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An Introduction to Stoic Practice:
The Three Disciplines of Stoicism
See my latest book, Verissimus: The Stoic Philosophy of Marcus Aurelius, for more information.
From its origin Stoicism placed considerable emphasis on the division of philosophical discourse into three topics called “Ethics”, “Physics” and “Logic”. Philosophy itself was unified but theoretical discussions could be broadly distinguished in this way and the Stoics were particularly known for their threefold curriculum. Epictetus is the only Stoic teacher whose work survives in significant amounts, we have four volumes of his Discourses, recorded from his public lectures by his student Arrian, although another four volumes have apparently been lost. We also have a condensed version of his teachings compiled in the famous Stoic “Handbook” or Enchiridion. Although Epictetus lived about four centuries after Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, and by his time the formal institution of the Stoic school had apparently ceased to exist, he appears to have been particularly faithful to the early teachings of the school’s main founders: Zeno and Chrysippus.
However, Epictetus also describes a threefold division between aspects of lived philosophical practice, which scholars can find no trace of in previous Stoic literature. (Hence, another famous Roman Stoic, Seneca, won’t come into this discussion because he basically lived before Epictetus and never mentioned these three disciplines.)
- “The Discipline of Desire”, which has to do with acceptance of our fate
- “The Discipline of Action”, which has to do with philanthropy or love of mankind
- “The Discipline of Assent”, which has to do with mindfulness of our judgements
The Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, the Stoic best-known to modern readers, was taught by philosophers who possibly studied with Epictetus, although he never met him himself. One of Marcus’ teachers gave him a copy of notes from Epictetus’ lectures, almost certainly the Discourses recorded by Arrian. Indeed, Marcus refers to the teachings of Epictetus repeatedly throughout The Meditations and it’s clear that he’s primarily influenced by this particular form of Stoicism. He also makes extensive use of the Three Disciplines described in the Discourses, which provide one of the main “keys” to interpreting his own writings.
So how are we to interpret these Stoic practical disciplines? The French scholar Pierre Hadot wrote a very thorough analysis of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations called The Inner Citadel (1998), in which he explores the Three Disciplines in detail, employing them as a framework for his exposition. If we follow Hadot’s interpretation, it actually provides a fairly clear and simple model for understanding the teachings of Stoicism. The way of Stoic philosophy was traditionally described as “living according to nature” or “living harmoniously” and Hadot suggests that all three disciplines are intended to help us live in harmony in different regards, and that they combine together to provide the secret to a serene and harmonious way of life, practical philosophy as the art of living wisely.
1. The Discipline of Desire (Stoic Acceptance)
According to Hadot, the discipline of “desire” (orexis) is the application to daily living of the Stoic theoretical topic of “physics”, which includes the Stoic study of natural philosophy, cosmology, and theology. The discipline of desire, according to this view, is the virtue of living in harmony with the Nature of the universe as a whole, or in the language of Stoic theology, with Zeus or God. This entails having a “philosophical attitude” toward a life and acceptance of our Fate as necessary and inevitable. It’s tempting to see this discipline as particularly entailing the cardinal virtues associated with self-control over the irrational passions, which are “courage”, or endurance in the face of fear and suffering, and “self-discipline” (temperance), or the ability to renounce desire and abstain from false or unhealthy pleasures. (Hence, Epictetus’ famous slogan: “endure and renounce”.) Hadot calls the goal of this discipline “amor fati” or the loving acceptance of one’s fate. This discipline is summed up in one of the most striking passages from the Enchiridion: “Seek not for events to happen as you wish but wish events to happen as they do and your life will go smoothly and serenely.” But Stoics are not “doormats”. The Stoic hero Cato of Utica famously marched the shattered remnants of the Republican army through the deserts of Africa to make a desperate last stand against the tyrant Julius Caesar, who sought to overthrow the Republic and declare himself dictator of Rome. Although he lost the civil war, he became a Roman legend and the Stoics dubbed him “the invincible Cato” because his will was completely unconquered – he tore his own guts out with his bare hands rather than submit to Caesar and be exploited by the dictator for his propaganda. Centuries later, the Stoic emperor Marcus Aurelius, despite a devastating plague and countless misfortunes beyond his control, led his weakened army repeatedly into battle to defend Rome against invading barbarian hordes. He prevailed despite the many obstacles to victory. If he’d failed, Rome would have been destroyed. As we’ll see, the discipline of action explains this strange paradox: how can the Stoics combine acceptance with such famous endurance and courageous action in the name of justice? I’ve described this discipline simply as “Stoic Acceptance”, meaning amor fati.
2. The Discipline of Action (Stoic Philanthropy)
According to Hadot, the discipline of “action” (hormê, which really means the inception or initial “impulse” to action) is the application to daily living of the Stoic theoretical topic of “ethics”. Stoic “ethics” which includes the definition of what is good, bad, and indifferent. It also deals with the goal of life as “happiness” or fulfilment (eudaimonia). It includes the definition of the cardinal Stoic virtues (wisdom, justice, courage, and self-discipline). According to the central doctrine of Stoicism, virtue is the only true good and sufficient by itself for the good life and fulfilment (eudaimonia). Likewise, Stoic ethics covers the vices, opposing virtue, and the irrational and unhealthy “passions”, classified as: fear, craving, emotional pain, and false or unhealthy pleasures. The discipline of action, according to Hadot’s view, is the essentially virtue of living in harmony with the community of all mankind, which means benevolently wishing all of mankind to flourish and achieve “happiness” (eudaimonia) the goal of life. However, as other people’s wellbeing is outside of our direct control, we must always wish them well in accord with the Stoic “reserve clause” (hupexairesis), which basically means adding the caveat: “Fate permitting” or “God willing.” (This is one way in which the philosophical attitude toward life reconciles vigorous action with emotional acceptance.) In other words, Stoics do their best to act with virtue while accepting the outcome of their actions in a somewhat detached manner, whether success or failure. Moreover, Stoics must act according to their rational appraisal of which external outcomes are naturally to be preferred. Hence, Marcus Aurelius appears to refer to three clauses that Stoics should be continually mindful to attach to all of their actions:
- That they are undertaken “with a reserve clause” (hupexairesis)
- That they are “for the common welfare” of mankind (koinônikai)
- That they “accord with value” (kat’ axian)
It’s tempting to see this discipline as particularly associated with the cardinal virtue of “justice”, which the Stoics defined as including both fairness to others and benevolence. Hadot calls this discipline “action in the service of mankind”, because it involves extending the same natural affection or care that we are born feeling for our own body and physical wellbeing to include the physical and mental wellbeing of all mankind, through a process known as “appropriation” (oikeiosis) or widening the circle of our natural “self-love” to include all mankind. I’ve described this as “Stoic Philanthropy”, or love of mankind, a term they employed themselves.
