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

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

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

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

DL 7.180

Yes, 705 writings attributed to Chrysippus and yet none has survived today except as echoes in the extant texts of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius.

His influence is still felt, though, via a form of modern logic still studied today called propositional logic or sentential logic (many of you likely studied in high school or in your college’s ‘critical thinking’ course). Though the Megarians were the first to formalize the rules of logical thinking using propositions, Chrysippus perfected it. [Note: Aristotle and Theophrastus formalized logic using categories (what’s now known as ‘categorical logic’), not using propositions.] 

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

Chrysippus defines a proposition as “that which is true or false, or a complete thing that can be affirmed on its own” (DL. 7.65). That is pretty much how modern philosophers use the term; a proposition is any complete statement that makes a claim that is either true or false. The examples that Chrysippus might have used are “It is day” and “Dion is walking.” Someone who says “It is day” claims that it is day. “And if it is day, the proposition being advanced is true; if not, it is false” (ibid.). Alternatively, “questions, inquiries, and the like are neither true nor false, whereas propositions are always true or false” (7.68). A very useful proposition to practical reasoning is called a “conditional proposition.” It is constructed using the conditional conjunction “if” and an example of a conditional proposition is “If it is day, it is light.” (Cf. DL. 7.71)

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

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

DL 7.76

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

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

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

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

Though you may not know what a “proposition” was, Chrysippus and the Stoics seem to think that we automatically interpret the world propositionally. In fact, the types of arguments above and the propositions they contain are the source of our emotional and moral lives. Thus, getting a handle on propositional logic will likely help us identify errors in our thinking and help us on our journey towards virtue and happiness. 
So I express gratitude today to Chrysippus and to his Apollonian spirit. I’ll enjoy some beans in honor of him.

Valē.

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

In what would have corresponded to Oct. 6th of that year (15th of Boedromion), one of the most significant religious event occurred in Athens under the Stoa Poikile: the registration of new initiates (mystai) into the Greater Eleusinian Mysteries. 

Surely, Cleanthes and his teacher, Zeno, would have had a great familiarity about this cult of the “Two Goddesses” (Demeter and Persephone) considering it’s prominence among the Ancient Greek world and its use of the very Stoa that would serve as the namesake of Stoicism. It wouldn’t be surprising if Cleanthes was himself initiated into the mysteries considering the religious sentiments expressed in his Hymns to Zeus. Here’s one that Epictetus seemed to appreciate (Handbook 53; Cf. Discourses 3.22.93, 4.1.131, 4.4.34):

Lead me, Zeus, lead me, Destiny,

To the goal I was long ago assigned

And I will follow without hesitation. Even should I resist,

In a spirit of perversity, I will have to follow nonetheless. 

Whoever yields to necessity graciously

We consider wise in God’s ways.

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

After [Marcus] had settled affairs in the East he came to Athens, and had himself initiated into the Eleusinian mysteries in order to prove that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and he entered the sanctuary unattended. (Life of Marcus Aurelius 27.1)

It seems like Marcus was allowed to be initiated alone and perhaps in an expedited fashion (the perks of being an emperor), but normally thousands of initiates would spend an entire week preparing for and carrying out the initiation rites. During the time of Cleanthes, this would take place from the 13th to the 2oth day in the month of Boedromion. In 232 BCE (again, the year of Cleanthes’ death), this would correspond to Oct. 4th up through the 10th. The following is the description of the initiation into the Eleusinian Greater Mysteries day by day.

Oct. 4th (13 Boedromion): On this day, young Athenian soldiers (the epheboi) travel to Eleusis so that they may escort the Eleusian High Priests (Hierophantes) on their journey to Athens. Eleusis (modern-day Elefsina) was about 14 miles from Athens.

Oct. 5th (14 Boedromion): On this day, the Athenian epheboi escort the Eleusinian Hierophants and their entourage on their journey to Athens—which itself was very ceremonial. The priests carry with them “the sacred things” (hai hierai) which were in small round boxes (kistai) tied with purple ribbons. Nobody now knows what these “sacred things” were, but scholars speculate that they were ceremonial instruments left over from an ancient Mycenaean shrine that survived from the 13th Century BCE in the Eleusis region. The Hierophants and the boxes are conveyed in a wagon most of the way. When the “sacred things” arrive in Athens, the custodian of the Eleusian temple in Athens [called the “Cleaner [of the Two Goddesses] (phaidryntes)] notifies the priestess of Athena on the Acropolis as a sign of courtesy and deference to the patroness of Athens. During their residence in Athens, the “sacred things” are kept in a shrine consecrated to Demeter and Persephone called the Eleusinion which was actually set under the Acropolis.

Oct. 6th (15 Boedromion): The first official day of initiation was called “The Gathering” (Agyrmos). All those seeking initiation into the Greater Mysteries that year were to gather under the Stoa Poikile in central Athens where the Eleusinian Hierophantes (lit. “those who reveal the sacred things”) would make a announcement to the crowd, officially beginning the rites. Each would-be initiate publicly declares to have “a soul conscious of no evil and [to] have lived well and justly” (Inscriptiones Graecae II.2.1078). They would then be officially registered before moving on to the next stage. 

NOTE: There was no distinction of age or sex, and both freed men and slaves (and emperors!) were in theory equally entitled to admission. In practice, though, the initiation fee of 15 drachmas —at least ten days worth of a laborer’s wages—may have barred entry to people like our friend Cleanthes, who was known to have been relatively impoverished.

Oct. 7th (16 Boedromion): The second day of the initiation was known as “Seaward, Initiates!” (halade mystai). Though the initiates (mystai) declared the day before that they were unconscious of defilement, a positive act of ritual cleansing is needed before the official initiation. As the name implies, the initiates set out in carriages and carts to drive the eight miles to the Piraeus (the port of Athens)—specifically, the beach of Phaleron. There, they then purify themselves in the saltwater along with their own piglet that they brought along. When they return to Athens, each initiate would sacrifice their pig to Demeter and sprinkle themselves with its blood (presumably, the day would end in a feast of suckling pig).

Oct 8th (17 Boedromion): The third day of the initiation was probably known as “Hither the victims” (hiereia deuro). Not much is known about what happens on this day, but it appears to be the day of the main state sacrifice in Athens for the Two Goddesses. Those who can afford to show their piety in a public manner will make their own offerings on this day.

Oct. 9th (18 Boedromion): On the fourth day, the initiates (mystai) are required to spend the day indoors (This doesn’t sound as strange to modern ears, but it would have been very strange since much of life was spent outside). Presumably, this is a time of quiet contemplation which would be suitable preparation for the spiritual experience of the two final days. The day is known as Epidauria or Asklepieia, due to another transplanted festival that originated in Epidaurus in honor of Asclepius; it is celebrated by the city while the initiates are absent.

Oct 10th (19 Boedromion): On the fifth day of initiation into the Greater Mysteries, the “sacred things” are escorted back to Eleusis by the epheboi and all the initiates. The procession starts near the Diplyon Gate in the northwest boundary of Athens and continues on the road known as the “Sacred Way” (Hiera Hodos). The participants wear garlands of myrtle and often carry bacchoi— branches of myrtle tied together with strands of wool. They walk the entire 14 miles to Eleusis, accompanied by flute and harp players, choirs of singers, and other pilgrim onlookers. The procession passes the Academus of Plato and— after climbing over Mount Aegaleus— the sanctuary of the famous ‘Oracle of Delphi’. When they enter the original territory of Eleusis (past the streams of Rheitoi), each initiate has a yellow woolen thread tied around their right hand and the left leg which was meant to provide some kind of magical protection. When they cross the bridge over the river Kephisos, the more distinguished initiates have insults hurled at them by the locals (this roasting of elites would pop up in other aspects of Greek and Roman culture). The initiates reach Eleusis itself after sundown by torchlight. The older ones rest while the more enthusiastic ones celebrate into the night. Special offerings to Demeter are made of different kinds of grains, peas, and beans placed into earthenware dishes called kernoi.

