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#4064 -
Wednesday, November 3, 2010 - Editor: Jerry Katz
The Nonduality Highlights - http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights
Eric Chaffee sends the following article:
http://www.boingboing.net/2010/10/27/twenty-first-century-2.html
Twenty-First Century Stoic -- From Zen to Zeno: How I
Became a Stoic
William B. Irvine
William B. Irvine is author of A Guide to the Good Life: The
Ancient Art of Stoic Joy (Oxford University Press: 2009).
This is the first in a series of three essays, written by a
Stoic, about what it means to practice an ancient philosophy in
the modern world.
I never intended to become a Stoic. Who, after all, were the
Stoics? They were those grim, wooden figures of ancient Greece
and Rome whose goal it was to stand mutely and take whatever the
world could throw at them. Right?
About a decade ago, though, I began a research project on human
desire. The goal of the project was to write a book on the
subject, but I also had a hidden agenda in conducting my
research: I was contemplating becoming a Zen Buddhist and wanted
to learn more about it before taking the leap. But the more I
learned about Zen, the less it attracted me.
Practicing Zen would require me to suppress my analytical
abilities, something I found it quite difficult to do. Another
off-putting aspect of Zen was that the moment of enlightenment it
dangled before its practitioners was by no means guaranteed.
Practice Zen for decades and you might achieve enlightenment --
or you might not. It would be tragic, I thought, to spend the
remaining decades of my life pursuing a moment of enlightenment
that never came. Zen doubtless works for some people, but for me,
the fit wasn't good.
Then something quite unexpected happened. As part of my research,
I investigated what ancient philosophers had to say about desire.
Among them were the Stoic philosophers -- people like Marcus
Aurelius, Seneca, and Epictetus -- about whom I knew little. As I
read them, I discovered that they were quite unlike I imagined
they would be. Indeed, it soon became apparent that everything I
"knew" about the Stoics was wrong. They were neither
grim nor wooden. If anything, the adjective that I thought
described them best was "buoyant" or maybe even
"cheerful." And without consciously intending to do so,
I found myself experimenting with Stoic strategies for daily
living.
Thus, when I found myself in a predicament -- being stuck in
traffic, for example -- I followed the advice of Epictetus and
asked myself what aspects of the situation I could and couldn't
control. I couldn't control what the other cars did, so it was
pointless -- was in fact counterproductive -- for me to get angry
at them. My energy was much better spent focusing on things I
could control, with the most important being how I responded to
the situation. In particular, I could employ Stoic strategies to
prevent the incident from spoiling my day.
I also started making use of the Stoic technique known as
negative visualization: I would periodically contemplate the loss
of the things and people that mean the most to me. Thus, when
parting from a friend, I might make a mental note that this could
conceivably be the last time I would see the friend in question.
Friendships do end, after all, and people die suddenly. Doing
this sort of thing may seem morbid, but the practice of negative
visualization is a powerful antidote to a phenomenon that will
otherwise deprive us of much of the happiness we could be
enjoying: negative visualization prevents us from taking for
granted the world around us and the people in it.
When they hear about negative visualization, people often get the
wrong idea. They think the Stoics advocate that we spend our days
dwelling on all the bad things that can happen to us. This, of
course, would be a recipe for a miserable existence. What the
Stoics in fact advocate is not that we dwell on bad things but
that we contemplate them, a subtle but important difference. They
also recommend that we engage in negative visualization not
constantly but only a few times each day and for only a few
seconds each time. Our negative visualizations, then, will take
the form of fleeting thoughts.
Visualizing in this manner has the effect of resetting the
baseline against which we measure our happiness, and it can have
a profound and immediate effect on that happiness. As the result
of negatively visualizing, we might find ourselves taking delight
that we still possess the things that only moments before, we
took for granted, including our job, our spouse, our health --
indeed, our very existence.
