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elfsAmong the Stoics, it was Epictetus, not Zeno, who said that "To study philosophy is to study how to die." That was one of the quotes that I've always shied away from contemplating too deeply. Nobody wants to study "how to die."
Stoicism tells us to spend a little bit of time every morning, only 30 minutes or so, to think about and, if at all possible, write down your thoughts on the worst possible tragedies the day could bring you: the death of a family member, your home burning down, an automobile accident that leaves your body crippled and your family without your strength. For each notion, you should step back and, as if you were someone else, write down what would be the best response to the crisis.
This exercise is the one that Stoicism's critics charge makes us gloomy people, but it's an unjust accusation. If you sleep eight hours a day, that leaves 16 hours, or 32 half-hours. All Stoicism asks for is one of those in which to plan your day, especially planning around the question, "Really, what's the worst that could happen?"
For the other 31 half-hours, Stoicism recommends that you practice joy. After all, you've already made the decisions you need to make to handle crisis. Worry is in your back pocket now, where it can be ignored. Go out! Enjoy the day! "We are social beings and have a responsibility to make the world a good place for social beings. We are reasoning beings and we have the tools with which to do that" are at the heart of the Stoic program. Do it, embrace it, be made joyful by it.
You might like to read the rather Stoic Life As A Stack of Mental States, in which the author claims that every activity is oriented toward achieving a specific mental state. Even unpleasant activities are geared toward achieving a specific mental state; going to work when you know it's going to be a hard day is, after all, better that worrying about how you'll pay for your next meal; you're seeking reassurance. Whether you're a warm-slippers-and-a-good-book type or a netflix-and-weed type, your evening rituals are a form of comfort. You really might like the whole thing, but the point the author wants to get across is that if you understand what mental state you're after you will probably make better commitments: purchases, outings and appointments which ultimately turn out unrewarding or tedious might be avoided if you understood what you were hoping to get out of them.
What I'm seeing among my mother and her friends is a recurring need to visit the past and process old grudges, over and over. They're not content with the course of their life, with what they achieved.
I believe that many of them lack a sense of integrity, a sense of the wholeness of their life strong enough to handle the slow decline of their bodies. Most of them are divorced. In the classic psychological models, these are people in their fifties through seventies who are still working on the whole intimacy-vs-isolation thing, growth-vs-stagnation, and don't have enough time left to work on integrity-vs-despair, and they know it.
This is what Stoicism is about: knowing this, embracing it, and actively working toward it. Stoicism says you need to see the gaps in your maturity, plan on filling them, and then work on filling them. Stoicism says fate gave us powerful minds, a community in which we live, and a responsibility to make the best possible use of both.
Stoicism teaches that if you do this to the best of your ability, when your time comes, when the body starts to break down and the black raven starts visiting every morning, saying, "Today? Today?" you can look at him and say, "Maybe not today. But I've done good. It will be okay if it is."
Stoicism tells us to spend a little bit of time every morning, only 30 minutes or so, to think about and, if at all possible, write down your thoughts on the worst possible tragedies the day could bring you: the death of a family member, your home burning down, an automobile accident that leaves your body crippled and your family without your strength. For each notion, you should step back and, as if you were someone else, write down what would be the best response to the crisis.
This exercise is the one that Stoicism's critics charge makes us gloomy people, but it's an unjust accusation. If you sleep eight hours a day, that leaves 16 hours, or 32 half-hours. All Stoicism asks for is one of those in which to plan your day, especially planning around the question, "Really, what's the worst that could happen?"
For the other 31 half-hours, Stoicism recommends that you practice joy. After all, you've already made the decisions you need to make to handle crisis. Worry is in your back pocket now, where it can be ignored. Go out! Enjoy the day! "We are social beings and have a responsibility to make the world a good place for social beings. We are reasoning beings and we have the tools with which to do that" are at the heart of the Stoic program. Do it, embrace it, be made joyful by it.
You might like to read the rather Stoic Life As A Stack of Mental States, in which the author claims that every activity is oriented toward achieving a specific mental state. Even unpleasant activities are geared toward achieving a specific mental state; going to work when you know it's going to be a hard day is, after all, better that worrying about how you'll pay for your next meal; you're seeking reassurance. Whether you're a warm-slippers-and-a-good-book type or a netflix-and-weed type, your evening rituals are a form of comfort. You really might like the whole thing, but the point the author wants to get across is that if you understand what mental state you're after you will probably make better commitments: purchases, outings and appointments which ultimately turn out unrewarding or tedious might be avoided if you understood what you were hoping to get out of them.
What I'm seeing among my mother and her friends is a recurring need to visit the past and process old grudges, over and over. They're not content with the course of their life, with what they achieved.
I believe that many of them lack a sense of integrity, a sense of the wholeness of their life strong enough to handle the slow decline of their bodies. Most of them are divorced. In the classic psychological models, these are people in their fifties through seventies who are still working on the whole intimacy-vs-isolation thing, growth-vs-stagnation, and don't have enough time left to work on integrity-vs-despair, and they know it.
This is what Stoicism is about: knowing this, embracing it, and actively working toward it. Stoicism says you need to see the gaps in your maturity, plan on filling them, and then work on filling them. Stoicism says fate gave us powerful minds, a community in which we live, and a responsibility to make the best possible use of both.
Stoicism teaches that if you do this to the best of your ability, when your time comes, when the body starts to break down and the black raven starts visiting every morning, saying, "Today? Today?" you can look at him and say, "Maybe not today. But I've done good. It will be okay if it is."
