Stoicism and the Essential Good

Everything is Logos

The entire philosophy of Stoicism is anchored in the Logos. But that term is now so distorted that a modern Westerner cannot understand it. If you first hear the term in English class, it will be described as one of three rhetorical techniques (the others being Ethos and Pathos). Logos is the appeal to Reason. If you come across it in the church, the Logos is now “the word of God,” which can then be understood as being literally the Bible, or God’s capacity to create through command. But, if you learn of it in a college philosophy course, you will be taught that it is something like “The Mind” and its “reasoning capacity.” This is somewhat correct, but due to modern and postmodern Western thought . . . any mention of “The Mind” will cause one to think of the actual human brain, whose prime functions are cognition and feeling.

None of this is what the Greeks meant. 

What is the Logos?

Stoicism detects that Order is underlying all Being and Existence. The Greeks—in their relentless study of cosmology, the natural world, of man and all else—began to notice recurring patterns. These patterns are something like the “natural laws” of today. But these natural laws, in all their variability and need for specific contexts to function, did not prompt the Greeks to regard them in isolation. Early on, the idea is already present that there is One rational principle directing the activity of everything. 

This is similar to the situation found in physics. The recurrence of rational simplicity all throughout the universe—frequently expressed in simple yet elegant formulas—prompts many to strive for a unified Theory of Everything. The Greeks had one, but it wasn’t a “theory.”

The Logos is the rational principle that directs the entire universe . . . while also being the universe itself and everything in it. This dual understanding is critical. The rational principle is why everything makes sense, especially when it appears not to (even chaos can be mathematically modeled). As Rational Principle, the Logos cannot be negotiated nor negated. The Logos is immanent and omnipresent. But there is an additional quirk within Stoic thought, that envisages the Logos as a tangibly existing material. 

When Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus and others allude to everything being made of “fire,” (alternatively called Pneuma or Spirit) that is what they mean. This is not literal fire, but something like a very fine and pure substance . . . similar to how we think of oxygen or atoms. It holds things together, while also being those “things.” And so a rock, a bird, a dog, a mud pile, a good King and a tyrant are all Logos, or comprised of the Logos . . . and on the basis of existing “down here,” they embody and act it out to varying degrees (or often, not at all). 

Rational principle and the substance comprising everything: that is the Logos. You cannot escape it, you are it. You cannot evade it, it is reality.

Some of the Stoics call it God, Providence, and Fate. Many have bristled at Aurelius and Seneca because they mention both God (singular) and gods (plural). But in the case of the latter, it is simple. Even Zeus, Apollo and Athena are Logos.

The Logos is Good

Material existence should be viewed as degrees or gradations of the “pure” Logos. The rock, in “being held together” has “rationality” embedded in it; so does its movement from the top to the bottom of a hill. This includes also a tree, a plant, their processes, and so on—the Logos is everything and everywhere, but to different extents.

A human—capable of thought, speech and action—is in a precarious situation. This is because he can debase himself into something worth less than a rock. All throughout Greek and Roman literature there are frequent references (both mythic and philosophical) to men becoming “petrified,” turned into stone. We ought to recall that the Logos is equated with Fire, an element that is bursting with vitality while striving upward. Earth sinks. It is heavy, dense and dumb. To be without Reason or to have one’s Reason damaged is to be turned into stone. To cultivate one’s Reason positively, however, is to become like Fire; the Logos.

“Dull minds, tending to sleep or to a waking state exactly like sleep, are composed of sluggish elements.” — Seneca

Said Logos has an “intelligence” that is driving all existence toward some ultimate “end” or “plan.” And since there is an automatic assumption that “Reason” is “Good,” the Logos itself and its ultimate plan are likewise considered “Good.” All existence, and everything happening is “Good.” This is where Stoicism begins to directly apply to one’s life: Marcus Aurelius outlived the majority of his children; Epictetus lived as a slave; Seneca had Nero as his personal tyrant and was eventually forced into suicide. Even pain, outrageous pain, disaster and collapse in one’s life . . . is Good. This is because it is part of the Logos’s ultimate plan, and since the Logos cannot be anything but Good, even the “bad” is Good. This is a critical component that is missing from nearly all modern discussions of Stoicism.

What I experience as being “bad” is illusory; the result of my emotions and perceptions. And I only regard it as being “bad,” because said emotions are suppressing or disturbing my Logos (here understood as correctness of mind and the ability to correctly reason). This works in reverse too, since a sober reasoning process and reassertion that all is Logos would be especially demanded in times of good Fortune. Pain and suffering can drive a person to irrational and harmful acts (acts harmful to himself, others and the community). But extreme Fortune and abundance can trigger an apocalyptic hubris . . . as Aurelius duly notes in his warnings to not be “Caesarfied.”

Still, everything “bad” being “Good,” is a difficult concept for us to wrap our minds around. Consider it from the perspective of “nature.” Forest fires are a natural phenomenon. But when they destroy a forest and its surrounding cities, we lament it, and view it as a disaster. Zooming out, however, reveals that the forest fire served to “restart” that portion of nature . . . and in a hundred years there is a newer forest, along with brand new settlements. There is something like a cyclical view of time and history inside Stoicism and so part of what makes the “bad” bearable, is the understanding that “you” may happen to be caught in a particular section of the Logos’s cycles. But since the Logos is Good and only Good, you should have the same reaction to pleasure and pain, to good and bad—that reaction being Virtue and calmness. 

Concluding Remarks

As gradations of the Logos, we are all part of its larger plan. We can partake in it gladly, with Courage, Goodness, and Reason, thereby amplifying ourselves and finding meaning in the Truth . . . or we can debase ourselves through cowardice, vice and irrationality . . . in the latter case, we still contribute to its plan, but we slow the Logos down and humiliate ourselves (stone, petrification). 

This outline begins to tease at a few of Stoicism’s weaknesses. These are: (1) An implicit pre-determinism; (2) We must ask if the Logos is irrational since it repeatedly manifests beings that work against it; and (3) The dogged assertion that the Logos is always competent and Good seems to encourage a do-nothing attitude. This last point is especially poignant. Seneca obeyed the tyrant Nero. Marcus Aurelius did nothing to alter or modify the imperial government and in fact passed it to his son, a murdering psychopath, who made it worse. Both would have comforted themselves by saying “the Logos will incorporate even this.” However, there is variation within Stoicism, as shown by Cato the Younger (who fought a dictator, Julius Caesar) and Chryssipus (known for his humor and fiery temperament!)

There would appear to be two stoicisms, then. First, the Zen kind of Aurelius and the others. And another which requires an active life of self-initiated good acts (herein a person is a co-creator with the Logos). The latter will have to be examined at a different time.