New Undertaking: ἡ κοινὴ διάλεκτος

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This weekend I started out with a tutor to learn Koine Greek. Hopefully this time next year I can read the classical sources for myself.  I think my studies are at the point where being able to read the works in their native language would be helpful.  Working in translation is not bad, it got me here.

But this way, at least when I’m working with a translation I’ll then have two opinions on the definitions: theirs and mine.  As of now, I rely on a “priestly class” of translators to make philosophy accessible to me.
Just trying to cut out the middle man.
There’s a long way to go to get there, though.

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On Exile and the Cosmopolis

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Epictetus mentions exile quite a bit in the Discourses and also in the Enchiridion.  Considering that he was himself exiled, and exile was a fairly common occurrence during his time, this is not surprising.  We don’t have exile in the traditional sort so much these days in the west.  We have imprisonment, death, sickness, and many of the other plights of men.

But exile, not so much.

Or is that true?  Maybe we still have exile, but of a different sort.  Surely, very rarely are we banished from our country, stripped of the rights of citizenship and sent away as a foreigner to a foreign land… right?  If one travels from Maine to California, every place you stop will have McDonald’s and the dollar.  They share governmental structures, taxes, and the like.  The language is passingly similar.  But the countries and the people are not non-different.

We might find ourselves living far from our birth places, far from our people, and in countries strange to us.  So, maybe it is a good thing that Epictetus harps on exile as he does.  I know it’s currently relevant for me.

“I must be put in chains. Must I then also lament? I must go into exile. Does any man then hinder me from going with smiles and cheerfulness and contentment?”

— Epictetus, Discourses I.1

Suffering and distress are internal affairs.  While the outside actions and contexts of our lives may not be entirely up to us, the attitudes and the judgement we make about them are.  The layman is sent away from home for work or for some other purpose, separated from the people and land he loves.  He views himself injured, and he is distressed.

But it is up to us to determine if we are injured, diminished, or distressed.  So we must go, must we also go unhappy?  No.


“[T]o study how a man can rid his life of lamentation and groaning, and saying, “Woe to me,” and “wretched that I am,” and to rid it also of misfortune and disappointment and to learn what death is, and exile, and prison, and poison, that he may be able to say when he is in fetters, “Dear Crito, if it is the will of the gods that it be so, let it be so”. “

— Epictetus, Discourses I.4

Here is the crux.  We must study.  We have spent years and decades inculcating judgments about the world.  We’ve been training for our whole lives to make the wrong decision.  So we must train now, with the diligence of the truly dedicated to overturn these unnatural and learned defaults.

Epictetus’s teachings have a deeply religious character, for him, turning to philosophy is piety.  Religion is a comfort for many, and some a nigh-insurmountable obsticle.  Regardless, this “giving over” of things external has a lesson for the Stoic philosopher.  Let us leave those things which are not ‘up to us’ to others.


“[I]n a word, neither death nor exile nor pain nor anything of the kind is the cause of our doing anything or not doing; but our own opinions and our wills. “

— Epictetus I.11

How can we truly train for equanimity and wisdom in the face of death when something such as sickness or exile torments out souls?  How can we progress at the biggest thing, when the little things tear us down?  Exile does not make us unhappy, or opinions and our will do.  Stilbo, Epictetus, and all the others would have treated it an evil were it so.


“[N]o man sends a cowardly scout, who, if he only hears a noise and sees a shadow anywhere, comes running back in terror and reports that the enemy is close at hand. So now if you should come and tell us, “Fearful is the state of affairs at Rome, terrible is death, terrible is exile; terrible is calumny; terrible is poverty; fly, my friends; the enemy is near”; we shall answer, “Begone, prophesy for yourself; we have committed only one fault, that we sent such a scout.” “

— Epictetus, Discourses I.24

We look to our judgments of the world to help us navigate it.  Yet, we’ve trained our ruling faculty to react to every little thing.  This is not helpful for us.  Instead, we must teach ourselves to judge things aright, that we see clearly, and thereby choose projects and actions, or inactions, conducive to our own virtue.

“In the schools what used you to say about exile and bonds and death and disgrace?”
I used to say that they are things indifferent.
“What then do you say of them now? Are they changed at all?”
No.
“Are you changed then?”
No.

— Epictetus, Discourses I.30

It’s very easy to learn the theory.  It is much harder to practice it, and harder still to hold to it in the crisis.  But life happens in extremis.  It’s only at the edge of the envelope that we see what we’ve learned.  So have we changed?  Have we left the field over which philosophy can assist?  No, we have not.

