Stoicism On Fire

Explore the difference between the Epicurean and Stoic approaches to social and political engagement. Stoics value active participation in society while building inner resilience. Avoid mistaking inner tranquility as the final goal of Stoicism. Learn about the concept of the inner citadel and how it allows for peace while fulfilling social roles. Emphasize the need for Stoics to engage with society and live virtuously. Reflect on the significance of embracing our role in humanity and contributing to the greater good.

Prepare for Death to Discover Freedom What is most important? Having your soul on your lips.  This makes you free not according to the law of the Quirites, but according to the law of nature. A free person is one who escapes enslavement to himself, which is constant, unavoidable, oppressing by day and by night equally, without break, without respite. Enslavement to oneself is the most severe enslavement, but it is easy to shake it off if you stop expecting a lot from yourself, if you stop making money for yourself, if you set before your eyes both your nature and your age, even if it is very young, and say to yourself, “Why am I going crazy? Why am I panting? Why am I sweating? Why am I working the land, or the forum?  I don’t need much, and not for long.” (Natural Questions III, praef. 16-17) This week-long meditation with Seneca on the topic of what is important in life ends at the most appropriate place—the contemplation of and preparation for our death. Seneca opens this final passage with the recommendation that we have our soul on our lips. In other words, we must be prepared to die. Why? Because doing so makes us free according to the law of nature. The Stoics did not measure freedom by one’s ability to move freely from place to place, city to city, or country to country. Instead, true freedom is the absence of enslaving desires and crippling fears that consume our life. We are afraid of not getting what we want: a large house, great job, good reputation, wonderful soul mate, retirement account, good health, etc. Likewise, we fear getting that which we do not want: homelessness, poverty, shame, loneliness, sickness, and death. As a result, we spend our time driving ourselves to madness and working ourselves to death for things we believe will make us happy. As Epictetus frequently reminds us, we are slaves to externals. All the while, we neglect to ask “What is most important?” As Seneca notes, It’s not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it’s been given to us in generous measure for accomplishing the greatest things, if the whole of it is well invested. But when life is squandered through soft and careless living, and when it’s spent on no worthwhile pursuit, death finally presses and we realize that the life which we didn’t notice passing has passed away. (On the Shortness of Life 1.3). The Stoic practice of Memento Mori—the contemplation of death—is more than a preparation for our inevitable end. That is the obvious goal of this ancient, widespread practice. The less obvious, but equally important, goal of this practice is the development of true freedom, which is preparation for life. Pierre Hadot writes, In the apprenticeship of death, the Stoic discovers the apprenticeship of freedom.[1] Freedom for the Stoic is the inner freedom that allows us to contemplate and live in agreement with Nature regardless of life’s circumstances. As Hadot notes, For the Stoic Epictetus, the meaning of our existence resides in this contemplation: we have been placed on earth in order to contemplate divine creation, and we must not die before we have witnessed its marvels and lived in harmony with nature.[2] We moderns, especially we westerners, have been trained from childhood to move at a faster and faster pace, so we achieve greater and greater goals, and accumulate more and more possessions. We only half-jokingly repeat the 1980s bumper-sticker slogan, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” Stoicism is not a mind hack to be used to overcome external obstacles along the path to fame and fortune. Instead, the Stoic path trains us to overcome the obstacles within our mind that stand between our present state and an excellent character, which is capable of experiencing true well-being. The Stoic path leads toward freedom. We moderns, especially we westerners, have been trained from childhood to move at a faster and faster pace, so we achieve greater and greater goals, and accumulate more and more possessions. We only half-jokingly repeat the 1980s bumper-sticker slogan, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” Stoicism is not a mind hack to be used to overcome external obstacles along the path to fame and fortune. Instead, the Stoic path trains us to overcome the obstacles within our mind that stand between our present state and an excellent character, which is capable of experiencing true well-being. The Stoic path leads toward freedom. As Seneca points out, the Stoic path teaches us to live “free” according to the law of Nature even if the law of the Quirites—the law of society—binds us and imprisons us. We can find this form of freedom only within the inner citadel of our mind, and it empowers us to act virtuously in the world without fear of punishment, imprisonment, or even death. The realization that nothing can harm