A Guide to the Good Life

by William Braxton Irvine

  It was partly for this reason that Musonius advocated a simple diet. More precisely, he thought it best to eat foods that needed little preparation, including fruits, green vegetables, milk, and cheese. He tried to avoid meat since it was, he thought, a food more appropriate for wild animals. He advised that when someone eats, he should choose food “not for pleasure but for nourishment, not to please his palate but to strengthen his body.” Finally, Musonius advises us to follow the example set by Socrates: Rather than living to eat—rather than spending our life pursuing the pleasure to be derived from food—we should eat to live.9

  Why would Musonius deprive himself of what seem like harmless gastronomic pleasures? Because he thinks they are anything but harmless. He recalls Zeno’s observation that we should guard against acquiring a taste for delicacies, because once we start in this direction, it will be difficult to stop. Another thing to keep in mind is that although we may go months or even years between our encounters with other sources of pleasure, we must eat daily, and that the more often we are tempted by a pleasure, the more danger there is that we will succumb to it. It is for this reason, Musonius says, that “the pleasure connected with food is undoubtedly the most difficult of all pleasures to combat.”10

  B e s i d e s e n j oy i n g e xt r avaga n t d i et s, those who live in luxury also wear expensive clothes and live in expensive, finely furnished houses. But according to the Stoics, in the same way that we should favor a simple diet, we should favor simple clothing, housing, and furnishings. Musonius, for example, advises us to dress to protect our bodies, not to impress other people. Likewise, our housing should be functional: It should do little more than keep out extreme heat and cold, and shelter us from the sun and wind. A cave would be fine, if one were available. He reminds us that houses with courtyards, fancy color schemes, and gilded ceilings are hard to maintain.

  Furthermore, our simple house should be furnished simply. Its kitchen should be supplied with earthenware and iron vessels rather than those made of silver and gold; besides being cheaper, Musonius observes, such vessels are easier to cook with and less likely to be stolen.11

  People who achieve luxurious lifestyles are rarely satisfied: Experiencing luxury only whets their appetite for even more luxury. In defense of this claim, Seneca asks his friend Lucilius to imagine that he has become magnificently wealthy, that his house has marble floors and is decked with gold, and that his clothing is royal purple. Having all this, he observes, will not make Lucilius happy: “You will only learn from such things to crave still greater.” This is because the desire for luxuries is not a natural desire. Natural desires, such as a desire for water when we are thirsty, can be satisfied; unnatural desires cannot.12 Therefore, when we find ourselves wanting something, we should pause to ask whether the desire is natural or unnatural, and if it is unnatural, we should think twice about trying to satisfy it.

  Luxury, Seneca warns, uses her wit to promote vices: First she makes us want things that are inessential, then she makes us want things that are injurious. Before long, the mind becomes slave to the body’s whims and pleasures.13 Along similar lines, Musonius tells us that he would rather be sick than live in luxury. Sickness, he argues, may harm the body, but a life of luxury harms the soul as well by making it “undisciplined and cowardly.” Therefore, he concludes, “luxurious living must be completely avoided.”14

  If we take to heart the advice of the Stoics and forgo luxurious living, we will find that our needs are easily met, for as Seneca reminds us, life’s necessities are cheap and easily obtainable.15 Those who crave luxury typically have to spend considerable time and energy to attain it; those who eschew luxury can devote this same time and energy to other, more worthwhile undertakings.

  How much wealth should we acquire? According to Seneca, our financial goal should be to acquire “an amount that does not descend to poverty, and yet is not far removed from poverty.” We should, he says, learn to restrain luxury, cultivate frugality, and “view poverty with unprejudiced eyes.”16 The lifestyle of a Stoic, he adds, should be somewhere in between that of a sage and that of an ordinary person.17

  Epictetus is more austere in the advice he offers: We should, he said, “take what has to do with the body to the point of bare need.” And what is it that we need? Food enough to nourish our body, clothing enough to cover it, and a house big enough to enclose it.18 It is worth noting that despite living a spartan lifestyle, the Stoic, because he practices negative visualization, might be more content with what he has than someone living in the lap of luxury.