“In what cases, on the contrary, do we behave with confidence, as if there were no danger? In things dependent on the will. To be deceived then, or to act rashly, or shamelessly or with base desire to seek something, does not concern us at all, if we only hit the mark in things which are independent of our will. But where there is death, or exile or pain or infamy, there we attempt or examine to run away, there we are struck with terror.”

— Epictetus, Discourses II.1

Despite our trainings, we still fall short.  When the precepts and values which we have learned have not yet been internalized, we are deceived.

“Let others labour at forensic causes, problems and syllogisms: do you labour at thinking about death, chains, the rack, exile; and do all this with confidence and reliance on him who has called you to these sufferings, who has judged you worthy of the place in which, being stationed, you will show what things the rational governing power can do when it takes its stand against the forces which are not within the power of our will.”

— Epictetus, Discourses II.1

One of the key features of Epictetus’s thought-model of the cosmos, is that the philosopher is appointed by the divine to his station.  He is a like a soldier on the wall, with clear duties and obligations.  He has a mission, and it is clear and explicit:  but not easy.  He has to rectify his soul.  He must correct his prohairesis (προαίρεσις) and hêgemonikon (ἡγεμονικόν), his moral will and ruling faculty.


“For if a man can quit the banquet when he chooses, and no longer amuse himself, does he still stay and complain, and does he not stay, as at any amusement, only so long as he is pleased? Such a man, I suppose, would endure perpetual exile or to be condemned to death.”

— Epictetus, Discourses II.16

The Great Banquet of Life is one of my favorite Stoic allegories.  Maybe because my family took table manners to be particularly important, I feel predisposed to understand how that microcosm can be representative of the cosmos-per-se.

A good dinner guest takes what he is served with gratitude and humbleness.  He does not stretch for his hand and take what is not presented to him.  He does not say that it is of poor quality or not to his liking.  He takes what he needs, and passes the rest on.

“Dare to look up to God and say, “Deal with me for the future as thou wilt; I am of the same mind as thou art; I am thine: I refuse nothing that pleases thee: lead me where thou wilt: clothe me in any dress thou choosest: is it thy will that I should hold the office of a magistrate, that I should be in the condition of a private man, stay there or be an exile, be poor, be rich? I will make thy defense to men in behalf of all these conditions. I will show the nature of each thing what it is.” “

— Epictetus, Discourses II.16

Epictetus is empowered by his piety, something which I can appreciate intellectually, but which escapes my experience.  He is brave, because he truly knows that what is his is untouchable by any power in the universe, his moral will and his judgments.  And his sense of piety restricts his desire to those things only.

“Show me a man who is sick and happy, in danger and happy, dying and happy, in exile and happy, in disgrace and happy. Show him: I desire, by the gods, to see a Stoic.”

— Epictetus, Discourses II.19

The Stoic is equanimous in the face of those things which break down lesser folks.  It is all to easy to fancy ourselves proficient when things are easy, yet here too we are deceived.  In the face of loss, sickness, privation, and exile how sure are we in our philosophy?

“Will you not, as Plato says, study not to die only, but also to endure torture, and exile, and scourging, and, in a word, to give up all which is not your own?”

— Epictetus, Discourses IV.1

To lose all the things which others value: country, citizenship, estate, title, wealthy, health, life.  To give back what is merely loaned, and to hold fast to that which is ours.  Simple.  Hard.

“Are you not the master of my body? What, then, is that to me? Are you not the master of my property? What, then, is that to me? Are you not the master of my exile or of my chains? Well, from all these things and all the poor body itself I depart at your bidding, when you please. Make trial of your power, and you will know how far it reaches.”

— Epictetus, Discourses IV.7

Epictetus was both a slave and an exile.  His is experience is vastly different from my own, but if I can learn what he learned through his experience and ideas:  that will be something.

“[A] philosopher should show himself cheerful and tranquil, so also he should in the things that relate to the body:
“See, ye men, that I have nothing, that I want nothing: see how I am without a house, and without a city, and an exile, if it happens to be so, and without a hearth I live more free from trouble and more happily than all of noble birth and than the rich. But look at my poor body also and observe that it is not injured by my hard way of living.” “

— Epictetus, Discourses IV.11

Epictetus often touts Diogenes of Sinope as his ideal Sage.  He uses similar language to describe the Cynic, a philosopher appointed by God to call many away from the obfuscating fog of Typhos to the clarity of philosophy.