our Self is empowering. Socrates assented to this higher law and lived continually with his soul on his lips. He did not fear imprisonment or death by the powerful men of Athens he openly challenged. When these men brought him to trial on trumped-up charges, he did not cower. Instead, he mocked their sense of justice. After being sentenced to death, Socrates had an opportunity to escape but he did not. He understood that the Athenians could kill him, but they could not take away his freedom to choose the good. In other words, they could not harm him. The life and courageous death of Socrates inspired the ancient Stoics and they pointed to him as an example of an excellent life. Death Is Not an Evil However, Seneca’s message here is not limited to exceptional people like Socrates. The contemplation of death is for everyone because death is part of Nature’s process. The philosophical practice of contemplating misfortune and death is not unique to Stoicism, nor was it invented by the Stoics. In fact, as Pierre Hadot points out, the Stoics appear to have borrowed these practices from Plato’s Republic (604b-d). Hadot suggests, If it is true that philosophy subjugates the body’s will to live to the higher demands of thought, it can rightly be said that philosophy is the training and apprenticeship for death.[3] Contemplation of death was a common philosophical practice because death is truly universal. Seneca opens his work On the Shortness of Life with this common complaint about death: Most of mankind, Paulinus, complains about nature’s meanness, because our allotted span of life is so short, and because this stretch of time that is given to us runs its course so quickly, so rapidly— so much so that, with very few exceptions, life leaves the rest of us in the lurch just when we’re getting ready to live. And it’s not just the masses and the unthinking crowd that complain at what they perceive as this universal evil; the same feeling draws complaints even from men of distinction. (1.1) Benjamin Franklin echoes Seneca in his famous quote: Life's tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late. How does the Stoic prevent this regret? By contemplating death as an inevitable end that may occur at any moment, and then living each moment in the present through the practice of prosoche (attention). Marcus admonishes us to, Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. (Meditations 2.11) Death is a frequent theme in the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. That may be due to the fact that death was a constant companion of Marcus at home and on the battlefield. Of his fourteen children, only six outlived him. Additionally, Marcus wrote a large portion of his Meditations while he was encamped on the Danube river, with his army, during a time of war. The transient nature of life was ever-present for Marcus and his note to himself reflect that: All that you now see will very swiftly pass away, and those who have watched it passing will swiftly pass away in their turn, and he who dies in extreme old age will be brought to a level with one who has died before his time. (Meditations 9.33) In his masterpiece on the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Pierre Hadot wrote: From the point of view of the imminence of death, one thing counts, and one alone: to strive always to have the essential rules of life present in one's mind, and to keep placing oneself in the fundamental disposition of the philosopher, which consists essentially in controlling one's inner discourse, in doing only that which is of benefit to the human community, and in accepting the events brought to us by the course of the Nature of the All.[4] Obviously, one event we will all face is death. Likewise, Epictetus offers us the following advice about the practice of contemplating misfortune and death: Day by day you must keep before your eyes death and exile and everything else that seems frightening, but most especially death; and then you’ll never harbour any mean thought, nor will you desire anything beyond due measure. (Enchiridion 21) For the Stoic, there is nothing to fear in death; it is simply a process of Nature. The Stoics were ambiguous about what happens after death, and it does not appear they spent much time contemplating the topic. Instead, it appears they were satisfied to consider death the cessation of life as we know it and the return of our constituent parts to Nature. Their focus was on the development of an excellent character in the here and now. However, one of our constituent parts is a fragment of the logos that is returned to God. That fact is tantalizing; does some aspect of our consciousness continue to exist after death? As Epictetus stated, Isn’t it true that these things are indifferent and nothing to us, and that death is no evil? And that we are in some sense related to God, and draw our origin from him? Allow us to go back to where we came from… (Discourses 1.9.13-14) Nevertheless, what happens after death is highly speculative,

This podcast explores Seneca's emphasis on raising one's spirits above chance events and trusting in a providentially ordered cosmos. It also dives into the dangers of desiring what is beyond our control, the relationship between physical and moral well-being in stoicism, and how embracing stoic philosophy helps navigate life's challenges.