Oct. 11th (20 Boedromion): The sixth day of initiation take place entirely in Eleusis itself. Our information about what happens from here on becomes vague as we approach the secret part of the ceremonies. It’s likely that the initiates physically fast in order to spiritually prepare themselves. After sundown (the start of the seventh day), they break their fast with a special beverage called kykeon—a special concoction of water, flour, pennyroyal (and perhaps ergot, a hallucinogenic grain fungus). The initiates are then escorted into a special building known as the Telesterion (or, “Hall of Initiation”) where the final initiation ceremony begins…

The details of the ceremony are ultimately secret, but some things can be gleaned from the reports of early Roman historians and the early Christian Fathers (though we should be careful about much of their accounts since they were usually writing to discredit the Mystery). 

The elements of the final ceremony are traditionally divided into ‘things said’, ‘things done’, and ‘things revealed’. The ‘things said’ are probably ritual formulae uttered by the priests and repeated by the initiates. The ‘things done’ may be ritual acts performed by the priests, but also mimetic reenactments of some of the myths of Demeter. The ‘things revealed’ come at the climax: these are likely the “sacred things” which had been escorted under the veil of secrecy to the Eleusinion in Athens and back to the Telesterion in Eleusis (they are usually kept in an inner sanctum—a holy of holies known as the Anaktoron where only the Hierophants might enter). After a period of darkness within the shrine, a bright light reveals the “sacred things” to the thousands of assembled initiates. Considering everything that they had gone through in the prior days, this collective visual experience likely provokes a lot of emotion (which may be amplified by the hallucinogenic ergot they ingested).

The Middle Platonist philosopher Plutarch compared the progress of the initiate to that of the philosopher seeking wisdom: 

“at first it was all noise and confusion in a jostling throng, but at last it was a great light beheld in fear and silence.”

Whatever occurs within the mysteries themselves must have provided spiritual satisfaction considering the universal respect with which the Eleusinian rites were treated throughout the Hellenistic era (they were carried out for thousands of years!)

Oct. 12th (21 Boedromion): The next day was named Plemochoai after the ritual vessels used. Each initiate takes two plemochoai to the Rharian Fields (supposedly where Demeter first taught man agriculture), fills them up with water, and tips each over—one to the east and one to the west—while uttering a mystic formula. This is likely to encourage an early Autumn rain. 

The initiation is officially complete.

The next day (22 Boedromion), the newly-initiated begin the long journey home, now as epoptai (lit., “those who have seen”).

How should we commemorate the occasion today?

I’ve thought about this a bit. Stoic philosophy is not a religion in the conventional sense. But it does ask us to foster feelings of sympathy towards others. We shouldn’t feel the unhealthy feelings of others, but we should acknowledge a deep interconnectedness and we should internalize a deep sense of community. Stoicism also asks us to foster what Pierre Hadot called a “cosmic consciousness”—a consciousness that we are part of the cosmos and a subsequent “dilation” of self.

With this in mind, there may be a place for religious or quasi-religious rituals like the ones described above. The important thing is that they actually foster healthy feelings, edify our character, and encourage us to continue our moral and intellectual development.

I’ll end with a few activities you can try. After sampling a few this weekend, consider integrating one or two of them in your weekly routine.

• Try insight meditation—for Buddhists, this practice provides “insight into the true nature of reality” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vipassan%C4%81). For Stoics, this would include themes of impermanence and mortality; the limits of agency and what’s truly “up to us”; the rational and social nature of human beings; and the beautiful cosmic order of nature. Contemplating this last theme can be supplemented by Robertson’s ‘View from Above’ script: https://donaldrobertson.name/2013/01/02/the-view-from-above-audio-recording/) 
• Try mindfulness meditation—for Buddhists, this is a well-developed practice (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mindfulness). For Stoics, this just means regularly circumscribing the present and directing your intentions there; the present is where all action takes place so it must be attended to. Keep in mind that the present often includes other people.
• Start a tradition with friends or family—if you do not wish to visit a religious services, you can create your own weekly tradition of seeing friends or family or sharing an experience remotely (movie night, game night, dinner night, etc.). The key is to maintain this tradition as if it was a religious commandment. Often this will 
• Listen to music that inspires and elevates you—music is often used to enhance religious sentiments; if there are songs that help you foster joy and that bolsters your enthusiasm for moral progress, make an effort to revisit them often. But a disclaimer: it seems important to avoid music that provokes unhealthy emotions like fear, distress, anxiety, or anger.
• Visit inspiring places—like Marcus Aurelius and the initiates of the Eleusinian Mysteries, you can also become inspired by visiting remarkable places, both natural and man-made.

Let me know if you have other ideas. Email me at justin@lastoics.com.

September V marked the beginning of the most important Roman Festival of the year, Ludi Romani, in which games and plays were held in honor of the god Jupiter. It’s fitting to commemorate Musonius Rufus (c. 30–102 CE) on this day who was known as the “Roman Socrates”

For the occasion, I strongly recommend reading one of Musonius’ lectures and using it to think more critically about contemporary issues (here’s a public domain version: https://sites.google.com/site/thestoiclife/the_teachers/musonius-rufus/lectures).

Despite their apparent simplicity in presentation, I think the collected lectures are wonderful to spark conversation and debate. Musonius seems concerned about concrete issues facing his students and his readers among the Roman intelligentsia—a refreshing alternative to more theory-centered treatises that provide general (and often ambiguous) advice.

In this blog post, I’ll just demonstrate how I personally may struggle with Musonius. He’s not as popular with modern Stoics as his student, Epictetus, but I think that’s because he’s a mixed bag. So let’s stick our hand in and see what we pull out…

Here’s the opening line from his lecture, “Why women also should study philosophy”. This demonstrates why he is often considered a “proto-feminist”—especially compared to his peers:

When someone asked him if women also should study philosophy, he began to teach, along lines like the following, how they should do it. For one thing, he said, women have received from the gods the same reasoning power as men—the power which we employ with each other and according to which we consider whether each action is good or bad, and honorable or shameful. . . . In addition, a desire for virtue and an affinity for it belong by nature not only to men but also to women: no less than men are they disposed by nature to be pleased by noble and just deeds and to censure things opposite these. Since this is so, why would it be appropriate for men but not women to seek to live honorably and consider how to do so, which is what/studying philosophy is? Is it appropriate for men to be good, but not women?

Lectures & Sayings 3.1-2 (trans. Cynthia King)

Musonius also has a lecture titled “Whether daughters should get the same education and sons”—Musonius says “of course”— along with lectures about whether kings should study philosophy, whether you should obey your parents about everything, when and when you shouldn’t file a suit against someone else, what food you should and shouldn’t eat, what to do as you enter old age, how you should furnish your house, and how you should cut your hair. Despite what little we have of his words, you can understand how Epictetus was inspired by a man with such forceful opinions.

He also has a couple lectures that I’ve seen modern readers struggle with, especially those with more progressive sentiments. In his lecture titled “What is the chief end of marriage?” Musonius answers the question right away:

He said that the chief end of marriage is uniting to live together and have children. Husband and wife should come together for the following reasons: to live with each other, to have children, and to consider all things as common possessions and nothing as private not even the body itself.

Lectures & Sayings 13A.1

This often reminds me of the debates I’d enter around same-sex marriage in the early 2000s. Some say that marriage must be between a man and a woman for the sake of procreation and maintaining a healthy environment for the upbringing of children.

Despite all the problems with this view nowadays, I suspect that it has some more force when placed in the context of early Imperial Rome (1st Century CE). The population of Rome was low (especially since they recruited many into the military and shipped off others to colonies); lifespans were relatively low, and child death were high. The barrage of existential crises would framed legal marriage as a means to foster stability and growth for the state.

Here’s a passage from the lecture titled “On whether all children who are born must be raised” that demonstrates the importance of historical context.

