A Dose of Stoicism

I can’t buy into Stoicism, but I think American Christianity (or at least my Christianity) needs a dose of Stoic teaching, and I prefer Epictetus’s presentation over that of Marcus Aurelius.

As I’ve been enjoying rereading the Discourses of Epictetus the last few days, I’ve thought a lot about William James saying that cranks and mad people are able to spin out endless sermons on their one beloved theme. Epictetus certainly circles around and around his main point, but he sounds much more sane to me than the lunatics and conspiracy theorists James has in mind. Epictetus’s main point is that we humans aren’t tranquil because we set our will (both desire and aversion) on things out of our control. Taking that statement on its own, it’s hard to disagree. If I just have to get that job, or I just have to inherit that money, or I just have to get that expensive toy, and it doesn’t work out, I’m devastated. If I simply won’t tolerate the heat or my colleague’s annoying habit or another visit from my weird cousin, and then it happens, I’m beside myself. So don’t set your heart on that toy, and don’t think that life will end when the dog days come.

The reason I like Epictetus better than Marcus Aurelius, the much more well known Stoic (which name are you more familiar with?), is simple: he talks about God. One of Stoicism’s teachings is that we should plan to deal with pain caused by things out of our control by remembering that we are a part of a whole and that sometimes the good of the whole requires the sacrifice of one part. For instance (says Epictetus), a foot would never want to be cut off, but the human understands that sometimes a foot needs to be amputated for the life of the whole body. With Epictetus, we’re assured that a wise God has disposed the order of the universe, so we have a Person we can trust when we tell ourselves that we’re a part of a grander design and that our pain is worth “it.” We don’t have to know what “it” is; God knows. But with Marcus, “it” is simply the functioning of the universe, the cosmic balance of a machine that doesn’t care whether we suffer or not.

Stoicism, even Epictetus’s version, has its problems. For one thing, in saying that the will, misplaced on things outside our control, is really what causes anxiety and disappointment, Epictetus firmly believes that the will is under our control. I believe, on the other hand, that the human will is perverted and that sometimes “I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.” Still, the Christian has the direction of the Holy Spirit to renew the will daily, so the advice to learn to will what actually happens (Epictetus’s formula) is not far from the Christian doctrine that we should conform our will to God’s will.

A stickier problem for the Christian trying to learn from Epictetus is that he says we ought to be tranquil. With the corrections I’ve pointed out, I can agree in his analysis of what causes disturbance and in his instruction on how not to be upset, but should we always follow those instructions? The Christian answer is complex. Paul says, quite Stoically, that he has learned to be content in all circumstances. But was he always tranquil? He tells us to “be angry and do not sin,” and he yelled at Ananias, “God shall strike you, you whitewashed wall!” As I read it, he had a controlled purpose for his outburst, but was he content?

Well, Paul may have made mistakes, you say. But the Christian can’t impute sin to Jesus, and Jesus wasn’t always tranquil. The Lord wept over the death of Lazarus, mourned for Jerusalem and longed to protect her as a hen protects her chicks, and sweated blood in Gethsemane. Clearly He was not always tranquil. I like it that the Bible doesn’t give easy answers to this question of whether to be tranquil or to use passion to good purpose; a Christian must use wisdom to discern what the answer is from moment to moment. And for a Christian, “using wisdom” doesn’t mean we can ever come up with a table or flowchart to meet every situation, a Talmud of rules within rules that determine the wise response to every circumstance. Since Christ has been made our wisdom, living in wisdom means that we must have an ongoing relationship with Christ and follow his leading in every situation.

A last problem I need to correct. Epictetus, in his insistence that our problem is that we set our will on things out of our control, says that I must view external things as none of my concern. Actually, not even Epictetus believes himself here. He says in other places that we must behave so as to fulfill the promise in our God-given design, which means we should act rationally and in harmony with society and the world. So it seems that some external things, the people in my community for instance, are indeed my concern. I believe the healthy way to think is to see that every created thing that surrounds me is of concern to me (“All things are yours, and you are Christ’s”) while remembering that it is at best only partially under my control. It’s not the mere delight or aversion in an external thing that ruins tranquility but the desire to control. I can’t stop a mass murder, especially one that’s already taken place and is being reported, but I can grieve. I can’t control the appearance of snow, but I can rejoice when it comes down.

When I was a kid, I once told my dad that I wished I could pick up the birds I saw in the yard, not to harm them or keep them, but just to enjoy them more. He told me that God didn’t make things that way, that He made birds to fly away from people because not every human had my innocent intentions. Fifty-five years later, I have a bird feeder outside my office window. No bird is there right now, and I have almost no control over when they do come – no control at all once I remember to fill the feeder. But every bird that comes is a blessing that I should thank God for. What I need to learn from Epictetus is not that the birds aren’t my concern or that I shouldn’t set my will on seeing a bird outside my window, but that birds aren’t mine to hold and that I shouldn’t set my heart on possessing one.

OK. OK. I could buy a parakeet. Here’s a better example. We live in the Smoky Mountains, and we have security cameras on our house, not to detect the nonexistent thieves, but to take video of black bears that stroll down our driveway and come to our porch. We’re very excited every time we hear the Ding! on our phones. Sometimes we run to the front window in time to see the bear leaving. We might get three bears in a week, and we might have to wait ten months between visits. But every appearance of these beautiful creatures is a thrill and a blessing. It makes no sense and does no good to be upset and disappointed on a day when we don’t see a bear. I have no will to possess one (although I do download the videos sometimes!) and only a facetious desire to scratch one behind its ears. Enjoy, but don’t set your heart on controlling or possessing.

Now here’s the hard part. Can I learn to treat painful things the same way I treat blessings like birds and bears? If it isn’t under my control, accept it, respond to it appropriately, but don’t be unwound over it. Don’t fear it before it comes; fearing it won’t stop it from happening. Don’t brood over it and constantly regret it after it comes; brooding won’t make either the memory or the scars go away. Believe that God has things under control and that my pain is worth it, and trust Him enough to know that I don’t even have to know what “it” is, because He does.