3. The Discipline of Assent (Stoic Mindfulness)
According to Hadot, the discipline of “assent” (sunkatathesis) is the application to daily living of the Stoic theoretical topic of “logic”. Stoic “logic” actually includes elements of what we would now call “psychology” or “epistemology”. The discipline of assent, according to this view, is the virtue of living in harmony with our own essential nature as rational beings, which means living in accord with reason and truthfulness in both our thoughts and speech. It’s tempting to see this discipline as particularly associated with the cardinal Stoic virtue of “wisdom” or truthfulness. Hadot calls the goal of this discipline the “inner citadel” because it involves continual awareness of the true self, the faculty of the mind responsible for judgement and action, where our freedom and virtue reside, the chief good in life. According to Hadot’s analysis, although the Stoics refer to “judgement” in general (hypolêpsis), they’re primarily interested in monitoring and evaluating their own implicit value-judgements. These form the basis of our actions, desires, and emotions, especially the irrational passions and vices which the Stoics sought to overcome. By continually monitoring their judgements, Stoics are to notice the early-warning signs of upsetting or unhealthy impressions and take a step back from them, withholding their “assent” or agreement, rather than being “carried away” into irrational and unhealthy passions and the vices. The Stoics call this prosochê or “attention” to the ruling faculty of the mind, to our judgements and actions. I’ve described this as “Stoic Mindfulness”, a term that can be taken to translate prosochê.
The Goal of Life (Follow Nature)
As you can probably see, these three disciplines overlap considerably and are intertwined, just like the three traditional topics of Stoic philosophy, which Hadot claims they’re based upon: Logic, Ethics, and Physics. However, in unison, they allow the Stoic to work toward a harmonious and consistent way of life, in accord with nature. By this, the Stoics meant a life in the service of the natural goal of human nature, the attainment of fulfilment “eudaimonia”, the good life, achieved by perfecting moral reasoning and excelling in terms of the cardinal virtues: wisdom, justice, courage, and self-discipline.
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A Simplified Modern Approach to Stoicism
This article is designed to provide a very concise introduction to Stoicism as a way of life, through a simplified set of Stoic psychological practices. The first few passages of Epictetus’ Handbook (Enchiridion) actually provide an account of some fundamental practices that can form the basis of a simplified approach to Stoicism and this account is closely based on those. We’d recommend you treat it as an introduction to the wider Stoic literature. However, starting with a set of basic practices can help people studying Stoic philosophy to get to grips with things before proceeding to assimilate some of the more diverse or complex aspects found in the ancient texts. Both Seneca and Epictetus refer to the Golden Verses of Pythagoras, which happens to provide a good framework for developing a daily routine, bookended by morning and evening contemplative practices.
Zeno of Citium, who founded Stoicism in 301 BC, expressed his doctrines in notoriously terse arguments and concise maxims. However, Chrysippus, the third head of the Stoic school, wrote over 700 books fleshing these ideas out and adding complex arguments to support them. Let’s focus here on the concise version but bearing in mind there’s a more complex philosophy lurking in the background. For example, Epictetus, the only Stoic teacher whose works survive in any significant quantity, described the central precept of Stoicism to his students as follows:
And to become educated [in Stoic philosophy] means just this, to learn what things are our own, and what are not. (Discourses, 4.5.7)
The practical consequence of this distinction is essentially quite simple:
What, then, is to be done? To make the best of what is in our power, and take the rest as it naturally happens. (Discourses, 1.1.17)
The routine below is designed to provide an introduction to Stoic practice for the 21st Century, which can lead naturally into a wider appreciation of Stoic philosophy as a way of life. The instructions are designed to be as straightforward and concise as possible, while still remaining reasonably faithful to classical Stoicism. The most popular book for people to read who are new to Stoicism is The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, so we recommend that you also consider reading a modern translation of that text during the first few weeks of your Stoic practice.
The Basic Philosophical Regime
Stage 1: Morning Preparation
Plan your day ahead with the Stoic “reserve clause” in mind. Decide what goals you want to achieve in advance and make a decision to try to achieve them but with the caveat: “Fate permitting.” In other words, aim for success and pursue it wholeheartedly while also being prepared to accept setbacks or failure with equanimity, insofar as they lie outside of your direct control. Try to choose your goals wisely, picking things that are rational and healthy for you to pursue. Your primary goal throughout these three stages should be to protect and improve your fundamental wellbeing, particularly in terms of your character and ability to think clearly about your life. You’re going to try to do this by cultivating greater self-awareness and practical wisdom, which requires setting goals for yourself that are healthy, while pursuing them in a sort of “detached” way, without being particularly attached to the outcome.
Stage 2: Stoic Mindfulness (Prosochê) Throughout the Day
Throughout the day, continually pay attention to the way you make value-judgements and respond to your thoughts. Be mindful, in particular of the way you respond to strong emotions or desires. When you experience a distressing or problematic thought, pause, and tell yourself: “This is just a thought and not at all the thing it claims to represent.” Remind yourself that it is not things that upset you but your judgements about things. Where appropriate, rather than being carried away by your initial impressions, try to postpone responding to them for at least an hour, waiting until your feelings have settled down and you are able to view things more calmly and objectively before deciding what action to take.
Once you have achieved greater self-awareness of your stream of consciousness and the ability to take a step back from your thoughts in this way, begin to also apply a simple standard of evaluation to your thoughts and impressions as follows. Having paused to view your thoughts from a distance, ask yourself whether they are about things that are directly under your control or things that are not. This has been called the general precept or strategy of ancient Stoic practice. If you notice that your feelings are about something that’s outside of your direct control then respond by trying to accept the fact that it’s out of your hands, saying to yourself: “This is nothing to me.” Focus your attention instead on doing what is within your sphere of control with wisdom and to the best of your ability, regardless of the actual outcome. In other words, remind yourself to apply the reserve clause described above to each situation. Look for ways to remind yourself of this. For example, the Serenity Prayer is a well-known version of this idea, which you might want to memorise or write down somewhere and contemplate each day.
Give me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The Courage to change the things I can,
And the Wisdom to know the difference.
You may find that knowing you are going to review these events and evaluate them in more detail before you sleep (see below) actually helps you to become more mindful of how you respond to your thoughts and feelings throughout the day.
Stage 3: Night-time Review
Review your whole day, three times, if possible, before going to sleep. Focus on the key events and the order in which they happened, e.g., the order in which you undertook different tasks or interacted with different people during the day.
- What did you do that was good for your fundamental wellbeing? (What went well?)
- What did you do that harmed your fundamental wellbeing? (What went badly?)
- What opportunities did you miss to do something good for your fundamental wellbeing? (What was omitted?)
Counsel yourself as if you were advising a close friend or loved one. What can you learn from the day and, where appropriate, how can you do better in the future? Praise yourself for what went well and allow yourself to reflect on it with satisfaction. You may also find it helps to give yourself a simple subjective rating (from 0-10) to measure how consistently you followed the instructions here or how good you were at pursuing rational and healthy goals while remaining detached from things outside of your direct control. However, also try to be concise in your evaluation of things and to arrive at conclusions without ruminating over things for too long.
Appendix: Some Additional Stoic Practices
There’s a lot more to Stoicism, in terms of both the theory and practice. You might want to begin with a simple approach but you should probably broaden your perspective eventually to include the other parts of Stoicism. Reading The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius and other books can provide you with a better idea of the theoretical breadth of Stoic philosophy. Here are three examples of other Stoic practices, followed by a link to a longer and more detailed article on this site…
- Contemplation of the Sage: Imagine the ideal Sage or exemplary historical figures (Socrates, Diogenes, Cato) and ask yourself: “What would he do?”, or imagine being observed by them and how they would comment on your actions.
