire something which is out of our hands (in our case, the unconditional preservation of a relationship) is pointless. Instead, we should shift our desires away from the relationship itself and towards that which is within our power: our attitudes, judgments, and intended behavior. I’m grateful for my mother’s supportive presence and show of love, but I desire to show this appreciation, to be kind, generous, honest, etc. Though I am not overtly desiring for these relationships to continue (which would be in vain), those things that I am in fact desiring will make it more likely that the relationships will continue. It’s one of those beautiful paradoxes that make sense upon reflection. 

BOTTOM LINE: You should be thankful for your relationships and loved ones, but you should not make them objects of your desires. Rather, you should desire to maintain your good character, a positive attitude, and make choices that express care and love—this is all that is within your power to do.

LESSON 2: Impermanence

Another reason why we should not desire relationships to continue is due to their inherently impermanent nature. There are many things that may end a relationship due to the fault of one or both participants. But even a perfect relationship between two perfect Stoic sages will end one day… the day one of them dies. Everyone we know will, at some point, die – mortality is an inherent quality of all human beings (a.k.a. mortals). Thus, I may be thankful for my loving partner, but that should not lead me to desire the relationship to last forever. To desire something that is outright impossible (to enjoy a relationship forever) is irrational. Whereas the first lesson is about how to express gratitude, this second lesson seems to be about the source of gratitude. Let me explain…

Some may respond to the brute fact of impermanence and death with apathy, fear, anger, anxiety, or sadness. The most sensible reaction, though, is gratitude. The other emotions like fear and anxiety detract from the good experiences that are happening right now (if only you could pay attention to them!)… gratitude focus your attention on the here and now. And, again, focusing on the present is good because this is where we can actually attend to things within our power: after realizing that my loving partner will certainly die, I’m grateful for this companionship here and now. In turn, my gratitude will encourage me to be a good companion here and now. Being present-oriented will help the relationship flourish and help secure happiness for me and my partner.

BOTTOM LINE: You can’t control what happens in the future. True, but you can be thankful for the good things the universe has allotted you—most things in life are out of your power, yet things could have been worse… Your loved ones are going to die at some unknown point in the future. True, but you can be thankful for the here and now.

Applying Lesson 1: Epictetus’ “First Rule” (prôton kanôn)

Here’s one passage from Epictetus to help apply the first lesson:

[E]xamine [each impression] and test it by these rules that you possess, and first and foremost by this one, whether the impression relates to those things that are within our power, or those that aren’t within our power; and if it relates to anything that isn’t within our power, be ready to reply, “That’s nothing to me.’

—Epictetus, Handbook Ch. 5 (trans. Robin Hard)

Acknowledge what is within your power and what is not. Don’t desire and dwell upon things that are outside your power. Understand that things in your life have come as a matter of Fate (natural order) and things will stay or go as a matter of Fate. You can only influence these things by addressing what is within your power: your attitude, judgments, and intended behavior towards others. Here’s a second passage from Epictetus to help you with this:

Remember that you should behave in life as you do at a banquet. Something is being passed around and arrives in front of you: reach out your hand and take your share politely. It passes: don’t try to hold it back. It has yet to reach you: don’t project your desire towards it, but wait until it arrives in front of you. So act likewise with regard to your children, to your wife, to public office, to riches, and the time will come when you’re worthy to have a seat at the banquets of the gods.  

— Epictetus, Handbook Ch. 15

You can treat this analogy more literally and apply it to your behavior at the Thanksgiving dinner table: when your favorite dish gets to you, take your portion and pass it along. Your desire for more would likely diminish the enjoyment of what you have. The larger point is that this is the attitude you should adopt towards everything.

Applying Lesson 2: Premeditation of Bad Things (praemeditātio malōrum) 

Though it sounds morbid, it helps to just acknowledge that everything is impermanent, that material possessions come and go, and that everyone you care about will die sooner or later (including yourself!). We should be thankful for having a chance to “borrow” our loved ones from the universe. Here’s Epictetus again with a deliberately provocative analogy:

With regard to everything that is a source of delight to you, or is useful to you, or of which you are fond, remember to keep telling yourself what kind of thing it is, starting with the most insignificant. If you’re fond of a jug, say, ‘This is a jug that I’m fond of,’ and then, if it gets broken, you won’t be upset. If you kiss your child or your wife, say to yourself that it is a human being that you’re kissing; and then, if one of them should die, you won’t be upset.

—Epictetus, Handbook Ch. 3 (Cf. Ch. 11)

BONUS: Advice on the Accoutrements of the Holiday Season

There are many things that reside in the peripheries of the actual Thanksgiving holiday—that have been tacked on in the spirit of celebratory indulgence. This includes the exorbitant amount of food on Thanksgiving Day and the fixation on material things as a result of Black Friday and—now—Cyber Monday sales.

How to deal with all the food and drink

This is not so straight-forward as you might expect. We should keep in mind that the Stoics were not ascetics (as their Cynic compatriots seemed to be). More importantly, the ‘moderation’ or ‘temperance’ (sôphrosunê) that the Stoics aspire to in relation to food and drink is a feature of one’s mind and not of one’s behavior. This is just to further emphasize that what is within our power and, thus, what we should be paying attention to are our attitudes, judgments, and intended behavior.

Seneca and his friend Lucilius seem to consider two approaches in Letter 18 (trans. Graver & Long). Which approach is more effective depends on the person:

Approach 1 (The Intermediate Approach): moderate one’s behavior

The first approach is to not “be exactly like the crowd with the party hats,” but also to not “be completely different.” He says that one should not “hold oneself apart or draw attention to oneself, while still not mingling in every respect.” That is, “do as others do, but not in the same manner.” 