It’s hard to teach these things, hard to learn them this way.  But to see the example makes it clear.  Here is a person who does what he says, who lives what he teaches.  Is he happy?

I’m in an exile of sorts theses days, here in Texas.  Far from my friends and family, the land that I know and love.  It’s hard for me to come to appreciate a new place, and in the back of my mind is simply the waiting to go back home.

Many of the judgement we make happen so quickly that they seem implicit.  And undoing a faulty judgment is not easy task.  While I know I can find happiness, virtue, and success here:  it is in the back of my mind a temporary thing.

But that cuts both ways.  It’s temporary, so I’m not overly concerned, but it’s not the temporary of a Stoic.  A Stoic would like at all of life as temporary, and for that reason is not distressed.  My perspective is not so broad.  I’m still making progress.

This drives home another seemingly paradoxical Stoic position:  that even through a Sage and non-sage might take the same action or view, the Sage’s action is perfect, katorthōma (κατόρθωμα), while the non-sage philosopher’s action is merely appropriate or in accordance with nature, kathēkon (καθῆκον).

This particular conundrum allowed me to really grok that for the first time, I think.  My understanding of this particular issue isn’t any closer to resolution, but I think I’m starting to really get perfect versus appropriate actions.

earth_2-jpgThe Stoics, as the Cynics before them, have the conception of the kosmopolitês (κοσμοπολίτης), the citizen-of-the-world.  The Stoic conception is fairly different from they Cynic, so far as I understand, oikeiôsis (οἰκείωσις) having a feature in the Stoic version.  This is another reason why we should not fear or be distressed in exile.  We are rational creatures, fellow citizens in the cosmic-city of the Logos.  How contrary to nature to scratch out a tiny plot of dirt, and choose to feel like a foreigner everywhere else?

It seems silly spelled out like that, but here I sit.  In exile, a foreigner, here the word is gringo.  
I guess I still have work to do.

Written in Exile,
— The MountainStoic

The classical Stoics and the beard.

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Today is apparently National Beard Day, or some such thing.  There’s a hashtag to that effect currently overwhelming Twitter.  While the beard’s fashion waxes and wanes periodically, it has remained a powerful symbol in the West for quite a bit longer than the current trend.

Indeed, the beard came to symbolize many things to the classic philosophers that became the foundation for western intellectualism and spirituality. The classical Stoics generally took the position that men should not cut off the beard.  Some viewed the cutting off of the beard as religious impiety.  Others, as simply against the natural course, which might actually be one and the same, come to think of it.

Let’s look at the sources, and see why the beard was a focus for the Hellenic and Roman Stoics.

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But what is it, Epicurus, which pronounces this, which wrote about “The End of our Being,” which wrote on “The Nature of Things,” which wrote about the Canon, which led you to wear a beard, which wrote when it was dying that it was spending the last and a happy day? Was this the flesh or the will? Then do you admit that you possess anything superior to this? and are you not mad? are you in fact so blind and deaf?

— Epictetus, The Discourses II.23

The broader context for this excerpt is that Epictetus is speaking against some of the doctrines of Epicurus.  While the two Schools, the Stoics and Epicureans, were contemporaries and generally opposed on many philosophical precepts, it’s important to recognize that each believed the other to be philosophers, and not impostors, pretenders, nor sophists.  The beard, then, is already a cultural symbol of philosophy, ignoring the divisions of the Schools.

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And are you such a man as can listen to the truth? I wish you were. But however since in a manner I have been condemned to wear a white beard and a cloak, and you come to me as to a philosopher, I will not treat you in a cruel way nor yet as if I despaired of you, but I will say: Young man, whom do you wish to make beautiful? In the first place, know who you are and then adorn yourself appropriately. You are a human being…

— Epictetus, The Discourses III.1

Here, Epictetus is addressing a man who pays a conspicuous amount of attention to bodily pomp, coifing, and style.  It is Epictetus’ opinion that he is trying to make himself beautiful for the appreciation of others.  The injunction to know thyself, and the live (adorn yourself) appropriately is not a new one to any Greek or Roman who would have heard him.  Epictetus will go on to tell the young man, that while he dresses up this paltry body nicely, it can only dress up a corpse and a bit of breath.  Then, what will make a person beautiful is the refinement of his reason and social character, what’s up to him.  It’s a call away from vanities of the flesh, and to the higher realms of reason.