One of my favorite visualization exercises involves the sky. When
I see it, I periodically remind myself that the sky didn't have
to be blue. But on most days it is blue, and a gorgeous blue, the
hue of which changes subtly from hour to hour. Then I reflect on
how wonderful it is that we inhabit a universe that can, on a
nearly daily basis, present us with such a spectacle. A simple
exercise, to be sure, and some would say a silly one. But if you
can learn to appreciate the sky -- something most people take
utterly for granted -- there is a good chance that you can learn
to appreciate your life as well and thereby enjoy a happier
existence than would otherwise be the case.
I mentioned above that the benefits to be derived from practicing
Zen are uncertain. Stoicism, by way of contrast, does not dangle
before its adherents a moment -- maybe -- of life-transforming
enlightenment. Instead, it provides a body of advice for them to
follow and a set of strategies for them to employ in everyday
life. The strategies in question are easy to use. (Indeed, I
suspect that many of the readers of this essay have already, in
the last few seconds, successfully attempted negative
visualization.) That said, I should add that it takes rather
longer to internalize Stoic advice and strategies so that one's
response to the events of daily living becomes reflexively
Stoical, at which point one can truly claim to be a Stoic.
My experiments with Stoicism were sufficiently encouraging that I
abandoned my plans to become a Zen Buddhist and decided instead
to follow in the footsteps of Zeno of Citium, the Greek who
formulated Stoicism in about 300 B.C. I decided, in other words,
to become a walking, talking anachronism: I would attempt to
transform myself into a twenty-first century Stoic. My goal in
the essays in this series is to describe some aspects of this
transformation.
Most people, of course, would think of Zen Buddhism and Stoicism
as being polar opposites, philosophically speaking, but that is
because people tend to be, as I was, woefully ignorant of what
Stoicism is. One of the most surprising things that came out of
my research was how much Zen and Stoicism have in common.
They both advocate taking what Buddha referred to as "the
middle path." Buddha lived a life of luxury in a palace but
was not fulfilled by that life. He abandoned the palace to live a
life of extreme asceticism but again did not find fulfillment. It
was then that he experienced his moment of enlightenment. The
wise person, Buddha concluded, will not shun pleasure; at the
same time, he will keep firmly in mind how easy it is to become
enslaved by it. He will therefore be guarded in his enjoyment of
pleasure.
The Stoics likewise advocated taking the middle path. Zeno of
Citium began his philosophical education by practicing Cynicism,
the ancient philosophy that advocated an ascetic lifestyle. The
ancient Cynics (including Diogenes of Sinope and Zeno's teacher
Crates) lived on the street and owned only the clothing that they
wore. Zeno abandoned Cynicism in part because he rejected its
asceticism. In the Stoic philosophy he formulated, we are told
that there is nothing wrong with enjoying life's pleasures, as
long as we are careful not to allow ourselves to be enslaved by
them and as long as, even while we are enjoying them, we take
steps to prepare ourselves ultimately to be deprived of them.
Offer a Stoic a glass of fine champagne, and he probably won't
refuse it; as he drinks it, though, he might reflect on the
possibility that this will be the last time he drinks champagne,
a reflection, by the way, that will dramatically enhance his
enjoyment of the moment. Then again, offer a Stoic a glass of
water, and he might go through the same thought processes with
the same result.
In having "last time" thoughts (which, by the way, are
a form of negative visualization), a Stoic is behaving rather
like a Buddhist. Both Stoics and Buddhists think it important, if
we are to have a good life, that we recognize the transient
nature of human existence, and both advise us periodically to
contemplate impermanence. This is what Stoics are doing when they
reflect on the fact that since we are mortal, there will be a
last time for each of the things we do in life. Thus, there will
be a last time you drink champagne -- or water, for that matter.
There will be a last time you touch the face of another human
being. There will even be a last time you utter the word
"forever."
Along similar lines, both Zen Buddhists and Stoics think it
important for us to strive to stay "in the moment."
People tend to spend their days and consequently their lives as
well dwelling on things that happened in past moments and
worrying about things that will happen in future moments. As a
result, there is little time left for them to savor the moment
they currently are living. If we are to have a good life, it is
important, says Stoic Marcus Aurelius, for us to keep in mind
that "man lives only in the present, in this fleeting
instant."