Although this is incredibly vague, I think he provides a helpful metric for those taking this approach. On the one hand, If the goal is to not stand out and “draw attention to oneself” then we’ll know we’ve succeeded if nobody makes a big ado about the way we’re commemorating the holiday. On the other side, if the goal is to “not mingle in every respect” then we’ll know we’ve succeeded if we exercise more mindfulness on our thoughts and intentions throughout the holiday. That would be enough. And barring any excess in drugs or alcohol, it is quite reasonable to ask yourself to keep this up through the Thanksgiving celebration.

Approach 2 (The Bolder Course): abstain from pleasure and remain sober

The second approach is simpler, but more difficult. 

“Take charge of one’s mind, ordering it to abstain from pleasures just when everyone else is indulging in them.” … This is “by far the bolder course, to remain cold sober when everyone else is drunk and vomiting.”

Some of you may think this isn’t very difficult—to completely abstain from the festivities. But the difficulty comes from maintaining the right intentions and making sure we’re abstaining for the right reasons. If your strange behavior is standing out and making others feel uncomfortable, it’s reasonable to reconsider your commitment to this approach for the sake of fostering a sense of community.

How to deal with conversations with my relatives 

Here’s one last good tip from Epictetus:

Remain silent for the most part, or say only what is essential, and in a few words. Very infrequently, however, when the occasion demands, do speak, but not about any of the usual topics, not about gladiators, not about horse-races, not about athletes, not about food and drink, the subjects of everyday talk; but above all, don’t talk about people, either to praise or criticize them, or to compare them. If you’re able to do so, then, through the manner of your own conversation, bring that of your companions round to what is fit and proper. But if you happen to find yourself alone among strangers, keep silent.”

―Epictetus, Handbook Ch. 33.2-3

In other words, if you must talk, don’t fuel frivolous conversations about sports, movies, celebrities, food and drink, or any other “subjects of everyday talk.” My take on this is that you should not talk about these things without also using it as a medium to discuss what is “fit and proper.” More importantly, you should try not to gossip about people to the extent that you cast judgment about them without insufficient information (“to praise or criticize them, or to compare them”). 

Instead, talk about things that are “fit and proper.” What are these things? In short, focus on good things that are within your power: how people can exemplify good character—wisdom, courage, temperance, justice. Try to find common ground and work from there. Don’t assume that you have any answers (this is the opposite of wisdom). Don’t dominate the conversation (this is the opposite of temperance and justice). Don’t let any opportunity for gratitude and forgiveness slip away (this is the opposite of courage). 

How to deal with deals

Again, the Stoics are not ascetics. The Cynics would have a lot to say about the harm that material possession inflicts on us, but the Stoics are less hostile towards these things. As with our personal relationships, you can have gadgets and nice clothes and shoes unless they undermine our ability to be virtuous. Do not run out and get the newest tech without first exercising prudence and being confident that it will not prevent you from being courageous, just, and moderate. Here are more passages to reflect this Stoic intermediate position (including the most Cynical Stoic, Musonius Rufus)::

Anyone who thinks, to the contrary, that wealth is the greatest consolation . . . and that those who have it live without regret is mistaken. Wealth lets people enjoy food, drink, sex, and other pleasures, but wealth would never bring contentment to a wealthy person nor banish his grief. Consider, after all, how many rich men grieve, are disheartened, and think themselves wretched.

— Musonius Rufus, Lectures & Sayings 17 (trans. King)

Our [us Stoics’] clothes should not be fine, but neither should they be filthy; we should not own vessels of silver engraved with gold, but neither should we think that the mere fact that one lacks gold and silver is any indication of a frugal nature. The life we [Stoics] endeavor to live should be better than the general practice, not contrary to it.

— Seneca, Letters to Lucilius 5 (trans. Graver & Long)

If you recall the begininng of this post, I said that it should not be too long… and to make good on that promise, I’ll start to wrap things up… But here’s one last word from Seneca which can be applicable to many circumstances this time of year. Here’s a good rule of thumb to use when considering whether an activity, relationship, or possession may undermine your character: ask yourself whether it allows us to follow Nature:  

No matter how small the amount, it will be enough if only we get what we need from ourselves. Dear Lucilius, not wanting is just as good as having. The result is the same in both cases: either way, you will avoid anxiety. It’s not that I am advising you to deny your nature . . . You should understand, rather, that everything that goes beyond nature is a favor and not a necessity. I am hungry, so I have to eat. Nature does not care whether the bread is coarse or of the finest flour: its interest is not in pleasing the stomach but merely in filling it. I am thirsty, but nature does not care whether I take water from the nearest pool or whether it is water I have chilled in a pile of snow. All that nature commands is quenching the thirst. It does not matter whether my cup is made of gold, crystal, or agate or whether it is just a [plain] cup or even the hollow of my hand. Look to the ultimate point of everything, and then you will let go of the extra.

— Seneca, Letters to Lucilius 119.2-4 (trans. Graver & Long)

For those that want more great lines from Seneca in his conversations with Lucilius about the acquisition of wealth, I suggest you read more of Letter 119. For an even longer treatment of generosity and gratitude, check out Seneca’s On Benefits. Besides that, try not to keep your nose in a book or your eyes on a screen during the holidays. We can only become good through practicing with others and internalizing the lessons found in the ancient texts. For many reasons, this is the prime opportunity to practice.

Happy Thanksgiving.

valēte,
Justin K.