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‘What then? Is the body to be unclean?’
God forbid! but cleanse your true, natural self: let man be clean as man, woman as woman, child as child.
Nay, let us pluck out the lion’s mane, lest it be unclean, and the cock’s comb, for he too must be clean!
Clean? yes, but clean as a cock, and the lion as a lion, and the hound of the chase as such a hound should be.

— Epictetus, The Discourses III.1

Apparently, one of the challenges to men not cutting of their beards in Epictetus’ day is one we still see today, that it is somehow unclean or barbaric.  Epictetus first attacks the position by suggesting that the standard being used is inappropriate, let man be clean as man, he says.  He shows how such a position, that the man would have to be plucked for cleanliness, is on the face silly when the same rule is applied to other creatures like the lion and the rooster.

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What, then, is the material of the philosopher? Is it a cloak? No, but reason. What is his end? is it to wear a cloak? No, but to possess the reason in a right state. Of what kind are his theorems? Are they those about the way in which the beard becomes great or the hair long?

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But even the philosophers themselves as they are called pursue the thing by beginning with things which are common to them and others: as soon as they have assumed a cloak and grown a beard, they say, “I am a philosopher.” But no man will say, “I am a musician,” if he has bought a plectrum and a lute: nor will he say, “I am a smith,” if he has put on a cap and apron.

— Epictetus, The Discourses IV.8

Here, we’re given the careful and poignant reminder that it is not the beard and cloak which make a philosopher.  Ultimately, these are mere symbols.  We do no call a man in jeans and work shirt, with tool belt and tools a carpenter because he’s dressed like one, we say that only when he can do the work of carpentry to a certain and specific degree.  The same is true for our profession. 

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Neither should the beard be cut from the chin (for it is not superfluous), but it too has been provided for us by nature as a kind of cover or protection. Moreover, the beard is nature’s symbol of the male just as is the crest of the cock and the mane of the lion; so one ought to remove the growth of hair that becomes burdensome, but nothing of the beard; for the beard is no burden so long as the body is healthy and not afflicted with any disease for which it is necessary to cut the hair from the chin.
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Nowadays there are even men who cut their hair to free themselves of the weight of it and they also shave their cheeks. Clearly such men have become slaves of luxurious living and are completely enervated, men who can endure being seen as womanish creatures, hermaphrodites, something which real men would avoid at all costs. How could hair be a burden to men? Unless, of course, one should say that feathers are a burden to birds also.

— Musonius Rufus, Lecture XXI

Musonius is an interesting figure, in that he argues women too should study philosophy, and that girl-children ought to be educated right alongside of sons.  While this stands out a testament to Stoic reason, Musonius does hold to a fairly traditional (and to his mind) natural division of gender roles.  This might displease some, but it’s my intent to present the classical sources as closely as I can, and not cover over politically incorrect beliefs.

All that being said, in the vast majority of humans, there is present, biologically, certain secondary sex characteristics and sexual dimorphism.  It is then, entirely appropriate to say that the beard is in fact nature’s symbol of the male.  This can even be tested, in a way, by the giving of androgenic hormones like testosterone to humans with XX chromosomal make ups.  The increased growth of facial hair will usually be the result.

Musonius would argue it’s inappropriate for the male to attempt to make himself like a female.  My reading of this is not that Musonius would say a person who can’t grow a beard is less manly, grow what you’re given, but the intentional modification of the body as such is not suggested.

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I heard a speaker from India once in response to a woman who asked why holy men and gurus have beards give a fantastic answer.  He said, as best I can remember, “Ma’am, I hate to be the one to tell you this.  You’ve lived 42 years on this earth and just now are learning this thing.  All men have beards.  Some of them cut it off.  I am as God made me.  Do not ask me then why I have a beard.  Ask them why they cut theirs off!”

Edit:  Found the video.

“But isn’t Stoic Physics really *meta*-physics?”

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Nope.  (;

The word “physics” can be confusing for modern English speakers when we’re discussing the tripartite divisions of philosophy, to wit:  logic, ethics, and physics.  Today, Physics requires electron microscopes, crazy-intense lasers, Large Hadron Colliders, and other assorted machines and instruments.  Yet, these are pretty thin on the ground.COSMOS: A SPACETIME ODYSSEY: 

(photo credit: FOX)

Most of us don’t have access to such tools, nor did the classical Stoics.  So why do we call their study ‘Physics’ also?  The operative word in the Koine is Physis ( φύσις), and is commonly translated by the English word ‘nature.’  It has philosophical, theological, and scientific connotations.  We use the same word in English, it’s derivative “physics,” because we’re talking about similar intents:  the desire to study nature, or reality.