  Epictetus encourages us to keep in mind that self-respect, trustworthiness, and high-mindedness are more valuable than wealth, meaning that if the only way to gain wealth is to give up these personal characteristics, we would be foolish to seek wealth. Furthermore, we should remember that one person’s being richer than another does not mean that the first person is better than the other.19 Likewise, we should keep in mind Seneca’s comment to Lucilius that “the man who adapts himself to his slender means and makes himself wealthy on a little sum, is the truly rich man.”20 (The Stoics, by the way, are not alone in making this observation. On the other side of the globe, for example, Lao Tzu observed that “he who knows contentment is rich.”)21

  Ev e n t h o u g h s h e d o e s n ’ t pursue wealth, a Stoic might nevertheless acquire it. A Stoic will, after all, do what she can to make herself useful to her fellow humans. And thanks to her practice of Stoicism, she will be self-disciplined and single-minded, traits that will help her accomplish the tasks she sets for herself. As a result, she might be quite effective in helping others, and they might reward her for doing so. It is possible, in other words, for the practice of Stoicism to be financially rewarding.

  Suppose that this Stoic—thanks, once again, to her practice of Stoicism—has also lost interest in luxurious living and, more generally, has overcome her craving for consumer goods. As a result, she is likely to retain a large portion of her income and might thereby become wealthy. It is indeed ironic: A Stoic who disparages wealth might become wealthier than those individuals whose principal goal is its acquisition. The Roman Stoics we have been considering appear to have experienced this prosperity paradox. Seneca and Marcus were beyond wealthy, and Musonius and Epictetus, as heads of successful Stoic schools, would presumably have been financially comfortable. (Indeed, Musonius’s income was sufficient, as we have seen, for him to be able to give money to a philosophical imposter.) What will a Stoic do if, despite not pursuing wealth, she finds herself well off ? Stoicism does not require her to renounce wealth; it allows her to enjoy it and use it to the benefit of herself and those around her. It does, however, require her enjoyment to be thoughtful. She must keep firmly in mind that her wealth can be snatched from her; indeed, she should spend time preparing herself for the loss of it—by, for example, periodically practicing poverty. She must also keep in mind that unless she is careful, enjoyment of her wealth can undermine her character and her capacity to enjoy life. She will, for this reason, steer clear of a luxurious lifestyle. Thus, the Stoic’s enjoyment of wealth will be strikingly different from that of, say, the typical person who has just won the lottery.

  We need to keep in mind the difference between the Cynics and the Stoics. Cynicism requires its adherents to live in abject poverty; Stoicism does not. As Seneca reminds us, Stoic philosophy “calls for plain living, but not for penance.”22 More generally, it is perfectly acceptable, says Seneca, for a Stoic to acquire wealth, as long as he does not harm others to obtain it. It is also acceptable for a Stoic to enjoy wealth, as long as he is careful not to cling to it. The idea is that it is possible to enjoy something and at the same time be indifferent to it. Thus, Seneca claims, “I shall despise riches alike when I have them and when I have them not, being neither cast down if they shall lie elsewhere, nor puffed up if they shall glitter around me.” Indeed, a wise man “never reflects so much upon poverty as when he abides in the midst of riches,” and he will be careful to
regard his riches as his slave, not as his master.23

  (And having said this, I should add that different Stoics had different ideas about just how heartily a Stoic should enjoy his wealth. Musonius and Epictetus appear to have thought that even a minimal exposure to luxurious living would corrupt us, while Seneca and Marcus thought it possible to live in a palace without being corrupted.)

  The Buddhist viewpoint regarding wealth, by the way, is very much like the view I have ascribed to the Stoics: It is permissible to be a wealthy Buddhist, as long as you don’t cling to your wealth.

