Slideshow from London Stoicism conference, 2017.
People often notice that, despite being a Stoic, Seneca quotes Epicurus favourably at the start of the Letters to Lucilius. That’s hard to miss. He mentions him in about the first thirty letters, and periodically thereafter. Seneca also refers to Epicurus and Epicureanism, albeit sometimes more indirectly, throughout his other writings.
From that evidence people occasionally leap to the conclusion that Seneca was espousing a hybrid of Epicureanism and Stoicism, or at least that he had assimilated significant Epicurean ideas into his version of Stoicism. This would be surprising, of course, because the Stoics were generally known for their ardent criticism of Epicureanism. They traditionally saw it as fundamentally opposed not only to their own philosophy but to most schools of Hellenistic philosophy derived from Socratic ethics. The Discourses of Epictetus, for example, contain very blunt and hostile criticism of Epicureanism. The same criticisms are made by Seneca, typically with greater diplomacy but, as we’ll see he was also sometimes extremely hostile toward Epicureanism. These appear to be well-established Stoic lines of argument, that probably derive from much earlier sources. The main bone of contention was that most schools of philosophy viewed the doctrine that virtue is an end-in-itself (“virtue is its own reward”) as fundamental. The Epicureans were one of the few schools to reject this view, and to propose instead that virtue in itself is of merely instrumental value, as a means to attaining pleasure (hedone) or tranquility (ataraxia).
John Sellars, in his recent book on Marcus Aurelius, arrives at the same conclusion about Seneca’s relationship with Epicurus:
In his correspondence with Lucilius, Seneca insisted that one ought to think of Epicurean sayings as common property of all, rather than belonging to a particular school (Ep . 8.8). Elsewhere, Seneca was often openly hostile towards Epicureanism, and he described his ventures into Epicurean material as an expedition into an enemy camp (Ep. 2.5). In short, Seneca was happy to take from Epicurus or to acknowledge common ground where it suited him, while remaining firmly sceptical about Epicurean philosophy as a whole.
Sellars, Marcus Aurelius
Sellars concludes that Marcus Aurelius shared a similar attitude to Epicureanism.
At the beginning of the Letters to Lucilius, Seneca actually seems quite positive about Epicureanism. Although, as we’ll see, his compliments are carefully qualified. As he proceeds, in the later letters, he begins to intersperse more serious criticisms. Likewise, elsewhere in his writings, such as On Benefits, Seneca is scathingly critical of Epicurean ethics. One interpretation that scholars have offered is that Seneca wrote the Letters to Lucilius precisely in order to persuade Epicureans to “convert” to the Stoic philosophy. He goes out of his way here to open with references to Epicurus and to emphasise areas of apparent common ground, leaving his criticisms until later.
He sometimes praises Epicurus’ character, while nevertheless attacking his philosophy. Indeed, it was a common strategy among other Hellenistic authors to argue that certain philosophers are more praiseworthy than their teachings, i.e., that their own character and way of life was inconsistent with their philosophy. Even within the Letters to Lucilius, therefore, Seneca makes it clear right from the outset that Epicureanism is to be viewed as the enemy camp:
The thought for today is one which I discovered in Epicurus; for I am wont to cross over even into the enemy’s camp – not as a deserter but as a scout. (Letters, 2)
Note that here as elsewhere, such as in On Leisure, Seneca stresses that he is merely scouting out Epicureanism and not deserting Stoicism, in any sense. He later explains,
It is likely that you will ask me why I quote so many of Epicurus’ noble words instead of words taken from our own school. But is there any reason why you should regard them as sayings of Epicurus and not common property? (Letters, 8)
He says several times that the quotes he draws from Epicurus typically articulate very commonplace ideas found in the writings of many earlier philosophers, poets, and playwrights. There are many ideas expressed by the Stoic school which we should not be surprised to find echoed elsewhere. However, that does not mean that the Stoics or Seneca agree with everything, or even the main things, said by these other authors. Indeed, Seneca is implicitly criticising Epicurus by pointing out that what is good in Epicureanism is not unique, and what is unique in it is not good.
By the ninth letter, Seneca is openly criticising Epicureanism, however. He rejects the Epicurean doctrine that the wise man needs friends to achieve the goal of living a truly pleasant life, free from fear and pain. The Stoic position is that the wise man is self-sufficient but that he prefers to have friends, fate permitting. Seneca quotes a letter of Epicurus as saying that the wise man needs friends for the reason:
That there may be someone to sit by him when he is ill, to help him when he is in prison or in want.
Seneca, like other Stoics, criticises Epicurus for teaching his followers to develop what we call today “fairweather friendships”. Friends are valued by the Epicureans only as a means to the end of protecting their own peace of mind, comfort, and tranquillity. This is something Seneca, like other Stoics, sees as morally reprehensible. Seneca writes:
He who regards himself only [i.e., his own self-interest], and enters upon friendships for this reason, reckons wrongly. The end will be like the beginning: he has made friends with one who might assist him out of bondage; at the first rattle of the chains such a friend will desert him. These are the so-called “fair-weather” friendships; one who is chosen for the sake of utility will be satisfactory only so long as he is useful. […] He who begins to be your friend because it pays will also cease because it pays. (Letter, 8)
The Stoics believe that genuine friendship is based on love of another person’s character, because they are good (virtuous), and share our values, not merely because having them as our friend is expedient. (What happens when their company ceases to be calming? Do we ditch them?)
In Letter thirteen, Seneca opens by praising the philosophy of Epicurus:
I myself believe, though my Stoic comrades would be unwilling to hear me say so, that the teaching of Epicurus was upright and holy, and even, if you examine it narrowly, stern: for this much talked of pleasure is reduced to a very narrow compass, and he bids pleasure submit to the same law which we bid virtue do – I mean, to obey nature. (Letters, 13)
However, he immediately qualifies this by saying that Epicureanism lends itself to abuse and misinterpretation by contemporary adherents looking for an excuse to justify their own bad habits
Luxury, however, is not satisfied with what is enough for nature. What is the consequence? Whoever thinks that happiness consists in lazy sloth, and alternations of gluttony and profligacy, requires a good patron for a bad action, and when he has become an Epicurean, having been led to do so by the attractive name of that school, he follows, not the pleasure which he there hears spoken of, but that which he brought thither with him, and, having learned to think that his vices coincide with the maxims of that philosophy, he indulged in them no longer timidly and in dark corners, but boldly in the face of day. I will not, therefore, like most of our school, say that the sect of Epicurus is the teacher of crime, but what I say is: it is ill spoken of, it has a bad reputation, and yet it does not deserve it.
Once again, Seneca begins by apparently praising the virtue of the Epicurean school, and defending it against critics, but then subtly shifts toward criticism as the letter proceeds. He does this by blaming Epicurus himself for fostering this popular misinterpretation of his philosophy. He portrays the Epicurean schools as a brave man dressed in effeminate clothing, noisily banging a drum to draw attention. Apparently in reference to the motto above the door to the Garden (“Stranger, here you will do well to tarry; here our highest good is pleasure.”) Seneca writes:
Choose, then, some honorable superscription for your school, some writing which shall in itself arouse the mind: that which at present stands over your door has been invented by the vices.
Clearly, this no longer sounds like praise of Epicureanism, the tone has shifted dramatically toward criticism. He immediately proceeds to argue that making pleasure the supreme goal of life, as Epicurus did, is problematic unless it is subordinated to reason.
He who ranges himself on the side of virtue [i.e., the Stoics] gives thereby a proof of a noble disposition: he who follows pleasure [i.e., the Epicureans] appears to be weakly, worn out, degrading his manhood, likely to fall into infamous vices unless someone discriminates his pleasures for him, so that he may know which remain within the bounds of natural desire, which are frantic and boundless, and become all the more insatiable the more they are satisfied. But come!
However, whereas Stoics make reason (wisdom) the supreme goal and subordinate pleasure to it, the Epicureans inverted this and made reason or virtue of merely instrumental or subordinate value to their goal of pleasure (or absence of pain, ataraxia).
Let virtue lead the way: then every step will be safe. Too much pleasure is hurtful: but with virtue we need fear no excess of any kind, because moderation is contained in virtue herself. That which is injured by its own extent cannot be a good thing: besides what better guide can there be than reason [as opposed to pleasure] for beings endowed with a reasoning nature? So if this combination pleases you, if you are willing to proceed to a happy life thus accompanied, let virtue lead the way, let pleasure follow and hang about the body like a shadow: it is the part of a mind incapable of great things to hand over virtue, the highest of all qualities, as a handmaid to pleasure.
So from fulsome praise of Epicurus, Seneca has very rapidly proceeded into scathing criticism, and ends up apparently selling the advantages of Stoicism over Epicureanism as a guide to the best way of life.
In letter thirty-three, Seneca, as he has done several times already, stresses that Epicurus’ valuable sayings are common to poetry, plays, and philosophy in general.
Poetry is crammed with utterances of this sort, and so is history. For this reason I would not have you think that these utterances belong to Epicurus. They are common property and are emphatically our own. They are, however, more noteworthy in Epicurus, because they appear at infrequent intervals and when you do not expect them, and because it is surprising that brave words should be spoken at any time by a man who made a practice of being effeminate. For that is what most persons maintain. In my opinion, Epicurus is really a brave man, even though he did wear long sleeves. (Letters, 33)
Again, Epicurus’ character is praised, although his philosophy is being criticised. This may have generally been considered courteous, although it also serves as a rhetorical strategy for softening the blow of criticisms made against Epicureanism.
For example, Seneca elsewhere rejects as absurd, in two letters, the teaching of Epicurus that the wise man even experiences pleasure while being tortured. In letter sixty-six, his theme is to show that virtue, the supreme good, can flourish even in a frail, sickly, ugly, or impoverished body. He opens by declaring the Stoic doctrine that virtue needs nothing else to set it off – it lacks no extrinsic goods, in other words. Seneca compares this to what Epicurus said:
Epicurus also maintains that the wise man, though he is being burned in the bull of Phalaris, will cry out: “Tis pleasant, and concerns me not at all!” (Letters, 66)
Here as elsewhere, Seneca notes that it is hard to believe, or implausible, that the Epicurean wise man finds it “pleasant to be roasted in this way”.
We find mentioned in the works of Epicurus two goods, of which his Supreme Good, or blessedness, is composed, namely, a body free from pain and a soul free from disturbance. These goods, if they are complete, do not increase; for how can that which is complete increase? The body is, let us suppose, free from pain; what increase can there be to this absence of pain? The soul is composed and calm; what increase can there be to this tranquillity? […] Whatever delights fall to his lot over and above these two things do not increase his Supreme Good; they merely season it, so to speak, and add spice to it. For the absolute good of man’s nature is satisfied with peace in the body and peace in the soul.
Seneca goes on to say that Epicurus’ writings contain “a graded list of goods just like that of our own [Stoic] school”, by which he presumably means the Stoic list of virtues and also the hierarchy of things considered to be of secondary value (axia), which are not “good” in the strict sense. (The Stoics sometimes use the word “good” loosely to describe “indifferent” things, which are merely “preferred”.)
For there are some things, he declares, which he prefers should fall to his lot, such as bodily rest free from all inconvenience, and relaxation of the soul as it takes delight in the contemplation of its own goods. And there are other things which, though he would prefer that they did not happen, he nevertheless praises and approves, for example, the kind of resignation, in times of ill-health and serious suffering, to which I alluded a moment ago, and which Epicurus displayed on the last and most blessed day of his life. For he tells us that he had to endure excruciating agony from a diseased bladder and from an ulcerated stomach, so acute that it permitted no increase of pain;” and yet, “he says, “that day was none the less happy.”
Seneca appears to be alluding to the Epicurean definition of the Supreme Good, mentioned earlier by him, and defined as “a body free from pain and a soul free from disturbance.” However, the “resignation, in times of ill-health” he mentions is the virtue of fortitude or endurance, which Epicurus reputedly valued only as a means to the end of maintaining pleasure and tranquillity.
Seneca began this letter by praising goods such as rational pleasure and tranquillity in agreement with Epicurus, he then argued at length contrary to Epicurus that virtue must be equal to other goods. Now, however, he qualifies that position by concluding that reason or virtue maintained in the face of adversity is obviously more praiseworthy and admirable than the peaceful tranquillity of someone living a pleasant and contented life.