The classical study of Physics incorporated things that we might categorize as theology, cosmology, psychology, anthropology, biology, chemistry, etc.  It’s quite the range of areas of investigation.  But the crucial point is that they are investigations into the nature of the cosmos: of reality.

metaphysics1-300x238Metaphysics is a newer term, and it’s often applied retroactively to thought-models which are deemed to be outdated or untestable.  The morpheme ‘meta-‘ in English has the meaning of “beyond” or “above.”  So metaphysics postulates about things which are beyond current conventional ability to test.  While it might be acceptable in some academic disciplines to refer to certain positions of the classical Stoics as metaphysical, we who consider ourselves studying in the school usually will make use of the word “physics” as it’s closer to the vocabulary which they themselves used.

So, how come the Stoics don’t lay out statements like “Here’s our metaphysical position on ‘X-thing,'” ?  The first reason being, the term is new, so we’re not going to see it per the above.  The second is that the Stoic worldview is interwoven into the entire system.  By the time the classical Stoics were current, philosophy had become a system of schools, which had held common positions amongst themselves.  Of course, there are those who make individual contributions to the discussions, and some of them are heterodox to the mainline dogma:  nothing surprising there.  Thirdly, using the word “physics” places the things we’re discussing in a chronological context.  To understand modern science in the best way, it is advisable to at least learn about the understandings of previous generations.  To really understand why quantum mechanics is such a trip, esp. in the 1905, a firm understanding at some level of Newtonian physics is useful.  Context matters.

The classical Stoics are variously called materialists, vitalists, monists, physicalists, and more.  What we’re discussing here is not a proclivity for shopping, but rather their understanding of the cosmic nature.  The classical Stoics believed (or at least espoused) that all of existence is made up of one stuff, that it’s ordered by a universal reason, and that virtue is the only good and equivalent to eudaimonia.

These are metaphysical positions generally, as we understand it.

However, the Stoic ethics are predicated on its physics.  While recently this position has been challenged by some, the academic literature and the classical sources themselves are (to me at least) clear on this issue.  As such, to relegate them to the realm of the “metaphysical” does a disservice to the unity of the system for the modern student.

This is precisely because the classical position gives us an avenue for the modern practitioner to approach life.  If it is possible to divine ethical precepts based on a rational understanding of the universe (assumption), then we still have work to do.  The School is in progress.  The case of ethics is not closed.  The understanding of virtue is not closed.  These are open classes, and it is our responsibility as philosophers to continue that work.

Whether you call a certain sub-set of classical postulates and beliefs “physics” or “metaphysics” isn’t really an important-per-se issue; nor is it of a moral nature (thus an indifferent).  Within some circles one might be more prevalent than the other, the entirety and the length of the discussion is still one of value, however.

You won’t be kicked out of the Stoic tent (so far as I’m concerned) if you do not believe that universe is all matter surrounded by a cosmic void, or that it forever expands and is consumed in a cosmic fire.  You don’t have to believe that the soul of the Sage lives on for a short time (but not past the Ekpyrosis).  But it is important to be familiar with the classical beliefs that came along with the ethical and moral precepts of our School if you are to call yourself a Stoic.

That the difference between virtue and vice is non-gradational.

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One of the difficult positions in Stoic philosophy for new students is the idea that there are no successive steps between virtue and vice.  This means that we prokoptontes are not in any better state than the layman.  Vice is vice, 100%.  Virtue is virtue, 100%.  There is no material benefit to being “part way” between the two, and it may not even be possible to be part way between them.drowning

To take some liberties with Plutarch’s example, a man who drowns in the bath tub is no less drowned than the man who drowns fifty feet below the surface in the sea.  Both are the same amount of dead.  In this way, the amount of failing which constitutes our own vicious intent is no less severe.  All vices are equal to the Stoic philosopher.

This flies in the face of the common conception, but it’s important to remember here, that we’re talking about our own internal thought-models for aligning our moral intent with the universal perspective.  We’re not discussing laws, courts, and organizations.  We’re not saying what this person’s or that person’s punishment should be for an act prohibited by the civil law.  No, indeed we are only discussing our own internal state, the universal perspective, and the inclination towards virtuous intent.

With that in mind, the fact that our little failings are just as severe per se as our large ones is easier to grok.  The drowning analogy, again.  We’re just as drowned in the tub as the sea.  This means that there is a sense of urgency in our practice.  While we might, and others might see in us, progress as we practice, we’re still drowning.