- Contemplating the Whole Cosmos: Imagine the whole universe as if it were one thing and yourself as part of the whole, or the View from Above: Picture events unfolding below as if observed from Mount Olympus or a high watchtower.
- Premeditation of Adversity: Mentally rehearse potential losses or misfortunes and view them as “indifferent” (decatastrophising), also view them as natural and inevitable to remove any sense of shock or surprise.
There are five explicit references to the concept of acting “with a reserve clause” in The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, which he obviously employs as a kind of technical term. This isn’t very clear in some of the English translations available. The concept of action “with a reserve clause” (hupexhairesis) is probably closely-related to the concept of “moral choice” (prohairesis) and the definition of the good as “worthy of being chosen” (haireton) in accord with reason and nature.
The concept of the “reserve clause” (exceptio in Latin) can also be found in Seneca and Epictetus, and to some extent in Cicero’s writings on Stoicism. For example, Epictetus tells his students:
For can you find me a single man who cares how he does what he does, and is interested, not in what he can get, but in the manner of his own actions? Who, when he is walking around, is interested in his own actions? Who, when he is deliberating, is interested in the deliberation itself, and not in getting what he is planning to get? (Discourses, 2.16.15)
The basic idea is that Stoics must act in the world, although the good of their own soul (wisdom and virtue) is the chief goal in life, external and bodily things, despite being classed as “indifferent” with regard to our ultimate wellbeing, are to be “selected” or “rejected” in a somewhat detached manner, insofar it is natural and rational to either get or avoid them. In other words, we should pursue external goals with the caveat: “Fate permitting.” There’s a good description of this in the New Testament:
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” (James, 4:13-15)
Hence, Christians used to write “D.V.” or “Deo Volente” (God willing, in Latin) at the end of letters. However, Marcus makes it explicit that he’s deriving the concept, in part, from Epictetus, whom he quotes.
Hear Epictetus: No one can rob us of our free choice. We must, says he, hit upon the true science of assent and in the sphere of our impulses pay good heed that they are with a “reserve clause”; that they have in view our neighbour’s welfare; that they are proportionate to a thing’s value. And we must abstain wholly from inordinate desire and show avoidance in none of the things that are not in our control. (Meditations, 11.37-38)
The Stoics believed the mind was composed of a physical substance like a subtle form of fire, and Marcus describes its ability to adapt to external events, through the “reserve clause”, as resembling an all-consuming fire.
That which holds the mastery within us, when it is in accordance with Nature, is so disposed towards what befalls, that it can always adapt itself with ease to what is possible and granted us. For it is wedded to no definite material, but in the pursuit of its aims it works with a “reserve clause”; it converts into material for itself any obstacle that it meets with, just as fire when it gets the mastery of what is thrown upon it. (Meditations, 4.1)
What stands in the way becomes the way:
Though a man may in some sort hinder my activity, yet on my own voluntary impulses and mental attitude no fetters can be put because of the “reserve clause” and their ability to adapt to circumstances. For everything that stands in the way of its activity is adapted and transmuted by the mind into furtherance of it, and that which is a check on this action is converted into a help to it, and that which is a hindrance in our path goes but to make it easier. (Meditations, 5.20)
The “reserve clause” is a way of overcoming emotional pain and as the perfect Sage cannot, by definition, be happy (eudaimon) if he is distressed, then he must act at all times according to this rule.
Try persuasion first, but even though men would say to you not to, act when the principles of justice direct you to. If anyone one should obstruct you by force, take refuge in being contented and without emotional pain, and use the obstacle for the display of some other virtue. Remember that the impulse you had was with an “reserve clause”, and your aim was not to do the impossible. (Meditations, 6.50)
However, he also seems to refer this concept to the image of the “sphere” of the presocratic philosopher Empedocles, which he mentions three times in The Meditations.
If your impulse is without an “reserve clause”, failure at once becomes an evil to you as a rational creature. But once you accept that universal necessity, you cannot suffer harm nor even be thwarted. Indeed, nobody else can thwart the inner purposes of the mind. For it no fire can touch, nor steel, nor tyrant, nor public censure, nor anything whatsoever: a sphere once formed continues round and true. (Meditations, 8.41)
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Cognitive Distancing in Stoicism
“Distancing” versus “Disputation” as the central process of Stoic psychotherapy
This article explores whether “distancing” from thoughts/impressions or “disputation” of underlying irrational beliefs is more integral to Stoic therapy. If it were established that ancient Stoicism employed a focus on “cognitive distancing” strategies that would be important for several reasons. Distancing is a simpler and more consistent procedure than verbal disputation, so analogies between Stoicism and CBT would be easier to make. Moreover, large volumes of research now exist on distancing, which suggest that it may be one of the most important mechanisms in psychotherapy, and may serve both a preventative and remedial function. Some groups of modern researchers also believe that disputation may interfere with distancing, which would be an important consideration for modern Stoics to assimilate.
The first major figure to notice the relevance of ancient Stoic philosophy for modern psychotherapy was Albert Ellis. In the late 1950s, Ellis began developing what later became known as Rational-Emotive Behaviour Therapy (REBT). REBT is the main precursor of modern cognitive-behavioural therapy (CBT), currently the approach to psychological therapy with by far the strongest evidence-base for most clinical problems. Ellis had read the Stoics as a youth. He later trained in and practiced psychoanalytic therapy. However, after becoming disillusioned with psychoanalytic theory and practice he started looking for a radically different approach, and remembered Stoicism. Hence, Ellis explicitly stated that Stoicism was the main philosophical inspiration for REBT. Stoicism arguably stands in the same relation to subsequent CBT approaches in general, although these are really quite a diverse cluster of different therapies, rather than a single homogenous approach.
Ellis’ approach placed considerable emphasis on the systematic and vigorous verbal disputation of irrational beliefs – its characteristic feature. However, he used to provide clients with a quotation from Epictetus to illustrate his basic premise that our beliefs are at the root of emotional disturbance: “It is not the things themselves that disturb people but their judgements about those things” (Enchiridion, 5). This quotation highlights a basic assumption shared by all cognitive-behavioural therapies: that we should begin by separating our thoughts from external events. Ellis and Beck (the founder of “cognitive therapy”) both saw this as an important therapeutic insight but mainly because it was a necessary precursor to the use of disputation techniques. Typically, for example, REBT or CBT practitioners would ask their clients to evaluate the “pros and cons” of an irrational belief, or the evidence “for and against it”, and to identify alternative rational beliefs to replace it with. This, combined with “behavioural experiments” designed to test out and challenge irrational beliefs in practice, form the bulk of what happens in most modern CBT sessions.