Allow me, excellent Lucilius, to utter a still bolder word: if any goods could be greater than others, I should prefer those which seem harsh to those which are mild and alluring, and should pronounce them greater.
He suggests that though all uses of reason and virtue are equal, greater “I should bestow greater praise on those goods that have stood trial and show courage, and have fought it out with fortune.” He follows this with the celebrated example of Gaius Mucius Scaevola, who burned his own hand to defy the Romans’ enemies.
Why should I not reckon this good among the primary goods, and deem it in so far greater than those other goods which are unattended by danger and have made no trial of fortune, as it is a rare thing to have overcome a foe with a hand lost than with a hand armed?
He even goes so far as now to say that he should desire adversity himself, as an opportunity to exercise virtue. Somehow, what started off as praise of Epicureanism, by the end of the letter, has turned into a very different stance, where Mucius is held up as a Stoic exemplar that seems very obviously at odds with the Epicurean ideal. Once again, Epicurus is praised for his personal virtue of endurance in the face of physical pain, which is presented as being at odds with his own teaching that virtue is of merely instrumental value and the absence of physical pain is part of the Supreme Good.
In letter ninety-eight, Seneca criticises Epicurus more openly, although pairing that with a (fairly commonplace, once again) point of agreement:
Let us disagree with Epicurus on the one point, when he declares that there is no natural justice, and that crime should be avoided because one cannot escape the fear which results therefrom; let us agree with him on the other – that bad deeds are lashed by the whip of conscience, and that conscience is tortured to the greatest degree because unending anxiety drive and whips it on, and it cannot rely upon the guarantors of its own peace of mind. (Letters, 88)
The Stoics were appalled by the Epicurean doctrine that the main reason to avoid committing a crime or injustice is basically fear of being caught. They typically point out that in many situations there is absolutely no risk of being found out, so Epicureanism provides no rationale for acting in the manner we’d normally consider ethical. They agree that vice tends to lead to inner turmoil, but for the Stoics a good man refrains from immoral deeds because they are immoral, not just because they cause him anxiety.
In his other writings, Seneca is even more openly critical of the Epicureans. For example, Book IV of On Benefits, deals with the Socratic and Stoic contention that virtue is its own reward. Seneca contrasts this with the Epicurean doctrine that virtue is merely of instrumental value, as a means of procuring pleasure or the absence of suffering (ataraxia):
In this part of the subject we oppose the Epicureans, an effeminate and dreamy sect who philosophise in their own paradise, amongst whom virtue is the handmaid of pleasures, obeys them, is subject to them, and regards them as superior to itself. You say, “there is no pleasure without virtue.” But wherefore is it superior to virtue? Do you imagine that the matter in dispute between them is merely one of precedence? Nay, it is virtue itself and its powers which are in question. It cannot be virtue if it can follow; the place of virtue is first, she ought to lead, to command, to stand in the highest rank; you bid her look for a cue to follow.
This is really the fundamental Stoic criticism of Epicureanism. It constitutes a complete difference of opinion of their respective definitions of the supreme goal of life. Seneca continues:
“What,” asks our [Epicurean] opponent, “does that matter to you? I also declare that happiness is impossible without virtue. Without virtue I disapprove of and condemn the very pleasures which I pursue, and to which I have surrendered myself. The only matter in dispute is this, whether virtue be the cause of the highest good, or whether it be itself the highest good.” Do you suppose, though this be the only point in question, that it is a mere matter of precedence? It is a confusion and obvious blindness to prefer the last to the first. I am not angry at virtue being placed below pleasure, but at her being mixed up at all with pleasure, which she despises, whose enemy she is, and from which she separates herself as far as possible, being more at home with labour and sorrow, which are manly troubles, than with your womanish good things.
Compare this to Seneca’s slightly more opaque version of essentially the same argument, in Letter 66 above. He continues to criticise his Epicurean “opponents” throughout On Benefits. For example, later in Book IV, he presents criticisms of Epicurus’ negatively-defined goal of life, absence of suffering, as being akin to sleep (or death), which were first made many centuries earlier by the Cyrenaic school:
You Epicureans take pleasure in making a study of dull torpidity, in seeking for a repose which differs little from sound sleep, in lurking beneath the thickest shade, in amusing with the feeblest possible trains of thought that sluggish condition of your languid minds which you term tranquil contemplation, and in stuffing with food and drink, in the recesses of your gardens, your bodies which are pallid with want of exercise; we Stoics, on the other hand, take pleasure in bestowing benefits, even though they cost us labour, provided that they lighten the labours of others; though they lead us into danger, provided that they save others, though they straiten our means, if they alleviate the poverty and distresses of others. (On Benefits, 4.13)
Addendum
Seneca also explicitly mentioned Epicureanism in his essay On Marriage, although only fragments survive today. Traditionally, Epicureanism was portrayed as advocating a much more reclusive way of life than Stoicism, and greater withdrawal from society. It was said that Epicureans told their followers not to marry or have children, and to avoid public life, whereas the Stoics gave the opposite advice. However, there were apparently exceptions on both sides. It is certainly true that Epicurus taught in a private garden, surrounded by a circle of close friends, whereas Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, taught at the Stoa Poikile, a public building in the Athenian agora – the former a very private place, the latter a very public one.
In On Marriage, Seneca rejects Epicurus’ advice that wise men should, with few exceptions, avoid marriage.
Epicurus says that the wise man rarely gets married, because marriage is accompanied by many inconveniences. Although riches and honor and physical health are named “indifferent things” by our school, and are neither good nor bad; nevertheless, we can compromise with what you might call a middle position: by how these things are used and how they turn out, they become either good or bad. So too with wives, who are on the cusp of either good or bad things. But a wise man must think hard about whether he’s about to marry a good or a bad woman.
Seneca, On Marriage
Although, strictly speaking, other people are indifferent with regard to our flourishing, according to Stoic Ethics, nevertheless, our attitude toward others is not indifferent. Loving a wife may be virtuous, and therefore integral to the goal of life.
The Obstacle is the Way: The Timeless Art of Turning Trials into Triumph (2014) by Ryan Holiday is a book about overcoming apparent setbacks and by turning them to our advantage. It’s not exactly a book about Stoicism but it does contain a great many references to Stoicism, which reinforce the central message that every adversity is potentially an opportunity.
Ryan was the keynote speaker at the Stoicon 2016 conference in New York, where he talked about the profound influence that reading the Stoics had on his life. The book he subsequently co-authored with Stephen Hanselman, The Daily Stoic, focuses exclusively on Stoic wisdom, presenting quotations from the classics for each day of the year.
Indeed, the title of The Obstacle is the Way is inspired by a famous quotation from The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, which reads:
The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.
This is a quote from the Gregory Hays translation of Meditations 5.20, which Marcus begins by reminding himself that in one respect other people are of concern to us and that we have a duty to help them, alluding to the Stoic concept of oikeiôsis, or identifying with the welfare of others. In another respect, though, he says other people are as indifferent to us as sun or wind, or wild animals, being external to our own mind and volition. We shouldn’t place too much importance on what they think of us, as long as we’re aiming to do what’s right and acting wisely.
Ryan’s book contains a plethora of anecdotes about historical figures who have persevered in the face of social and material obstacles, under conditions that would make many people abandon hope. In that respect, it stands in a venerable tradition of self-help books, one that goes back indeed to the Victorian classic Self-Help (1859) by Samuel Smiles. It also harks back, as Ryan notes, to Plutarch’s Lives, the express purpose of which was to be simultaneously both an ethical and historical treatise by focusing on what can be learned from the characters and virtues of numerous great men.
There’s plenty of good advice in The Obstacle is the Way; it’s an interesting and entertaining read. It will perhaps also inspire many people to study Stoicism in more depth and also to explore the range of psychological skills and strategies used by the Stoics to overcome such obstacles, and maintain their equanimity in the face of adversity. That’s something I’ve written about but unfortunately I still don’t think there’s a really good popular introduction that covers the range of Stoic doctrines and practices.
I was pleased that the book made me realise the beautiful simplicity and appeal of the story of Demosthenes, the famous Athenian orator. I told my five-year old daughter this tale after reading about him in the book, and she made me tell it to her again and again, two or three times the same day. There were many stories from American political history that I wasn’t very familiar with, which were also fascinating to read.
The most important thing about the book, though, is its message that a formula for turning obstacles into opportunities can be learned from the examples of these great (and in some cases not so great) men and women. From Marcus Aurelius to Ulysses S. Grant, Thomas Edison, Theodore Roosevelt, Amelia Earhart, Erwin Rommell, Abraham Lincoln, and Barack Obama. Most of these individuals had their strengths and weaknesses, of course. (As a Scot, my flesh crawls at the sight of Margaret Thatcher’s name, and Steve Jobs was a notorious bully who exploited his own friends and workers in ways that many people would balk at as unethical.) However, what Ryan’s doing is trying to model specific examples of resilient behaviour and attitudes from these recognisable figures, not their whole lives and characters, which are inevitably a mixed bag.
That’s something I think he’s achieved admirably and I’m very pleased the book has already become so successful. Every day, it seems to bring more people into the Stoic community, who say they “got into Stoicism” after reading The Obstacle is the Way, and now have a thirst to learn more. That’s a good thing. As the founders of the Stoa taught: the wise man has a duty and natural calling to write books that help other people. Though none of us are indeed wise, we can help others by writing about the lives of people who exemplify virtues to which we might all aspire. That’s why I think this is a book worth reading. It gives people hope that they might be able to learn how to live like that, with admirable resilience and tenacity, and it surely motivates them to engage in self-improvement in the same direction.
In ancient philosophy the term “eclecticism” normally refers to philosophers who don’t adhere to a particular school of thought but borrow concepts and theories from multiple sources. In particular, the philosopher Antiochus of Ascalon, the teacher of Cicero, introduced an eclectic approach to the Platonic Academy, which attempted to assimilate elements of Stoic and Aristotelian thought into Platonism.
However, when people today talk about eclecticism they often just mean a more general notion of combining different philosophical elements. The Stoic school itself was originally “eclectic” in this sense. When Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, arrived in Athens, he found himself at a bookseller’s stall and allegedly read Xenophon’s Memorabilia of Socrates. (Possibly the section in which Socrates’ relates the parable called The Choice of Hercules, developed by his friend, the Sophist Prodicus.) According to other accounts, though, Zeno had already read the Dialogues of Plato in his youth.
Zeno was originally a wealthy Phoenician dye merchant who reputedly lost his fortune at sea, and was shipwrecked near Athens. The story goes that Zeno consulted the Oracle at Delphi and was told to “take on the colour of dead men”, which he interpreted as meaning he should study the philosophers of previous generations.
After reading about Socrates, Zeno turned to the bookseller and asked where he could meet such a man. The Cynic Crates of Thebes was walking past at that moment, and the bookseller pointed him out to Zeno, who became his follower for many years as a result. Crates had been the student of Diogenes of Sinope, the founder of Cynicism. Diogenes in turn was allegedly inspired by one of Socrates’ closest and most highly-regarded followers, Antisthenes. (Although modern scholars doubt Diogenes could have actually met Antisthenes, it’s quite possible he encountered his writings and perhaps even some of his followers.)
Hence, in the ancient world, authors such as Diogenes Laertius, claimed that the Stoic school founded by Zeno descended directly from Socrates via Antisthenes, and the Cynics Diogenes and Crates. This is sometimes called the “Cynic-Stoic succession” theory. Antisthenes was sometimes even referred to as the founder of Cynicism in the ancient world – he was reputedly nicknamed Haplokuon (“Absolute Dog”) and taught at the Cynosarges (“White Dog”) gymnasium.
We’re also told that Zeno studied in the Platonic Academy, under the famous scholarchs Xenocrates and Polemo. The Cynics did not teach Physics or Logic and it seems that Zeno felt this was a serious omission, which he could rectify by attending other more “academic” philosophical lectures. Nevertheless, we also know that Zeno attacked Plato’s philosophy, particularly in his Republic, a critique of Plato’s book of the same name.
We also know, however, that Zeno studied under philosophers of another Socratic sect: the Megarians and the associated Dialecticians. The Megarian school specialised in logic and was founded by Euclid of Megara, another one of Socrates’ circle. The head of the Megarian school in Zeno’s day, Stilpo, was considered one of the greatest intellectuals of his time. We find references to him and to Megarian Logic scattered throughout the surviving Stoic literature. Zeno also appears to have studied with another famous Megarian called Diodorus Cronus. Although the Megarians were particularly renowned for their Logic, they also had influential ethical teachings, which may have resembled those of the Cynics and other Socratic sects in holding that virtue is the only true good.