The Sage is not drowning.  Her perspective is aligned with the universe, with God (as it were).  The Sage is free from the little failings of intent.  While she is by no means omniscient, her moral will is a sharp and incisive tool, and her disinterest in the common, worldly baggage allows her to share the divine perspective.

It is this state, this alignment which Stoic philosophers are practicing towards, and this is the light which calls us from the depths, whether we’re drowning in the tub or the sea.

The Philosopher’s Cloak, (MK-II)

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This entry is a continuation of the previous:  The Philosopher’s Cloak.

““Socrates, I supposed that philosophy must add to one’s store of happiness. But the fruits you have reaped from philosophy are apparently very different. For example, you are living a life that would drive even a slave to desert his master. Your meat and drink are of the poorest: the cloak you wear is not only a poor thing, but is never changed summer or winter; and you never wear shoes or tunic.” ”

— Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.6.2

The philosopher’s cloak (pallium, or tribōn/τρίβων) continues to be of interest to me.  Since the writing of the first iteration of The Philosopher’s Cloak, I’ve done some more reading and some practical experimentation.  My core questions at the end of the last post (SPOILER ALERT!) was whether for a modern philosopher (specifically a Stoic) should a philosophical uniform be adopted, and if so, should it cause one stand out, or blend in

A version of a uniform which blends in might be like Steve Job’s outfit, of a black shirt and jeans.  He could, and did, wear this almost anywhere, and most folks unless they saw him often wouldn’t be aware of the intentionality of his practice.steve_jobs

This is what’s often called a capsule wardrobe, a term I learned from The Cynic TubCast co-host Telma Larman.  Telma sent me this link, to a site which argues for a capsule wardrobe of 33 total items.  Now, the motivations for Steve Jobs, and for many of the minimalist folks overlap in a part, but not in total, to those of a philosopher.  But, frankly, we’re not concerned about their motivations here, we’re concerned about our own, to which we will return shortly.

A person’s clothing is by definition an indifferent in Stoicism, no question.  But we as prokoptontes are training ourselves towards virtue:  we’re “making progress.”  We do this, in part, by manipulating externals/indifferents, and organizing our lives in a way which is conducive to the study and acquisition of virtue, whereby we seek to attain eudaimonia.  I don’t think any of the previous two sentences is overly controversial, but I do want to draw attention to, and explicitly state that,

“we [train for virtue], in part, by manipulating externals/indifferents.”

The philosopher’s cloak is argued for several times in Classical texts.  This tells me a few things.

1)  The tribōn was not common enough to escape notice.
2)  The wearing of the tribōn was distasteful enough that arguments had to be made to convince others to adopt it.
3)  The tribōn carried culturally dependent messages to those who viewed it.
4)  The tribōn carried specific messages to the wearers of it.
5)  The tribōn carries some (likely a different) message to modern viewers.

Tertullian was one who discarded the toga (a symbol of affluence, power, luxury, and wealth), in favor of the humble tribōn, and he explains his reasons in the above linked piece.  The philosopher’s cloak, then, is a symbol of poverty, and also of severity of manners.  In many ways, then, it bears striking similarities to the dress of monks, ascetics, holy men, and others of many traditions the world over.

It seems to me, then, that the tribōn had “negative social capital” at the time of the Classical Stoics.  It was a poor person’s last resort to modesty and protection.  It was the sign of those who were living in a very different way from the wider culture.  It made one stand out.  If we look at Buddhist monks, and the reasoning behind their wearing of the kasaya,we see a striking similarity in intention.  To take something of low social standing, to take something of minimum protection, to take the minimum required for modesty, and make use of it for more noble purposes.Portrait_statue_of_an_old_man_wearing_a_himation

It is a funny twist that now that we are approximately 2,500 years removed from those reasons, that they carry a very different message.  Monks are respected, and their robes are treated and reacted to as such by the laity.  We westerners dress up our near-modern figures in the tribōn as symbols of wisdom, democracy, and intellectual authority.  How interesting that these symbols of poverty and privation have instead become symbols of the highest human aspirations to reason and spiritual progress.

I mentioned my experiment in the opening of this piece, and as of the writing, I have been wearing a philosophical uniform daily for about six weeks.  I have learned some interesting things even in that short time.  My current chosen uniform is a sand-colored cotton shirt, woven, and in the Indian style often called a kurta.  It is collarless, has a few buttons to allow the head to pass through, and very little adorning.  It’s a very simple garment.  I wear either jeans or shorts (depending on work or at leisure), and sandals.