The lawgivers—whose job it was to research and consider what is good for a city and what is bad, what benefits the common good and what harms it—didn’t they all consider it most beneficial for cities that citizens’ households be increased and most harmful for cities that these households be diminished? Didn’t they think it unprofitable for citizens to have few or no children, and didn’t they think it profitable for them to have children and even, by Zeus, to have a lot of them? Because they thought this, they forbade women from inducing miscarriages and established punishment for those who disobeyed, they forbade women from agreeing to be childless and from preventing conception, they honored married couples who had a lot of children, and they punished those who were childless. Wouldn’t we therefore be doing unjust and unlawful things if we acted contrary to the intention of the lawgivers—men who were godlike and beloved by the gods, and whom we must consider it right and advantageous to follow?

Lectures & Sayings 15A.1-2

Yes, there are some communities that find it important to have many children and grow for the sake of the community (here’s a modern morally suspect instance of it: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quiverfull), but Musonius Rufus continues his lecture with a slightly different argument. More children and more siblings are good for the individuals, who benefit from establishing such a strong support system. He shifts from an appeal to legal and divine authority (in the passage above) to a virtue ethics argument: yes, the lawgivers condone child-rearing and condemn contraception, but in addition to helping the state prosper, having children (and siblings) will help the individuals prosper. It’s subtle (and perhaps not as explicit as modern readers would like), but Musonius’ main concern as a Stoic must be the individual and individual virtue. He makes this point more clearly with marriage:

The birth of the child which this union will bring about is important. But this cannot be the only motive for marriage since procreation could result from sexual relations apart from marriage, just as when animals mate. In marriage there must be, above all, companionship and care of husband and wife for each other, both in sickness and in health and on every occasion. Each party entering into a marriage desires this, after all, just as they desire children. When this mutual care is complete and those who live together provide it to each other completely, each competes to surpass the other in giving such care. Such a marriage is admirable and deserves emulation; such a partnership is beautiful.

Lectures & Sayings 13A.2 (my emphasis)

So marriage is for the purpose of procreation but, above all, to foster companionship and help the individuals nurture the virtues corresponding with healthy social relations. And I would argue that this is the case with having children as well. Childbearing and child-rearing is for the purpose of growing the state and making it stronger but, above all, for the purpose of helping the parents and children flourish. Here’s the last lines of the extant lecture on bearing children:

I myself think that the man who lives with many loyal brothers is most worthy of emulation, and I think that the man who enjoys these blessings is most beloved by the gods. Therefore I think that we should try to leave our children brothers rather than possessions, in order to give them greater chances for blessings.

Lectures & Sayings 15B.3

Musonius insists that parents give their children many siblings to save the first-born from inheriting many possessions. Having many possessions will invite jealous “plotters” and may cause more trouble for the individual who has them.

Again, Musonius’ main concern is the individual rather than the state. It’s important to make this distinction because it may help us discuss the option of having children today. If the aim of the individual is in accordance with the aim of the state, there are no issues (this was the case in Musonius’ time). But if there are no longer issues with low populations, short lifespans, and high child deaths, the concern shifts to the individual and their ability to flourish with children. Will having children undermine the parents’ ability to foster and maintain good character? For Stoics, that’s really the only question that needs to be asked. But it needs to be answered, ultimately, by the individual.

My analysis isn’t the final analysis, but I hope it invites you, the reader, to think more critically about the ostensibly straightforward lectures that we have from Musonius. There’s certainly more insights to be mined for those who are willing to work for it.

Augustus (or, Sextilis) XII marked the Roman Festival of Herculia which commemorated Herculi Invictus (Hercules the Victor). It corresponded with a very popular Athenian festival, Herakleia, held some day in the corresponding month of Metageitnion at the gymnasium of Cynosarges. 

It’s fitting to commemorate Epictetus this day who has such close ties with Rome, his physical homeland; Athens, his spiritual homeland; Hercules, whom he presents as a moral exemplar in his Discourses; and Cynosarges, the birthplace of Cynicism, which Epictetus also praised extensively (see Disc. 3.22 for example)

Overwhelmed with what I could potentially focus on for this important Stoic holiday, I’ve decided to focus on what’s arguably the most important contribution of Epictetus: his distinction between what’s “up to us” and what’s “not up to us.” He called this the “first rule” or “primary criterion” (protos kanon).

Some things are up to us, while others are not. Up to us is judgment, impulse, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever is of our own doing; not up to us are our body, our property, reputation, office, and, in a word, whatever is not of our own doing. 

Handbook (Encheiridion) 1.1

“Some things are up to us, while others are not.” (tôn ontôn ta men estin eph’ êmin, ta de ouk eph’ êmin)

The phrase “up to us” (eph’ êmin) has been used as a technical term in Greek philosophy since Aristotle. When something is  “up to us,” it’s meant in an absolute sense—it’s always and invariably in our power to influence; its existence depends on us. Thus, other translations include “depends on us,” “in our power,” and “in our control.”

We should keep in mind that Epictetus is listing things with an inherent property of being “up to us.” There may be things that seem “up to us,” but it will turn out that it is just a contingent property. For example, I may think that my computer keyboard is “up to me” since I am able to type out these words on it according to my intentions, but being “up to me” is not an inherent property of the keyboard. My computer may shut down, someone may come and steal it, I may have a stroke or otherwise lose consciousness. Thus, the keyboard’s being “up to me” is merely contingent on factors that are more obviously “not up to me” and can easily loose this property.  The point is that, for Epictetus, if something is up to us, then it must be invariably and always up to us. So what does he include on this list?

“Up to us is judgment, impulse, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever is of our own doing” (eph’ êmin men hupolêpsis, hormê, orexis, ekklisis, kai heni logô hêmetera erga)

“Judgment” (hupolêpsis) includes opinions, beliefs, conceptions, and how we regard things in general, especially how we evaluate things. The word literally means a taking hold or grasping (lêpsis) underneath (hupo)—as if to then carry with you (see Ench. 43). Epictetus could have stopped the list here. This is everything—”life is judgment” (ho bios hupolêpsis) as Marcus Aurelius says at 4.3.4. He continues with more examples of what is “up to us” but they can all be reduced to judgment—either occurrent judgments (ones we are making in the moment as the result of conscious deliberation) but also dispositional judgments (ones that we’ve made long ago and carry with us so to speak).

“Impulse” (hormê) is the physiological process that occurs simultaneously with or quickly after judgment.  The Greek Stoics defined impulse as a ‘motion of the soul towards something’ (Stob. 2.7.9) (and, keep in mind, that the Stoics take the soul to be physical— corresponding roughly to the nervous system). It’s important to note that while impulse in not in our immediate control, it is totally “up to us” in the sense that it manifests solely depending on our past or present judgments. Thus, it’s “up to us” to alter those impulses by reassessing our judgments. Impulse (hormê) and its opposite, repulsion (aphormê), can manifest in a couple different ways as Epictetus then proceeds to list…

“Desire” or “reaching” (orexis) is a kind of impulse toward something that we’ve judged to be worth pursuing and obtaining—either because it’s pragmatic to do so or because the object has been evaluated as “good”. When it’s the latter, we experience the unhealthy emotion of desire (epithumia) or healthy emotion of wishing (boulêsis) depending on whether “It is good” is an appropriate judgment of the object. Again, this is totally “up to us” even though it may take some work to get it right (thus, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius focus on the so-called “discipline of desire” to help with this).

“Aversion” or “withdrawal” (ekklisis) is simply the opposite of desire. It is a kind of impulse away from something (again, pthat we’ve judged to be worth avoiding or getting rid of—either because it’s merely pragmatic to do so or because the object has been evaluated as “bad”. When it’s the latter, we experience the unhealthy emotion of fear (phobos) or the healthy emotion of caution (eulabeia) depending on whether “It is bad” is an appropriate judgment of the object.