Zeno therefore studied under the main figures of all three major surviving Socratic sects of his day. Xenophon, whose Memorabilia Zeno had read, greatly admired Antisthenes. Like the Stoics, the Cynics believed that virtue was the only true good. Antisthenes also appears to have believed this, and perhaps to have attributed it to Socrates. Likewise, Xenophon appears to suggest this was Socrates’ ethical philosophy. There are some indications that this was also the position of the Megarian school, and possibly they too derived it from Socrates. The Stoics therefore possibly believed that the doctrine that became associated with them, that virtue is the only true good, was derived ultimately from Socrates himself, via most of his followers, with the notable exception of Plato, who portrays Socrates saying this in some of his earlier Dialogues, but equivocates elsewhere. The Platonic Academy later became associated with the doctrine that virtue is the highest but not the only good, and that the good life is composed of virtue in combination with bodily and external goods, which was also the position of the Aristotelian school.
On some accounts, Zeno is surprisingly silent about Aristotle. However, Plutarch claims that Zeno was heavily critical of the Peripatetic school. Aristotle stood somewhat outside of the Socratic tradition, and Zeno apparently did not choose to study in the Lyceum. The early Stoics generally appear relatively uninterested in Aristotle’s philosophy.
Those were the major Hellenistic influences on Stoicism. However, there are also many references to the pre-Socratic philosophy of Pythagoreanism in the surviving Stoic literature, particularly to the Golden Verses of Pythagoras. We know that Zeno wrote a book on Pythagoreanism. So he may have studied Pythagorean writings when developing his conception of the Stoic philosophy.
It’s also generally believed that the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus was important to Stoicism. There’s no evidence Zeno studied Heraclitus. However, Cleanthes, Zeno’s successor, the second head of the Stoa, wrote a book on Heraclitus. For all we know, though, Zeno may have also referred to Heraclitus in his own writings on Physics and that may be why Cleanthes chose to write about him.
These philosophies all influenced the development of Zeno’s original Stoic school, and they continue to be influential among Stoics right down to the Roman Imperial age. That’s probably because references to these different schools of philosophy were interspersed in the canonical Stoic writings, which subsequent generations of Stoics continued to read. As far as we’re aware, among other topics, Zeno wrote books on Plato (The Republic), Pythagoras (Pythagorean Questions), and Memorabilia of Crates the Cynic. He also wrote books on Homer and other poets.
These different philosophical and literary traditions influenced Stoicism in many ways. However, the Stoic curriculum combined the scholarly study of Physics, Ethics and Logic, probably influenced by the scope of the Platonic Academy. It’s sometimes said, crudely, that the Stoics derived their Ethics from the Cynics, their Logic from the Megarians, and their Physics from Heraclitus. They also appear to have been particularly known for taking the Cynic ethical doctrine that virtue is the only true good (perhaps shared with Antisthenes, Xenophon, and the Megarians) and reconciling it with the Platonic (and Aristotelian) doctrine that the good life consists in a combination of virtue, bodily, and external goods. They did this by introducing the novel concept that virtue consists in making proper selections between things of secondary value (axia), known as “preferred indifferents”.
Although Zeno was the founder of Stoicism, it’s sometimes held that the third head of the Stoa, Chrysippus, was in fact the most influential Stoic scholarch. He was by far the most prolific of the school’s founders, writing over 700 texts. Chrysippus modified the earlier doctrines of Zeno and Cleanthes significantly. It was traditionally claimed that he did so in order to defend them against an onslaught of criticism from the rival Epicurean and Academic schools, particularly from the Academic Skepticism of Arcesilaus, which was just being developed, prior to Arcesilaus being appointed head of the Academy.
Categories
The Teachings of the Stoic School
This is a more or less direct paraphrase from some key passages in Diogenes Laertius’ Life of Zeno, our main source for the teachings of the early Greek Stoa.
Some philosophers claim that all animals naturally seek pleasure, and everything else is then sought for the sake of pleasure. However, the Stoics forwarded detailed arguments disproving this assumption. Instead they argued that pleasure is a by-product of the animal achieving the goals of its natural constitution, and ultimately the goal of self-preservation. Being healthy and surviving is the real natural goal of animals, feeling pleasure and avoiding pain are incidental to this. For example, when an animal satisfies its appetite it feels pleasure, as a side effect, but its true goal is to satisfy its appetite and not simply to feel the pleasure. Pleasure is therefore a side-effect of achieving our natural goals, not the goal itself. There are several reasons why the wise man fixes his attention on the goal itself rather than the side effect:
- The pleasurable feelings that typically follow as consequences of achieving our natural goals are unpredictable and not guaranteed because they are not under our direct control.
- There is often a delay before the consequences follow, and in some situations, such as facing death in battle, there may never be an opportunity to enjoy pleasurable feelings as a reward of our actions.
- There may be other factors which intervene and prevent pleasurable feelings from attending the achievement of our natural goals from following. For example, when we’re extremely preoccupied with our actions, such as in the heat of battle, we may not have the leisure to notice or enjoy pleasurable feelings.
- There are, or appear to be, shortcuts to achieving pleasure that are unhealthy or unethical. For example, we may use drugs to achieve pleasure.
- The Stoics liked to give examples of animals enduring pain and foregoing pleasure for the sake of self-preservation, or even the preservation of their mates or offspring. For instance, a bull may endure the pain of injury and threat of death, attacking a lion in defence of his herd.
Our feelings can often be our best guide. However, that’s not always true, and in many crucial situations, our feelings may be a bad guide, and wisdom requires acting “against” them temporarily. For instance, the feelings of a pathologically depressed, anxious, or angry individual are often a poor guide to them in life. Pleasure and pain, likewise, are often misleading guides to life.
With the development of reason, human beings acquire an obligation not just to survive like other animals (self-preservation), but to fulfil their potential to live rationally (wisdom). The Stoics forward several arguments to demonstrate this. For example, most people would instinctively prefer to save their mind and lose their body, rather than lose their mind and save their body, which shows that humans identify more with their minds than their bodies. Reason is inherently goal-directed: to think is to seek to grasp the truth. So we’re already committed to the goal of truth and the Stoics conclude we should therefore aim to become wise. Moreover, reason is capable of co-ordinating our behaviour by reflecting on our instincts and desires, and responding to them. To put it crudely, nature has made reason our highest or master faculty, in charge of our behaviour. Our supreme goal is therefore to preserve reason and fulfil its potential, which means to become wise. The goal of life is therefore the art of living wisely.
Zeno was the first (in On the Nature of Man) to call as the goal of life: “life in agreement with nature”. This is completely synonymous with living a virtuous life because our nature is rational, and to fulfil it is to become wise, wisdom being the essence of virtue. The virtues are all forms of practical wisdom, applied to different aspects of life. For example, justice is wisdom applied to social relations, courage is wisdom applied to things hard to endure, and self-discipline is wisdom applied to things we tend to crave. The other Stoics followed Zeno’s definition. Chrysippus said that living wisely or virtuously is equivalent to living in accordance with our experience of the course of nature, or external events, because our individual nature is part of the Nature of the whole universe. By living wisely, we adapt to our experience of external events, even seeming adversity, our life goes smoothly, and we are no longer alienated but become at one with Nature as a whole.
This is why the goal of life may be defined as living in accord with nature, both our own human nature as well as that of the universe as a whole. This is what is meant by the virtue of the fulfilled (eudaimon) man and his smooth flow of life, when all actions promote the harmony of his inner self with the will of the universe. Chrysippus therefore said virtue is a harmonious disposition of our character, virtue is an end-in-itself and not sought out of hope or fear or any external motive. Moreover, fulfilment (eudaimonia) consists purely in virtue because virtue is the state of mind which tends to make the whole of life harmonious, and therefore fulfilled. So how do human beings, rational beings, end up going wrong and forsaking the natural goal of wisdom? We are drawn into error because of the natural deceptiveness of external events, such as the sway that pleasurable and painful impressions have over us, or sometimes due to the influence of individual people, and society in general. But the starting point of our nature is completely sound and reason has everything it needs to guide us as long as we are not led astray by investing too much value in external things and other people’s opinions.
The original and more-general meaning of virtue (arete) is the perfection of anything whatsoever, such as the beauty of a statue or the speed of a horse. The goal of life for Stoics is to achieve the virtues of the mind, or of our character, such as wisdom and justice. However, the virtues (or strengths, if you prefer) of our body, such as physical strength and health, are sought as being of secondary and relative value. The physical virtue of health will tend to be a consequence of character virtues such as temperance or self-discipline. However, because physical virtues like health and strength merely supervene or follow on as consequences of mental virtues, they are also sometimes found even in bad men. Bad men sometimes become good, they observe, which suggests virtue can be learned. The Stoics disagreed with one another about how many virtues they were and how best to divide them. Some divided virtues into logical, physical and ethical, others said that practical wisdom is the only real virtue. The cardinal virtues are traditionally: wisdom, justice, courage and temperance. These are broad categories consisting of many subordinate virtues, though. Wisdom is defined as “the knowledge of things good and bad and of what is neither good nor bad”, i.e., the indifferent things.
The good is what is beneficial, or healthy, i.e., what is “good for us”. Only virtue and vice can truly help or harm us, in terms of our character. The Stoics mainly call virtue “good”, but speaking more loosely they also refer to specific virtuous actions themselves as good and the people doing them as being good men. They also define the good as “the natural perfection of a rational being qua rational.” This mainly corresponds to virtue, but some Stoics also refer to the healthy feelings (eupatheiai) that supervene on virtue such as joy and gladness, etc., as good, and as part of human fulfilment (eudaimonia).
We share natural preconceptions (intuitions) that tell us, on reflection, the nature of the good, which is synonymous with many different qualities. Among these, foremost are the sense in which what is good for a rational being, a human being, is also what is beneficial (or healthy, good for us), and what is praiseworthy (or honourable, good for society). For Stoics, these perfectly coincide. The good is also synonymous with what is truly beautiful in human beings, i.e., in terms of our true nature as rational beings to have a beautiful character is to be virtuous.
The good things are virtues such as wisdom, justice, courage, temperance, and their subordinates. The bad things are the vices opposed to these: folly, injustice, cowardice and intemperance, etc. Neutral things fall between the categories of good and bad and are called “indifferent” with regard to the good life, although some are naturally preferred above others. The main examples of the indifferent things are therefore: life and death, health and disease, pleasure and pain, beauty and ugliness, strength and weakness, wealth and poverty, good reputation and bad reputation, being born into a good family and being born into a bad family, etc. Chrysippus and others class life, health, and pleasure, etc., as morally indifferent but nevertheless “preferred”. They argue that something cannot be intrinsically good if it can be put to good or bad use, but wealth and health, etc., can be used for good or bad ends, so are not good in themselves but merely indifferent. Likewise, that which is disgraceful cannot be intrinsically good, but some pleasures are disgraceful, so pleasure cannot be good in itself.
The Stoics use the word “indifferent” in a technical sense to mean things that do not contribute either to fulfilment (eudaimonia) or its opposite, they also speak of these things having selective “value”, but not as truly good or bad. It is possible for humans to be fulfilled without having health, wealth, or reputation, although, if they are used well or badly, such use of them tends to promote either fulfilment or misery. It’s therefore our use of “indifferent” things that’s most important, rather than the things themselves. The wise man uses all things well; the fool uses all things badly. Of the “indifferent” things, therefore, some are to be preferred by the wise man, some to be rejected, and other are indifferent in the complete sense. The things of value that are to be preferred they define as those which contribute directly, and those which contribute indirectly to living harmoniously and in accord with to nature. They therefore mean that the “value” of “preferred” indifferents may be due, for example, to “any assistance brought by wealth or health towards living a natural life”. Preferred things amongst mental qualities include natural ability and the like. Among physical qualities we naturally “prefer” life, health, strength, good functioning of organs, physical beauty, etc. In the sphere of external things the “preferred” things include wealth, fame, noble birth, etc. Qualities of character such as natural ability are preferred for their own sake, because they are in accord with our rational nature, whereas physical and external things are preferred merely as means to the end of achieving what is good in our mind or character.
And in my defence to sundry criticisms made upon Marcus by ancient and modern writers, I give by far the most space to the gravest, that he persecuted the Christians, for I think no accusation would have surprised him more, or have seemed to him more unreasonable.