This podcast delves into the importance of rejecting negative intentions and striving for moral excellence. It explores how stoic philosophy views circumstances and their impact on well-being. Epictetus challenges his students to engage difficult situations without desired outcomes, promoting inner virtue over external possessions. The podcast also explores the Stoic perspective on what is truly important in life, emphasizing acting with good intentions and embracing whatever outcome may arise.

In this podcast, the importance of cultivating a courageous mindset and actively responding to adversity is explored. It discusses the traits of a stoic, including resilience in the face of adversity and rejecting materialistic pursuits. Seneca's argument on choosing a simpler life is discussed, along with the dangers of pleasure and the importance of practicing moderation. The chapter also delves into living as a stoic, embracing fate, and finding equanimity in both good and bad fortune.

Explore the Stoic concept of loving all events, including the tragic ones and accepting the cosmic order. Understand the Stoic perspective on fate and the importance of embracing it. Contrast rebellion with the Stoic attitude towards fate and internal freedom. Reflect on past events and adopt a cosmic viewpoint to love all events.

The Cosmic Viewpoint What is most important? Raising your mind above the threats and promises of fortune, thinking that nothing is worth hoping for. For what have you to desire? Whenever you sink back from engagement with the divine to the human level, your sight will go dim, just like the eyes of those who return from bright sunlight to dense shadow. (Natural Questions III, praef. 11) The cosmic viewpoint is a central theme of Stoicism, and Seneca’s Natural Questions highlights that theme. In it, Seneca “impels his reader to look upward, to transcend ordinary life at ground level, to reach for cosmic consciousness.”[1] I covered the cosmic viewpoint in episode 5 on prosoche. Nevertheless, the cosmic viewpoint is a critically important topic in Stoic practice; it cannot be repeated too often. The cosmic viewpoint is often referred to as the “view from above.” This is the cosmic viewpoint, and it entails more than seeing the insignificance of life as if from afar. The cosmic viewpoint is more about attitude than altitude. Imagining that we are zooming away from the Earth may help distance us from the triviality of some troublesome events. However, that form of a “view from above” does not necessarily bring about the attitudinal change Stoicism prescribes. The ultimate goal of Stoic practice is not to distance ourselves from troublesome events or become indifferent to them. The goal is to learn to love those events as if we wished for them. Why? Because they are the events of Nature that have a purpose of their own, and, as Stoics, our aim is to live in agreement with that cosmic Nature. To do so requires more than a change in altitude; it requires a significant change in attitude. Stoic practice obliges us to develop an attitude of gratitude toward all events, even those we might otherwise consider troublesome, or tragic. As Epictetus taught: From everything that happens in the universe it is easy to praise providence, if one has within him two things: the faculty of taking a comprehensive view of the things that happen to each person and a sense of gratitude. (Discourses 1.6.1) Pierre Hadot considers the cosmic viewpoint the beginning of Stoic practice. He writes, Putting theory into practice begins with an exercise that consists in recognizing oneself as a part of the Whole, elevating oneself to cosmic consciousness, or immersing oneself within the totality of the cosmos. While meditating on Stoic physics, we are able to see all things within the perspective of universal Reason. To achieve this, we must practice the imaginative exercise which consists in seeing all human things from above.[2] When confronted with something which might appear unsettling or disturbing, we must take a step back and try to envision the situation from the perspective of the whole cosmos. It is reasonable to assume if we had all of the information about an event we would see things differently. To take on the perspective of the whole we must shed our personal desires, the desires of our immediate family and loved ones, and those of our local community or nation. That is a difficult thing to do; however, this paradigm shift is an essential part of Stoic practice. From the cosmic viewpoint, we can begin to see and love all events as parts of the Whole. Marcus Aurelius describes this exercise: Watch the stars in their courses as though you were accompanying them on their way, and reflect perpetually on how the elements are constantly changing from one to another; for the thought of these things purifies us from the defilement of our earthly existence. A fine reflection from Plato. One who would converse about human beings should look on all things earthly as though from some point far above, upon herds, armies, and agriculture, marriages and divorces, births and deaths, the clamour of law courts, deserted wastes, alien peoples of every kind, festivals, lamentations, and