“not up to us are our body, our property, reputation, office, and, in a word, whatever is not of our own doing” (… ouk eph’ êmin de to sôma, hê ktêsis, doxai, archai, kai heni logô h0sa ouch hêmetera erga)

Body (soma) is not “up to us” because of its tendency to not do what we want it to do—a more frequent occurrence as we get older, but common enough throughout our entire lives. Instead of expecting our body to obey us, we should direct our focus and energy to our judgments and intentions: “I judge that it’s appropriate to type these words right now knowing full well that my body may have a stroke and loses consciousness.” Modern Stoics call the “knowing full well…” bit of this intention a “reservation clause”. It’s important to include such provisos into all our judgements knowing that most things are not “up to us”.  I can use my body and the equipment of my life—reach out and withdraw in whatever way I think is appropriate—but I must face the fact that other factors will likely intervene to obstruct my intentions. This is even more true of property or possessions (ktêsis), reputation or the opinions of others (doxai), office or positions of power (archai) and everything I encounter beyond my own judgments and impulses.

I’ll stop my analysis there. This formula for living a happy and free life—Epictetus’ “first rule”— is so simple that many people read more into it than is necessary. The main takeaway that I want to impart is this: life is judgment. This is truly the only thing that is “up to us”—we make judgments about the world and about ourselves, we internalize these judgments that then trigger different kinds of impulses as we navigate throughout our day. These impulses manifest as actions and/or as emotions. So as long as we ensure our judgments are rational, our lives will go well. We must pay attention to them—especially the ones that we’ve internalized and are less aware of. We must stay open-minded and adjust our assumptions, beliefs, and judgments according to the facts. Slowly we will make progress.

In Plato’s Parmenides, the characters gather in the house of Pythadorus in the Kerameikos neighborhood of Athens just outside the city walls on the 28th day of the month of Hecatombaion in 450 BCE. The famous Parmenides and his student Zeno, both originally from Ionia (western Turkey), are also there along with an Aristotle of Thorae (in southern Attica), a teenage Socrates, and two others. They are all in Athens for the Panatheneia—the most important festival in ancient Athens.

In Plato’s Timaeus and in his Critias, set exactly twenty-one years after the events of the Parmenides—again, on the 28th day of Hecatombaion—the characters gather in the house of the prestigious Critias (father of Critias “the tyrant”). Timaeus of Locri (in southern Italty) is also there along with Hermocrates of Syracuse, and a Socrates in his forties. They are there for another Panathenaia.

There is also good evidence that most of Plato’s Republic (Books 2-5) was set during the Panathenaia as well. In that dialogue, people from all over Attica, as well as Syracuse and Chalcedon (modern-day Istanbul).

I like to refer to the dramatic details of Plato’s dialogues because I think it gives insight into the lifestyle and personality of Socrates, who has been so important to the Stoics and Stoic philosophy. So why am I mentioning these four dialogues? What insights are they providing? Simply put: Socrates and his peers considered the Panathenaia festival a wonderful opportunity to have challenging discussions, tell fascinating stories, and foster a sense of community.

There are a couple reasons why the festival was fertile for such lively gatherings. First, it was a commemoration of Athena, the goddess of wisdom and so there may have been an expectation of intellectual discussion in addition to the other events of the Panathenaia. Second, the festival was so important that it drew attendees from all over the Mediterranean who brought with them differing worldviews and philosophical perspectives. That’s what creates a healthy community: differing perspectives, an open-mindedness to them, and a flexibility to change your own perspective if there are good reasons to do so.

Today (July 27th) corresponds to the 28th day of Hecatombaion—Panathenaia. So how should we commemorate it? I say we take a day to recognize the importance of what’s happening in those houses in Athens that Plato is dramatizing: cosmopolitanism.

Stoic Cosmopolitanism

The idea of cosmopolitanism, the view that all people are moral equals insofar as they are all citizens of a “cosmic city,” is as orthodox to Stoicism as any of its ideas. It was adapted from Socrates and Diogenes the Cynic but embraced fully by Zeno as made clear in his Republic, where the citizens of the ideal city—presumably realizing their equal status by virtue of their wisdom—treat each other equally without the need for laws nor social hierarchy. We can’t cite passages from Zeno’s Republic but we can cite the work of later Roman Stoics who preserved the idea of cosmopolitanism in the Stoic tradition.

Here’s Seneca:

Let’s embrace the idea that there are two commonwealths (res publicas). The one is vast and truly common to all, and includes the gods as well as mankind; within it, we look neither to this mere corner nor to that, but we measure the boundaries of our state by the sun’s course. The other is the one in which we are enrolled by the circumstances of our birth I mean Athens or Carthage or any other city that belongs not to the whole of mankind but to a particular population. Certain people give devoted service to both

On Leisure 4.1

Here’s Epictetus:

“Consider who you are. First of all, a human being (anthrôpos), that is to say, one who has no faculty more authoritative than choice (prohairesis), but subordinates everything else to that, keeping choice itself free from enslavement and subjection. Consider, then, what you’re distinguished from through the possession of reason: you’re distinguished from wild beasts; you’re distinguished from sheep. What is more, you’re a citizen of the world (politês tou kosmou) and a part of it, and moreover no subordinate part, but one of the leading parts in so far as you’re capable of understanding the divine governing order of the world, and of reflecting about all that follows from it. …”

Discourses 2.10.1-6

Here’s Marcus Aurelius:

The time you have left is short. Live it as if you were on a mountain. Here or there makes no difference, if wherever you live you take the world as your city (polis). Let men see, let them observe a true man living in accordance with nature. If they cannot bear him, let them kill him – a better fate than a life like theirs.

Meditations 10.15; Cf. 2.16, 6.44

The implication here is that you are a “citizen of the world,” a “cosmopolitan,” a “cosmopolite” (my favorite). Your ability to exercise rational choice is your proof of citizenship and nobody can take that away from you (even if they kill you). More importantly, we are fellow citizens, fellow cosmopolites. If I were to recognize this and truly internalize it, I should have the corresponding feelings and I should treat you as I treat anyone with whom I share a strong identity.

Today, Stoic and Stoic-inspired philosophers are trying to preserve the idea of cosmopolitanism. I will cite only one powerful example: Anthony Appiah’s work in which he promotes cosmopolitanism and succinctly defines it as “universality plus difference” (Cosmopolitanism p. 151). Note the need here to not only bring us all together into one universal identity but to also acknowledge and accept the differences between us that maintain that healthy community I described above.

And it all starts with opening a dialogue.

Panathenaic Games

Many of us don’t have the skill (yet) to carry on lively intellectual discussions in the manner of Socrates and Parmenides. So, an easy way we can open dialogues and foster a sense of community and cosmopolitanism is to get together with friends in-person and play games. This is perfect because it discourages folks from looking at their smartphones and excusing themselves from the event, but it still provides the opportunity to talk in a low-pressure, low-stakes environment.

It’s not surprising to learn that Panathenaia was also the time for the “Panathenaic Games” (which seemed much larger and popular than the Olympic Games in the 5th and 4th century BCE). There were not only intellectual discussions, but also physical competitions and contests for plays and poems. So, like our ancient fellow cosmopolites, we can take a day around this time to enjoy some friendly gameplay.

Below, I listed some techniques that you can use to help you maintain equanimity while playing games (some people with competitive streaks might need this more than others!). Just remember that the ultimate goal in every circumstance—yes, even while playing games— is virtue.

Some techniques

• Use a ‘reserve clause’: state a plan and then add “fate willing”—many elements of gameplay, like life, are a matter of chance
• Ask “is this in my power to influence/control?” to your impressions—for example, the impression of how well you’re doing in the game 
• Aim for a particular virtue in the face of frustrating situations, always maintaining equanimity throughout (hardships are opportunities)
• Take a ‘depreciation  by analysis’ approach as Marcus Aurelius does in his Meditations 6.13: describe things without using value judgments; or, ‘decompose’ them into less value-laden parts 
• Take a ‘view from above’— in the grand scheme of things, how significant are your hardships (and boons)?
• Speak little but well with a prosocial intention

More Concrete Advice

• Consider ahead of time how you should approach… 
  • Uncooperative (slow, naive, distracted) co-players? 
  • Overly-talkative (annoying, obnoxious, loud) co-players?
  • Instigating (boastful, insulting, overly-critical) co-players?
  • Confusing/arcane rules?
  • A dispreferred draw or dice roll?
  • Losing? Wining?