Henry Dwight Sedgwick
It’s often said on the Internet, and occasionally in books, that Marcus Aurelius somehow or other persecuted Christians. I find that specific details are often lacking, though. In fact, there are two questions worth considering here:
- Q: Did the Stoic emperor Marcus Aurelius actively persecute Christians himself? A: Most modern scholars think that he almost certainly did not.
- Q: Did Marcus allow others to persecute Christians? A: This is harder to answer, although the weight of evidence suggests Marcus actually tried to prevent others from persecuting Christians. Some persecution of Christians undoubtedly took place during his reign, but it’s unclear how much, to what extent he was aware of it, and what opportunity he would have had to stop it.
After reviewing the accounts of Christian persecution during the reign of Marcus, H.D. Sedgewick observed:
The only evidence there is that Marcus Aurelius had any direct relation with any of these cases is this statement in Eusebius that during the trial at Lyons the governor wrote to ask him for instructions.
So let’s look at this solitary piece of evidence, the statement from Eusebius about the alleged events at Lyon…
Eusebius
The most famous alleged persecution of Christians during the reign of Marcus Aurelius was at Lyon in Gaul, supposedly around 177 AD. The one and only piece of evidence for this incident comes from the Christian historian Eusebius, who quotes a rather odd letter in his Ecclesiastical History, describing the events as follows:
The greatness of the tribulation in this region, and the fury of the heathen against the saints, and the sufferings of the blessed witnesses, we cannot recount accurately, nor indeed could they possibly be recorded. For with all his might the adversary [Satan] fell upon us, giving us a foretaste of his unbridled activity at his future coming. He endeavored in every manner to practice and exercise his servants against the servants of God, not only shutting us out from houses and baths and markets, but forbidding any of us to be seen in any place whatever. But the grace of God led the conflict against him, and delivered the weak, and set them as firm pillars, able through patience to endure all the wrath of the Evil One.
And they joined battle with him, undergoing all kinds of shame and injury; and regarding their great sufferings as little, they hastened to Christ, manifesting truly that ‘the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed to us afterward.’ [Romans 8:18 7]. First of all, they endured nobly the injuries heaped upon them by the populace; clamors and blows and draggings and robberies and stonings and imprisonments, and all things which an infuriated mob delight in inflicting on enemies and adversaries. Then, being taken to the forum by the chiliarch [garrison commander?] and the authorities of the city, they were examined in the presence of the whole multitude, and having confessed, they were imprisoned until the arrival of the governor.
The letter continues to describe numerous gory tortures with a level of detail that can appear somewhat excessive and colourful. Many modern readers consequently find the style suggestive of fiction, or at least embellishment.
Moreover, there are several very striking problems faced by those who want to try to use this letter as evidence for the claim that Marcus persecuted Christians:
- Eusebius finished writing the Ecclesiastical History in roughly 300 AD, well over a hundred years after the alleged incident took place. There’s no indication when the letter he’s quoting was actually written. However, he is claiming that the events described in it happened long before he was even born. He therefore had no first-hand knowledge of them but depended entirely on the account given in the letter cited, the authenticity of which, as we’ll see, is highly doubtful.
- Historians have to take into account the “argument from silence”: no other pagan or Christian author of the period makes any mention whatsoever of these events having happened, despite their striking and dramatic nature. It’s highly remarkable that no other Christian author of the period actually refers to this incident. Indeed, the first author in Gaul to mention this event was Sulpicius Severus, writing 400 years later, and his only source appears to be Eusebius.
- The church father Irenaeus, the Christian Bishop of Lyon, where the incident allegedly took place, wrote his mammoth five volume Adversus Haereses in 180 AD, three years after the alleged persecution. And yet, he makes absolutely no mention whatsoever of this momentous event having happened in his own city. In fact, on the contrary, he actually says “The Romans have given the world peace, and we [Christians] travel without fear along the roads and across the sea wherever we will.” (Against Heresies, Book IV, Chapter 30, Sentence 3).
- The church father Tertullian, was aged around twenty at the time the incident at Lyon supposedly happened. As we’ll see, although he was actually alive at the time, he also makes no mention of the persecution at Lyon, and actually says quite emphatically that Marcus Aurelius was a “protector” of Christians.
- The letter quoted by Eusebius begins by blaming the actions of the mob on “the adversary” or “Evil One”, by which the authors clearly meant Satan. It goes on to describe how Christian martyrs survived inconceivable torture and extensive wounds, were miraculously healed and restored to health when stretched on the rack, and even raised from the dead. This adds a supernatural or implausible element to the account, which many (if not all) modern readers may find indicative of fabrication or embellishment.
- The letter actually concludes by blaming the mob and city of Lyon authorities – it does not attribute personal responsibility to Marcus Aurelius or to the Roman Senate. When this event allegedly happened, incidentally, Marcus was busy on campaign in the northern frontier, roughly three weeks’ march away from Lyon.
- In contrast, we have the surviving text of an Imperial edict from Marcus that provides evidence he actually tried to prevent the persecution of Christians by provincial authorities (see below).
- Finally, and bizarrely, Eusebius himself several times admitted that his church history contained deliberate “falsehoods” or pious fraud. He’s often therefore seen as a very unreliable source for this kind of information.
Edward Gibbon, for instance, author of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, liked to point out that Eusebius admitted employing deliberate misinformation to promote the Christian message. One of Eusebius’ chapter headings was: “That it will be necessary sometimes to use falsehood as a remedy for the benefit of those who require such a mode of treatment.” The historian Jacob Burckhardt therefore described Eusebius as “the first thoroughly dishonest historian of antiquity”. It would, in fact, be more appropriate to refer to him as a Christian propagandist rather than historian.
In summary, for these and other reasons, Eusebius is considered an extremely unreliable source by many modern scholars. His accounts of Christian martyrdom refer to events several generations before he was even born, as we’ve seen, and are embellished with extravagant details that have the air of fiction about them. For example, persecution is not portrayed as sporadic but inflicted by Satan on myriads of Christians throughout the empire. The scale and severity of this persecution is totally out of keeping with the testimony of other Christian authors alive at the time and difficult to reconcile with the general silence about these remarkable events. Moreover, Eusebius includes many supernatural claims that undermine the credibility of his accounts in the eyes of modern readers. For example, he elsewhere states as fact miracles such as that Christian martyrs survived inside the stomachs of lions after being eaten or levitated hundreds of feet into the sky, by the grace of God. As noted above, the letter itself also describes the miraculous healing of grievously wounded martyrs at Lyon, and even their resurrection from death. If we question these supernatural claims, it’s difficult to know what other aspects of the letter to take seriously.
Eusebius is also proven to be particularly unreliable with regard to this era of Roman history because, remarkably, at various points he actually confuses Marcus Aurelius both with his adoptive brother Lucius Verus, and with his adoptive father Antoninus Pius. That, of course, makes it impossible to take his dating of such events at face value.
Moreover, it is often the case that the documents (letters, etc.) quoted in ancient sources are found unreliable by scholarship because many forgeries circulated then and ancient authors often lacked the resources to authenticate them. Scholars have, in fact, already identified numerous documents quoted in the writings of Eusebius as obvious forgeries. In this particular letter, unusually, no date is given in the rubric cited, so it’s not clear on what basis Eusebius could have arrived at the conclusion that it was intended to refer to events during the reign of Marcus Aurelius. The letter itself only employs the generic title Caesar, for the Emperor. Eusebius may just be guessing the date, and that the Caesar in question is Marcus Aurelius, although frankly it seems likely that the whole letter is a forgery. As noted above, however, this document is the one and only piece of alleged evidence for the persecution at Lyon.
Tertullian
Indeed, the only sources which describe persecution during the reign of Marcus Aurelius come from later generations of Christian authors, who were not witness to the events they describe. None of them actually attribute responsibility to Marcus. The most famous account is the persecution of Lyon, which, as we have seen, is of highly questionable authenticity.
By contrast, the church father Tertullian was actually a contemporary of Marcus Aurelius and his testimony is that Marcus was emphatically a “protector” of Christians.
But out of so many princes from that time down to the present, men versed in every system of knowledge, produce if you can one persecutor of the Christians. We, however, can on the other side produce a protector, if the letters of the most grave Emperor Marcus Aurelius be searched, in which he testifies that the well-known Germanic drought was dispelled by the shower obtained through the prayers of Christians who happened to be in the army. (Apology, 5)
This appears to create an internal contradiction in the Christian literature, at least for those who (dubiously) wish to read other Christian accounts as somehow blaming Marcus for the persecution of Christians. (As we’ve seen, the letter quoted by Eusebius doesn’t actually appear to blame Marcus himself.) Indeed, not a single author, Christian or pagan, appears to quote any edict by Marcus condemning Christians. This is noteworthy because if he had actually issued one, they would certainly have mentioned it.
Marcus’ Letter to the Asian Provinces
We do, however, have a surviving edict attributed to Marcus and entitled Letter of Antoninus to the Common Assembly of Asia, which appears to provide evidence that he actively intervened to prevent the persecution of Christians. It is dated 161 AD, and issued from Marcus as Emperor, which suggests it was one of his first actions shortly after being acclaimed to the throne.
He explicitly refers to the problem of Christians who are regarded by Romans as atheists because they do not worship the conventional pagan gods. Marcus warns the provincial authorities: “you harass these men, and harden them in their convictions, to which they hold fast, by accusing them of being atheists”. He states that provincial governors had many times written to his adoptive father, the Emperor Antoninus Pius, whose response was always “not to molest such persons“, unless they were actually making attempts to undermine the Roman government. Marcus says he has also frequently repeated this non-harassment policy to them himself, as Emperor. He actually goes so far as to say: “And if any one persist in bringing any such [Christian] person into trouble for being what he is, let him, against whom the charge is brought, be acquitted even if the charge be made out, but let him who brings the charge be called to account.” In other words, he suggests that provincial authorities may be punished by Rome for persecuting Christians solely on the basis of their religion.
C.R. Haines
C.R. Haines, who published this edict as an appendix to his Loeb translation of The Meditations, included an essay entitled “Note on the Attitude of Marcus Toward the Christians.” He begins “Nothing has done the good name of Marcus so much harm as his supposed uncompromising attitude toward Christians” and concludes:
As a matter of fact, Marcus has been condemned as a persecutor of the Christians on purely circumstantial and quite insufficient grounds. The general testimony of contemporary Christian writers is against the supposition. So is the known character of Marcus.
He goes on to argue that the retrospective claim of Eusebius about myriads of Christians being persecuted and horribly tortured to death throughout the Roman Empire two centuries earlier is also inconsistent with numerous historical facts – often cited by Eusebius himself and other Christian authors. For example, the presence of a bishop at the head of a community of Christians was tolerated in Rome itself, there were multiple Christians serving in Marcus’ own household, and probably even Christians in the Roman Senate. According to Eusebius and three other Christian sources, for instance, the Senator Apollonius of Rome was condemned to death, under Commodus. However, that implies that during Marcus’ reign Apollonius was permitted to serve on the Senate, despite being a Christian. Several sources, including Tertullian, attest that the Thunderbolt Legion (Legio XII Fulminata) commanded by Marcus on the northern frontier was composed largely of Christian soldiers.
Marcus’ obsession with kindness, justice and clemency, is clearly demonstrated throughout The Meditations. However, this is reinforced by numerous references to his character in the writings of other Roman authors. Marcus is portrayed with remarkable consistency as being a man of exceptional clemency and humanity – that was his universal reputation. Latin authors typically used the word humanitas (kindness) to describe his character; in Greek the word philanthropia (love of mankind) was favoured.
Haines therefore also finds it implausible that someone so universally regarded as a man of exceptional kindness and clemency would have “encouraged mob-violence against unoffending persons, ordered the torture of innocent women and boys, and violated the rights of citizenship”. Indeed, as we’ve seen, there appears to be no evidence whatsoever that Marcus was actually responsible for the persecution of Christians. The weight of evidence, rather, suggests that he was, as Tertullian claims, a “protector” of Christians, and tried to prevent provincial authorities from persecuting them.
Melito of Sardis
Melito (c. 100 – c. 180 CE) was the Bishop of Sardis, in the Roman province of Asia, during the reign of Marcus Aurelius. He was a very prominent figure in the Christian community. We have a copy of his Apology for Christianity, a letter purportedly sent to Marcus concerning the persecution of Christians, dated around 169-170 CE, shortly after the end of the Parthian War, as trouble was beginning to break out for Marcus on the Danube frontier.