markets, this intermixture of everything and ordered combination of opposites. (Meditations 7.47-8) Pause and consider the list of things and events offered by Marcus in this passage: herds, armies, agriculture, marriages and divorces, births and deaths, the clamour of law courts, deserted wastes, alien peoples of every kind, festivals, lamentations, and markets. There are items on that list we would typically consider “good” and others we may consider “bad”; however, Marcus is reminding himself not to judge them as such. Instead, he challenges himself to view these things and events “as though from some point far above” to gain a new perspective. What is that perspective? It is not a perspective that minimizes their importance because of our altitude. Instead, it is a perspective derived from an attitude change, and it allows us to see all events, no matter how seemingly tragic, as an “intermixture of everything and ordered combination of opposites.” In other words, every event plays a role in the ordered whole. “Wait a minute,” someone might say, “there is no way I’m going to accept that tragic events happen for a purpose and that I should love them.” Then you will have a troubled mind, and you will be angry with gods and men, according to Epictetus (Enchiridion 1). Please do not misunderstand the Stoics here. It is our responsibility to behave in a manner that minimizes wars, rapes, murders, political and economic injustice, etc. We do so by behaving in a wise, just, courageous, and moderate manner, and encouraging others to do the same. Nevertheless, seemingly tragic events will happen; they are part of the “intermixture of everything and ordered combination of opposites” (Meditations7.48). When they do occur, we have a profoundly important choice to make. We can choose to accept them as the necessary events of a providentially ordered cosmos and love them as parts of an interconnected and interdependent whole. Or, we can rage against them as cosmic injustices and thereby create a troubled mind and feed our anger against gods and men. Either providence or atoms. This does not imply that a Stoic should do nothing about injustice when they can act and attempt to bring about a virtuous end. As Stoics, we are obligated to act. Cato the Younger and Marcus provide excellent examples of courageous action to defend the people and values of their society. Nevertheless, they acted with a reserve clause in mind and accepted that their actions may not bring about the end they sought. After all, the cosmos may have a different plan. In either case, our goal as a practicing Stoic is to accept and love the outcome as one event within a larger causal network of events that constitutes the Whole. That is the cosmic viewpoint. Ultimately, this paradigm shift involves more than additional information that may change our opinion about an event. The cosmic viewpoint entails an entirely different way of thinking about events. It relies on bringing our rational faculty—that fragment of the logos we each possess—into congruence with universal Reason. Seneca warns, Whenever you sink back from engagement with the divine to the human level, your sight will go dim, just like the eyes of those who return from bright sunlight to dense shadow. (Natural Questions III, praef. 11) In other words, our psychological angst is the result of seeing events from a limited anthropocentric perspective—the human level. Stoic practice teaches us to view events from the cosmic perspective—the divine level. As you go about your day, try applying the cosmic viewpoint by asking yourself the following questions: What might this event look like if I had full knowledge of what is going on? Will this event be as significant to me tomorrow, next week, next year, or a decade from now? Can I envision a way this event, which appears unfortunate, troublesome, or even tragic at this moment, might bring about a positive outcome in the future? If so, would it be prudent for me to act, with a reserve clause, as if this apparently troubling event is directing me toward a new course of action? Did this slamming door reveal another previously unnoticed door I should explore? Am I aware of any events like this from the past that were used by individuals or nations to bring about a positive end? Are there events in my past that appeared unfortunate, troublesome, or tragic at the time that I consider a blessing now? If I make a conscious choice to assume this seemingly unfortunate, troublesome, or tragic event has a larger purpose, and I make the best of it, how will that change my attitude? Seneca challenges us to “look upward, to transcend ordinary life at ground level, to reach for cosmic consciousness.”[3] Our challenge as Stoic practitioners is to allow our soul to take flight, metaphorically of course, and view the world and events around us as if from above—from the perspective of the Whole. According to the Stoics, the new perspective we can achieve from this cosmic viewpoint will change our lives. ENDNOTES: [1] Gareth D. Williams, The Cosmic Viewpoint: A Study of Seneca’s Natural Questions (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), p. 11 [2] Pierre Hadot, What Is Ancient Philosophy? (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press, 2002), p. 136 [3] Williams (2012). p. 11