At first, when I thought about wearing my uniform, I thought people would notice, since it stands out just a little (but not much).  I even had a (vicious) impression that such attention might not be all bad:  a bit of rebel vanity, as it were.  No one mentioned it.  Some folks looked, and I suspect some of my co-workers noticed, but it was not a problem.  Those feelings passed quickly, and after two or three weeks, a new thing arose.

One day, I was getting ready for work, and I grabbed my uniform automatically, on auto-pilot as it were.  And I thought to myself, “Man, I’d really like to wear something else today.”  Ah ha!  The regular sort of vanity was cropping up.  While no one ever mentioned my uniform to me, it did occasionally garner me some sideways glances.  Now, the attention was a little uncomfortable.  I didn’t like it.  I wanted to be looked at a certain way, but not this one.

I was treating an indifferent, social feedback, as a good.  I desired it.

In realizing this, I pulled on my uniform and went to work per the usual.  At this point, wearing the uniform became (occasionally) an act of self-discipline.  My short-lived infatuation with it had passed, and it had become a spiritual exercise (read:  the original intent of it).

Which brings me to final point:  I’m sold on the idea of a philosophical uniform, and I think the somewhat negative social feedback is actually a useful tool whereby such exercise and progress is made.

The purpose of the tribōn was to provide minimal protection, adopt simplicity, and meet the expectations of modesty.

“Modesty is about a person, male or female, choosing to foster an inner spirit of humility and dignity, and communicating that in outward, culturally contextualized symbols of dress and behavior.’

—Toward a New Understanding of Modesty

While my current uniform half-way blends in:  I suspect there is some benefit to the classical garment.  The tribōn at the time was not a privileged garment, we today value it solely in art.  I suspect a person who adopted the tribōn  as his or her daily dress would be in a similar position of a classical philosopher.  If I could get away with wearing one, I would give it a shot.

Since the wearing of the tribōn is not a divine obligation:  it’s no sin for a Stoic not to wear one, I do not think we’re obliged to wear the actual article that Musonius, Epictetus, et al praise so highly.  We should be able to re-locate the message and the intent of the tribōn into a modern context, however.

How we do that is up for discussion, but I’ve come to a position that I’m willing to firmly state:

I think there is a value in Stoics and Stoic students devising and agreeing upon a philosophical uniform for daily wear: and they should wear it.

It would need to be motivated to several points:
– It needs to culturally relevant to west, (i.e. one shouldn’t expect to be fired for wearing it).
– It needs to meet the minimum protection from the weather.
– It needs to meet the minimum protection for modesty for both men and women. (we might choose two styles)
– It needs to be inexpensive, and either acquirable (or able to be made) in most western countries.
– It should be simple, and set the wearer apart as a Stoic philosopher.

I’d like to open up the discussion for what should be (a voluntary) uniform of the Stoic Philosopher.
What say you?

The Rule of Musonius: A Rule of Life for the Stoic Prokopton

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The Rule of Musonius is a Rule of Life, a foundational principle which can be used by the Stoic προκόπτων to help train so he or she can regulate their life conformably to nature.  The Rule is made up of two parts:  The Seven Precepts, and Three Τόποι; ten parts which form both sides of the training of a philosopher.  Musonius notes that there are two kinds of training, the training of body and soul together, and of soul alone.  The Precepts and Τόποι cover these, respectively.

The Seven Precepts of Musonius

“If you accomplπροish something good with hard work, the labor passes quickly, but the good endures; if you do something shameful in pursuit of pleasure, the pleasure passes quickly, but the shame endures.”

— Musonius, Fragment 51

  1. To speak plainly, and true.

    We take it upon ourselves to speak truly, in the spirit of παρρησία, and with virtue in mind in the spirit of Musonius’ Lecture I in regards to speech.   [Read more…]

  2. To prefer practice to theory alone.

    We take it upon ourselves to practice what we learn, for it is the stronger of the two. We take it upon ourselves to follow the prescriptions laid out in Musonius’ Lectures V and Lecture VI in regards to practice.    [Read more…]

  3. To eat no animal-flesh, with moderation and simply.

    We take it upon ourselves to eat no animal-flesh, but those things produced by animals are acceptable.  We take it upon ourselves to eat for health, with self-control (σωφροσύνη), and according to our nature. We take it upon ourselves to train to follow the prescriptions laid out in Musonius’ Lectures XVIII A and XVIII B in regards to food and drink.     [Read more…]