  This, at any rate, is the advice Buddha gave to Anathapindika, a man of “unmeasurable wealth”: “He that cleaves to wealth had better cast it away than allow his heart to be poisoned by it; but he who does not cleave to wealth, and possessing riches, uses them rightly, will be a blessing unto his fellows.”24

  The preceding comment s about wealth, by the way, also apply to fame. The Stoics, as we have seen, will not seek fame; to the contrary, they will strive to be indifferent to what others think of them. It is nevertheless possible for them to become famous. Indeed, the four Roman Stoics we have been considering all enjoyed fame. (Musonius and Epictetus obviously weren’t as famous as Seneca and Marcus, but they were recognized in their chosen profession, and even those Romans who didn’t attend their schools were likely to have heard of them.) So what should a Stoic do if, despite not seeking it, she finds herself famous? Should she enjoy this fame, the way she might enjoy the wealth she acquired, despite not having pursued it? I think the Stoics would have been more wary of enjoying fame than enjoying fortune. There is a danger, as we have seen, that wealth will corrupt us, particularly if we use it to finance luxurious living. The danger that fame will corrupt us, however, is even greater. In particular, the glow that comes from being famous might trigger in us a desire for even more fame, and the obvious way to accomplish this is by saying things and living in a manner calculated to gain the admiration of other people. To do this, though, we will probably have to betray our Stoic principles.

  It is therefore unlikely that a Stoic will bask in any fame that comes her way. At the same time, she will not hesitate to use this fame as a tool in the performance of what she takes to be her social duty. Thus, Musonius and Epictetus presumably did not mind that their names were known to many, inasmuch as this increased their chances of drawing students to their schools and thereby enabled them to disseminate their Stoic views in a more effective manner.

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  S I X T E E N

  Exile

  On Surviving a Change of Place

  In ancient Rome, people were sentenced to exile for a variety of crimes, both real and imagined, and it would appear that being a philosopher increased one’s chances of being punished in this manner. Indeed, philosophers were expelled from Rome at least three times: in 161 bc, again during the reign of Emperor Vespasian, and yet again during the reign of Domitian.

  If being a philosopher made one susceptible to banishment, being a Stoic philosopher made one particularly susceptible. By stubbornly doing what they took to be their social duty, even though it meant defying the powers that be, the Stoics made lots of political enemies. Of the four great Roman Stoics, only Marcus escaped banishment—but then again, he was the emperor. Seneca and Epictetus were each banished once, and Musonius was banished twice. Other noteworthy banished Stoics include Rutilius Rufus, Posidonius, Helvidius Priscus, and Paconius Agrippinus. And these were arguably the Stoics who got lucky. Other Stoics managed to offend those in power sufficiently that, rather than being exiled, they were sentenced to death; this was the fate of Thrasea Paetus and Barea Soranus. (According to Tacitus, Emperor Nero’s desire to kill these two Stoics can best be understood as an attempt“to extirpate virtue herself.”)1

  Paconius’s response to banishment, by the way, is a wonderful example of a Stoical response to what most people would take to be a personal calamity. When someone reported to him that he was being tried in the Senate, Paconius was uninterested; he merely set off for his daily exercise and bath.

  When he was informed that he had been condemned, he asked whether it was to banishment or death. “To banishment,” came the reply. He then asked whether his property at Aricia had also been confiscated, and when he was told that it hadn’t, he replied, “Let us go to Aricia then and dine.” Epictetus holds this up as a model of Stoic behavior: “This is what it means to have rehearsed the lessons one ought to rehearse, to have set desire and aversion free from every hindrance and made them proof against chance. I must die. If forthwith, I die; and if a little later, I will take lunch now, since the hour for lunch has come, and afterwards I will die at the appointed time.”2

  Philosophers, to be sure, no longer fear banishment. This is in part because governments are more enlightened than they used to be and in part because philosophers have succeeded in making themselves invisible to both politicians and the public at large. Sometimes, in idle moments, I find myself wishing that the government of my country would consider banishing philosophers—or, if not banishing us, at least locking us up for a few days to teach us a lesson. Not that I want to be banished or want my colleagues to be banished, but the fact that a government would consider banishing a group is evidence that the group matters, that it somehow makes a difference in a culture, a difference that might worry the authorities. What I am really wishing, I suppose, is that philosophy mattered in my culture the way it mattered to ancient Romans.