However, although the Stoics do appear to have sometimes challenged specific beliefs in ways that loosely resemble this, it was perhaps not their dominant or characteristic approach. REBT and CBT might encourage clients to challenge underlying (“core”) irrational beliefs such as “I am worthless” or “Other people must like me otherwise it’s awful!” When philosophically evaluating beliefs, Stoics tended to focus on defending underlying precepts of an even more general nature from which individual judgements are derived, such as “the only good is moral good”, considering the possible criticisms, or arguments against these positions, and those in favour of them. Whereas CBT and REBT often target “underlying” value judgements, Stoic disputation might be described as more “philosophical” or “meta-ethical” as it tends to concern the very nature of “the good” itself. (And it may be closer to what modern researchers term disputation of “metacognitive” beliefs, beliefs about beliefs or cognitions about cognition.) The Stoics do appear to have challenged their judgements about specific situations but the focus in their writings is typically more on defending their core philosophical dogmas. Moreover, when Stoics do examine particular situations they appear to place more emphasis on constructing a positive mental representation of how the Sage might act, or what virtues Nature has granted that allow them to rise above adversity. CBT places more emphasis on the identification and direct disputation of negative or irrational beliefs.
Since the 1990s, different researchers have introduced alternative approaches to CBT that are collectively known as the “third-wave” movement. (The first wave was behaviour therapy in the 1950s and 1960s, the second the rise of cognitive therapy in the 1970s and 1980s.) Although there are significant differences between these new forms of CBT, they all tend to place less emphasis on direct verbal disputation of beliefs and more on the initial step of gaining “cognitive distance”. Beck defined “distancing” in cognitive therapy as a “metacognitive” process, a shift to a level of awareness involving “thinking about thinking”, which he defined succinctly as follows:
“Distancing” refers to the ability to view one’s own thoughts (or beliefs) as constructions of “reality” rather than as reality itself. (Alford & Beck, 1997, p. 142)
In CBT, clients are usually “socialised” or introduced to this notion through the use of simple diagrams or metaphors. For example, they may be taught that when thoughts distort our perception of events it’s like we’re wearing coloured spectacles. When we gain cognitive distance from our own thoughts, it’s as though we’re taking off the spectacles and looking at them, rather than looking through them. A similar “distancing” mechanism has been seen as integral to mindfulness meditation practices which have been found effective in the treatment of depression, and were therefore integrated with some forms of CBT. Therefore, the third-wave approaches are often described collectively as the new “mindfulness and acceptance-based” approaches. For example, one of the most prominent of these, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), was originally called “comprehensive distancing” because it explicitly aimed to test the hypothesis that the initial “cognitive distancing” strategy in conventional CBT was much more important than had previously been assumed.
Unlike REBT and Beck’s cognitive therapy, these recent forms of therapy do not explicitly claim to be influenced by Stoic philosophy. However, perhaps by chance, they may have many similarities with aspects of Stoicism that were overlooked by the founders of CBT. In particular, it might be argued that Stoicism itself placed more emphasis on a something akin to “cognitive distancing” than upon direct disputation of beliefs. This may have been somewhat overlooked by scholars because “distancing” is a more subtle and elusive concept than disputation. For that reason, sometimes it is difficult to tell if the Stoics are genuinely referring to the same mechanism, as this often turns on subtleties of translation and interpretation.
One of the passages that stands out most in this regard occurs right at the start of the Enchiridion of Epictetus, where he writes:
Train yourself, therefore, at the very outset to say to every harsh impression: “You are merely an impression [phantasia] and not at all what you appear to be [phainomenon].” (Enchiridion, 1)
Alternatively, perhaps more literally: “You are an appearance and not in any way the thing appearing” – you are merely the subjective impression and not the thing in-itself.
Epictetus, as is often the case, appears to be literally instructing his students to repeat this phrase to themselves as part of a general-purpose psychological strategy for managing disturbing thoughts or impressions. The fact that this occurs in the first passage of the Enchiridion may also signal its importance. It’s presented, as in cognitive therapy, as a prelude to other strategies, which involve “testing” the impression by applying the core precepts of Stoicism to it. At this point, cognitive therapy might involve weighing up the evidence for and against the impression (or “automatic thought”), or identifying the types of distortion it contains, such as “over-generalisation” or “black and white thinking”, etc. However, Epictetus says the most important response a Stoic can make is to question whether the impression has to do with things under our control or not. If it refers to something external, the student is to say to it: “It is nothing to me.” That is, this is completely indifferent with regard to happiness and the good life, the chief goal of Stoicism. The Stoics appear to have realised, as modern CBT does, that any form of re-evaluation or disputation is impossible unless the initial step of gaining “psychological distance” takes place first. I have to be able to view my judgements as hypothesis (merely impressions) rather than as facts (confusing them with the things they claim to represent), before I can begin to question them as such.
In relation to this, Epictetus also refers many times to the strategy of avoiding “being carried away” (sunarpasthêis) by impressions in general, and not letting them “seize the mind” prematurely. He specifically refers to impressions that attribute good or bad to indifferent things, such as pleasure, other people’s happiness, insulting behaviour, or fearful prophecies, etc.
When you get an impression of some pleasure, guard yourself, as with impressions in general, against being carried away by it; nay, let the matter wait upon your leisure, and give yourself a little delay. (Enchiridion, 34)
And so make it your primary endeavour not to be carried away by the impression; for if once you gain time and delay, you will more easily become master of yourself. (Enchiridion, 20)
This delaying tactic was well-known in antiquity and can perhaps be traced to the early Pythagoreans. It resembles time-out or postponement strategies used in modern CBT, which require cognitive distance from an automatic thought, and the ability to defer thinking any more about it or acting upon it until later. Another reason this works well is clearly due to the fact that emotional disturbances (“passions”) tend to come and go naturally and so returning to a thought at a later time, in a different “frame of mind”, generally makes it easier to evaluate it more objectively.
Beck’s cognitive therapy writings only discuss “cognitive distancing” very briefly, although he does mention about half-a-dozen practical strategies, which are taught to clients in the initial stage of therapy. For example:
- Writing down negative automatic thoughts on a daily thought record, particularly fleeting automatic thoughts that might normally go unnoticed or get conflated with feelings
- Writing thoughts on a blackboard and literally viewing them from a distance, as something objective and “over there”, by patiently describing the colour, size, and style of the writing, etc.
- Viewing thoughts as inferences or hypotheses instead of facts, distinguishing between “I believe” and “I know”, discriminating carefully between thoughts and facts
- Referring to your thoughts and feelings in the third-person (“Bill is having anxious feelings, he’s thinking that people are criticising him…”)
- Using a counter to keep a tally of specific types of automatic thoughts, seeing them as habitual and repetitive, as just a meaningless side-effect of previous experience rather than something important and meaningful that deserves to be taken seriously
- Self-observation, being aware of your own awareness, noticing how you observe your thoughts, maintaining a sense of yourself as conscious observer, separate from the contents of your stream of consciousness
- Shifting perspectives and imagining being in the shoes of other people, who might disagree with your beliefs and view things differently, adopting a different perspective on things and identifying a range of alternative views, among which your current thought is just one of many
ACT and other third-wave therapies have added more techniques to this list and refined the existing ones. In particular, they’ve introduced the use of mindfulness meditation techniques, derived from Buddhism, which are mean to train clients to develop greater detachment or psychological distance from their thoughts. Beck himself never mentioned the use of meditation in this way, although it may seem an obvious adjunct to the techniques described above.