For one last parallel between Buddhism and Stoicism, consider
again the above-described blue-sky exercise. As a Stoic, I had
practiced this exercise for years before I became aware of the
work of Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh. It turns out that
Buddhists, in their practice of mindfulness, employ a similar
exercise: see this video.
On adopting Stoicism, I discovered how much the world has changed
since the philosophy was first formulated. Back then, if you told
someone you were a practicing Stoic, they would have understood
what you meant. In ancient Greece and Rome, it was common for
people in the upper classes to adopt a philosophy of life;
indeed, parents sent their sons to schools of philosophy
(prominent among which were the Stoic, the Epicurean, and the
Academic schools) in part to acquire such a philosophy.
Tell modern individuals that you are a practicing Stoic, though,
and they are likely to be puzzled. "Is it some kind of
religion?" they will ask.
My standard response: "No. Religions generally concern
themselves with the afterlife; philosophies of life such as
Stoicism concern themselves with daily life. They teach us what
things in life are most valuable and how best to attain
them."
This response is likely to give rise to a new question: "And
just what did the Stoics think was valuable?" My response:
"Not what most people think is valuable -- namely, fame and
fortune. To the contrary, the Stoics (and in particular the Roman
Stoics) valued tranquillity, and by tranquillity they had in mind
not the kind of numbness that can be attained by downing a third
martini, but instead the absence of negative emotions, such as
anger, anxiety, grief, and fear, from their life. They had
nothing against positive emotions, though, including that most
positive of emotions, joy. The Stoics were also confident that
people who exchange their tranquillity for fame and fortune have
made a foolish bargain."
This, by the way, is yet another point of agreement between Zen
and Stoicism: both philosophies of life point to tranquillity as
the thing in life most worth attaining. But wait a minute, if Zen
and Stoicism share the same goal in living, namely, the
attainment of tranquillity, won't they count as the same
philosophy of life?
No, because although they share this goal, they offer different
advice on how to attain it. Thus, a Zen Buddhist might advise
those wishing to attain tranquillity to spend hours each day
trying to empty their mind of all thought. And when they are not
doing this, they should spend time trying to solve koans, those
paradoxical questions, the most famous of which is "What is
the sound of one hand clapping?"
The Stoics, by way of contrast, would recommend neither of these
activities. Your time would be much better spent, they would
suggest, analyzing what it is in your daily life that disrupts
your tranquillity and thinking about what you can do to prevent
such disruptions. And to aid you in your thinking, the Stoics
would go on to suggest that you take a look at the writings of
Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, and Epictetus. There you will find much
advice on how to deal with insults, how to overcome grief, how to
avoid getting angry, how to take delight in the world you
inhabit, and so forth.
At this point, my introduction-to-Stoicism conversation sometimes
turns ugly. The conversation can cause the other person to
realize that he has never taken time to think about the
"grand goal of living;" instead, his attention has been
focused on the short-term goals of daily life, such as getting a
promotion at work or acquiring an even-wider-screen television.
Or, even worse, the conversation can put the person on the
defensive. If he routinely spends his days exchanging his
tranquillity for a (quite possibly unsuccessful) shot at the
acquisition of fame and fortune, he will not take kindly to my
"foolish bargain" comment.
In either case, he might resent what he will construe as an
attempt by me to impose my values on him, and his resentment
might be expressed indirectly, by ridiculing Stoicism. It is, to
be sure, easy to avoid this ridicule: if you decide to give
Stoicism a try as your philosophy of life, I suggest that you
keep your plans to yourself and practice what I call stealth
Stoicism. This is what I would have done had I not taken it on
myself to become a twenty-first century Stoic teacher.
This, in a nutshell, is what Stoicism is and why I found myself
drawn to it. I hope that if I have accomplished anything in this
essay, I have persuaded readers that the ancient Stoics were not
stoical in the modern sense of the word -- they were not, as the
dictionary puts it, "seemingly indifferent to or unaffected
by joy, grief, pleasure, or pain." Indeed, the phrase joyful
Stoic is not the oxymoron it might seem to be.