• Before starting the game, settle upon a certain character/disposition that you wish to maintain during gameplay; consult this ideal regularly
• If things are not going your way, acknowledge that there are always opportunities to cultivate good character (virtue) 
• During your turn, state what exactly you’d like to do (quietly to yourself or out loud) and then add “fate willing,” “God willing” (inshallah/ojalá), or just “unless something prevents me”
• Regularly acknowledge (quietly or out loud) what is under your influence / up to you and what is not
• Regularly acknowledge (quietly or out loud) what we are doing while playing the game and it’s significant in the grand scheme of things

Regardless of what you decide to do to foster a sense of community and cosmopolitanism, do it prudently, with good spirit and equanimity.

Farewell.

—Justin K.

It’s a slow process but I’m finding different ways to make our group and our website better.

With the help of a fellow Stoic, I set up an email marketing service that I hope will make things easier for everyone: you will be able to find info about group meetings easier and I will be able to automate or streamline a couple administrative things.

BOTTOM LINE FOR YOU:

• If you just want to receive blog posts and articles from me (nothing else), you don’t have to do anything—I’m gonna keep using my subscriber list for that.
• If you want to receive regular notifications about actual meetings, enter your first name and email in the appropriate fields and select the brand new “JOIN THE GROUP” button on the website (http://www.lastoics.com) in the right margin of the page or at the bottom of the page. You can also just click HERE.

If you have questions or encounter technical difficulties, email me at justin@lastoics.com.

Take care
Justin K.
Facilitator, L.A. Stoics

Happy New Year!

If we were following the Attic Lunisolar Calendar, today (June 30th) would be New Year’s Day.

Like many cultures in the past and present, citizens of Attica and its allies looked to the sun and moon to track progress through their religious calendar and mark the days of their festivals. In the Attic calendar, the year begins after the Summer Solstice and each month begins when the first sliver of the waxing moon is visible after a new moon (this is the practice with other lunar calendars used today). TONIGHT, we should be able to see the first bit of the waxing crescent moon after the Summer Solstice; thus, marking the first day of the first month of the new year. The corresponding day in our modern Gregorian calendar is different every year but it would have to fall between June 22nd and July 22nd and we can commemorate the occasion accordingly.

So how should we commemorate the occasion? I propose we use the day to celebrate Athens, the capital of Ancient Attica and the philosophical center of the Western world for centuries. It was also the origin of Stoicism and the home of the Greek Stoa.

We can also commemorate the occasion by celebrating those that lived in Athens and contributed to its intellectual tradition. Interestingly, among all the Greek philosophers that we consider important, it seems that only Socrates, Plato, and Xenophon could claim Athens as their birthplace. All others became citizens only after immigrating there from other parts of the Mediterranean and beyond. Here’s a list of some famous Athenians of the original Greek Stoa that suggests that Stoicism was originally a philosophy for immigrants:

• Zeno came from Citium (modern day Cyprus) and was apparently of Phonecian descent
• Cleanthes and Aristo came from Ionia (modern day Turkey on the Aegean coast)
• Sphaerus was from Borysthenes (modern day Ukraine on the coast of the Black Sea)
• Chrysippus and Zeno of Tarsus came from the Cilicia region (modern day Turkey near Cyprus)
• Diogenes of Babylon traveled very far indeed before settling in Athens with the Stoics there
• Panaetius and Posidonius were from the large island of Rhodes

Once Rome was on the scene, Posidonius relocated the old Greek Stoa to Rhodes, which provided philosophical training to Romans who made the long trip (like Cicero).

Who is your favorite Athenian? You can skim through Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers (https://en.m.wikisource.org/wiki/Lives_of_the_Eminent_Philosophers) or else some modern works (Kai & Leo’s Being Better or Ryan Holiday’s Lives of the Stoics) if you want to learn more about them.

What else should you do today? In addition to commemorate the philosophers of the past, you should consider them as your ancestors and acknowledge yourself as the most recent member of a prestigious lineage– not one built around nationality, ethnicity, or class (what the ancients might describe as a “noble birth”), but built around a common pursuit of wisdom and virtue. Acknowledge your philosophical family and welcome anyone into it who is like-minded.

[E]xcellence of mind is available to all. Philosophy neither rejects anyone nor chooses anyone; it shines for all. Socrates was no patrician; Cleanthes hauled water, and hired himself out to water people’s gardens; Plato did not come to philosophy a nobleman but was ennobled by it. Why should you not hope perhaps to become their equal? All of them are your ancestors if you prove yourself worthy if them. And you will do so if you persuade yourself, right now, that no one is superior to you merely by reason of noble birth.

Seneca Letters to Lucilius 44.2-3 (trans. Graver & Long)

Happy New Year– Here’s wishing you a strong resolve to become better, to grow mentally/emotionally/morally … and to be happy.

After a careful reading of letters 72 and 75 in Seneca’s Letters on Ethics (trans. Graver & Long), my mind went to work trying to reconcile two lists that Seneca provides of different categories of “progressors” (proficientes) ––those who are making progress towards wisdom, but who are not yet wise. This is not meant to be a formal or comprehensive list––far from it—but it does reveal some insights into the task we face as philosophers.

First, here are some important notes about the terminology Seneca uses. I think they’re important to fully appreciate what he’s saying.

• “Emotion” is the translation of the term “adfectus” (sg. of adfectī) ––This is Seneca’s preferred Latin translation of the Greek term pathos (sg. of pathē). Although Cicero preferred to use the term passiō (sg. of passiōnēs), Seneca is using a less common Latin term (according to the Lewis & Short dictionary, it’s an alternate spelling of the more common “affectus” used by Seneca and Pliny to describe a “low, ignoble passion or desire”). So where the texts use the word “emotion,” this does not imply all emotions, but only the unhealthy emotions which are the products of irrational value judgments. They occur whenever we fall prey to a judgment that an external thing (a thing/circumstance not ‘up to us’) is either good or bad, when in fact it is indifferent.
• “Infirmity” is the translation of the term morbus (sg. of morbī)––This is the Latin translation of the Greek term nosēma (pl. of nosēmata) or arrōstēma (sg. of arrōstēmata). Margaret Graver provides a detailed description of them in Ch. 6 of her Stoicism and Emotion (2007), but Seneca does a fine job at Letters 75.11-12 (along with the distinction between them and “emotion”). Note that though an emotion is a judgment, an infirmity is a “persistent judgment” (pertinax iudicium):

The infirmities are faults that have become ingrained and hard, like greed and ambition. These are conditions that bind the mind much more tightly and have begun to be permanent afflictions. To give a brief definition, an infirmity is a persistent judgment in a corrupted person that certain things are very much worth pursuing that in fact are only slightly worth pursuing. Or, if you prefer, we can define it this way: it is being overly concerned with things that one ought to pursue either casually or not at all, or considering something to be of great value when in fact it is either of some lesser value or of no value at all. The emotions are unjustifiable movements of the mind that are abrupt and agitated. These, when they occur frequently and do not receive any treatment, cause the infirmity, just as a single cold in the head, if it is not protracted, brings on nothing more than a cough; but if it happens repeatedly for a long time, it brings on the wasting disease.

With these two conditions in mind (emotions and infirmities), you may guess what Seneca thinks should be addressed first. Faced with a temporary––though perhaps acute––affliction and with a persistent disease, we should free ourself from the disease first. Here, Seneca is assuming that we are suffering from both and that they are both within our abilities to cure. But, of course, before treatment, we must set the intention to actually get better.