  In chapter 12, I mentioned Seneca’s consolation to his mother Helvia, who was upset at his being exiled. In the consolation, Seneca comforts her by telling her that exile isn’t really that bad—not as bad, at any rate, as people make it out to be. Exile, he explains, is nothing but a change of place. Furthermore, even in the worst places of exile, the exiled person will find people who are there of their own free will.3

  It may be true, says Seneca, that by being exiled he has been deprived of his country, his friends and family, and his property, but he has taken with him into exile the things that matter most: his place in Nature and his virtue. He adds, “It is the mind that makes us rich; this goes with us into exile, and in the wildest wilderness, having found there all that the body needs for its sustenance, it itself overflows in the enjoyment of its own goods.”4 Seneca apparently spent his time in exile reading, writing, and studying nature.

  Musonius’s exile, as we have seen, was one of the worst exiles possible, to the “worthless” island of Gyara. Nevertheless, he says, those who visited him during his exile never heard him complain or saw him disheartened. Being exiled may have deprived him of his country, but it didn’t deprive him, he says, of his ability to endure exile. Indeed, Musonius thinks exile deprives a person of nothing that is truly valuable. Exile cannot prevent us, for example, from being courageous or just.

  If we are virtuous—if we have the proper values—exile cannot harm or degrade us. If we are not virtuous, though, exile will deprive us of much of what we (mistakenly) think is valuable, and we will therefore be miserable.5

  To endure and even thrive in exile, Musonius says, a person must keep in mind that his happiness depends more on his values than on where he resides. Indeed, Musonius views himself as a citizen not of Rome but of “the city of Zeus which is populated by human beings and gods.”6 He points out that even in exile we can associate with others and that our true friends will not refuse to associate with us just because we have been exiled. If those in exile find themselves lacking things, he asserts, it is because they seek to live in luxury. Furthermore, those in exile have something that those in Rome lack—namely, freedom to speak their mind.

  Musonius also reminds us that exile has changed people for the better. It has, for example, forced people to curtail their luxurious living and has thereby improved their health. It has also transformed ordinary people, such as Diogenes of Sinope, into philosophers.7 (Before becoming a Cynic, Diogenes had been forced to flee Sinope because either he or his banker father had adulterate
d the coinage there; when someone later brought up this incident in an attempt to shame him, Diogenes, with typical Cynic wit, responded that although it was true that the people of Sinope had sentenced him to exile, he in turn had sentenced them to remain in Sinope.)8

  It is clear why the Stoics had an interest in exile: As we have seen, they ran an interesting chance of being sentenced to it.

  People no longer live in fear of being exiled by their government, so it might seem as if the Stoic advice on exile is of theoretical and historical interest only. But this is not so. Even though readers of this book are unlikely to be exiled by their government, they run a considerable risk, if current social trends continue, of being exiled by their children— exiled, that is, to a nursing home. It is a transition that, if they let it, can severely disrupt their tranquility. Indeed, there is a very real danger that this exile will cause them to spend their final, precious days on earth complaining about their life rather than enjoying it. In the next chapter, we will turn our attention to this special kind of exile and to other problems associated with aging.

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  S E V E N T E E N

  Old Age

  On Being Banished to a Nursing Home As a college professor, I spend my days around twenty-year-olds. Many of them, I have found, are convinced that the world will be their oyster. They think they will be rock stars, either literally or figuratively speaking. (It is understandable that they would think this. What perplexes me is their belief that, as rock stars, they will find profound and lasting happiness. They need, perhaps, to follow the entertainment news more closely.) These twentysomethings aren’t willing to settle for “mere tranquility” when there is so much else to be had: a perfect boyfriend, girlfriend, or spouse, a perfect job, and the love and admiration of all those around them.