Moreover, a brief survey of the Stoic literature suggests that most of the psychological techniques employed can be seen as relating more to the mechanism of “distancing” than “disputation”. For example, in the Enchiridion, Epictetus instructs students of Stoicism to do the following:
- We should continually maintain attention (prosochê) to the leading faculty of the mind (hêgemonikon), watching our judgements as they happen; as if watching our steps, cautious of stepping on a sharp object, or as if looking out for an enemy in hiding
- When upset, we should always remind ourselves that it is our judgment that harms us and not the external thing itself, and we should guard against being “swept away” by upsetting external impressions
- When something appears to be upsetting, you should imagine the same thing befalling someone else, so that you can judge it from a distance
- We should abandon value judgements and stick instead to a bare description of the facts of a situation, which forces us to see our value judgements as something we’re imposing on events rather than an intrinsic characteristic of external events themselves
- We should remind ourselves how the wise man would judge the same thing differently because noting that different people view things differently helps us to distinguish our thoughts from external facts. Epictetus’ favoured example: Death cannot be intrinsically evil otherwise Socrates would have judged it to be so.
- We should postpone responding to impulses associated with powerful impressions until later, something which forces us to adopt a more detached perspective on them – modern therapists call this taking a “time-out” or simply “postponement”
These might be described as brief “shifts in perspective” rather than stepwise methods of disputation. They are perhaps more experiential than verbal. There’s no need to evaluate the evidence for these judgements, the Stoic simply reminds himself that they are judgements, peeling them away from the surface of reality, as it were, and viewing them as events within his own mind. The Stoics referred to this process as “withholding assent” from initial impressions that mistakenly ascribe intrinsic value to indifferent things. They assumed that impressions are outside of our control, being triggered by external events, like the “automatic thoughts” of cognitive therapy. However, we do control what happens next: whether we accept the impression as reality or not, by giving our “assent” and saying “yes” to it. Interestingly, the Stoics don’t seem to refer to saying “no” or exercising “dissent” toward impressions, merely suspending assent appears to be sufficient, at least at first. Shortly after, attention may be shifted on to alternatives to the initial impression, such as “What would the Sage do?”
Some researchers, most notably the founders of ACT, have argued that verbal disputation techniques may interfere with psychological distance (which they call “cognitive defusion”). The best way to illustrate this is perhaps by considering the example of Buddhist-style mindfulness meditation. While meditating, if a distracting thought crosses the mind, mindfulness practitioners are taught to view it with detachment and resist the urge to respond to it by analysing its meaning or engaging in an internal dialogue about it. They might view it as if it were like a cloud passing across the sky and “let it go”. Engaging with the thought can simply make it more prominent, even if someone is attempting to challenge or dispute it. One can easily be swept along with the thought this way and lose psychological distance from it. The relative brevity of Stoic techniques arguably lends itself to maintaining psychological distance from upsetting impressions. That could be lost again, though, if you “get into a debate with yourself” about the truth or falsehood of certain thoughts. There’s a considerable body of modern research showing that attempts to suppress or distract oneself from distressing thoughts tend to be counter-productive. Gaining psychological distance neatly circumvents this problem because it means neither assenting to (“buying into”) a thought nor trying to eliminate it, but rather viewing it from a detached perspective. Rather than “I must not have this thought”, someone with psychological distance from their thoughts might say: “It’s okay to have this thought cross my mind but it’s just a thought, I don’t need to dwell on it or take it too seriously.” There appear to be some references in the Stoic literature to suppressing automatic thoughts or feelings, though, which would be considered unhealthy and problematic from the perspective of modern research on psychotherapy. However, the dubious strategies of thought-suppression or distraction do not seem to be an important or necessary part of Stoic therapeutics, and could easily be replaced with more consistent emphasis on “cognitive distancing” or merely withholding assent.
This will be a bit of a different blog post from me. Rather than publishing a finished piece of work, I’m just going to post some thoughts on a work in progress. I’m currently writing something on Stoic Ethics and particularly the definition of the good in Stoicism. This is arguably the central definitive feature of Stoicism. Famously, Stoicism was divided into three topics: ethics, physics and logic. However, when ancient authors compare Stoicism to other philosophical schools they typically focus on the uniquely uncompromising ethical doctrines adopted by the Stoics. Although there are many similarities between Stoicism and certain other schools of philosophy, particularly the “Academic” (Platonic) and “Peripatetic” (Aristotelian) schools, there are also some celebrated differences. The other philosophical schools generally recognised that the most important good for man was virtue or excellence (aretê). The main exception was the Epicurean school, which taught that the chief good in life was pleasure, or the avoidance of pain – although even they recognised an important, albeit secondary and instrumental, role for virtue. However, those schools that recognised the central importance of virtue tended to endorse a composite view of the good life, which required other non-moral goods as well, i.e., external goods as well as the virtues. The Aristotelians introduced a threefold distinction between types of good, in descending order of value:
- Goods of the soul, such as virtue
- Goods of the body, such as physical health
- Goods of accident or external goods, such as wealth and reputation
Perfection of the soul is, at least to some extent, under our direct control, because it depends on our voluntary thoughts and actions. Perfection of the body is theoretically attainable but not within our direct control. However, possession of all external goods, and avoidance of all external evils, is clearly impossible for anyone to achieve – nobody can actually own everything in the universe and be friends with everyone, etc.
Happiness and fulfilment (eudaimonia) was generally understood by all schools to be the chief goal in life, although they defined it differently. Eudaimonia isn’t a subjective feeling but rather the exalted condition of the person who is living the supremely good life; it literally means having a good daimon or “divine spark” within. The “good life” was assumed to be a life that is, in a sense, complete: lacking nothing good, and containing nothing bad. Hence, Cicero wrote: “When we say ‘happy’ the essential significance of this word is that everything that is bad shall be excluded and everything good shall be included.” Virtue may be essential but it might also be said that someone cannot have a good life and be happy, unless he has also been blessed with a healthy body and possesses external good fortune, such as property and good reputation. That might seem like common sense. However, it does leave it somewhat in the hands of fate whether someone has a good life and attains happiness/fulfilment or not because out of these three categories of “good”, only the first is actually under our control. Hence, Theophrastus (the Peripatetic) apparently wrote: “Chance, and not wisdom, rules the life of men”, which Cicero says his critics called “the most demoralizing utterance that any philosopher has ever made.” By contrast, even Epicurus wrote: “Over a man who is wise, chance has little power”, which is also the Stoic position. Indeed, for philosophers in the Socratic tradition, particularly the Stoics, the pre-eminent example of the good life was the life of Socrates, who flourished even in the face of external “misfortune” and persecution.
Hence, the Stoics notoriously challenged this notion of a composite good life encompassing three distinct classes of good, and adopted instead a stridently moral position. They vigorously argued that good men necessarily have good lives, regardless of their external fortune. As Cicero wrote:
The belief of the Stoics on this subject is simple. The supreme good, according to them, is to live according to nature, and in harmony with nature. That, they declare is the wise man’s duty; and it is also something that lies within his own capacity to achieve. From this follows the deduction that the man who has the supreme good within his power also possesses the power to live happily. Consequently, the wise man’s life is happy. (Tusculan Disputations, 5.28)
This forces them to reject the threefold view above and to argue that “the only good is moral good” or virtue. Health, wealth, and reputation might be called “goods” but this is only a figure of speech. They are not truly “good” in the same sense as virtue. Crucially, the life of the virtuous man lacks nothing, even if it is deprived of health, wealth, and reputation. The Sage is complete, whatever misfortunes befall him. His is the good life and he is therefore supremely happy.