Enough prologue. Here are the “stages of progress” (genera profectus) or “categories of progressors” (genera proficientium) described by Seneca in Letters 72 and 75 combined into one list:

STAGE 1 (Suffering from emotions and infirmities and absent of good intentions): “Novices (imperiti) devoid of training plummet downward without end; they fall into the chaos of Epicurus, a boundless void.” (72.9)

STAGE 2 (Suffering from emotions and infirmities, but with the intention to improve): “A person who has good intentions (bona voluntas) and is making progress (habet profectum), but who is still a long way from the summit, moves alternately upward and downward: now he mounts to the sky; now he is brought back down to earth.” (72.9)

STAGE 3 (Suffering from some infirmities and some emotions, but free from others): “[Those who are] beyond many serious faults (multa et magna vitia), but not all. They have escaped greed, but still experience anger; they are not troubled by lust, but are still subject to ambition. They no longer experience desire, but they still experience fear. Even in fear they are steadfast against some things but yield to others: they are unconcerned about death but still terrified of pain.” (75.14)

STAGE 4 (Suffering from some emotions, but free from all infirmities / liable to backslide): “[T]hose who have put aside both the worst of the mind’s failings (maxima mala animi) and the emotions (et adfectus), but not in such a way as to have a secure grasp on their tranquility (securitas): they are still liable to relapse.” (75.13)

STAGE 5 (Suffering from some emotions [perhaps], but free from all infirmities / NOT liable to backslide): “[T]ose who do not yet possess wisdom but have set their feet in that vicinity, for being nearby is still being outside. … They are those who have put aside their emotions (adfectus) and their faults (vitia), but whose loyalty is still untried. They do not yet possess their good in such a way as to use it; nonetheless, it is no longer possible for them to fall back into those things they have left behind. They are now in that place from which there is no backsliding, but they do not yet realize this about themselves. … Already it is their lot to enjoy their good, but not yet to be confident of it. … [Some] assert that they have now rid themselves of the infirmities of mind (morbi animi) but not yet of the emotions (adfectus) …” (75.9-10)

STAGE 6 (Free from all infirmities and emotions [but not yet wise]): “[They] who are on the verge of wisdom (adludunt sapientiae; lit. “they play/frollic with wisdom”). Although they have not yet reached it, they have it in sight—within striking distance, as it were. No longer are they buffeted by the waves; no longer do they even feel an undertow. Though not yet landed, they are already within the harbor.” (72.10).

So, in summary, it’s important to start training ourselves by fostering an intention to become better; then we should start dismantling our inclinations towards external things that we personally get worked up over; then we must proceed to eradicate the unhealthy emotions piecemeal until they’ll all gone. The more we progress, the more confidence we can place on our good character. Again, it makes sense: the infirmities are unhealthy ‘conditions’ (habitus/hexeis) of the mind that are described as stable, persistent, or habitual. They need to be addressed before we can hope to rid ourselves of any isolated case of unhealthy emotion.

You may ask, “Where are you on this list, Justin?” … Well, I can say without shame that I am at Stage 2. I am certainly afflicted with more than one infirmity, but perhaps I have less than others. Sometimes I think I am at Stage 3, but I shouldn’t presume. Here’s what Seneca says on the matter:

Let us give some thought to this matter. It will be well for us if we can join [Stage 5]. By great natural gifts and constant studious application, one may attain to [Stage 4]; [Stage 3], however, is not to be despised. Think how many ills you see around you—how no wrong is unexampled, how much depravity advances each day, what misdeeds are committed both publicly and in private-and you will realize that it is sufficient achievement for us if we are not among the worst… “I hope I can gain a higher rank,” you say. That would be my wish for us; but it is a wish, not a promise. We have already been taken over: we are in the grip of faults even as we strive for virtue. I am ashamed to say it, but we seek honorable conduct only in our spare time. And yet if we make a clean break from the things that preoccupy us and from our faults that cling so closely, how great is the reward that awaits us!

Letters 75.15-16 (modified for clarification)

Where are you? How far have you progressed?

[Note for those familiar with Graver: I noticed that Seneca does not mention the proclivities (euemptōsiai)—the tendency or habit of experiencing specific emotions. For example, if you easily experience anger (orgē/ira), then you have a distinct condition of the mind called irascibility (orgilotēs/iracundia) that needs to be dismantled before you move to eradicate anger itself. Seneca may not have mentioned proclivities because I don’t think some people have them (though I’m sure many people do) and maybe he thought his mild-mannered friend Lucilius didn’t need to worry about it. People don’t automatically foster them though; Seneca seems to think they are forged through repeatedly giving into unhealthy emotions over time (he discusses this in more detail in his treatise On Anger (De Ira). All that being said, if you think you have a proclivity towards a particular emotion, then you should start addressing them ASAP along with any infirmities]

Today marks the 2,421st anniversary of Socrates’ death, which took place on June 15th, 399 BC in Athens.

On May 16th, he defended himself unsuccessfully against charges of immorality and impiety (both considered a kind of sedition against the state) and sentenced to death. That day, he was escorted across the agora one last time and placed in the state prison down the road. Normally, the sentence would have been carried out immediately, but the festival of Thargelia (or, the “Lesser Delia”) just began the day before when the ship of Theseus left the port of the Piraeus to the sacred island of Delos. There was a moratorium on executions while it was away, so the seventy-year-old philosopher waited in his cell… The ship of Theseus would not return for thirty more days.

Here’s Xenophon explaining the circumstances to those that were upset or confused about the events:

[L]et him reflect, first, that Socrates was already so far advanced in age that he would soon have reached the end of his life, even if he had not done so then; and second, that he escaped the most disagreeable part of life, in which everybody’s intellect deteriorates, and instead of this displayed his strength of mind and won distinction by pleading his cause with unparalleled veracity, dignity and integrity, and by facing the death-sentence with the utmost serenity and fortitude.

It is generally agreed that no one in the memory of man has ever met his death more nobly. He had to live on for thirty days after his trial, because the festival of Delos fell in that month, and the law does not permit any publicly sanctioned execution until the mission has returned from Delos. It was evident to his intimate friends that during this time he did not deviate at all from his former way of life—and he had previously been remarkable above all men for the cheerfulness and equanimity of his life. How could anyone die more nobly than this? What death could be nobler than a death most nobly accepted? What death could be more happy than the noblest? And who could be more beloved of the gods than the happiest?

Xenophon’s Memorabilia 4.8.1-3 (trans. Tredennick & Waterfield)

What’s remarkable is how Socrates spent the last days and hours and minutes of his life. As Xenophon put it, he died nobly because he died with courage, cheerfulness, and equanimity. It’s a simple but powerful portrait of a good and happy man. For this blog post, I just wanted to take you through these last moments and then reflect the impact they had on what future generations of Stoics.

In Plato’s Phaedo, the titular character is narrating to Echecrates the pythagorean what happened on Socrates’ last day in prison.

Among the local people there was Apollodorus, whom I mentioned, Critobulus and his father, also Hermogenes, Epigenes, Aeschines and Antisthenes. Ctesippus of Paeania was there, Menexenus and some others. Plato, I believe, was ill … [Also present were] Simmias from Thebes with Cebes and Phaedondes, and from Megara, Euclides and Terpsion.

Plato’s Phaedo 59b-c

Socrates and his friends quickly enter a philosophical discussion about death and the soul and how philosophy is “practice” for dying (67e).

An important digression occurs when Simmias and Cebes insist on objecting to Socrates’s hypothesis that the soul is immortal. There seems to have been an awkward silence among the Athenians (88c) and Socrates takes time to assure them that engaging in rational discourse is always welcomed and that they should not distrust it even if it is used improperly:

[W]e should not become misologues, as people become misanthropes. There is no greater evil one can suffer than to hate reasonable discourse.

Plato’s Phaedo 88d

The rest of the dialogue promulgates Plato’s Theory of “Forms” (ideae), which is not in keeping with Stoic philosophy (Stoic physics insists that particular entities—not universal ‘forms’—enjoy the highest ontological status). So, it would be best if you skipped to section 115 of the text where the discussion ceases and Phaedo continues his narration.