Melito does claim that Christians in Asia were being persecuted. However, the persecution he describes consists of informers unjustly accusing them of crimes, in violation of certain edicts, in order to lay claim to their property. Melito says he does not know if this takes place at the emperor’s bidding or not, although he appears to be tactfully implying that he assumes it is being done against Marcus’ wishes. Melito pleads with Marcus to investigate the matter personally and determine whether he considers the edicts are being interpreted justly or not.
Marcus is praised by Melito as a good emperor, someone Christians are glad to see on the throne, and he describes his predecessors, Antoninus and Hadrian, as protectors of Christianity.
To this power thou hast succeeded as the much-desired possessor; and such shalt thou continue, together with thy son, if thou protect that philosophy which has grown up with thy empire, and which took its rise with Augustus; to which also thy more recent ancestors paid honor, along with the other religions prevailing in the empire.
Melito contrasts Marcus and his predecessors with the emperors he does blame for having persecuted Christians: Nero and Domitian.
Nero and Domitian, alone of all the emperors, imposed upon by certain calumniators, have cared to bring any impeachment against our doctrines.
The conclusion makes it clear that Melito recognizes that Marcus was closely involved (virtually co-emperor) in the administration of his adoptive father, Antoninus, during which letters were issued prohibiting the persecution of Christians and rebuking those responsible.
But the course which they, in their ignorance, pursued was set aside by thy pious progenitors [Hadrian and Antoninus], who frequently and in many instances rebuked by their rescripts those who dared to set on foot any hostilities against them. It appears, for example, that thy grandfather Hadrian wrote, among others, to Fundanus, the proconsul then in charge of Asia. Thy father, too, when thou thyself was associated with him in the administration of the empire, wrote to the cities, forbidding them to take any measures adverse to us; among the rest to the people of Larissa, and of Thessalonica, and of Athens and, in short, to all the Greeks.
And, as regards thyself, seeing that thy sentiments respecting the Christians are not only the same as theirs, but even much more generous and wise, we are the more persuaded that thou wilt do all that we ask of thee.
In other words, Melitus seems to admire Marcus, sees him as a “generous and wise” protector of Christians, and instead blames local informers for abusing the law to persecute Christians, against the wishes of the emperor.
Xiphilinus
We can also look to the reign of Antoninus Pius, Marcus’ adoptive father and predecessor as emperor for evidence. From the time Marcus was appointed Caesar in 140 AD until Antoninus Pius’ death in 161 AD, for over twenty years, Marcus was his right-hand man and virtually co-ruler alongside him. Indeed, Marcus helped Antoninus Pius rule for longer than he reigned himself, as he died in 180 AD, after only nineteen years on the throne. They were in agreement on all matters, as far as we know, and about a decade after his death, in The Meditations, Marcus still reminds himself to live like a “disciple of Antoninus”.
According to the epitome of Cassius Dio’s Roman History made by Xiphilinus:
Antoninus is admitted by all to have been noble and good, neither oppressive to the Christians nor severe to any of his other subjects; instead, he showed the Christians great respect and added to the honour in which Hadrian had been wont to hold them.
Historia Romana
It would seem highly remarkable, therefore, if Marcus (of all people!) who had been the right-hand man in this administration of Antoninus, had suddenly performed a dramatic policy u-turn regarding the Christians and started actively persecuting them on a massive scale instead.
As it happens, the fastest growing form of Christianity during Marcus’ reign was Montanism. We know that the Montanists were eradicated from history not because they were persecuted by Marcus Aurelius or the Roman authorities, however, but because they were persecuted and excommunicated by other Christians, possibly including the leaders of the orthodox church in Lyons.
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Socrates the Soldier
Or how will you still be able to say as Socrates did, If so it pleases God, so let it be? Do you think that Socrates if he had been eager to pass his leisure in the Lyceum or in the Academy and to discourse daily with the young men, would have readily served in military expeditions so often as he did; and would he not have lamented and groaned, Wretch that I am; I must now be miserable here, when I might be sunning myself in the Lyceum? (Epictetus, Discourses, 4.4)
Most people think of Socrates (470-399 BC) as a balding, pot bellied, old philosopher, with a beard. People are often surprised to learn that Socrates was, in fact, also a decorated military hero, renowned among other army veterans for his courage on the battlefield, and for his extraordinary endurance and self-discipline. Some scholars believe that it was actually Socrates’ heroism at the Battle of Delium that catapulted him to fame in Athens.
Socrates served as an Athenian hoplite, and distinguished himself in several important battles during the Peloponnesian war (431 – 404 BC), in which Athens and its allies fought the Peloponnesian League led by Sparta. We learn about Socrates’ military service mainly from the Dialogues of Plato and in Diogenes Laertius’ chapters on Socrates and Xenophon in Lives and Opinions. However, there are also allusions to Socrates’ conduct and character in the military to be found in Xenophon’s Memorabilia and in Aristophanes’ The Clouds, which contains many allusions to the Battle of Delium, the events of which it followed by merely a few months. The Suda, a 10th century Byzantine Encyclopedia, likewise briefly states: “he campaigned against Amphipolis and Potidaea and fought in the battle of Delium”.
In Plato’s Apology, Socrates himself cites his service as a hoplite, or armored infantryman, in the Athenian army during the extended siege of Potidaea (432 BC), the Athenian assault on Delium (424 BC) and the expedition to defend the Athenian colony of Amphipolis (422 BC). Socrates was an older soldier, aged between 38 and 48, when these particular battles took place. During his trial he mentions in passing that just as he considered it his duty to remain where he was stationed during these three battles, despite the risk of death, he also considered it his duty, following the Delphic Oracle’s guidance, to pursue philosophy even the face of opposition, persecution, and the risk of death by execution.
In Plato’s Laches, the eponymous general is portrayed as describing an eyewitness account of Socrates’ exceptional service in the Battle of Delium. In Plato’s Symposium, Alcibiades likewise describes witnessing Socrates’ courage in the battles of Potidaea and Delium. We have a brief mention of Socrates’ service from Xenophon but also a longer portrayal of Socrates discussing military training and tactics, in a manner indicative of his past experience. It’s clear from the surviving writings that Socrates was famous among Athenians for his military endurance, self-discipline, and courage on the battlefield. He is also portrayed as an experienced veteran, whose opinions on military matters are valued by his younger followers.
And that you may not think that I show you the example of a man who is a solitary person, who has neither wife nor children, nor country, nor friends nor kinsmen, by whom he could be bent and drawn in various directions, take Socrates and observe that he had a wife and children, but he did not consider them as his own; that he had a country, so long as it was fit to have one, and in such a manner as was fit; friends and kinsmen also, but he held all in subjection to law and to the obedience due to it. For this reason he was the first to go out as a soldier, when it was necessary, and in war he exposed himself to danger most unsparingly. (Epictetus, Discourses, 4.1)
Socrates’ Military Attire
The story goes that Socrates met him in a narrow passage, and that he stretched out his staff [bakteria] to bar the way, while he inquired where every kind of food was sold. Upon receiving a reply, he put another question, “And where do men become good and honourable?” Xenophon was fairly puzzled; “Then follow me,” said Socrates, “and learn.” From that time onward he was a pupil of Socrates. (Lives and Opinions)
Diogenes Laertius suggests that Socrates, Antisthenes, and the subsequent Cynic philosophers wore a light grey cloak (tribon), made from undyed wool or linen, and carried a staff (bakteria). These appear to the resemble the “Spartan staff and cloak”, which Plutarch describes as well-known symbols of the Spartan military. The staff used by Socrates and the Cynics was typically called a bakteria, which is the same word used to describe the staff carried by Spartan officers, and used to beat helot slaves and discipline their subordinates.
We don’t know much about Socrates’ use of the staff. However, it plays an important role in anecdotes about his follower Antisthenes and the Cynics. According to legend, Antisthenes went barefoot and wore only the cloak, which he doubled over to use as a blanket in winter. He reputedly taught this to Diogenes the Cynic (although modern scholars doubt they actually met) and it became particularly associated with the Cynic tradition. We are repeatedly told that Socrates also went barefoot, although we don’t know if he doubled his cloak in a similar manner.
According to one story, the Cynic staff was originally used as a walking stack by Diogenes but later to defend himself against scoundrels. We’re also told repeatedly about Antisthenes and Diogenes beating followers and onlookers with their staffs, to make a point. Again, we don’t hear anything about Socrates behaving in this manner, although there is a curious anecdote about him meeting the Athenian general Xenophon for the first time, in which Socrates blocks Xenophon’s path by holding his bakteria across a narrow alleyway.
Socrates’ Military Endurance
Plato’s account of Socrates focuses on his reputation for exceptional endurance (karteria) in the army, as well as his bravery and self-discipline. In Plato’s Symposium, Socrates freezes in deep meditation en route to a drinking party (the ‘symposium’ of the title). The host, Agathon, and the other guests, are left waiting; a slave is sent and returns reporting:
“Socrates is here, but he’s gone off to the neighbour’s porch. He’s standing there and won’t come in even though I called him several times.”
Agathon gives the order, “Go back and bring him in!” but Socrates’ companion, Aristodemus, objects:
“No, no, leave him alone. It’s one of his habits: every now and then he just goes off like that and stands frozen, wherever he happens to be.”
Socrates eventually arrives when the meal is halfway finished, at which Agathon chides him:
“Socrates, come lie down next to me. Who knows, if I touch you, I may catch a bit of the enlightenment (sophia) that came to you under my neighbour’s porch. It’s clear you’ve seen the light. If you hadn’t you’d still be standing there!”
Toward the end of the symposium, the drunken Alcibiades arrives. He begins a speech singing the praises of his beloved mentor, describing how the middle-aged Socrates exhibited surprising sexual restraint by continually spurning his advances, even when he went so far as slipping naked into bed with him. Alcibiades was at this time a youth, famous for his beauty.
Alcibiades continues by describing various events which he observed during their military service together, in the battles of Potidaea (432 BC) and Delium (424 BC). During battle of Potidea Socrates was awarded the ‘prize of pre-eminent valour’, which he declined in preference that it should belong to Alcibiades, who later (c. 416 BC) rose to the rank of Athenian general. (According to some accounts, though, Socrates was overlooked by the generals in favour of Alcibiades.) This may be connected with the fact that Socrates reputedly saved the life of Alcibiades at Potidea.
Despite his age, Socrates appeared to be hardier and tougher than any other soldier. He walked barefoot on ice, and in bitter cold wore only the customary grey, light woollen cloak of the ancient philosophers. When supplies were lost he seemed impervious to hunger. He wasn’t partial to drink, but he could drink any man under the table, seemingly unaffected by alcohol. We are also told that several times when Athens was rife with plague, Socrates was the only citizen unaffected by illness. The Athenian troops at Potidaea were also affected by a plague, which Socrates presumably avoided. The curious incident on the way to the Symposium is portrayed as typical of Socrates and illustrative of his behaviour, particularly his endurance, during his military service.
The Battle of Potidaea (432 BC)
The Athenians sent a force to attack the rebellious city of Potidaea, a former tribute-paying ally. They ended up laying siege to its defences for three years. This was one of the events that instigated the Peloponnesian War. We don’t know how long Socrates served in this campaign but it may have been for the duration of the siege, which lasted two or three years, ending in 430/429 BC. The Athenians were cut off from their supplies and suffered considerable hardship as a result. There was an outbreak of plague among them at one point, which does not seem to have affected Socrates.
Socrates was probably already becoming famous as a philosopher by this point. He was a messmate and friend of the young Alcibiades, a ward of the great Athenian statesman and general Pericles, who would later rise to the rank of Athenian general himself. From what we know, it appears Socrates was already viewed as a competent and courageous hoplite. During one intense battle, the Athenian lines broke, and their troops began to scatter in retreat. Alcibiades was wounded but Socrates single-handedly rescued him and saved his life.
Plato set The Charmides the day after Socrates returned from Potidaea where he says little about the conflict except referring to Socrates’ long absence from Athens on military service and the fact that on the journey home some of Socrates’ friends had been slain in skirmishes. (Charmides was a mere boy when Socrates left Athens and is now a young man, implying he has been gone for several years with the army.) Plato portrays Socrates being quizzed about the campaign by the excited Athenian youths who meet him on his return. However, he doesn’t appear to want to say much about the war and artfully shifts the conversation instead back to philosophical inquiry. Plato appears to assume that Socrates is well-known as a philosopher by this date and has established his trademark method of questioning. If correct, he must already have been known as a philosopher (perhaps long) before 432 BC when he left Athens to serve in the army attacking Potidaea, aged around 38.
Of the Battle of Potidaea, Diogenes Laertius wrote,
[Socrates] served at Potidaea, where he had gone by sea, as land communications were interrupted by the war. While there he is said to have remained a whole night without changing his position, and to have won the prize of valour. But he resigned it to Alcibiades, for whom he cherished the tenderest affection, according to Aristippus in the fourth book of his treatise On the Luxury of the Ancients. (Diogenes Laertius)
Likewise, Plato portrays Alcibiades’ account of Socrates at the battles of Potidaea and Delium.
And in combat, if you want to hear about it – for it is just to credit him with this once when there was a battle for which the generals gave me the prize of excellence, no other human being saved me but he; for he was not willing to leave me wounded, but saved both myself and my weapons. And even then, Socrates, asked the generals to offer me the prize of excellence. And in this too you will not blame me and say that I lie; but as a matter of fact, when the generals looked to my rank and wanted to offer me the prize of excellence, you [Socrates] proved more eager than the generals that I take it rather than yourself. (Symposium)
Plutarch also describes this incident:
While still a stripling, he served as a soldier in the campaign of Potidaea, and had Socrates for his tent-mate and comrade in action. A fierce battle took place, wherein both of them distinguished themselves; but when Alcibiades fell wounded, it was Socrates who stood over him and defended him, and with the most conspicuous bravery saved him, armour and all. The prize of valour fell to Socrates, of course, on the justest calculation; but the generals, owing to the high position of Alcibiades, were manifestly anxious to give him the glory of it. Socrates, therefore, wishing to increase his pupil’s honourable ambitions, led all the rest in bearing witness to his bravery, and in begging that the crown and the suit of armour be given to him. (Lives)
Alcibiades also describes in Plato’s Symposium how, during the Potidaea campaign, Socrates would enter meditative trances to the amazement of his fellow soldiers. He begins by using a quote from Homer’s Odyssey, comparing Socrates to the Ithacan king, adventurer, and general Odysseus.
“So much for that! But you should hear what else he did during that same campaign, ‘The exploit our strong-hearted hero dared to do.’ One day, at dawn, he started thinking about some problem or other; he just stood outside, trying to figure it out. He couldn’t resolve it, but he wouldn’t give up. He simply stood there, glued to the same spot. By midday, many soldiers had seen him, and, quite mystified, they told everyone that Socrates had been standing there all day, thinking about something. He was still there when evening came, and after dinner some Ionians moved their bedding outside, where it was cooler and more comfortable (all this took place in the summer), but mainly in order to watch if Socrates was going to stay out there all night. And so he did; he stood in the very same spot until dawn! He only left next morning, when the Sun came out, and he made his prayers to the new day.” (Symposium)
The Battle of Delium (424 BC)
Five years after the siege of Potidaea ended, Delium was the first full-scale hoplite battle of the whole Peloponnesian War, and it has also been called the bloodiest. The Athenian army fortified the sanctuary of Apollo Delium with a wooden palisade, in an attempt to create a stronghold in the heart Boeotia, which was hostile territory close to Athens. (This was presumably a sacrilegious act.) Before long, a superior Theban force attacked and the Athenians were somehow thrown into disarray, at one point attacking and killing dozens of their own men by mistake. They were forced to make a chaotic retreat, abandoning the small garrison trapped inside the sanctuary walls. The men left in the building were then attacked by the Theban army using some novel “flame-blowing” siege engine, which burned their fortifications to the ground, scattering the garrison within. Some of the Athenians who had been left behind were apparently burned alive inside the sanctuary. According to Thucydides, nearly 500 Boeotians fell and nearly 1,000 Athenians were killed, including their general. This was a humiliating and troublesome military disaster for the Athenians and it occurred close to their own borders.
Plato portrays the Athenian general Laches, in the dialogue of the same name, commending Socrates for his bravery as follows:
[…] I have seen him maintaining, not only his father’s, but also his country’s name. He was my companion in the retreat from Delium, and I can tell you that if others had only been like him, the honour of our country would have been upheld, and the great defeat would never have occurred. (Laches)
Laches later says to Socrates that although he has never heard him discuss philosophy he would be delighted to be questioned by him about virtue:
So high is the opinion which I have entertained of you ever since the day on which you were my companion in danger, and gave a proof of your valour such as only the man of merit can give. (Laches)
Plato puts the following words in the mouth of Alcibiades:
Furthermore, men, it was worthwhile to behold Socrates when the army retreated in flight from Delium; for I happened to be there on horseback and he was a hoplite. The soldiers were then in rout, and while he and Laches were retreating together, I came upon them by chance. And as soon as I saw them, I at once urged the two of them to take heart, and I said I would not leave them behind.
I had an even finer opportunity to observe Socrates there than I had had at Potidaea, for I was less in fear because I was on horseback. First of all, how much more sensible he was than Laches; and secondly, it was my opinion, Aristophanes (and this point is yours); that walking there just as he does here in Athens, ‘stalking like a pelican, his eyes darting from side to side,’ quietly on the lookout for friends and foes, he made it plain to everyone even at a great distance that if one touches this real man, he will defend himself vigorously. Consequently, he went away safely, both he and his comrade; for when you behave in war as he did, then they just about do not even touch you; instead they pursue those who turn in headlong flight. (Symposium)
Plutarch mentions this incident, adding some details:
On another occasion, in the rout of the Athenians which followed the battle of Delium, Alcibiades, on horseback, saw Socrates retreating on foot with a small company, and would not pass him by, but rode by his side and defended him, though the enemy were pressing them hard and slaying many. This, however, was a later incident. (Lives)
Of Delium, Diogenes Laertius wrote,
[…] and when in the battle of Delium Xenophon had fallen from his horse, he [Socrates] stepped in and saved his life. For in the general flight of the Athenians he personally retired at his ease, quietly turning round from time to time and ready to defend himself in case he were attacked. (Lives and Opinions)
This is either a mistake or he’s referring to another Xenophon because Socrates’ follower of that name would only have been eight years old at the time. Alternatively, if Diogenes or a copyist simply has the name wrong, he could perhaps be thinking either of the time Socrates saved Alcibiades, although that was probably at Potidaea, or possibly of Socrates’ defence of the Athenian general Laches at Delium, if he had been unhorsed.
The Battle of Amphipolis (422 BC)
Socrates was a military veteran, approximately 48 years old, with a well-known reputation for his exceptional endurance and courage when the battle of Amphipolis took place. As far as we know, this was his last battle. Diogenes Laertius sounds impressed that he was hardy enough to take to the field once again as a hoplite, despite his age.
He took care to exercise his body and kept in good condition. At all events he served on the expedition to Amphipolis. (Lives and Opinions)
Two years after the Battle of Delium, the Athenians undertook a military expedition to recapture the town of Amphipolis, an Athenian colony in Thrace that had been taken by the Spartans shortly after the Athenian defeat at Delium. However, the campaign failed.
Among the generals at this battle was Thucydides, the famous Greek historian. He was responsible for shipping in reinforcements for the Athenians but failed to get them on the field in time to make a difference. The Athenians therefore tried Thucydides for incompetence and exiled him for twenty years as punishment. However, we know nothing more about Socrates’ role in the battle.
Xenophon’s Account
Xenophon was himself a young soldier, who later rose to the rank of general. It’s surprising perhaps that he does not say more about Socrates’ military service.
Again, concerning Justice he did not hide his opinion, but proclaimed it by his actions. All his private conduct was lawful and helpful: to public authority he rendered such scrupulous obedience in all that the laws required, both in civil life and in military service, that he was a pattern of good discipline to all. (Memorabilia, 4.4.1)
In the Memorabilia, Xenophon portrays Socrates saying,
Which will find soldiering the easier task, he who cannot exist without expensive food or he who is content with what he can get? Which when besieged will surrender first, he who wants what is very hard to come by or he who can make shift with whatever is at hand? (Memorabilia, 1.6.9)
Then in his Apology, Xenophon refers to the siege of Athens during the last year of the Peloponnesian War.
Or for this, that during the siege, while others were commiserating their lot, I got along without feeling the pinch of poverty any worse than when the city’s prosperity was at its height? Or for this, that while other men get their delicacies in the markets and pay a high price for them, I devise more pleasurable ones from the resources of my soul, with no expenditure of money? And now, if no one can convict me of misstatement in all that I have said of myself, do I not unquestionably merit praise from both gods and men? (Apology, 1.18)
The year is 167 AD, the Pax Romana, the state of political peace and stability that once united the Roman Empire, is beginning to crumble. For years, the empire has been ravaged by a mysterious plague brought back from Persia by exhausted Roman troops. With the Roman army devastated, continual barbarian incursions have taken their toll on the northern frontiers. Finally, the combined forces of the Germanic Quadi and Marcomanni tribes smash through provincial Roman defences, cross the Danube, and descend upon Italy laying siege to the Roman city of Aquileia. A state of emergency ensues; the Marcomanni war begins.
The emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, a highly disciplined Stoic philosopher and accomplished military leader, mobilises his surviving legionnaires and marches them northward to drive back the invading hordes. Struggling to find troops and finance the war, Marcus takes radical crisis measures that send shockwaves through Roman society. First he auctions off his own imperial treasures to raise emergency funds for the war effort. Then he closes the amphitheatres and conscripts the gladiators into his army.
Nevertheless, the Roman army remains vastly outnumbered and the campaign they reluctantly embarked upon has proven to be long and arduous. It is now deep midwinter, and after years of bitter fighting, they are encamped upon the southern banks of the river Danube, having cut a bloody path into the deeply-forested heart of Germania. Their beleaguered forces clash with tens of thousands of tribal warriors across the icy surface of the frozen river in a battle that will decide the fate of Rome, and shape the future of European civilisation…
Late at night, in his battle tent, Marcus kneels before the miniature silver statuettes of his private shrine and patiently enumerates the virtues of his gods and ancestors, vowing to imitate their best qualities in his own life. He prays to bring his own daemon, the divine spark within him, into harmony with universal Nature, and the Fate determined for him. Following his Stoic principles he prays to Zeus, not for victory in battle, but for the gods to grant him the strength to act with wisdom and integrity, like the ideal Sage.
Like Scipio Africanus the Younger, the famous general who razed Carthage and secured Roman dominance, Marcus trains his mind using an ancient cosmological meditation in order to compose his perspective before battle. He pictures the battlefield from an elevated, Olympian point of view in order to imagine himself entering the mind of Zeus. Looking down upon the battle lines from high above, he imagines what it feels like to see things as a god. He contemplates the world itself, the vastness of time and space, the transience of material objects, and the unity and interdependence of all things. In so doing, he reminds himself of his own mortality, whispering beneath his breath the words of the famous Roman maxim: memento mori —“remember thou must die.” Withdrawing into deeper contemplation, he murmurs the slogan of the great slave-philosopher Epictetus whose teachings he has committed to memory, “endure and renounce.” With these words he reaffirms his vow to renounce materialistic and egotistic cravings and to secretly forego the fear of pain and death.
Finally, Marcus takes out his personal meditation journal and slowly records, in a few words, the philosophical idea that’s been circulating through his mind all day long:
Plato has a fine saying, that he who would discourse of man should survey, as from some high watchtower, the things of earth.
He finishes writing, closes his eyes, and sits back in his chair. His attention turns within: to his breathing and the sensations of tension throughout his body, which he patiently begins willing himself to relax away… He retreats within, relaxes, and then does nothing for a while… he waits… he watches the thoughts that pass through his mind, with studied indifference…
Then he slowly shifts his attention… He imagines looking at his body from the outside… at his facial expression… his posture… his clothing… He pauses for a few moments to adjust to this new perspective… Then he imagines floating serenely upward… looking down at his body still before him in the chair, eyes closed… He imagines the tent around him disappearing as his mind, his spirit, floats upward, high above his body… He looks down on the camp around him… He sees himself, in his mind’s eye, and he now sees the tents and soldiers around him…
Floating higher and higher… his perspective widens to take in the whole area, the clearing, and the surrounding forests… He thinks of the animals, the birds, the fish in the rivers… He thinks of the paths through the woods… the villages nearby… and the people who live there… going about their lives… interacting with each other, influencing each other, encountering each other in different ways… Floating higher, people become as small as ants below… He patiently talks himself through the images and ideas as he contemplates them… He’s done this a hundred times before…
Rising up into the clouds, you see the whole of the surrounding region beneath you… You see both towns and countryside, forests, rivers… where one country ends and another begins… and gradually the coastline comes into view as your perspective becomes more and more expansive… You float gently up above the clouds, above the rain, and through the upper atmosphere of our world… So high that you eventually rise beyond the sphere of the planet itself, and into the region of the stars… You look toward our world below and see it suspended in space before you… silently turning… majestic and beautiful…
You see the whole world… the blue of the great oceans… and the brown and green of the continents… You see the white of the polar ice caps, north and south… You see the grey wisps of cloud that pass silently across the surface of the earth… Though you can no longer see yourself, you know that you are down there far below, and that your life is important, and what you make of your life is important… Your change in perspective changes your view of things… your values and priorities become more aligned with reality and with nature as a whole…
You contemplate all the countless living beings upon the earth. The millions who live today… You remember that your life is one among many, one person among the total population of the world… You think of the rich diversity of human life… The many languages spoken by people of different races, in different countries… people of all different ages… newborn infants, elderly people, people in the prime of life… You think of the enormous variety of human experiences… some people right now are unhappy, some people are happy… and you realise how richly varied the tapestry of human life before you seems…
And yet as you gaze upon the planet you are also aware of its position within the rest of the universe… a tiny speck of dust, adrift in immeasurable vastness… Merely a tiny grain of sand by comparison with the endless tracts of cosmic space…
You think about the present moment below and see it within the broader context of your life as a whole… You think of your lifespan as a whole, in its totality… You think of your own life as one moment in the enormous lifespan of mankind… Hundreds of generations have lived and died before you… many more will live and die in the future, long after you yourself are gone… Civilisations too have a lifespan; you think of the many great cities which have arisen and been destroyed throughout the ages… and your own civilisation as one in a series… perhaps in the future to be followed by new cities, peoples, languages, cultures, and ways of life…
You think of the lifespan of humanity itself… Just one of countless species living upon the planet… the race of mankind arising many thousands of years ago… long after animal life had appeared… You contemplate history just as if it were a great book, a million lines long… the life of the entire human race just a single sentence somewhere within that book… just one sentence…
And yet you think of the lifespan of the planet itself… Countless years older than mankind… the life of the planet too has a beginning, middle, and end… Formed unimaginably long ago… one day in the distant future its destiny is to be swallowed up fire… You think of the great lifespan of the universe itself… the almost incomprehensible vastness of universal time… starting immeasurable aeons ago… Perhaps one day, at the end of time, this whole universe will implode upon itself and disappear once again…
Contemplating the vast lifespan of the universe, remember that the present moment is but the briefest of instants… the mere blink of an eye… the turn of a screw… a fleeting second in the mighty river of cosmic time… Yet the “here and now” is important… standing as the centre point of all human experience… Here and now you find yourself at the centre of living time… Though your body may be small in the grand scheme of things, your imagination, the human imagination, is as big as the universe… bigger than the universe… enveloping everything that can be conceived… From the cosmic point of view, your body seems small, but your imagination seems utterly vast…
You contemplate all things, past, present and future… You see your life within the bigger picture… the total context of cosmic time and space… You see yourself as an integral part of something much bigger, of cosmic Nature itself… Just as the organs and limbs of your own body work together to form a greater unity, a living being, so your body as a whole is like a tiny part in the organism of the universe…
As your consciousness expands, and your mind stretches out to reach and touch the vastness of eternity… Things change greatly in perspective… and shifts occur in their relative importance… Trivial things seem trivial to you… Indifferent things seem indifferent… The significance of your own attitude toward life becomes more apparent… you remember that life is what you make of it… You learn to put things in perspective, and focus on your true values and priorities in life… You embrace and follow nature… your own true nature as a rational, truth-seeking human being… and the one great Nature of the universe as a whole…
He takes time to contemplate things from this perspective. Then he guides himself, with his words, back down to earth… toward the real world, and the present moment… toward Germania… toward the tent in which his body remains seated, comfortably, in repose…
His mind slowly returns to his body… back behind his eyes… his awareness runs through his body… his arms and legs… reaching out to his fingers and his toes… He feels the chair beneath him once again… and his feet resting on the floor… He takes a deep breath and begins to slowly open his eyes… moving his fingers, his toes, and starting to shift a little in his chair… he opens his eyes and looks at the things before him…
He stands up slowly, and takes a step forward. His mind still feels enlarged, somehow lighter and more free than before. He feels prepared. He knows that he has work to do tomorrow that will require great patience, presence of mind, and equanimity, and he puts his trust in philosophy, once again, to guide him.
Some ancient authors, such as Diogenes Laertius, claim that the Stoic school descended from Socrates in the following succession: Socrates taught Antisthenes, who inspired Diogenes the Cynic, who taught Crates of Thebes, the mentor of Zeno, the founder of Stoicism. This is called the Cynic-Stoic succession.
See my earlier article for a description of the passages in Xenophon’s Symposium depicting Antisthenes’ character and his philosophy.
Aside from Xenophon, one of our best accounts of Antisthenes comes from the chapter about him in Diogenes Laertius’ Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, which this article explores in detail.
Antisthenes’ Life
We’re told Antisthenes (445 – 356 BC) was an Athenian, although he was not of pure Attic blood. He distinguished himself, as a young man, at the second battle of Tanagra, during the Peloponnesian War, and was praised by Socrates for his bravery in battle. Whereas other Athenians sneered at the fact his mother was a barbarian, from Thrace, Socrates defended him and appears to have thought very highly of him.
At first he was a student of the Sophist Gorgias, from whom he learned an elegant rhetorical style. He became a teacher and gathered a following of students at an early age. Later he became one of the most prominent followers of Socrates, whom he actually told his students to attach themselves to instead. He was also highly-regarded by the Athenian general Xenophon, another close friend of Socrates. Xenophon was about fifteen years his junior so it’s possible they may have fought together in some of the same battles. Socrates himself was a decorated war hero. So perhaps these three men may have bonded over their common debt to the military way of life.
Antisthenes was about twenty-five years younger than Socrates. He and Xenophon undoubtedly both looked up to Socrates as an older veteran, renowned for his courage in battle. Diogenes Laertius says that the most distinguished of the followers of Socrates were Antisthenes, Xenophon, and Plato. Plato was about the same age as Xenophon. Of the three, only Antisthenes seems to have been present at Socrates’ trial and execution; Plato, though present at the trial, was absent at Socrates’ death due to illness, whereas Xenophon was away on military service. Antisthenes is also said to have sought justice against the men who brought Socrates to trial on false charges.
Antisthenes is held responsible for the exile of Anytus and the execution of Meletus. For he fell in with some youths from Pontus whom the fame of Socrates had brought to Athens, and he led them off to Anytus, whom he ironically declared to be wiser than Socrates; whereupon (it is said) those about him with much indignation drove Anytus out of the city. (Diogenes Laertius)
According to legend, Antisthenes and Plato did not get along and often criticized each other’s philosophies. Xenophon likewise was said to have become estranged from Plato. Antisthenes taunted him for being arrogant, comparing him to a proud, showy horse. It’s sometimes thought that Xenophon’s account of Socrates was more faithful, whereas Plato embellished his Socratic dialogues with his own ideas and notions derived from Pythagoreanism.
They say that, on hearing Plato read the Lysis, Socrates exclaimed, “By Heracles, what a number of lies this young man is telling about me!” For he has included in the dialogue much that Socrates never said.
In addition to being a soldier it’s implied by Diogenes Laertius that Antisthenes wrestled. He was a famously tough and self-disciplined character. For example, he would walk barefoot over five miles every day to Athens and back again, from his home in the port city of Peiraeus, just to hear Socrates speak. (That would be a round trip of about three or four hours each day.)
Socrates did gently mock Antisthenes for a kind of inverse snobbery: taking too much pride in his own austerity. According to Diogenes Laertius’ Life of Socrates, when Antisthenes turned his cloak so that the tear in it became visible, Socrates said “I see your vanity through the tear in your cloak.”
It seems to be implied that after the execution of Socrates, Antisthenes was sought out by young men who wanted to learn philosophy from him, one of the most highly-regarded of the Socratic inner circle. However, he repelled students forcefully unless they were extremely persistent. He only accepted a handful.
To the question why he had but few disciples he replied, “Because I use a silver rod to eject them.” When he was asked why he was so bitter in reproving his pupils he replied, “Physicians are just the same with their patients.” (Diogenes Laertius)
He’s sometimes described as carrying a bakteria, the wooden rod or narrow staff used by Spartan officers to beat helot slaves and discipline subordinates.
The Cynics
One day an Athenian man was making a sacrifice to the gods when a small white dog dashed up and snatched away his offering. He chased the dog and it finally dropped the meat at a spot just outside the city gates of Athens. The man was alarmed but received an Oracle telling him to set up a temple to the god Hercules in the precise location where the dog had dropped the offering. He did so and the area, dedicated to Hercules, became known as the Cynosarges, or “White Dog”. Later a gymnasium was built there and that was where Antisthenes would teach philosophy. He too was reputedly nicknamed Haplokuon, the “Absolute Dog”, and some ancient sources claim that he was ultimately the founder of the Cynic (“Dog”) tradition, made famous by Diogenes of Sinope. Antisthenes wrote at least three books about Hercules, and it’s tempting to see his fascination with the figure of Hercules as inspired by the history of the area in which he taught.
Some ancient authors, such as Diogenes Laertius, considered Antisthenes actually to be the founder of the Cynic tradition. Some even claimed that he taught Diogenes. However, most modern scholars believe that it’s impossible they could have met. Nevertheless, it’s almost certain that Diogenes would have heard of Antisthenes and would have been exposed to his philosophy. So it’s possible that he was the main precursor of the Cynic tradition and that his lifestyle and his writings, well-known at the time, influenced Diogenes the Cynic. Diogenes Laertius, for example, says:
From Socrates he learned patient endurance, emulating his attitude of indifference [apatheia], and so became the founder of the Cynic way of life. He demonstrated that pain is a good thing by instancing the great Heracles and Cyrus, drawing the one example from the Greek world and the other from the barbarians.
Diogenes Laertius portrays Antisthenes, the Cynics, and the Stoics as sharing much in common. In addition to sharing the attitude of philosophical apatheia (indifference, or detachment) they also agreed that the fundamental goal of life was virtue:
They [the Cynics] hold further that “Life according to Virtue” is the Goal to be sought, as Antisthenes says in his Heracles: exactly like the Stoics. For indeed there is a certain close relationship between the two schools. Hence it has been said that Cynicism is a shortcut to virtue ; and after the same pattern did Zeno of Citium live his life.
They also hold that we should live frugally, eating food for nourishment only and wearing a single garment. Wealth and fame and high birth they despise. Some at all events are vegetarians and drink cold water only and are content with any kind of shelter or tubs, like Diogenes, who used to say that it was the privilege of the gods to need nothing and of god-like men to want but little.
They hold, further, that virtue can be taught, as Antisthenes maintains in his Heracles, and when once acquired cannot be lost; and that the wise man is worthy to be loved, impeccable, and a friend to his like; and that we should entrust nothing to fortune. Whatever is intermediate between Virtue and Vice they, in agreement with Ariston of Chios, account indifferent.
Antisthenes made several witty and curt remarks, which could be interpreted as exhibiting as a form of the famous Cynic parrhesia, or frankness of speech.
When he was being initiated into the Orphic mysteries, the priest said that those admitted into these rites would be partakers of many good things in Hades. “Why then,” said he, “don’t you die?”
He walked barefoot and dressed in a single cloak, like the Cynics after him. Although, as we’ve seen, it’s unlikely to be true that they actually met, according to one legend, when Diogenes asked Antisthenes for a coat to keep out the cold, he taught him to fold his cloak around him double, so that he would only need one garment for both winter and summer.
However, we also have the following anecdotes in Dio Chrysotom:
It was not long before [Diogenes] despised [all the philosophers at Athens] save Antisthenes, whom he cultivated, not so much from approval of the man himself as of the words he spoke, which he felt to be alone true and best adapted to help mankind. For when he contrasted the man Antisthenes with his words, he sometimes made this criticism, that the man himself was much weaker; and so in reproach he would call him a trumpet because he could not hear his own self, no matter how much noise he made. Antisthenes tolerated this banter of his since he greatly admired the man’s character; and so, in requital for being called a trumpet, he used to say that Diogenes was like the wasps, the buzz of whose wings is slight but the sting very sharp. (On Virtue)
Philosophy
Diogenes Laertius wrote “Epicurus thought pleasure good and Antisthenes thought it bad”. Indeed, he seems to have been well-known for teaching that pleasure was bad. He famously said “I’d rather be mad than feel pleasure”. The Stoics differed from this in teaching that both pleasure and pain were merely indifferent, neither good nor bad. He also advocated a simple life. By seeking things that are easy to obtain we’re more likely to achieve contentment. He jokingly said, “We ought to make love to such women as will feel a proper gratitude”.
He practised indifference to the opinion of others. When told that Plato was criticizing him, he replied “It is a royal privilege to do good and be ill spoken of”. Marcus Aurelius quotes this saying in The Meditations (7.36). He advised that when men are slandered, they should endure it more courageously than if they were pelted with stones. (Which will perhaps remind us of the phrase “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me.”) Likewise, that “it is better to fall in with crows than with flatterers; for in the one case you are devoured when dead, in the other case while alive.” When someone said to him “Many men praise you”, he replied, “Why, what have I done wrong?” (He made a similar quip when praised by some men he considered scoundrels.) This appears to be an allusion to a theme in Socratic philosophy that says that praise is worthless, and maybe even pernicious, unless it comes from the wise and virtuous.
Diogenes Laertius summarized the main arguments of his philosophy as follows:
- That virtue can be taught.
- That only the virtuous are noble.
- That virtue by itself is sufficient for happiness, since it needed nothing else except “the strength of a Socrates.”
- That virtue is about action and does not require much eloquence or learning.
- That the wise man is self-sufficient, for all the goods of others are his.
- That, paradoxically, ill-repute and pain are good things because they provide us with the opportunity to strengthen our wisdom and virtue.
- That the wise man is not guided by the established laws in his social conduct but by the law of virtue.
- That the wise will marry in order to have children with suitable women.
- That the wise man will not disdain to love, for only he knows who are worthy to be loved.
If this is accurate, it does seem virtually identical to the Cynic philosophy, at least in terms of these key points. It’s also very similar to Stoicism, except that Antisthenes and the Cynics view pain, hardship and disrepute as good things, insofar as they provide us with opportunities to learn virtue, like the Labours of Hercules. By contrast, the Stoics view these things as indifferent with regard to virtue, and not necessarily to be actively sought out in life.
Antisthenes said that “virtue is the same for women as for men.” This was the title of a book by the Stoic Cleanthes and based on two lectures that survive by the Roman Stoic Musonius Rufus, the idea that women are as capable of learning philosophy as men was a long-standing feature of Stoicism, perhaps ultimately derived from Antisthenes.
Writings
Antisthenes was a very prolific writer. In fact some critics attacked him for writing too much about trifling things. His earlier training under the Sophist Gorgias seems to have taught him an elegant rhetorical style. However, one gets the impression his arguments were considered less learned and sophisticated than Plato’s. Diogenes Laertius says that in his day the collected writings of Antisthenes were preserved in ten volumes, each containing several texts. In total, he names the titles of over sixty individual texts attributed to Antisthenes.
These include dialogue, speeches, and other texts. The topics include rhetoric, the interpretation of poets, natural philosophy, law and economics, love and marriage, music, debate, education, knowledge, and also the virtues of courage and justice, and the nature of the good. Notably, perhaps, he wrote at least four books on Cyrus, three on Hercules, two on death or dying, and about eight on The Odyssey or characters probably derived from it (Odysseus, Penelope, Telemachus, Circe and the Cyclops) so these were perhaps some of his favourite themes. Two books entitled The Greater Heracles, or Of Strength, and Heracles, or Of Wisdom or Strength, may possibly have elaborated on what he meant by “Socratic strength”.
He also wrote about, or in response to, several historical and mythological figures: Cyrus, Aspasia, Satho, Theognis, Homer, Helen, Ajax, Calchas, Odysseus, Telemachus, Penelope, Athena, Circe, the Cyclops, Hercules, Proteus, Amphiaraus, Archelaus, Midas, Orestes, Lysias, Isocrates, and the Sophists in general. He also wrote books on Menexenus, one of Socrates’ sons, and Alcibiades, his lover. One would presume he wrote about Socrates as well, although what and how much is unclear. His writings were popular and probably had an influence on generations of philosophers, particularly the Cynics and Stoics.
Many moons ago, I did my first degree in philosophy, at Aberdeen University, in the northeast of Scotland. I remember that one of the first things our lecturers explained, very wisely, was how in philosophy we should always criticise the theory and not the person. In undergraduate philosophy tutorials, especially in debates about applied philosophy, we would have to discuss contentious issues like abortion, animal rights, and nuclear weapons. We should strive to do that dispassionately, with philosophical objectivity, and without taking offence or attacking other people, even if we’d be shocked by the views they’re stating in the context of ordinary life.
There’s no other way to do philosophy. If we want to think rationally ourselves, we have to focus on the evidence for and against what people say, and forego criticism of the other person’s character. Attacking the person stating a theory is well-known as a fallacy. It’s traditionally called the argumentum ad hominem. There are many good reasons for avoiding ad hominem attacks.
- It’s fallacious reasoning. Criticising the character or actions of someone who holds a theory tells you absolutely nothing about the validity of the theory. Even the world’s stupidest people have good ideas. Sometimes bad people say the right things, albeit for the wrong reasons. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. If Hitler said that one plus one equals two, for example, that wouldn’t make it any less true.
- It’s just not good manners in a philosophical or rational debate. Especially today, on social media, good etiquette would be to express disagreement dispassionately, without taking offence or offending other people by attacking their character.
- It’s what I call a “conversation killer” because it prevents rational discourse from continuing. So it’s really very unphilosophical. Wise people don’t kill conversations by derailing them with ad hominems. They try to evaluate what other people say objectively and respond reasonably and politely.
- It’s usually very presumptuous and tends to involve the fallacy of “mind-reading”. You don’t really know what the motivations of a stranger on the Internet are. So jumping to conclusions about what they’re thinking rather than focusing on the validity of what they’ve actually said is really not a good idea. When we jump to conclusions about other people’s reasons for saying something, I tend to find it says more about our own attitudes than the other person. There’s some truth in the Freudian-Jungian concept of unconscious “projection”.
- We should be intellectually humble enough to always remember that the other person might actually turn out to have been right all along. Think of all the ad hominem attacks against Charles Darwin that portrayed him as a foolish moral-degenerate and the cartoons depicting him as a monkey – the real fools were the people dismissing what he said. Criticising the other person’s character potentially stops us from realising that what initially seemed false or stupid was actually correct. Put bluntly, using ad hominems risks making you more stupid.
This is one of my favourite anecdotes about Zeno of Citium, the founder of Stoicism… One day, Zeno came across an arrogant young intellectual who was discoursing loudly about the philosopher Antisthenes. (Antisthenes was one of Socrates’ closest friends, and greatly admired by him; his writings were held in very high regard in ancient Greece but none survive today.) A small crowd had gathered around the young man and he was showing off by doing a hatchet job on Antisthenes, denouncing what he perceived as the shortcomings of his philosophy. Zeno interrupted him and asked what he’d learned from Antisthenes that was of value, about wisdom or virtue. The young man said “nothing”. The story goes that Zeno told him he should be ashamed therefore to have spent so much time and energy picking over the flaws in a philosopher’s writings without first being able to identify what’s actually of value in his writings. In Zeno’s day, the Platonic Academy became dominated by Skeptics who were adept at nit-picking flaws in any philosophical theory. The Stoics felt these people risked of turning philosophy into nothing but clever wordplay and losing sight of any ideas that are actually of value.
This is similar (but not identical) to what philosophers today call the Principle of Charity. The Principle of Charity involves giving other people the benefit of the doubt, assuming they’re not stupid, and interpreting their statements in the most charitable way in terms of the debate. There’s always some ambiguity about what other people mean, especially on social media. So if we’re not sure, it’s good etiquette to lean toward the most generous interpretation, i.e., not to assume the worst, but to see what others say in the most rational light. That would entail not “mind-reading” others, for example, and risking falsely attributing dishonest or stupid motives to them.
The philosopher Bertrand Russell, likewise, once said that the ideal way to study another philosopher consists in two distinct stages. In the first stage, we should be as sympathetic as possible toward their theories, and perhaps even try to find additional reasons to support them. We should empathise with their position and try to really understand them as deeply as possible. Once we’ve done that enough, we should enter into the second stage, of criticism, and adopt a more hostile position, in which we identify as many flaws as possible with their theory. It’s premature to criticise a theory until we’ve attempted to fully understand it. Many philosophers waste time and energy expounding lengthy criticisms of other philosophers that, on close inspection, just show they didn’t fully understand their theories to begin with. To some extent misunderstanding is inevitable. Scholars believe that even Aristotle failed to fully appreciate his master Plato’s teachings, despite having been his most prominent student for many years. On the other hand, though, at the extreme end of the scale, it’s not unusual to find people who publish long-winded criticisms of books they’ve obviously not read!
There is one exceptional circumstance, nevertheless, where I feel ad hominem criticisms may be legitimate. When I trained psychotherapists, I often found that people were very strongly invested in particular schools of thought that they’d been previously trained in. Now there are hundreds of competing psychotherapeutic theories. They all say different things. As Arnold Lazarus, one of the pioneers of behaviour therapy once put it: they can’t all be right, but they can all be wrong.
When I first began studying psychotherapy there were still many therapists deeply invested in Freudian theory. They believed in things like the primacy of the Oedipus Complex, even though no evidence supported this theory. Psychodynamic therapists believed that their form of therapy was the only effective form of therapy, even though countless research studies provide evidence that conflicted with this claim. (Actually, it very often seems to be one of the least effective forms of therapy.) When I pressed these therapists for the reason they believed these things in the face of conflicting evidence they’d often say something along the lines of this: “Freud is widely regarded to be a great psychologist.” Likewise, in the 1990s, Neurolinguistic Programming (NLP) was reaching the peak of its popularity as a fad. There are also many studies on NLP, which overall show that it is ineffective and certainly does not show the dramatic results its proponents claim. When I pressed NLP practitioners for the reason they believed in this approach, much like the Freudians (whom they hated!), after lot of prevarication, they would say something like: “Because Bandler’s research shows that it works.” Richard Bandler, however, never conducted any scientific research into the theories and techniques he developed. He just published books on them, and trained others to use them, without testing them in clinical trials, etc.
Now, someone who holds pseudoscientific theories will very often attempt to support them by appealing to the perceived authority of the person who developed them. That’s obviously another fallacy: the appeal to (perceived) authority or argumentum ad verecundiam. You can try pointing out to them that it’s a fallacy but that often does nothing to dissuade them. In those cases, if their rationale for holding something to be true is purely based on the character and credentials of someone else, I think it’s legitimate to question whether that’s good evidence. Doing so may involve questioning the scruples or expertise of the person they’re citing, i.e., questioning their authority. For example, Freud is certainly famous. However, he is not highly regarded today as an expert on psychology or psychotherapy. In fact, Freud conducted no research whatsoever on psychotherapy and only treated a very small number of psychotherapy clients – perhaps less than one hundred in his lifetime whereas most modern therapists treat thousands. Bandler, likewise, is qualified neither as a psychotherapist nor as a psychologist and has published no scientific research in support of NLP. His books have been shown to base their arguments on simple scientific errors about neuropsychology.
Now none of those observations necessarily mean that psychoanalysis or NLP are wrong. They merely throw into question the reliability of the people behind them. However, in the exceptional case mentioned above, where an individual cites the perceived authority of Freud or Bandler as their sole reason for believing something, I think it’s valid to use something resembling an ad hominem argument. In that case, though, rather than attacking the character of the speaker, you’d be questioning whether someone they cite as an authority actually has the expertise and reliability they’re attributing to them. Even so, this is a last resort, because ideally your interlocutor should realise that such appeal to authority is a fallacy to begin with. It’s especially foolish to use such appeals as a reason to discount scientific evidence that points in a contrary direction. Unfortunately, it’s still very common for people to think this way, though.