The life of a wealthy and famous man, who is full of vice, is not one iota better than that of a poor and ridiculed Sage. Cicero illustrates this using the metaphor of a set of scales, a kind of “moral balance”, which he attributed to a Peripatetic philosopher called Critolaus of Phaselis. He said that if virtue is placed on one side of the scales, no matter how many external (or bodily) goods are heaped up on the other side, it would never be enough to shift the balance. This is a vivid way of expressing the notion that moral and external goods are absolutely incommensurate for the Stoics. Indeed, for these reason they refer to external and bodily things as “indifferent”. Epictetus advises his students to rehearse literally saying in response to them: “This is nothing to me.” No amount of health, wealth, and reputation, can outweigh the importance of wisdom, justice, courage, self-control, etc. Now, the Stoics (with some exceptions) did recognise that health, wealth, and reputation, etc., were naturally to be desired, and preferred to disease, poverty, and condemnation. Rather than refer to these as “good” and “bad”, though, they refer to them as “preferred” and “dispreferred” or “advantageous” and “disadvantageous” to make it clear that they were talking about a second (different) system of value. This led some ancient authors to argue that the Stoics were merely introducing a terminological distinction. However, others felt that they were making an important ethical distinction that marked their whole philosophical system out from the other schools. Of course, among different Stoics, Platonists, and Aristotelians, some were closer to the views of rival schools and some further removed, in terms of their own philosophy.
For example, some of the arguments employed by ancient Stoics to defend the view that “moral goodness is sufficient for perfect happiness” are as follows:
The Sage is Beyond Emotional Disturbance
It’s not the absence of external goods that determine unhappiness but our fears and desires with regard to them. Someone who has absolutely no craving for wealth and is totally unafraid of poverty, rises above his circumstances in this regard and is no less happy for lacking it. Hence, the Stoics said that Diogenes the Cynic, although poor and naked, was (paradoxically) wealthier than Xerxes, the “Great King” of Persia. Xerxes was, despite his boundless wealth, notoriously insatiable in his craving for more luxuries. However, Diogenes famously desired nothing he did not already possess. Emotional disturbance is incompatible with peace of mind and complete happiness. Human (moral) goodness necessarily entails the possession of virtues such as wisdom, courage and self-control, through which we overcome emotional disturbance. The perfectly good man is therefore free from emotional disturbance. Or rather he’s as free from disturbance as he can be, through voluntary action, although he may still experience some distress in the form of automatic thoughts and feelings, which may occur unbidden. The good man therefore also has a good and happy life because he is not distressed even by the lack of external and bodily goods.
The Sage is Confident about Fortune
Unlike the Skeptics who believed the wise man must embrace uncertainty, the Stoics thought that the Sage must necessarily have certainty in key areas of life and a firm grasp of his philosophical principles. Cicero therefore argues that the ideal Sage must have an unshakeable sense of security. If he does not know that the good life is under his control then he is doomed to experience anxiety and insecurity. The Sage is inconceivable unless we assume that all of the ingredients of the good life are under his control, that happiness is entirely within his grasp. Moral good must therefore be the only good and sufficient for happiness because perfect happiness that depends on external fortune would necessarily be polluted by uncertainty over the future. Cicero says, “nothing that there is the slightest possibility of eventually losing can be regarded as an ingredient of the happy life”, which would relegate all bodily and external goods to the level of “indifferent” things.
The Good Life is Praiseworthy
The good life of the Sage is thoroughly praiseworthy. However, only moral good is praiseworthy. We do not praise a man because of his wealth, health or reputation but because of his virtues. Although people desire external goods for themselves, in other words, they do not really praise their possession in others. The only true good therefore is moral good, because only moral good is agreed to be truly praiseworthy. A foolish and unjust man is no more praiseworthy if he is healthy, rich, and famous. A Sage, like Diogenes or Socrates, is no less praiseworthy if he is physically frail, poor, and ridiculed. In fact, ironically, the Sage may actually be even more praiseworthy if he retains his virtues despite misfortune, i.e., the loss of bodily and external goods.
I will give you a short rule of thumb by which to measure yourself, by which you will perceive that you are now perfect; you will have your own good when you understand that the successful are the most unsuccessful. (Seneca, Letters, 124)
In particular, although foolish men may sometimes judge the “good” otherwise, someone who is wise and good will judge the value of all things in terms of how praiseworthy they are but only the morally good is praiseworthy, he will therefore judge his own life and that of others in terms of how praiseworthy and morally good they are. The Sage will therefore not judge the value of his life as the majority of men do, but because of his possession of virtue, he will judge his life to be good or bad purely in moral rather than material terms.
What is Truly Good Cannot be Made Bad
The Stoics argue that what is “good” in the true sense of the word, what is intrinsically and absolutely good, cannot be turned into something bad. If it seems something “good” has turned into something “bad”, that suggests that it was never really good at all, but that its use was good. For example, the wealth of a good man is “good” insofar as it is used virtuously, but the wealth of a bad man is judged a “bad” thing, if used viciously by him. Hence, these things are actually indifferent, but the wisdom and virtue of the person using them are what is truly good. External things are made apparently “good” or “bad” by the use we make of them, but the presence or absence of external goods cannot affect virtue.
The Finitude and Transience of Virtue Doesn’t Affect its Value
The Stoics would perhaps want to argue that contemplating the transience of all material things and the finitude of human existence allows us to see the whole picture more clearly, in a way that allows the mind to naturally better discern where true value (the good) really lies. Heaping up wealth, enjoying pleasure, or acquiring fame, for a few seconds might seem very trivial, and when considered in relation to the whole cosmos, all human life appears as if it might as well be a few seconds in duration. However, do we naturally judge virtue’s worth in the same way? An act of great courage and integrity may take place in a few seconds but would we naturally discount that as worthless in the way we do with fleetingly brief pleasures? Someone might say that we don’t normally focus on the bigger picture, so why should we care? The Stoics might respond that the totality is the truth and that our normal, narrow perspective on events is a falsehood, a kind of “selective thinking” or lie of omission. It’s striking that a split-second of absolute bravery appears so valuable whereas pleasure, wealth, and public acclaim, seem to lose their worth if they are merely fleeting. All mortal things are miniscule and fleeting, though, compared to the whole of Nature, the Cosmos, or the Olympian perspective of Zeus.
Socrates and Cato Looked Down on Death
As Epictetus puts it very bluntly: Death cannot be an evil for if it were then Socrates would have judged it to be so also. He’s alluding to a more general Stoic argument which says that if external things were truly “good” or “bad” then everyone would agree that they are, especially the most wise. It’s our own judgements that make external things appear good or bad, and consequently distress us. The Stoics argue that some animals will risk injury and death to protect their young, so they do not judge these things to be absolutely bad. Likewise, even foolish men will often endure things others fear or renounce things others desire, in order to achieve other (foolish) goals. Acrobats, soldiers, and lovers, will often risk their lives, because of something else they judge more important than avoiding death. Hence, things are neither good nor bad but thinking makes them so. However, wisdom is defined as the knowledge of good and bad, and so it is the only thing which we can truly say is good, and folly is bad. The virtues are all defined as forms of knowledge and therefore species of practical wisdom. So perhaps the Stoics, who do note this circularity, might say that nothing is good except the wisdom to know that “nothing is good except wisdom”. (This recalls Socrates’ “ironic” claim to know only that he knows nothing, and to be wiser than other men in that respect alone.)
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Blues Version of Marcus Aurelius
Animated recital of an excerpt from Book Two of The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, er, set to a blues rock backing track.
The Dream of Scipio (Somnium Scipionis) is a famous section, only a few pages long, from Cicero’s massive six-volume On the Republic. It was rightly seen as a condensation of important ideas from ancient philosophy and cosmology by scholars in the middle ages; an extensive commentary was written about it by Macrobius that ensured its continuing influence for over a thousand years. Scholars now recognise it as a superb example of a popular meditation technique widely practiced in different schools of classical philosophy, and known today as the “View from Above.” Cicero’s account is fictional and draws on a variety of philosophical influences. Cicero was a follower of Platonism, although like many Platonists of his time, he drew freely on ideas from Aristotelian, Stoic and Pythagorean philosophy as well.
The story goes as follows: It is the start of the Third Punic War (149-146BC BC). Both by land and by sea, the mighty armies of Rome lay siege to the ancient city of Carthage in North Africa. Upon his arrival, the Roman tribune Scipio Aemilianus (185-129BC), later known as Scipio Africanus the Younger, seeks the hospitality of King Masinissa of Numidia. The King was an old friend of Scipio’s adoptive grandfather the famous warrior after whom he is named, Scipio Africanus the Elder (236-183 BC). The two men speak at great length about the deceased Roman general. Scipio the Elder was believed by many Romans to have attained a godlike status upon his death, in reward for his legendary victory over Hannibal at Carthage many years before, in the Second Punic War. Ennius of Rudiae composed the epitaph for him: “From the place where the sun rises above the Maeotian marsh to farthest west, there is no man on earth who can match my deeds.”
In Cicero’s account, Scipio Aemilianus describes how, exhausted from feasting, drinking, and talking late into the night, “I fell into a deeper sleep than usual.” As he sleeps, he dreams, and in his dreams he experiences a mystical revelation, a vision of his mighty forebear. In the dream, Aemilianus encounters his grandfather’s spirit in the outer rim of the heavens, where the ancients supposed pure souls to dwell, near to the gods. Hence, together they look down upon the stars, the earth, and the many different lands and nations dispersed across the surface of the globe. Aemilianus exclaims:
These starry spheres were much larger than the earth. Indeed the earth now seemed to me so small that I began to think less of this empire of ours, which only amounts to a pinpoint on its surface.
The spirit of Scipio Africanus the Elder, assuming the role of mentor, proceeds to point out the overwhelming beauty and harmony of the cosmos to his grandson, who exclaims:
The scene filled me with awe and delight. And yet all the time I still could not help riveting my eyes upon our own world there below.
Africanus the Elder rebukes him:
I see that your gaze is still fastened, even now, upon the places where mortals dwell upon the earth. But can you not understand that the earth is totally insignificant? […] Scorn what is mortal! For the lips of mankind can grant you no fame nor glory worth seeking.
He elaborates:
Note how few and minute are the inhabited portions of the earth, and look upon the vast deserts that divide each one of these patches [in Africa] from the next.
He then points out the homeland of Aemilianus:
…you will realise, if you look, what a miniscule section of this region can really be regarded as your own property. For the land which you occupy is no more than a tiny island. […] And I must disabuse you of any idea that your own fame, or the fame of any one of us, could ever be great enough to extend beyond these known and settled lands.
He thereby forces the younger man to confront the fact that even those people who hear of his reputation will soon die, moreover the legends passed down to their children will also fade and be lost in due time. Hence not only is the extent of mortal fame small in the grand scheme of things, but its duration is but a brief moment in the vast river of time. Scipio Africanus the Elder encourages his descendant to see beyond the opinions of other people, for good or for bad, and to be true to his soul, his “real self”, and to his own moral principles. “Strive on!”, the old general advises, “Understand that you are a god.” The rule of reason and freewill over your mind and body, Africanus points out, is like the rule of God himself over the physical universe.
Use this eternal force, therefore, for the most splendid deeds it is in you to achieve! […] A soul devoted to such pursuits will find it easiest of all to soar upwards to this place [in the Heavens], which is its proper habitation and home. And its flight will be all the more rapid if already during the period of its confinement within the body it has ranged freely abroad, and by visualising and meditating upon what lies outside itself [as you have just done], has worked to dissociate itself from the body to the greatest possible degree.
As prophesised in the dream, Scipio Aemilianus scales the political and military ranks at an extraordinary pace. Within a year he was made Roman consul and then general, and placed in command of the legions in Africa. In 146 BC the city of Carthage finally falls to the Roman troops under his generalship. After six days of fierce hand-to-hand fighting in the surrounding streets the citadel was captured and Carthage was “torn apart, stone by stone”, securing Rome’s position as an ancient superpower for centuries to come. The historian Polybius, present at the scene, reported that Scipio the Younger surveyed the wreckage of the once mighty city and wept. As he cried he prophesised, “It is glorious, but I have a dread foreboding that some day the same doom will be pronounced upon my own country.”
Pythagoras reputedly coined the term “philosophy” and when asked to explain what a “philosopher” was he gave the following simile:
[Pythagoras said] that human life seemed to him comparable with the festival to which people flocked form all over Greece in order to see those magnificent [Olympic] Games. This is an occasion for which some people have gone into physical training in the hope of winning the splendid distinction of a crown, while others are attracted by the prospect of buying or selling for profit, whereas a further category again – and these represent an especially good class of people – are interested in winning neither applause nor profit, but come merely for the sake of the spectacle, to get a thorough look at what is going on and how it is done. And we too, said Pythagoras, as we enter this life from some other kind of existence [as he believed in reincarnation], behave like people who have moved out of town to join the crowds at this sort of show. Some of us are enslaved to glory, others to money. But there are also a few people who devote themselves wholly to the study of the universe, believing everything else to be trivial in comparison. These call themselves students of wisdom, in other words philosophers [“lovers of wisdom”]; and just as a festival attracts individuals of the finest type who just watch the proceedings without a thought of getting anything for themselves, so too, in life generally, the contemplation and study of nature are far superior to the whole range of other human activities. (Cicero, Tuscalan Disputations, 5.9)
Diogenes Laertius also mentions this:
[Pythagoras] used to compare life to a festival [panêguris]. And as some people came to a festival to contend for the prizes, and others for the purposes of selling their wares, and the best as spectators; so also in life, the men of slavish dispositions, said he, are born to the pursuit of fame and material gain, but philosophers are seekers after truth. (Diogenes Laertius, Lives, 8.6)
Likewise, according to Iamblichus:
[Pythagoras] likened the entrance of men into the present life to the progression of a crowd to some public spectacle. There assemble men of all descriptions and views. One hastens to sell his wares for money and gain; another exhibits his bodily strength for renown; but the most liberal assemble to observe the landscape, the beautiful works of art, the specimens of valour, and the customary literary productions. So also in the present life men of manifold pursuits are assembles. Some are influenced by the desire of riches and luxury; others, by the love of power and dominion, or by insane ambition for glory. But the purest and most genuine character is that of the man who devotes himself to the contemplation of the most beautiful things, and he may properly be called a “philosopher”. (Iamblichus, The Life of Pythagoras, 12)
He linked this to the “survey of the whole heaven, and of the stars that revolve therein”, and suggested that philosophy is the love of this kind of wisdom, the contemplation of the beauty and order of the cosmos. The Stoics were greatly influenced by Pythagorean contemplative exercises. Epictetus, who elsewhere refers several times to the Golden Verses of Pythagoras, also mentions this famous analogy between life and a festival (panêguris) more than once, during his lectures on Stoicism.