Here are the last passages which describe the final minutes of Socrates’ life. It is not yet sunset (when the execution was scheduled), but Socrates asks for the cup of hemlock anyways. Now that the conversation with his friends is over, he has taken a bath to “save the women the trouble of washing the corpse” (115a) and he is now ready to die:

“When Socrates saw [the man who was to administer the poison, carrying it made ready in a cup] he said: “Well, my good man, you are an expert in this; what must one do?”—”Just drink it and walk around until your legs feel heavy, and then lie down and it will act of itself.” And he offered the cup to Socrates, who took it quite cheerfully, Echecrates, without a tremor or any change of feature or color, but looking at the man from under his eyebrows as was his wont, asked: “What do you say about pouring a libation from this drink? It is allowed?”—”We only mix as much as we believe will suffice,” said the man. 

I understand, Socrates said, but one is allowed, indeed one must, utter a prayer to the gods that the journey from here to yonder may be fortunate. This is my prayer and may it be so.

And while he was saying this, he was holding the cup, and then drained it calmly and easily. Most of us had been able to hold back our tears reasonably well up till then, but when we saw him drinking it and after he drank it, we could hold them back no longer; my own tears came in floods against my will. So I covered my face. I was weeping for myself, not for him—for my misfortune in being deprived of such a comrade. Even before me, Crito was unable to restrain his tears and got up. Apollodorus had not ceased from weeping before, and at this moment his noisy tears and anger made everybody present break down, except Socrates. “What is this,” he said, “you strange fellows. It is mainly for this reason that I sent the women away, to avoid such unseemliness, for I am told one should die in good omened silence. So keep quiet and control yourselves.”

His words made us ashamed, and we checked our tears. He walked around, and when he said his legs were heavy he lay on his back as he had been told to do, and the man who had given him the poison touched his body, and after a while tested his feet and legs, pressed hard upon his foot and asked him if he felt this, and Socrates said no. Then he pressed his calves, and made his way up his body and showed us that it was cold and stiff. He felt it himself and said that when the cold reached his heart he would be gone. As his belly was getting cold Socrates uncovered his head—he had covered it—and said—these were his last words—“Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius; make this offering to him and do not forget.”—“It shall be done,” said Crito, “tell us if there is anything else.” But there was no answer. Shortly afterwards Socrates made a movement; the man uncovered him and his eyes were fixed. Seeing this Crito closed his mouth and his eyes.

Such was the end of our comrade, Echecrates, a man who, we would say, was of all those we have known the best, and also the wisest and the most upright.

Plato’s Phaedo 117b-118a (trans. Grube)

Socrates thus died either from respiratory failure or heart failure due to the paralysis induced by the hemlock poisoning. The muscle pain and burning sensations would have been very painful, but from the extant accounts of his death, Socrates died without complaint. His last words were a request that a rooster be sacrificed to Asclepius, the god of medicine. This was usually done as a sign of gratitude for relieving a patient of a serious illness.

Immediately after Socrates’ death, the ancient world saw a resurgence of philosophical activity by his students. The “Socratic dialogue” became a popular genre and we still retain examples of these by Plato and Xenophon. Schools of philosophy were established in Athens and abroad. And a hundred years later, the school of “Stoicism” was founded by Zeno of Citium and his followers who all considered them the spiritual successors of Socrates.

And the spirit of Socrates lives on as long as there were Stoics to sing him praise. Below are some references to the death of Socrates by the later Roman Stoics who lived over four hundred years after the death of Socrates and whose writings we are still lucky to have.

SENECA (1st Century)

Can you find any city more wretched in any way than the Athenians’ city when the thirty tyrants tore it apart? . . . Yet Socrates was openly out in public life and comforted the mourning fathers and exhorted men despairing of the state, and reproached wealthy men fearing the consequences of their riches because they came too late to regret the dangers brought on by their greed; he bore himself as a mighty example for those willing to imitate him, walking as a free man among the thirty masters. But Athens herself killed him in jail, and liberty did not tolerate the liberty of the man who had safely provoked the horde of tyrants; you learn from this that even in an oppressed state there is a chance for the wise man to put himself forward, and that in a flourishing and happy state envy and a thousand other evils dominate. So, however the government presents itself, however fortune allows, we shall either expand ourselves or shrink ourselves in such a way that we shall, at any rate, be taking action, not paralyzed or strangled with fear. In fact, that man will be a hero who, when dangers threaten on all sides and weapons and chains clash all around, will not crush or conceal his virtue. For burying oneself is not a form of salvation.

— On Tranquility of Mind 5.1-4

In your judgment, was Socrates badly treated because he swallowed that publicly mixed potion no differently than a tonic of immortality and discussed death right up to death? Was he badly done by because his blood congealed, and the coldness creeping in little by little brought the vigor of his veins to a standstill? How much more ought we to envy him than those to whom wine is served in a jeweled cup, or for whom a male sex slave, who has been taught to endure all things and whose manhood has been cut off or is ambiguous, melts snow floating in a cup of gold. They will measure back out in vomiting whatever they drank, reluctantly re-tasting their own bile. But Socrates will gulp down poison joyfully and willingly.

— On Providence 3.12-13

“Every age supplies [examples to strengthen you with]. Wherever you direct your powers of recall, amid civic or external affairs, individuals will come to mind who were either morally advanced or exceptionally bold… Socrates lectured while in prison, and although there were people there to arrange an escape, he refused to leave; instead, he stayed, meaning to do away with humankind’s two greatest fears: death and imprisonment.

— Letters 24.4 (trans. Graver & Long)

“Socrates could have starved himself to death, choosing lack of food over the poison. Yet he spent thirty days in prison waiting for death, not because he thought that anything might still happen (as if such a  long time had room for many possible outcomes), but so that he might submit to the laws and give his friends the benefit of Socrates’ last days. To despise death but fear poison: what could be more foolish?”

— Letters 70.9

“If you need a model, take Socrates, a very patient old man. He suffered all kinds of hardships, but he was overwhelmed neither by poverty (which his domestic troubles made more onerous) nor by the physical work he had to endure, including military service. He was hard pressed at home, whether we think of his ill-mannered wife with her shrewish tongue or his ineducable children, resembling their mother rather than their father. Outside the home, he lived either in war or under tyranny or in a freedom that was more cruel than war and tyrants. The war lasted for twenty-seven years. After it ended, the state was subjected to the harm caused by the Thirty Tyrants, many of whom were personally hostile to Socrates. Finally, he was charged with the most serious offenses. He was accused of undermining religion and corrupting the youth by inciting them against the gods, their fathers, and the state. After this came prison and the hemlock. All this had so little effect on Socrates’ mind that it did not even alter his facial expression. What remarkable and unique distinction! Right up to the end, no one ever saw Socrates any more or less cheerful than usual. Amid the extreme changes of fortune, he was always unchanged.

— Letters 104.27-28

EPICTETUS (2nd Century)

“What is the downside for those who refuse to accept [our circumstances]? To be just as they are. . . . ‘Throw him in jail.’ What jail? The one he is in already, since he is there against his will; and if he is there against his will then he is imprisoned. Conversely, Socrates was not in prison because he chose to be there.”

—Discourses 1.12.23 (see also Phaedo 98e-99b)

“Court and prison are two places, one high, the other low. Your character, however, can be kept the same in either place – if you decide it should. We will rival Socrates when we can spend our time in prison composing hymns. But considering our attitude up to now, I wonder if in prison we could even stand someone else offering to read us his own compositions. ‘Don’t bother me; don’t you realize the problems I’ve got? You think I can listen to poetry in my position?’ ‘Why, what is it?’ ‘I’m sentenced to death!’ ‘And the rest of us aren’t?’”

—Discourses 2.6.25-6

“And how did he behave when it was time to drink the poison? Given the opportunity to save himself, with Crito urging him to go into exile for his children’s sake, did he look upon this as the lucky pretext he needed to stay alive? Hardly. He reflected on the right thing to do, with no thought or regard for anything else. In his own words, he didn’t want to save the body, he wanted to preserve the element that grows and thrives with every act of justice, the element that is diminished and dies by injustice. Socrates does not save his life at the cost of dishonour – Socrates, who resisted the Athenians’ call to bring an illegal motion to a vote, defied the tyrants, and spoke so memorably on the subject of virtue and character. Such a man is not saved with dishonour; an honourable death, not flight, is his salvation. A good actor preserves his reputation not by speaking lines out of turn but by knowing when to talk – and when to keep quiet. . . .  Even now, long after Socrates’ death, the memory of what he did and said benefits humanity as much as or more than ever.”

