“On all sides lie many short and simple paths to freedom; and let us thank God that no man can be kept in life.”

Freedom is a tricky thing.  We learn about it first through negatives.  All children have an instinctual aversion to being controlled by parents.  When they are so young they can only toddle, they resent the corrective hand of the parent.

There seems to be something in our very make-up that demands on autonomy, control, self-esteem, and ability.  Yet, nearly every social, religious, governmental, and cultural system is bent in the opposite way.

We seem torn, recognizing that we ourselves as individuals deserve autonomy and independence, yet unwilling or unable to trust our fellows with the same.

Is that we’re so different them, are we so much better?  The paradox is, we can hardly find a man in such a state as to be able to govern himself, yet we set all manner of incompetents up to govern others.

The philosopher may be an outlier.  The philosopher recognizes that his actions, impulses, and intent need to be shaped… but by himself.  How many accounts do we have of philosophers easily and willing accepting exile, death, and the like rather than turn over their integrity and autonomy?  Are these not our most hallowed paragons of the schools?

Indeed, it is so.  Freedom is hard, because the amount one wants, one has to be willing to give as well.  We do not seem to be able to do so however.

Maybe the Cynics had it right, leaving behind the polis and all the trappings (pun intended) of society.  To live free upon the earth, a citizen unto himself:  a king in his own right… ah, what a thing.

But it’s hard.  There’s no amount of faltering that’s acceptable if one wants to be a Diogenes.  I could probably settle for an Epictetus or Musonius, though.

As it were, and with thoughts of the true freedom of the philosopher, I bid you a fond farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

I can remember well the feeling of being immortal in my teenage years.  Of course, we “knew” we could and would die, but we didn’t feel like it.  Then, a few years out from my thirties, I began to feel … uncomfortable.

At 28, I hadn’t done the things that younger-me had assumed I would.  I hadn’t made the progress, I hadn’t built the life I expected.  The endless-time of youth was passing, and I was starting to glimpse a deadline, if you will.

Lately, I’ve come to accept, and maybe even started to appreciate entropy as it relates to myself… but less so as it does to others.  My perspective has changed even since I started studying philosophy.

Memento mori is starting to mean something different that it used to for me.  I’m not sure that it’s sweeter, as you say.  But it’s definitely a different vintage… but maybe we’re just more able to appreciated the bitter bite.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

You keep snagging little bits of Epicurus, if you’re not careful, you may pique my interest in that other camp.  I jest, but I’m surprised to find that the Epicureans might have also used to the model of the Sage… although Epicurus probably had himself in mind.

For we must indeed have someone according to whom we may regulate our characters; you can never straighten that which is crooked unless you use a ruler.

This time last year, I was engaged in a project in which I made use of the Sage, but I admit, the practice has fallen away.  Thank you for the reminder.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,
It’s fortuitous that you write me today on prayer.  I have a tab open in my browser for a blog article from Chris Fisher on piety to read today, and he is talking about you!

You may be aware, or you may find it surprising, that in a sub-set of modern Stoics, there’s an ample amount of energy spent in displacing the religious nature of the writings we’ve inherited.

Frankly, it seems to be a political issue, and one which no longer holds much interest to me.  If folks want to pretend that words don’t mean what they clearly mean, that’s their prerogative, I suppose.

Moving on…

“As for your former prayers, you may dispense the gods from answering them; offer new prayers; pray for a sound mind and for good health, first of soul and then of body. And of course you should offer those prayers frequently. Call boldly upon God; you will not be asking him for that which belongs to another.”

Epictetus extols to us, similarly as you, that we had better attempt to remedy the soul than the body, for it is better to die well, than to live in a state of madness.  This past weekend, I found myself frustrated by the tiniest of problem.  I’ll illustrate just how small by telling you precisely what it was.  While shopping, I wanted to buy two carrots for a lentil soup for this week.  There was an error in ringing them up, and my two small carrots were charged as if they were each a bunch of carrots, totaling about $3 for the two carrots.

I incorrectly (and very quickly) assented to the impression that I was wronged somehow, ignoring that the issue was one of money and carrots (there’s a sentence one never expects to write…), and as a result, my mood was shot.  I tried to call to mind the tenets of our School, but strangely, they were not helping.

It was only when I thought of a friend of mine, who is preparing to endure a (possibly) very long separation from his children that I said, “My friend is saying good-bye to his children, and I’m upset over carrots,” that I was able to find the proper perspective.

I realized, “I’m upset over carrots, and that’s a really  unreasonable situation.”  Indeed, it is better that we focus on healing this soul-malaise, and that is especially driven home to me these days.

“Know that thou art freed from all desires when thou hast reached such a point that thou prayest to God for nothing except what thou canst pray for openly.”

Maybe I’m engaging in some of that “pretending words don’t mean what they clearly mean, but do you mean pray-pray?  Like, on one’s knees, talking to God?  It’s been a long, long time since I’ve done that.  I may have even forgotten how.

“Live among men as if God beheld you; speak with God as if men were listening”

This, I think, I can remember how to do.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Stilpo is an interesting character.  A Megarian, and one of the tutors of Zeno of Citium before he founded the Stoa, Stilpo reportedly witnessed the razing of his country, loss of his people and family, and walked out of the ashy remains with a smile, has he ‘had all his goods with him.’

Megarians were interested in Logic and Virtue, which Zeno and Stoicism inherits.  I don’t recall that we hear of Stilpo other than this little quip in Seneca.

The Stoic’s ‘self-sufficiency’ and ability to retire into himself (which Marcus will refer to as ‘the Inner Citadel) seems to be the method for mixing with the world, yet not being affected by it.

I need to think on this some more.  If we had inherited a holistic program from the old Stoics, I’d suspect we’d learn about some specific meditation techinques around this time, yet sadly, those Letters, dear Seneca, seem to have been lost in the post of time.

Farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,
I appreciate your addressing some of my concerns from the previous letter, and this one seems to me to be more in tune with the tenor of our school, which I’ve come to expect.

“Hold fast, then, to this sound and wholesome rule of life – that you indulge the body only so far as is needful for good health. The body should be treated more rigorously, that it may not be disobedient to the mind. Eat merely to relieve your hunger; drink merely to quench your thirst; dress merely to keep out the cold; house yourself merely as a protection against personal discomfort.”

For the past several months, beginning to flirt with a year really, while I’m clearly a student of Stoicism; it would be more fair to say I’ve been a student of Musonius.  I’ve been reading and digesting his lectures and fragments, such as we have, since that time.

Musonius calls us, and Epictetus follows suit, to a more austere manner of living, which is echoed in the above quote from your letter today.  I will admit to a certain amount of hypocrisy, as I myself have not fully adopted the Grecian regimen that those great philosophers extol so highly.

I’ve even gone so far as to extract a program from Musonius, and while I’ve tested each of these for a number of weeks separately across the past year, I’ve not put it all together in my own practice.

Modern Stoicism seems to be lacking this ascetic regimen.  Somewhat, I think, it comes from a misunderstanding.  Folks are familiar with the “matted hair” types of India, who may sit with one arm raised until it whither on the body.  This kind of torture is called ‘ascetic.’  But this is not what we the Stoics mean when we call each other to ἄσκησις (áskēsis), rather we call them to training and moderation.

The modern person is so indulgent to every passion and pleasure.  We’re so hedonistic, even Epicurus and the Cyrenaics would turn away in disgust.  We’re so far on the spectrum, that what is truly simple moderation appears austere and tortuous.

I will take your letter as a call to action, and a challenge.

In the spirit of σωφροσύνη (sophrosyne), I bid you a fond farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,
The point I take most from the second part of your letter is one I noted yesterday, with a twist.  Yesterday, I said, “Indulgence trains our moral will,”  and today you mention, what effect on our character does witnessing such spectacles have?

The question might at first seem a strange one.  These men, thieves and murders though they be, are tortured.  Whether their treatment be just or unjust, the operative questions is, what is the effect on our souls?

This is a question which more and more seems relevant to me, but it is shortly followed up with another.  What is the effect on our souls should we hide away from it?  Should we rather not face it down and seek to change the thing which is so damaging to ourselves?  It must surely be at least if not more damaging to the fellow who is under the lash?  And the other spectators, are their souls not worth the saving?

Epicurus retreated to his Garden, and surrounded himself with a few.  But let us not forget, that for the Epicurean hedone and tranquility are goods.  For us:  not at all.  Only virtue.

Can it be virtuous to hide away and protect our lily white souls while the murderous games go unchallenged?

If it’s the case that our social roles and our obligations to others are a part of an excellent character:  should we not assist?  If we must not assist, how can it be said that our roles and obligations are a part of our excellent character?

It seems it must be one or the other.

Farewell, and thank you for the letter.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Seneca,

At first blush, the “entertainments” of Rome seem far removed from the life of the average westerner.  We’ve safely hidden away violence and death, wars are fought “elsewhere,” and they even hide the dead in hospitals.

My people have no stomach for such things.

Yet, I started to think about it a bit more.  Maybe, your entertainments, as bestial as they are, are more honest.  Instead, we write our gossip large.  Shown on billboards, printed in magazines made for such rumors; we broadcast it to every corner of the globe.  This celebrity’s drug habit, this other one’s sexual proclivities and vices, this one’s adultery, and that one’s lies.  This one’s vain surgery, that one’s shocking revelation.  Click to find out!

Maybe there’s something more honest in the butchery of flesh than the butchery of character?

Your comments on the crowd and on retreats are in line with my own thoughts, which, if you’ll pardon the slight, has caused me a second thought.

How do we balance our personal desire for retreat with our obligations and social roles?  What use is the philosopher and all his goodness if it needs protected from the world?  If it needs protected from the outside, how good is it really?

Instead, shouldn’t the goodness of the philosopher be used to mix with the world?  Maybe make it better, or at least to show another way by example?

I admit, I’m hoping for the answer, “No.  Retire to the mountains with your books.”

But that’s probably not the virtuous answer.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.

Your letter today calls to my mind one of the Stoic “paradoxes,” or that which goes against the common understanding.  That is the total binary nature of virtue and vice, of the σοφός (sophós) and the ἰδιώτης (idiótés).

It seems to be a universal that we look for marks of progress, that we see how our tools have shaped the soul we are seeking to sculpt.  We even call the practicing Stoic προκόπτων (prokóptôn), the one who is making progress.

Now, that seems like the regular sort of ‘paradox’ meaning a contradiction, not just against the popular belief.

I look back on the past three years of my study, and I see a change in how I handle impressions, a change in my treatment and valuation of indifferents.  If the philosopher is merely the ‘sick person closer to the window, better able to see and describe the outside to the other patients,’ then the words of the Stoics have show me that I’m ‘closer to health’ as it were than I was before.

Even you yourself, Seneca, remark on the progress our School as helped us make.  Yet, we’re told, there is no value in this.  If the only good is our own moral good, and the only evil or own moral evil, isn’t the change from more of the latter to more of the former something worthy?

Maybe the firm statement that there are no levels of progress is not a prescriptive truth, but a pedagogic tool to help inculcate ἀπάθεια (apátheia) even for something like εὐδαιμονία (eudaimonia), the telos of our philosophy.

It is with the thoughts of hallmark state of the Sage in mind, and the Stoic paradoxes, that I bid you a fond farewell.

Part of Michel Daw’s Reading Plan of Seneca’s Letters.