©2010, William B. Irvine
http://www.boingboing.net/2010/10/27/twenty-first-century-2.html-
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights
Eric Chaffee sends the following article:
http://www.boingboing.net/2010/10/27/twenty-first-century-2.html
Twenty-First Century Stoic -- From Zen to Zeno: How I Became a
Stoic
William B. Irvine
William B. Irvine is author of A Guide to the Good Life: The
Ancient Art of Stoic Joy (Oxford University Press: 2009).
This is the first in a series of three essays, written by a
Stoic, about what it means to practice an ancient philosophy in
the modern world.
I never intended to become a Stoic. Who, after all, were the
Stoics? They were those grim, wooden figures of ancient Greece
and Rome whose goal it was to stand mutely and take whatever the
world could throw at them. Right?
About a decade ago, though, I began a research project on human
desire. The goal of the project was to write a book on the
subject, but I also had a hidden agenda in conducting my
research: I was contemplating becoming a Zen Buddhist and wanted
to learn more about it before taking the leap. But the more I
learned about Zen, the less it attracted me.
Practicing Zen would require me to suppress my analytical
abilities, something I found it quite difficult to do. Another
off-putting aspect of Zen was that the moment of enlightenment it
dangled before its practitioners was by no means guaranteed.
Practice Zen for decades and you might achieve enlightenment --
or you might not. It would be tragic, I thought, to spend the
remaining decades of my life pursuing a moment of enlightenment
that never came. Zen doubtless works for some people, but for me,
the fit wasn't good.
Then something quite unexpected happened. As part of my research,
I investigated what ancient philosophers had to say about desire.
Among them were the Stoic philosophers -- people like Marcus
Aurelius, Seneca, and Epictetus -- about whom I knew little. As I
read them, I discovered that they were quite unlike I imagined
they would be. Indeed, it soon became apparent that everything I
"knew" about the Stoics was wrong. They were neither
grim nor wooden. If anything, the adjective that I thought
described them best was "buoyant" or maybe even
"cheerful." And without consciously intending to do so,
I found myself experimenting with Stoic strategies for daily
living.
Thus, when I found myself in a predicament -- being stuck in
traffic, for example -- I followed the advice of Epictetus and
asked myself what aspects of the situation I could and couldn't
control. I couldn't control what the other cars did, so it was
pointless -- was in fact counterproductive -- for me to get angry
at them. My energy was much better spent focusing on things I
could control, with the most important being how I responded to
the situation. In particular, I could employ Stoic strategies to
prevent the incident from spoiling my day.
I also started making use of the Stoic technique known as
negative visualization: I would periodically contemplate the loss
of the things and people that mean the most to me. Thus, when
parting from a friend, I might make a mental note that this could
conceivably be the last time I would see the friend in question.
Friendships do end, after all, and people die suddenly. Doing
this sort of thing may seem morbid, but the practice of negative
visualization is a powerful antidote to a phenomenon that will
otherwise deprive us of much of the happiness we could be
enjoying: negative visualization prevents us from taking for
granted the world around us and the people in it.
When they hear about negative visualization, people often get the
wrong idea. They think the Stoics advocate that we spend our days
dwelling on all the bad things that can happen to us. This, of
course, would be a recipe for a miserable existence. What the
Stoics in fact advocate is not that we dwell on bad things but
that we contemplate them, a subtle but important difference. They
also recommend that we engage in negative visualization not
constantly but only a few times each day and for only a few
seconds each time. Our negative visualizations, then, will take
the form of fleeting thoughts.
Visualizing in this manner has the effect of resetting the
baseline against which we measure our happiness, and it can have
a profound and immediate effect on that happiness. As the result
of negatively visualizing, we might find ourselves taking delight
that we still possess the things that only moments before, we
took for granted, including our job, our spouse, our health --
indeed, our very existence.
One of my favorite visualization exercises involves the sky. When
I see it, I periodically remind myself that the sky didn't have
to be blue. But on most days it is blue, and a gorgeous blue, the
hue of which changes subtly from hour to hour. Then I reflect on
how wonderful it is that we inhabit a universe that can, on a
nearly daily basis, present us with such a spectacle. A simple
exercise, to be sure, and some would say a silly one. But if you
can learn to appreciate the sky -- something most people take
utterly for granted -- there is a good chance that you can learn
to appreciate your life as well and thereby enjoy a happier
existence than would otherwise be the case.