Seven Days with Seneca What is most important in human life? That is a perennial question that almost all of us ask ourselves, in one form or another, at some point in our lives. Unfortunately, many of us neglect to confront that question until late in life or when unforeseen circumstances force the question upon us. There, amid the faintly glowing embers of a long life approaching its end, or within the smoking and smoldering embers of a cataclysmic life event, we are more likely to listen to our inner sage as it admonishes us to consider what is really important in life before it is too late. Seneca, the wealthy and once powerful Roman senator repeatedly asked what is important in the preface to Book 3 of his Natural Questions. He was looking back on his life from old age when he wrote this work. From that perspective, he admits his motive for asking, “What is most important in life?” He wrote, Old age is at my back and accuses me of having used up my years in fruitless pursuits. (Natural Questions III, praef. 2) Many of us, maybe most, feel the weight of that same accusation at some point. We ask ourselves, what am I doing with my life? The question may be prompted by external events like divorce, a disabling accident, the death of a loved one, a brush with death, a terminal medical diagnosis, the birth of a child, etc. Likewise, the question may arise during meditation or a quiet moment of self-reflection. Many occasions might prompt the question. Nevertheless, it is fair to say that few of us ask it often enough or reflect on it deeply enough to effect lasting change in our life. Fortunately, as Seneca points out, it is never too late to begin anew. No matter what stage of life we are in, we can “press on all the more” and give “hard work” the opportunity to “repair the losses of a misspent life” (Natural Questions III, praef. 2). How? By giving our mind—our rational faculty—time to itself for “contemplation of itself.” Here, Seneca echoes Epictetus’ confidence in our rational faculty’s self-judging and self-healing capabilities (Discourses 1.1). Nonetheless, we must create the time and space for our mind to work on itself. According to Seneca, if we create the time in our busy lives to allow our rational faculty to work on itself, it can “recover by using its present life with care.” While it is helpful to create a time and place for regular meditation or thoughtful reflection, it far more important to the recovery process that we practice constant attention (prosoche) throughout the day. This practice of attention focuses our rational faculty on our present judgments, present desires, and present actions; this is the real inner work of a practicing Stoic. Once we are paying attention, we can deploy the three Stoic disciplines to help us “transition from remorse to honorable action.” (Natural Questions III, praef. 2-3). Seneca asks, “What is most important in life?” seven times and provides seven thought-provoking insights in Natural Questions, Book 3, praef. 10-16. This episode is the first of a week-long meditation program that draws from Seneca’s responses to that question to challenge and inspire practicing Stoics. Each daily meditation is short enough to be listened to or read quickly during a morning meditation and will give you something to consider throughout the day. The goal of this week-long meditation is twofold. First, I trust that Seneca’s responses to the question “What is important in life?” will provide some insight into this question. Second, my wish is that Seneca’s responses will provoke some deep soul-searching and motivate us to ask and answer this potentially life-changing question more frequently. The Inner Work of Stoicism What is most important in human life? Not filling the seas with fleets, nor setting up standards on the shore of the Red Sea, nor, when the earth runs out of sources of harm, wandering the ocean to seek the unknown; rather it is seeing everything with one’s mind, and conquering one’s faults, which is the greatest victory possible. There are countless people who have been in control of nations and cities, very few who have been in control of themselves. (Natural Questions III, praef. 10) Seneca opens his examination of what is most important in life by directing us inward. The real work of the Stoic life, the work that provides the greatest victory, is inner work. This inner work, Seneca suggests, is done by directing our attention inward toward the only things we can control: The judgments, desires and aversions, and impulses to act that form our character faults. External successes are "indifferents" to the Stoic. That does not mean they have no value at all. Instead, it means they have no bearing on our moral excellence and well-being. These externals are indifferents because they are neither good nor bad in themselves and they are beyond our control—they are “not up to us” (Enchiridion1). There is no causal relationship between virtue (moral excellence) and externals. We can become the head of a company, the leader of a social movement, a city, or a nation while having a vicious moral character. Likewise, we can possess an excellent moral character while being poor, powerless, and nameless. The excellent life—the life of virtue—is achieved through inward victory over the erroneous judgments and inappropriate desires and aversions that damage our virtue and diminish our well-being. Through the practice of attention (prosoche) and the disciplines of assent and desire, we turn inward to examine the thoughts, desires, and aversions that trouble our mind and cause us to “find fault with both gods and human beings” (Enchiridion 1). This is the path of the prokopton (one making progress) and it leads to the creation of what Pierre Hadot calls the inner citadel,[1] where the vicissitudes of fortune cannot affect our tranquility. This inner citadel is within our soul (psyche), and it is there that we must focus our attention. As Marcus Aurelius wrote: People seek retreats for themselves in the countryside, by the seashore, in the hills; and you too have made it your habit to long for that above all else. But this is altogether unphilosophical, when it is possible for you to retreat into yourself whenever you please; for nowhere can one retreat into greater peace or freedom from care than within one’s own soul. (Meditations 4.3) Marcus further asserts that we have the power to stop our inner turmoil, which is caused by faulty judgments, at any moment: If you suffer distress because of some external cause, it is not the thing itself that troubles you but your judgement about it, and it is within your power to cancel that judgement at any moment. (Meditations 8.47) The inner citadel is created from the realization that nothing can touch the soul of the Stoic. This circumscribed Self is immune from harm by anything external to it. Things as such have not the slightest hold on our soul, nor do they have access to the soul, nor can they alter it or move it; but the soul alone alters and moves itself, and ensures that whatever is submitted to it conforms to the judgements of which it considers itself worthy. (Meditations 5.19) Inner work is not easy. Uprooting faulty judgments, desires, and aversions that cause us distress is hard work. That is precisely why, as Seneca notes, few people are actually in control of themselves. Most people live lives that are driven by impressions of externals to prompt them to desire and seek that which they do not control. As Epictetus frequently points out, most people are not the masters of their own impulses; instead, they are slaves to their desires and aversions. The path of the Stoic prokopton can free us from this slavery to our desires and aversions. However, this path traverses a challenging, sometimes steep, and occasionally precarious route. It is easy to assume, mistakenly, that the lush valley below offers a safer and shorter path to virtue and happiness. It probably does not. There are no shortcuts or quick fixes in Stoicism. The path of the Stoic prokopton is the practice of philosophy as a way of life, and it requires continued learning and constant training. However, the reward is worth the effort because the Stoic path leads to an excellent moral character and well-being. Nevertheless, as I have written before, the inward-directed nature of Stoic practice is not a call to withdraw from life’s tempestuous seas; quite the opposite. Through the creation of inner virtue and the application of the dichotomy of control, Stoics are prepared to fulfill their roles in society while maintaining their virtue and tranquility. Stoics shun the peaceful garden of the Epicureans for the rough-and-tumble world of human society. Because, as Seneca notes: To fashion a [Stoic] who can genuinely be called a [Stoic], a stronger fate is needed. For him, the way will not be flat: he must go up and down, he must be tossed by waves, and must guide his vessel on a stormy sea. He must hold his course against fortune. Many things will happen that are hard and rough— but things he can soften and smooth out himself. Fire proves gold; misery, brave men [and women]. (On Providence 5.10) The practice of the three Stoic disciplines that define the path of the prokopton allows us to gain control of our judgments, desires and aversions, and impulses to act. The inner citadel of our psyche is not created as a safe place to hide from the turmoil of life. Instead, the inner citadel is our psychological stronghold that derives its strength from the knowledge that nothing external to us can touch our soul. From that place of inner strength, we can perform our roles in society with purpose. Our purpose is to live in agreement with cosmic Nature, our rational human nature, and our unique individual nature. As naturally social creatures, that means we must live in, engage with, and contribute to the society we are part of.

Philosopher Tim Mulgan explores a third way between materialist atheism and the benevolent to God of the Abrahamic faiths. He discusses the concept of purpose in the universe, the disconnect between arguments for and against God's existence, the practical differences of believing in a cosmic purpose, confronting nihilism in atheism, future plans and obligations, and explores connections between Hinduism, Taoism, and Stoicism.

Many people who were introduced to Stoicism by popular books that were written in the twenty-first century are surprised by the religious nature of Stoic philosophy when they first encounter it in the surviving Stoic texts and scholarship on those texts. That is because none of these popular authors address the deeply religious nature of Stoicism positively. Instead, they either ignore it or attempt to discredit it as the unwarranted beliefs of ancient philosophers who lacked our modern scientific understanding of the universe. For some, like Lawrence Becker, Stoic ethics cannot be “credible” if it remains attached to Stoic cosmology (a providential cosmos).[1] Likewise, William Irvine considers this aspect of Stoicism “off-putting to modern individuals, almost none of whom believe in the existence of Zeus, and many of whom don’t believe we were created by a divine being who wanted what was best for us.”[2] Ryan Holiday takes a different approach and justifies ignoring Stoic physics (which includes Stoic theology) by making the unsubstantiated claim that as Stoicism progressed, the later Stoics “focused primarily on two of these topics—logic and ethics”[3] to the exclusion of physics. In a unique approach, Donald Robertson attempts to obscure the modern divergence from Stoicism by making the unsupportable claim that some of the ancient Stoics “may have adopted a more agnostic stance”[4] or may have “believed that agnosticism or even atheism may have been consistent with the Stoic way of life.”[5] Claims like these may satisfy those who are unfamiliar with the Stoic texts and have not read any credible scholarship on Stoicism. Likewise, they will please those atheists and agnostics who wish those claims to be true. However, these claims do not stand up to the textual evidence or credible Stoic scholarship. A more brazen example of a predisposition against the religious nature of Stoicism is offered by Massimo Pigliucci, who combines literary fiction with a bit of scientific hubris to justify the abandonment of the Stoic worldview and its deeply religious nature. In his 2017 book How to Be a Stoic, which should have been more appropriately titled How to Be a Secular Stoic, Pigliucci engages Epictetus in an imaginary conversation. He sits Epictetus down for a friendly chat and educates him about the “powerful double punch” that David Hume and Charles Darwin delivered to the Stoic conception of a providential cosmos.[6] Of course, in Pigliucci’s version of this story, Epictetus does not provide a defense of Stoic providence against the claims of modern philosophy and science. Instead, Epictetus remains silent while the Stoic worldview is laid waste. However, for those who have any familiarity with the Discourses of Epictetus, it is hard to imagine this conversation would be so one-sided if the real Epictetus were engaged with Pigliucci. It is easy to imagine Epictetus countering with something like, my dear philosopher, “The [Stoics] say that the first thing that needs to be learned is the following, that there is a God, and a God who exercises providential care for the universe” (Discourses 2.14.11). Then, Epictetus, in his typically protreptic style, might have asked Pigliucci, “What is the universe, then, and who governs it?” (Discourses 2.14.25). Finally, it’s fair to assume a modern version of Epictetus would be familiar enough with the writings of Hume and Darwin to know that Pigliucci’s “powerful double punch” may be quite effective against the New Atheist strawman version of God paraded into most modern debates. However, a modern, well-informed Epictetus would be able to point out that neither Hume nor Darwin can land a blow on the immanent God of Stoicism that providentially orders the cosmos from within. Unfortunately, Pigliucci is so beholden to the reductionist materialist belief system of nineteenth-century science that he is compelled to declare, as he recently did, that the metaphysical beliefs of the ancient Stoics are “unsustainable in the light of modern science.”[7] Of course, what Pigliucci and other reductionist materialists fail to tell their audience is that their nineteenth-century conception of reality is itself unsustainable in light of twentieth-century quantum discoveries and modern theories of consciousness. More importantly, Pigliucci’s appeal to modern science to refute Stoic metaphysics is adequately undercut by the existence of many brilliant modern scientists and philosophers, from a variety of fields, who believe that some form of preexisting consciousness or mind-like background provides the best explanation for our ordered cosmos and human consciousness. Before I proceed any further, I want to make two points. First, the idea that Stoicism is somehow compatible with atheism without being substantially modified, and the speculation that the ancient Stoics “may have adopted a more agnostic stance”[8] or themselves “believed that agnosticism or even atheism may have been consistent with the Stoic way of life”[9] are recent inventions of the modern Stoic movement. These assertions are unsupportable by reasonable interpretations of the Stoic texts and are contradicted by a large body of scholarship. Lawrence Becker, in his 1998 book A New Stoicism, was the first person to propose a secular version of Stoic ethics. However, he acknowledged the dilemma he faced with his attempt to extract Stoic ethics from the “purposive system with an end or goal that practical reason directs us to follow.” He declared, “It seems that the book cannot be a work of stoic ethics without the cosmic teleology but that it cannot be a credible work of ethics with such a cosmology.”[10] In other words, Becker realizes that Stoic teleology—the idea that the cosmos has a purpose with which we humans should align ourselves—is not credible in academia. That will not be a surprise to anyone who is familiar with modern academic philosophy. The important point here is that Becker, who was at the leading edge of what would later develop into the modern Stoic movement, is open and honest about the fact that Stoic physics and ethics were considered inseparable. Prior to Becker, no one seriously considered such a separation feasible. Even today, twenty years after Becker wrote A New Stoicism, no credible scholar of Stoicism claims that Stoic ethics can be separated from the Stoic conception of a providential cosmos without making substantial changes to the system as a whole. The second point is this: As I have repeatedly stated, I fully support the creation of a secularized version of Stoicism that can appeal to agnostics and atheists. I believe that furthering what Becker started in 1998 is both reasonable and commendable. However, reinterpreting Stoic texts and giving undue weight to ambiguous fragments in an attempt to anachronistically paint the ancients as agnostics or speculate that they may have been open to agnosticism or even atheism is neither reasonable nor commendable. These practices may serve to further expand the modern Stoic movement and sell more books and courses to the masses; nevertheless, they also open the door to a myriad of interpretive practices that allow Stoicism to be twisted and distorted beyond all recognition. In 1998, Lawrence Becker made his divergence from ancient Stoicism quite clear. Unfortunately, the opposite is true of some modern popularizers who attempt to justify their predisposition to secularism and their aversion to the religious nature of Stoicism by rewriting the history of the Stoa and attributing beliefs to the ancient Stoics that are contradicted by the surviving texts. What the Scholars Say about the Religious Nature of Stoicism Now that we have some idea of how the modern Stoic popularizers feel about the religious nature of Stoicism, let’s see what the recognized scholars have to say on this topic. Interestingly, early Christian thinkers, medieval scholastics, sixteenth- and seventeenth-century neo-Stoics, and the nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars of Stoicism all recognized the deeply religious nature of Stoicism. As an example, the distinguished classicist Edith Hamilton claimed, [Stoicism] was a religion first, a philosophy only second.[11] Additionally, she wrote, This is the voice not of philosophy, but of religion. Stoicism from its earliest beginnings was religious… It must not however be concluded that Stoicism was a religion only and not a philosophy.[12] Likewise, the classical scholar Gilbert Murray wrote, Stoicism may be called either a philosophy or a religion. It was a religion in its exalted passion; it was a philosophy inasmuch as it made no pretence to magical powers or supernatural knowledge.[13] Scottish philosopher Edward Caird called Stoicism a religious philosophy, From the first, Stoicism was a religious philosophy, as is shown by the great hymn of Cleanthes, the successor of Zeno as head of the school—a hymn which is inspired by the consciousness that it is one spiritual power which penetrates and controls the universe and is the source of every work done under the sun, “except what evil men endeavour in their folly.”[14] Finally, German philosopher Eduard Zeller points out the impossibility of understanding Stoicism apart from its theology, It would be impossible to give a full account of the philosophy of the Stoics without, at the same time, treating of their theology; for no early system is so closely connected with religion as that of the Stoics. Founded, as the whole view of the world is, upon the theory of one Divine Being… There is hardly a single prominent feature in the Stoic system which is not, more or less, connected with theology.[15] Is Stoicism a Religion? Are these scholars wrong to suggest that Stoicism is a religion? At first glance, it appears Pierre Hadot thought so. He suggests we must be careful to make a distinction between philosophy and religion.[16] Of course,