Our position is like that of those who attend a festival. Cattle and oxen are brought there to be sold, and most men engage in buying and selling, while there are only a few who go merely to see the fair, how it is conducted, and why, and who are promoting it, and for what purpose. So it is also in this “festival” of the world in which we live; some persons, like cattle, are interested in nothing but their fodder; for to all of you that concern yourselves with property and lands and slaves and one office or another, all this is nothing but fodder! And few in number are the men who attend the fair because they are fond of the spectacle. “What, then, is the cosmos,” they ask, “and who governs it?” […] That is the way these few are affected; and thenceforward they have leisure for this one thing only – to study well the “festival” of life before they leave it. With what result, then? They are laughed to scorn by the crowd, quite as in the real fair the mere spectators are laughed at by the traffickers; yes, and if the cattle themselves had any comprehension like ours of what was going on, they too would laugh at those who had wonder and admiration for anything but their fodder! (Discourses, 2.15.23-29)
Epictetus says that the true Stoic “wishes to be of one mind with God” and therefore “has his heart set on changing from a man into a God, and although he is still in this paltry body of death, does none the less have his purpose set upon fellowship with Zeus” (Discourses, 2.19.26-27).
Imagine that you are in Olympia, regard the turmoil as a festival. There, too, one man shouts this and another that; one man does this and another that; one man jostles another; there is a crowd in the baths. And yet who of us does not take delight in the Olympic festival and is not sad to leave? Do not become peevish or fastidious toward events. […] If, however, you fall in with a crowd, call it games, a festival, a holiday, try to keep holiday with the people. For what is more pleasant to a man who loves his fellow-men than the sight of large numbers of them? (Discourses, 4.4.24-27)
Elsewhere, Epictetus uses the analogy of the festival to express the notion that we should treat life as if it were “on loan” from Zeus or Nature, and be willing to leave without complaint when the time comes for us eventually to die:
And now it is Thy [Zeus’] will that I leave this festival; I go, I am full of gratitude to Thee that Thou hast deemed me worthy to take part in this festival with Thee, and to see Thy works, and to understand They governance.” (Discourses, 3.5.8)
He returns again to this theme:
And so, when you have received everything, and your very self, from Another [Zeus], do you yet complain and blame the Giver, if He take something away from you? […] And as what did He bring you into the world? Was it not as a mortal being? Was it not as one destined to live upon earth with a little portion of paltry flesh, and for a little while to be a spectator of His governance, and to join with Him in His pageant and holiday? Are you not willing, then, for so long as has been given you, to be a spectator of His pageant and His festival, and then when He leads you forth, to go, after you have made obeisance and returned thanks for what you have heard and seen? “No,” you say, “but I wanted to go on with the holiday.” Yes, and so do the initiates in the mysteries want to go on with the initiation, and no doubt the spectators at Olympia want to see still other athletes; but the festival has come to an end; leave, depart as a grateful and reverent spectator departs; make room for others; yet others must be born, even as you were born, and once born they must have land, and houses, and provisions. […]
God has no need of a fault-finding spectator. He needs those who join in the holiday and the dance, that they may applaud rather, and glorify, and sing hymns of praise about the festival. But the peevish and the cowardly He will not be distressed to see left out of the festival; for when they were present they did not act as thought they were on a holiday, nor did they fill the proper role; but they were distressed, found fault with the Deity, with fate, and with the company insensible to what had been vouchsafed them, and to their own powers which they had received for the very opposite use – high-mindedness, nobility of character, courage, and the very freedom for which we are now seeking. (Discourses, 4.1.104-110)
The following passages from the Earl of Shaftesbury are based on his reading of Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus. He describes a common Stoic and Platonic meditation exercise, which essentially involves trying to contemplate the whole of space and time, as if entering the mind of God:
View the heavens. See the vast design, the mighty revolutions that are performed. Think, in the midst of this ocean of being, what the earth and a little part of its surface is; and what a few animals are, which there have being. Embrace, as it were, with thy imagination all those spacious orbs, and place thyself in the midst of the Divine architecture. Consider other orders of beings, other schemes, other designs, other executions, other faces of things, other respects, other proportions and harmony. Be deep in this imagination and feeling, so as to enter into what is done, so as to admire that grace and majesty of things so great and noble, and so as to accompany with thy mind that order, and those concurrent interests of things glorious and immense. For here, surely, if anywhere, there is majesty, beauty and glory. Bring thyself as oft as thou canst into this sense and apprehension; not like the children, admiring only what belongs to their play; but considering and admiring what is chiefly beautiful, splendid and great in things. And now, in this disposition, and in this situation of mind, see if for a cut-finger, or what is all one, for the distemper and ails of a few animals, thou canst accuse the universe. (Shaftesbury, Philosophical Regimen, Deity, p. 19)
After quoting Marcus Aurelius, “To conclude, always observe how ephemeral and worthless human things are”, Shaftesbury wrote concerning the grand vision of the history of the universe, and the flux of things:
Consider the several ages of mankind; the revolutions of the world, the rise, declension and extinction of nations, one after another; after what manner the earth is peopled, sometimes in one part and then in another; first desert, then cultivated, and then desert again; from woods and wilderness, to cities and culture, again into woods; one while barbarous, then civilised, and then barbarous again; after, darkness and ignorance, arts and sciences, and then again darkness and ignorance as before.
Now, therefore, remember whenever thou art intent and earnest on any action that seems highly important to the world, whenever it seems that great things are in hand, remember to call this to mind: that all is but of a moment, all must again decline. What though it were now an age like one of those ancient? What though it were Rome again? What though it were Greece? How long should it last? Must not there be again an age of darkness? Again Goths? And shortly, neither shall so much as the name of Goths be remembered, but the modern as well as ancient Greeks and Italians be equally forgotten. […]
Such is the state of mankind; these are the revolutions. The tree sprouts out of the ground, then grows, then flourishes awhile; at last decays and sinks, that others may come up. Thus men succeed to one another. Thus names and families die; and thus nations and cities. What are all these changes and successions? What is there here but what is natural, familiar, and orderly, and conducing to the whole? Where is the tragedy? Where the surprise or astonishment? Are not these the leaves of the wood carried off with the winter blast, that new ones may in the spring succeed? Is not the whole surface of the earth thus? and are not all things thus? Is it not in these very changes that all those beauties consist which are so admired in nature, and by which all but the grossed sort of mankind are so sensibly moved? The sum of all this is, that be this what season soever of the world, be it the very winter that thou livest in, or be it in the spring, all is alike. (Shaftesbury, Philosophical Regimen, Human Affairs, pp. 70-71)