I mentioned above that the benefits to be derived from practicing
Zen are uncertain. Stoicism, by way of contrast, does not dangle
before its adherents a moment -- maybe -- of life-transforming
enlightenment. Instead, it provides a body of advice for them to
follow and a set of strategies for them to employ in everyday
life. The strategies in question are easy to use. (Indeed, I
suspect that many of the readers of this essay have already, in
the last few seconds, successfully attempted negative
visualization.) That said, I should add that it takes rather
longer to internalize Stoic advice and strategies so that one's
response to the events of daily living becomes reflexively
Stoical, at which point one can truly claim to be a Stoic.
My experiments with Stoicism were sufficiently encouraging that I
abandoned my plans to become a Zen Buddhist and decided instead
to follow in the footsteps of Zeno of Citium, the Greek who
formulated Stoicism in about 300 B.C. I decided, in other words,
to become a walking, talking anachronism: I would attempt to
transform myself into a twenty-first century Stoic. My goal in
the essays in this series is to describe some aspects of this
transformation.
Most people, of course, would think of Zen Buddhism and Stoicism
as being polar opposites, philosophically speaking, but that is
because people tend to be, as I was, woefully ignorant of what
Stoicism is. One of the most surprising things that came out of
my research was how much Zen and Stoicism have in common.
They both advocate taking what Buddha referred to as "the
middle path." Buddha lived a life of luxury in a palace but
was not fulfilled by that life. He abandoned the palace to live a
life of extreme asceticism but again did not find fulfillment. It
was then that he experienced his moment of enlightenment. The
wise person, Buddha concluded, will not shun pleasure; at the
same time, he will keep firmly in mind how easy it is to become
enslaved by it. He will therefore be guarded in his enjoyment of
pleasure.
The Stoics likewise advocated taking the middle path. Zeno of
Citium began his philosophical education by practicing Cynicism,
the ancient philosophy that advocated an ascetic lifestyle. The
ancient Cynics (including Diogenes of Sinope and Zeno's teacher
Crates) lived on the street and owned only the clothing that they
wore. Zeno abandoned Cynicism in part because he rejected its
asceticism. In the Stoic philosophy he formulated, we are told
that there is nothing wrong with enjoying life's pleasures, as
long as we are careful not to allow ourselves to be enslaved by
them and as long as, even while we are enjoying them, we take
steps to prepare ourselves ultimately to be deprived of them.
Offer a Stoic a glass of fine champagne, and he probably won't
refuse it; as he drinks it, though, he might reflect on the
possibility that this will be the last time he drinks champagne,
a reflection, by the way, that will dramatically enhance his
enjoyment of the moment. Then again, offer a Stoic a glass of
water, and he might go through the same thought processes with
the same result.
In having "last time" thoughts (which, by the way, are
a form of negative visualization), a Stoic is behaving rather
like a Buddhist. Both Stoics and Buddhists think it important, if
we are to have a good life, that we recognize the transient
nature of human existence, and both advise us periodically to
contemplate impermanence. This is what Stoics are doing when they
reflect on the fact that since we are mortal, there will be a
last time for each of the things we do in life. Thus, there will
be a last time you drink champagne -- or water, for that matter.
There will be a last time you touch the face of another human
being. There will even be a last time you utter the word
"forever."
Along similar lines, both Zen Buddhists and Stoics think it
important for us to strive to stay "in the moment."
People tend to spend their days and consequently their lives as
well dwelling on things that happened in past moments and
worrying about things that will happen in future moments. As a
result, there is little time left for them to savor the moment
they currently are living. If we are to have a good life, it is
important, says Stoic Marcus Aurelius, for us to keep in mind
that "man lives only in the present, in this fleeting
instant."
For one last parallel between Buddhism and Stoicism, consider
again the above-described blue-sky exercise. As a Stoic, I had
practiced this exercise for years before I became aware of the
work of Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh. It turns out that
Buddhists, in their practice of mindfulness, employ a similar
exercise: see this video.
On adopting Stoicism, I discovered how much the world has changed
since the philosophy was first formulated. Back then, if you told
someone you were a practicing Stoic, they would have understood
what you meant. In ancient Greece and Rome, it was common for
people in the upper classes to adopt a philosophy of life;
indeed, parents sent their sons to schools of philosophy
(prominent among which were the Stoic, the Epicurean, and the
Academic schools) in part to acquire such a philosophy.
Tell modern individuals that you are a practicing Stoic, though,
and they are likely to be puzzled. "Is it some kind of
religion?" they will ask.
My standard response: "No. Religions generally concern
themselves with the afterlife; philosophies of life such as
Stoicism concern themselves with daily life. They teach us what
things in life are most valuable and how best to attain
them."
This response is likely to give rise to a new question: "And
just what did the Stoics think was valuable?" My response:
"Not what most people think is valuable -- namely, fame and
fortune. To the contrary, the Stoics (and in particular the Roman
Stoics) valued tranquillity, and by tranquillity they had in mind
not the kind of numbness that can be attained by downing a third
martini, but instead the absence of negative emotions, such as
anger, anxiety, grief, and fear, from their life. They had
nothing against positive emotions, though, including that most
positive of emotions, joy. The Stoics were also confident that
people who exchange their tranquillity for fame and fortune have
made a foolish bargain."
This, by the way, is yet another point of agreement between Zen
and Stoicism: both philosophies of life point to tranquillity as
the thing in life most worth attaining. But wait a minute, if Zen
and Stoicism share the same goal in living, namely, the
attainment of tranquillity, won't they count as the same
philosophy of life?
No, because although they share this goal, they offer different
advice on how to attain it. Thus, a Zen Buddhist might advise
those wishing to attain tranquillity to spend hours each day
trying to empty their mind of all thought. And when they are not
doing this, they should spend time trying to solve koans, those
paradoxical questions, the most famous of which is "What is
the sound of one hand clapping?"
The Stoics, by way of contrast, would recommend neither of these
activities. Your time would be much better spent, they would
suggest, analyzing what it is in your daily life that disrupts
your tranquillity and thinking about what you can do to prevent
such disruptions. And to aid you in your thinking, the Stoics
would go on to suggest that you take a look at the writings of
Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, and Epictetus. There you will find much
advice on how to deal with insults, how to overcome grief, how to
avoid getting angry, how to take delight in the world you
inhabit, and so forth.
At this point, my introduction-to-Stoicism conversation sometimes
turns ugly. The conversation can cause the other person to
realize that he has never taken time to think about the
"grand goal of living;" instead, his attention has been
focused on the short-term goals of daily life, such as getting a
promotion at work or acquiring an even-wider-screen television.
Or, even worse, the conversation can put the person on the
defensive. If he routinely spends his days exchanging his
tranquillity for a (quite possibly unsuccessful) shot at the
acquisition of fame and fortune, he will not take kindly to my
"foolish bargain" comment.
In either case, he might resent what he will construe as an
attempt by me to impose my values on him, and his resentment
might be expressed indirectly, by ridiculing Stoicism. It is, to
be sure, easy to avoid this ridicule: if you decide to give
Stoicism a try as your philosophy of life, I suggest that you
keep your plans to yourself and practice what I call stealth
Stoicism. This is what I would have done had I not taken it on
myself to become a twenty-first century Stoic teacher.
This, in a nutshell, is what Stoicism is and why I found myself
drawn to it. I hope that if I have accomplished anything in this
essay, I have persuaded readers that the ancient Stoics were not
stoical in the modern sense of the word -- they were not, as the
dictionary puts it, "seemingly indifferent to or unaffected
by joy, grief, pleasure, or pain." Indeed, the phrase joyful
Stoic is not the oxymoron it might seem to be.
©2010, William B. Irvine
http://www.boingboing.net/2010/10/27/twenty-first-century-2.html