—Discourses 4.1.162-69

“It is not events that disturb people, it is their judgements concerning them. Death, for example, is nothing frightening, otherwise it would have frightened Socrates. But the judgement that death is frightening – now, that is something to be afraid of.

— Enchiridion 5

MARCUS AURELIUS (2nd Century)

“… It is not enough that Socrates [performed admirable deeds]… No, what we need to investigate is the nature of Socrates’ soul. We should ask whether he was able to be content with a life of justice shown to men and piety to the gods; neither condemning all vice wholesale nor yet toadying to anyone’s ignorance; not regarding anything allotted to him by the Whole as misplaced in him or a crushing burden to endure; not lending his mind to share the poor passions of the flesh.”

— Meditations 7.66

You can tell a lot about someone’s character by examining the manner by which they face death. The Roman Stoics admired Socrates for the courage and equanimity that he displayed. They also seemed to admire the patience and compassion that he showed his friends. The ancient Stoics also admired Marcus Cato the Younger for the brave death he underwent when he lost to Julius Caesar. I myself admire Cicero and Seneca for similar reasons.

We should admire anyone who demonstrated exemplary virtue and wisdom in their final hours. Who would you put on your list?

I must emphasize one thing before I finish this post… Think about the character traits displayed by someone you admire in moments when others may have given into fear or may have otherwise compromised their moral integrity. These character traits are what your role model had already—they were what made their life worth living before they came to the end of it… Good character is most visible in the face of hardship, but it can only be relied upon in times of hardship if it is already internalized—fostered and integrated into one’s disposition long before it’s called upon. Good character cannot be exhibited in an isolated event―it cannot be called upon from nowhere at the last moment in the face of death or danger, but must be cultivated and maintained in the midst of life. My point is simple: if you want to face death with courage and equanimity, start now. Face life with courage and equanimity, as Socrates did.

On the second day of Thargelion (May 16th in the Julian calendar), 399 BCE, at the age of 70 years old, Socrates was brought to the high court of Athens. According to Plato’s Apology, he was officially charged with two crimes—amorality and impiety:

Socrates is a wrongdoer because [#1] he corrupts the youth and [#2] does not believe in the gods the state believes in, but in other new spiritual beings

Plato’s Apology 24b-c

In his preliminary statement, Socrates insists that there are actually two sets of accusers that he has to confront. Besides his most recent accusers — Meletus, Anytus, and Lycon — Socrates had already been charged with similar accusations by those of the Athenian public who spread rumors and harbored grudges against him for years …

For many accusers have risen up against me before you, who have been speaking for a long time, many years already, and saying nothing true; and I fear them more than Anytus and the rest, though these also are dangerous; but those others are more dangerous, gentlemen, who gained your belief, since they got hold of most of you in childhood, and accused me without any truth, saying, “There is a certain Socrates, a wise man, a ponderer over the things in the air and one who has investigated the things beneath the earth and who makes the weaker argument the stronger.”

Plato’s Apology 18b

This portayal of Socrates sounds similar to the one in Aristophanes’s Clouds put on for the Athenian public 24 years earlier. Socrates is implying that many of the adults serving on the assembly (i.e., the jury) have learned from the older generation that he was always an amoral and impious sophist.

With this in mind, Plato has Socrates present his defense speech (Sections 17a-35d of his Apology) into four sections:

• Sections 17a-20c: defense against his early accusers
• Sections 20c-24b: first digression (“The Divine Mandate”)
• Sections 24b-28a: defense against his later accusers
• Sections 28a-35d: second digression (“The Examined Life”)

While addressing his first accusers, Socrates explains to the assembly how his troublesome “occupation” — his practice of questioning his fellow Athenians— was initiated by a proclamation from the god Apollo [via the Oracle at Delphi (a.k.a., the ‘Pythia’)]:

… once [Chaerephon] went to Delphi and made so bold as to ask the oracle this question; and, gentlemen, don’t make a disturbance at what I say; for he asked if there were anyone wiser than I. Now the Pythia replied that there was no one wiser. . . when I heard this, I thought to myself: “What in the world does the god mean, and what riddle is he propounding? For I am conscious that I am not wise either much or little. What then does he mean by declaring that I am the wisest?

Plato’s Apology 21a-b

After investigating the matter, Socrates says that he interpreted the encounter as a kind of divine mandate. His “occupation” should be to verify the god’s claim and demonstrate the nature of human wisdom. Socrates’ way of life for which he is brought to court is now portrayed as a “service of the gods” (see Apology 22a, 23b, 30a, and perhaps 38a) and, thus, an instance of piety (thus, charge #2 is wrong).

Socrates’ response to his later accusers is actually quite brief—consisting of a classic Socratic discussion with Meletus which ends with the following passage:

I do but think, men of Athens, that it requires a prolonged defense to prove that I am not guilty of the charges in Meletus’ deposition, but this is sufficient. On the other hand, you know that what I said earlier is true, that I am very unpopular with many people. This will be my undoing, if I am undone, not Meletus or Anytus but the slanders and envy of many people. This has destroyed many other good men and will, I think, continue to do so.

Plato’s Apology 28a-b

This transitions into an inspiring theme of the Apology that begins here and continues on after the verdict is voted upon—how does Socrates justify his choice to risk being “destroyed” for the sake of philosophy?

Someone might say: “Are you not ashamed, Socrates, to have followed the kind of occupation that has led to your being now in danger of death?” However, I should be right to reply to him: “You are wrong, sir, if you think that a man who is any good at all should take into account the risk of life or death; he should look to this only in his actions, whether what he does is right or wrong, whether he is acting like a good man or a bad man.”

Plato’s Apology 28b

And because Socrates believes this, he has become the “gadfly” of Athens (30e)—annoying, offending, exhorting, and reproaching his fellow Athenians who do not realize this truth:

Wealth does not bring about excellence, but excellence (virtue; aretê) makes wealth and everything else good for men, but individually and collectively.

Plato’s Apology 30b

After Socrates’ defense speech, the jury finds Socrates guilty (barely, with a vote of 280 to 221). Here, Socrates drives home the earlier theme that he began at in the passage above:

Perhaps someone might say: But Socrates, if you leave us will you not be able to live quietly, without talking? Now this is the most difficult point on which to convince some of you. If I say that it is impossible for me to keep quiet because that means disobeying the god, you will not believe me and will think I am being ironical. On the other hand, if I say that it is the greatest good for a man to discuss virtue every day and those other things about which you hear me conversing and testing myself and others, for the unexemined life is not worth living for men, you will believe me even less. What I say is true, gentlemen, but it is not easy to convince you.

Plato’s Apology 37e-38a

Socrates ultimately suggests a legitimate sentence for himself—a considerable fine rendered with the help of Plato and some other friends who were in the courtroom that day (35e-38b).

The jury votes and approves the prosecution’s sentence of death (with a much larger margin of 360 to 140).

In Socrates’s parting speech (sections 38c-42a), he criticizes those who voted him ‘not guilty’ and yet voted for the sentence of death—as usual, it’s the inconsistency which is upsetting to Socrates. So, to those that voted for his total acquital, he leaves this powerful message, which the Stoics will establish as their central tenet 100 years later:

. . . keep this one truth in mind, that a good man cannot be harmed either in life or in death, and that his affairs are not neglected by the gods.

Plato’s Apology 41d

Though Socrates himself faced social or institutional injustice, he remained unharmed. Socrates embodied the virtue of justice himself and no one could have stripped him of that most precious thing. Even when he was thrown in prison, he remained free. Even when he was executed and killed, he lived a good life—one that many (especially Stoics) insist is a model for human excellence. We should reflect on this person’s character and ask ourselves how we can emulate it to whatever degree possible.

Go to www.lastoics.com/socrates to learn more and read Plato’s Apology in full.