  4. To dress simply, for protection of the body, and without vanity.

    We take it upon ourselves to dress for the minimum protection of the body and for modesty, and not for fancy fashions or mere proclivity. We take it upon ourselves to follow the prescriptions laid out in Musonius’ Lecture XIX and Lecture XX in regards to clothing, furnishings, and coverings.     [Read more…]

  5. To cut not the beard, and the hair only to remove what is useless.

    We men take it upon ourselves to leave the beard, nature’s symbol of the male as it is formed by Nature. All of the προκόπτωντες take it upon ourselves to only cut the other hair as necessity and utility may demand, not for fashion nor to appear beautiful in the eyes of others. We take it upon ourselves to follow the prescriptions laid out in Musonius’ Lecture XXI in regards to the cutting of hair.      [Read more…]

  6. To strengthen the body and soul through cold and heat, thirst and hunger, scarcity of food and hardness of bed, and abstaining from pleasure and enduing pain.

    We take it upon ourselves to experience austerity, that we might become more wise, more just, more temperate, and more courageous. We take it upon ourselves to follow the prescriptions laid out in Musonius’ Lecture VI and Lecture VII in regards to training and austerities.     [Read more…]

  7. To use sex only for virtuous purposes, and within the confines of fidelity.

    We take it upon ourselves to use our sexual faculties with kindness and virtue. We take it upon ourselves to follow the prescriptions laid out in Musonius’ Lecture XII, Lectures XIII A and XIII B, Lecture XIV, and Lecture XV in regards to family life.     [Read more…]

 

The Three Τόποι of Epictetus

“There are three areas of study, in which a person who is going to be good and noble must be trained. That concerning desires and aversions, so that he may never fail to get what he desires nor fall into what he would avoid. That concerning the impulse to act and not to act, and, in general, appropriate behaviour; so that he may act in an orderly manner and after due consideration, and not carelessly. The third is concerned with freedom from deception and hasty judgement, and, in general, whatever is connected with assent.”

— Epictetus, Discourses 3.2.1–2.

  1. The Discipline of Assent.
    We study and exercise ourselves in the Discipline of Assent that we may keep our προαίρεσις in a state conformable to nature.

  2. The Discipline of Desire.

    We study and exercise ourselves in the Discipline of Desire and Aversions that we may be desirous of true goods, averse to true evils, and not be caught up in apparent goods and evils.

  3. The Discipline of Action.

    We study and exercise ourselves in the Discipline of Action and Inaction that we may fulfill our duties by undertaking action with justice, self-discipline, courage, and practical wisdom; and that we may also through inaction avoid every mean and vicious thing.

 

 

 

Additional Reading:  The Lectures and Fragments of Musonius Rufus.

Did Stoics Meditate?

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We have a few hints and suggestions for what might have passed for meditation in classical Stoicism.
Most of these come down as words from the Koine (Greek), and a little from Latin.

Melete, (Μελέτη):  The Muse of Meditation.
Premeditatio: Premeditation (e.g.:  Premediatio Malorum).
Askesis, (ἄσκησις):  Training.
Pneuma, (πνεῦμα):  Breath, (often used by the Stoics as Spirit).
Psyche, (ψυχή):  Breath of Life, Soul, Spirit.

Epictetus advises us many times to maintain a tranquil mind, a mind impenetrable to outside causes.  Marcus engages in several visualization and mind-calming exercises.  We have the Delphic Injunction to “Know Thyself.”  In looking at the above list of vocabulary words, we see a lot of similarity in other School’s meditation vocabulary, specifically from the Indian subcontinent.

There has been some speculation that the “gymnosophistai” which Alexander came across in his travels were either Jains or early Buddhists.  We have ended up with a bottle-necking of Stoic sources, and there are references and terms to things which suggest some sort of meditation practice.

Musonius also discusses two types of trainings for the philosopher, those which train the body, and those which train the mind/soul.  He doesn’t enumerate nor elaborate on these, but the hints from Epictetus and Musonius suggest to me something akin to meditation.

Whether this is sitting meditation as most folks understand it, or more intellectual exercise is up for debate.  Lately, I’ve been learning Vipassana mediation as a support for my Stoic practice.  At the danger of sounding like an eclectic, I think that there is a high degree of possibility for this helping my practice.

This, and following the Rule of Musonius (a set of seven rules extracted from his Lectures and Sayings), I think I’ve found an interesting vehicle for practice.  I’ll be publishing the seven rules in the next few weeks, and, Fate permitting, the full e-book not too long thereafter.

I discussed this issue in an Ask A Stoic video, as well: