Letter 9: On philosophy and friendship
You desire to know whether Epicurus is right when, in one of his letters, he rebukes those who hold that the wise man is self-sufficient and for that reason does not stand in need of friendships. This is the objection raised by Epicurus against Stilpo and those who believe that the Supreme Good is a soul which is insensible to feeling.
We are bound to meet with a double meaning if we try to express the Greek term "lack of feeling" summarily, in a single word, rendering it by the Latin word “impatientia”. For it may be understood in the meaning the opposite to that which we wish it to have. What we mean to express is, a soul which rejects any sensation of evil; but people will interpret the idea as that of a soul which can endure no evil.
Consider, therefore, whether it is not better to say "a soul that cannot be harmed," or "a soul entirely beyond the realm of suffering." There is this difference between ourselves and the other school: our ideal wise man feels his troubles, but overcomes them; their wise man does not even feel them.
But we and they alike hold this idea—that the wise man is self-sufficient. Nevertheless, he desires friends, neighbors, and associates, no matter how much he is sufficient unto himself.
I have gradually discovered another annoying weakness in myself, where a commitment to mental rigor and moral discipline will tempt me to also take on a cold an uncaring distance; I slip from the extreme of being haphazard in my feelings to the extreme of being dismissive of my feelings.
Yes, I know this means I’m not yet doing it quite right, and so it serves as a healthy reminder that my reason must never stifle my sensitivity, and that my concern for my own improvement can never exclude others.
I want to say that I must avoid becoming insensible, and that I must never forget that I need to have friends, and yet Seneca here tells me that I must be very careful about how I understand such terms. The distinctions are not just about technical nitpicking, but get to the very heart of what it means to become properly self-sufficient.
Schools of philosophy will just as often overlap and include one another as they conflict and exclude one another; to find that common ground has long been a great joy for me, as it points to what we can all share. In this particular case, Seneca tries to discover some unity, in different senses, with both the Epicureans and the Megarians.
Behind the history is a set of related questions: What does it mean to rely on my own good, instead of depending on the good of other things? Is friendship a necessary part of that good? If I am my own ruler, should I embrace affection, or should I separate myself from it completely?
I may have bitten off more than I can chew here, so I will try to take it slowly.
If all I require to be happy is my own judgment and action, then it may at first seem that whether I share intimate bonds with others is irrelevant, and attending to my passions will be a pointless diversion. Here is where I can sadly start turning myself into a brain in a vat, instead of a whole person.
Let me distinguish. Whether I call it being indifferent, or insensible, or resilient to my feelings, I must determine if I mean that those feelings are a part of me that must be ordered, and understood in their rightful place, or something alien that must be rejected. Seneca and Epicurus argued for the former, while Stilpo argued for the latter.
It is again like the old Mr. Spock problem from classic Star Trek: It seemed clear that the fellow had feelings, especially being half human, and yet there was some confusion, depending on the plot of the week, if the Vulcans sought to properly tame them, or to totally excise them.
As much as it may bring out the ire of other fans, itself an emotion, I suggest that Spock was both the most logical character on the show, as well as the most compassionate character on the show. Yes, the Stoic in me is waving his flag.
The assumption is often that the higher must deny the lower, a false dichotomy, when it is quite possible for the higher to include the lower, and to give it a greater meaning and purpose. I am not a creature of feeling or of reason, but a creature of both feeling and of reason, where the impression is made to be in harmony with the judgment.
My Stoicism must never become a merely cerebral matter, one that imposes yet another illusory and restrictive division upon Nature. If Nature made me that way, she did so for a darn good reason, joining a mind and a will to a body charged with passions. What a wonderful combination! There is such great danger in it, as well as such great promise in it.
For the Stoic chooses, with all of his conviction, to not permit his suffering to destroy him. He knows he can make something better of it, and thereby rise above it. This is radically different from a Stilpo, who wishes to imagine that the suffering didn’t exist in the first place.
It will be the same with desire and longing. There is acceptance, and there is denial. There is learning to be the master, and there is wishing the matter away.
Many traditions can agree on wisdom being at the root, even as they diverge on the breadth of the branches.
You desire to know whether Epicurus is right when, in one of his letters, he rebukes those who hold that the wise man is self-sufficient and for that reason does not stand in need of friendships. This is the objection raised by Epicurus against Stilpo and those who believe that the Supreme Good is a soul which is insensible to feeling.
We are bound to meet with a double meaning if we try to express the Greek term "lack of feeling" summarily, in a single word, rendering it by the Latin word “impatientia”. For it may be understood in the meaning the opposite to that which we wish it to have. What we mean to express is, a soul which rejects any sensation of evil; but people will interpret the idea as that of a soul which can endure no evil.
Consider, therefore, whether it is not better to say "a soul that cannot be harmed," or "a soul entirely beyond the realm of suffering." There is this difference between ourselves and the other school: our ideal wise man feels his troubles, but overcomes them; their wise man does not even feel them.
But we and they alike hold this idea—that the wise man is self-sufficient. Nevertheless, he desires friends, neighbors, and associates, no matter how much he is sufficient unto himself.
I have gradually discovered another annoying weakness in myself, where a commitment to mental rigor and moral discipline will tempt me to also take on a cold an uncaring distance; I slip from the extreme of being haphazard in my feelings to the extreme of being dismissive of my feelings.
Yes, I know this means I’m not yet doing it quite right, and so it serves as a healthy reminder that my reason must never stifle my sensitivity, and that my concern for my own improvement can never exclude others.
I want to say that I must avoid becoming insensible, and that I must never forget that I need to have friends, and yet Seneca here tells me that I must be very careful about how I understand such terms. The distinctions are not just about technical nitpicking, but get to the very heart of what it means to become properly self-sufficient.
Schools of philosophy will just as often overlap and include one another as they conflict and exclude one another; to find that common ground has long been a great joy for me, as it points to what we can all share. In this particular case, Seneca tries to discover some unity, in different senses, with both the Epicureans and the Megarians.
Behind the history is a set of related questions: What does it mean to rely on my own good, instead of depending on the good of other things? Is friendship a necessary part of that good? If I am my own ruler, should I embrace affection, or should I separate myself from it completely?
I may have bitten off more than I can chew here, so I will try to take it slowly.
If all I require to be happy is my own judgment and action, then it may at first seem that whether I share intimate bonds with others is irrelevant, and attending to my passions will be a pointless diversion. Here is where I can sadly start turning myself into a brain in a vat, instead of a whole person.
Let me distinguish. Whether I call it being indifferent, or insensible, or resilient to my feelings, I must determine if I mean that those feelings are a part of me that must be ordered, and understood in their rightful place, or something alien that must be rejected. Seneca and Epicurus argued for the former, while Stilpo argued for the latter.
It is again like the old Mr. Spock problem from classic Star Trek: It seemed clear that the fellow had feelings, especially being half human, and yet there was some confusion, depending on the plot of the week, if the Vulcans sought to properly tame them, or to totally excise them.
As much as it may bring out the ire of other fans, itself an emotion, I suggest that Spock was both the most logical character on the show, as well as the most compassionate character on the show. Yes, the Stoic in me is waving his flag.
The assumption is often that the higher must deny the lower, a false dichotomy, when it is quite possible for the higher to include the lower, and to give it a greater meaning and purpose. I am not a creature of feeling or of reason, but a creature of both feeling and of reason, where the impression is made to be in harmony with the judgment.
My Stoicism must never become a merely cerebral matter, one that imposes yet another illusory and restrictive division upon Nature. If Nature made me that way, she did so for a darn good reason, joining a mind and a will to a body charged with passions. What a wonderful combination! There is such great danger in it, as well as such great promise in it.
For the Stoic chooses, with all of his conviction, to not permit his suffering to destroy him. He knows he can make something better of it, and thereby rise above it. This is radically different from a Stilpo, who wishes to imagine that the suffering didn’t exist in the first place.
It will be the same with desire and longing. There is acceptance, and there is denial. There is learning to be the master, and there is wishing the matter away.
Many traditions can agree on wisdom being at the root, even as they diverge on the breadth of the branches.
Written in 5/2012
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