Here I continue trying to explain the ancient philosophy of Stoicism, and to show how it related to their views of ethics – especially with respect to questions of altruism.
It is a little difficult for many moderns to get their minds around the Stoic idea that “reason” is a divine quality that infuses the world; it is possibly even harder to understand how this divine quality relates to the gods. Do they “have” it in greater quantity than us? Is Reason itself actually a distinct divine being of some kind?
The problem is exacerbated by the Stoic writings themselves, since often an author, say Epictetus, will speak of “Reason” and sometimes of “Zeus” (the head of the gods) and sometimes of the “gods” — and in each instance appear to be referring to the same thing. The “Reason/Logos” that infuses the world can be thought of as the sensibility of the world; it can be “the reason” something is or happens as it does; it can be “human reason”; and it can be personalized as “Zeus” or the “gods.”
Some of the weirdness of this idea can be slightly mitigated for those familiar with the later Christian understandings of Christ as found in the Gospel of John. The term “Logos,” in addition to meaning something like “reason” or “sense” can also mean “word.” It is by speaking a “word” that you express what you are thinking. Your “logos” conveys the sense you are trying to make to others. And they use their reason, their logos, to understand your logos.
With that in mind, consider the famous lines that begin the fourth Gospel:
In the beginning was the Word (Logos); and the Word (Logos) was with God; and the Word (Logos) was God…. All things came into being through him, and apart from him nothing came into being that came into being. In him was life and the life was the light of humans (John 1:1-4).
Christ, then, is the divine Logos/Reason who was both with God and was God, who created the world and brought life and light (“enlightenment”) into it. He is the one who is in the world, has made the world, and has made the world make sense. Knowing him, the Logos, will bring life.
Biblical scholars have long debated whether the author of John concept of the Logos was influenced by Stoic thinking. It certainly seems likely, even though John’s view that the Logos became a human is highly distinctive. There are certainly analogous conceptions at play between the Christian understanding of Christ and the Stoic Logos. The Logos is a divine entity; it is both a God and apart from God/the gods; it is at the root of the created order; it is the source of all living beings; it provides light / enlightenment into the world; and recognizing it provides the key to explaining our place in the world and the meaning of our existence.
This Stoic metaphysical view that the entire world, and therefore everything that happens in it, is infused with “reason” has a direct bearing on Stoic ethics, on the understanding of how we should live and behave. Since God/Logos/Reason is inherently “good,” then necessarily what it does and brings about is good. Many of us have observed this firsthand: something unpleasant or even awful happens in our lives but in the long run works out for the good. There are times when we are actually glad we went through a miserable experience. That has certainly happened to me.
Stoics took that kind of attitude to an extreme. There are reasons for everything, since “reason” infuses all of reality. Lots of times (most of the time?) we may not see it, but it is there, and we need to trust it is there. More than that, we need to act knowing it is there.
There are some things – well, lots of things – we simply cannot control in our lives. If we have no control over them, then the only sensible thing for the Stoic to do is to assume there’s a reason for them and not worry about them. Even bad things. Truly awful things. There’s nothing we can do if we’re stuck in an earthquake, get fired, or break a leg. If someone decides to punch us in the nose, or rob our house, or run off with our spouse — that’s their decision and most of the time there is nothing we can do to stop them. So why stress about it? What’s the point? There’s a reason for everything that happens, because the world is infused with reason. We may not see the reason; and we can’t control the situation. So why make it worse by stressing about it?
And why be anxious, fearful, or in terror at what might happen next? Things happen. In the end, they do so for a reason. And so we should focus all our mental and moral energies on what we can control. Since those are things we have some say over, they are the things we should be concerned about. Nothing else. Stoics not only developed these views; they tried to live them and loudly preached them.
This approach to life is both remarkably simple and terribly difficult. It takes mental training, discipline, and hard work. Ultimately you cannot control the weather, avoid chronic pain, or have any say in how others treat you. You can certainly try to escape disaster, but at the end of the day, most things are beyond your power to control. One thing you can control, though, is your reaction to what happens. You can control what you choose to complain about and even what to be upset about. You can control what you choose to think and not think. You can control what you choose to prefer and not prefer. You can control what you consider to be right and wrong, fair and unfair, good and evil, worth living for and what not. Nothing can make you think something is true when you know it is false. No one can prevent you from being honest. No one can force you to end your poverty. No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to do.
If you think they can, you miscalculate and misunderstand. The reality is that you do what you decide and you yourself are the one who makes the decision if you choose to do otherwise. If your boss tells you he’ll fire you unless you fudge the books, you are the one who chooses what to do next. There is no point in explaining, “But I had to do it.” No you didn’t. If a friend threatens to cut you off if you don’t betray someone else’s secret, you’re the one who has the choice. If someone says they will kill you if you don’t do what they demand, it’s up to you. You have sole control over what you think and how you choose to react, and your “moral purpose” or “ability to do what you decide regardless of the consequence” is one thing no one can take away from you.
The former-slave Epictetus beats this theme of complete and unrestricted freedom like a drum. Early in his brilliant four-volume set of reflections called “The Discourses,” an assumed interlocutor asks, “So what resources do we need to have at hand for circumstances like these?” Epictetus responds, “Just the knowledge of what is and isn’t mine, and of what is and isn’t possible for me” (Discourses 1.1.21) He goes on then to give a series of circumstances and his view of reasonable reactions to them:
I am condemned to death. Do I have to die moaning and groaning as well? To incarceration. Do I have to complain about it? To exile. Is there anyone stopping me from going with a smile, joyful and content?”
He then imagines a series of conversations with a powerful antagonist.:
“Divulge your secrets.” I refuse, because that’s something that’s up to me. “I’ll clap you in irons.” What are you talking about man? Me? You’ll shackle my leg, but not even Zeus can conquer my will. “I’ll throw you in prison.” My body. “I’ll cut off your head.” Well, have you ever heard me suggest that I’m unique in having a non-detachable head? (Discourses, 1.1.22-23)
Epictetus sometimes gives actual (or allegedly actual) instances of this complete freedom to do whatever one chooses, based on what they believe is right:
Helvidius Priscus saw this too, and acted on the insight. When [the Emperor] Vespasian told him not to attend a meeting of the Senate, he replied, “You have the power to disqualify me as a senator, but as long as I am one, I’m obliged to attend meetings.” “All right then, attend the meeting,” says Vespasian, “but don’t say anything.” Don’t ask me for my opinion and I’ll keep quiet.” But I’m bound to ask you.” And I’m bound to say what seems right.” But if you speak, I’ll have you killed.” Did I ever tell you that I was immortal? You do your job, and I’ll do mine. Yours is to put me to death and mine to die fearlessly. Yours is to send me into exile and mine to leave without grieving.” (Discourses 1.2.19
in themselves to be completely free from mental anguish and to be oblivious or indifferent to accidents, natural disasters, unemployment, poverty, broken relationships, untimely deaths, etc. – how can they genuinely feel for others who are suffering or comfort them in their pain? Telling them just to get over it is not exactly a recipe for comfort, peace, and happiness. You can’t comfort someone in despair if you despise their despair. But for Stoics, the path to eudaimonia is precisely never to despair. How then does that conviction not lead to seriously callous behavior?