Stoic Social Ideals

Chapter 4 of Chris Gill's Learning to Live Naturally

We’re now about halfway through our study of Chris Gill’s Learning to Live Naturally, and we’ve talked about some of the defining features of Stoicism: virtue, indifferents, nature, and human development. This will be the second post on Chapter 4, dealing with social oikeiosis. In the previous post we looked at human sociability and how this develops over our lifetime in tandem with our rationality. But now I’d like to slow down and really sink our teeth into one particular aspect of this topic, which Gill draws our attention to at the end of Chapter 4: the relationship between global and local social ideals.

There is a lot of discussion in the Stoic community about oikeiosis as cosmopolitanism. The ancient Stoics espoused a view of justice in which all humans, united in the kinship of rationality, deserve dignity and respect. In quite a radical notion for the time, they believed that virtue is (in principle) available to everyone, including women, slaves, and foreigners. Continuing a theme going back to Socrates and Diogenes the Cynic, Zeno envisioned a utopian republic, and Stoics generally saw themselves as “citizens of the world”—or at least, to use Marcus Aurelius’s idea, as “dual citizens” of both the cosmic city and their local homeland.

This universalizing aspect of Stoic justice is one of its most attractive tenets for many of us today. As the world gets smaller and we recognize our interconnections with everyone on the planet (both in terms of shared humanity but also shared global challenges), Stoic cosmopolitanism is both crucial and timely. But, as Gill reminds us in Learning to Live Naturally, the “cosmic city” is not the only side of Stoic sociability. What about our more local interpersonal relationships? How do our close affiliations relate to our global responsibilities?

The Circles of Hierocles

At the close of Chapter 4, Gill asks us to consider this motif in Stoic thought: is justice primarily about the broader community of humankind (cosmopolitanism), or about conventional interpersonal relationships, or both?

It is sometimes supposed that the community of humankind (or cosmopolitanism) is not only a distinctive Stoic idea but is their primary and central ideal in social relations, and one that involves giving a lower value to conventional relationships. A corollary of this view is that ethical development is conceived, in its social aspect, as progress from conventional relationships (in the first instance, parental love) towards recognition of the significance of the value of the community of humankind, with a correlated devaluation of conventional relationships. On this view, appropriation of others, like appropriation of oneself, follows a developmental sequence, with the relative valuation of the two kinds of relationship forming the beginning and end of the sequence.

(p. 205)

Here Gill is referring to the well-known circles of Hierocles, which are often referenced in discussions on social oikeiosis. Hierocles was a second-century Roman philosopher whose fragmentary writings describe Stoic social ideals. In perhaps the most famous passage, he explains how “each of us is, as it were, circumscribed by many circles.” These are often depicted as concentric circles with the self at the center, surrounded by close family in the innermost layer, followed by extended family in the next layer, followed by neighbors, fellow citizens, and so on, ultimately encompassing all of humanity. Hierocles then recommends several psychological techniques to draw the layers of these circles inward toward yourself, with the aim of feeling that people are more closely connected to you.

With its built-in graphic visualization and appealing folk psychology, this is one of the most popular Stoic exercises related to social development and justice. It illustrates Stoic ideals of kinship and cosmopolitanism, erasing conventional borders and boundaries between individuals and groups. And, of course, the “fellowship of humankind” ideal wasn’t Hierocles’ invention; it goes all the way back to Zeno and is baked into the foundations of Stoicism. This concept is clearly an important aspect of Stoicism—a beautiful goal for us to work toward.

What Gill suggests, however, is that the cosmic justice ideal doesn’t negate more local and conventional social ideals. Once again turning to Cicero, he sees room for both universal concern and close interpersonal relationships:

In [On Duties] 3.64–6, there is no sign of differentiation in ethical level between other-benefiting acts performed for family and country and for humankind in general. High value is attached to the acts of exceptional benefaction performed by outstanding figures (or heroes such as Hercules) on behalf of humankind (3.66). But high value is also attached to the wise person’s readiness to engage in family life and politics in his own community (3.68).

(p. 205)

In other words, the Stoics aren’t advocating giving up our ties of family, friendship, or community in favor of an abstract obligation toward all of humanity. Influential Stoic thinkers going all the way back to Chrysippus emphasized justice toward both humankind in general and within our specific close relationships. In fact, it may be that we achieve universal ideals through our conventional relationships:

Actions performed within a conventional framework are sometimes presented as expressing a broader benevolence towards human beings in general. This seems to imply that we can express concern for humanity as a community, in part at least, by showing concern for the specific people with whom we are involved.

(p. 205)

Here the idea is that we achieve justice not through grand gestures but by caring for the people around us. Why? Because we have a natural obligation toward the people we are most closely connected to. If we fail to take care of our families or neighbors, who else will take care of them? They depend on us. We could do great things for people in distant lands, but if by doing so we neglect our close social ties, we are not implementing justice.

Gill cites the example of Marcus Aurelius, who sees himself fulfilling his broader duties of justice through his specific actions toward the people around him. As Roman Emperor, Marcus was certainly in a position to have a much bigger impact on the world than many of us will ever have. But he still made an effort to express Stoic social ideals every time he interacted with someone at court or even with members of his own family. In so doing, Marcus exemplified the “dual citizenship” of both cosmic city (humankind in general) and local homeland (Rome).

In her fascinating study The Roman Stoics: Self, Responsibility, and Affection, Gretchen Reydams-Schils reaches a similar conclusion about the circles of Hierocles and the role of conventional relationships:

“A crucial point to be made about Hierocles’ image of different degrees of affinity existing in concentric circles is that we cannot cut out the close and traditional kinship relationships for the sake of humanity at large. Even though we strive for the common good, the exercise of virtue is meant to be contextualized in specific, intimate relations.”

(p. 77)

How exactly would we exercise virtue in these “specific, intimate relations”? While the ancient Greeks tended to view friendship as the ideal site of virtuous interaction, the Roman Stoics often located virtue in family interactions like marriage and parenthood. Their belief that wisdom can (and should) be expressed through intimate bonds led thinkers like Cicero and Musonius Rufus to “upgrade” these conventional relationships. As Reydams-Schils (p. 78) puts it:

“Antipater, Musonius Rufus, and Hierocles in particular apply to marriage language and terminology that in other contexts is reserved for the bond between the sages.”

This attitude is quite remarkable, given the generally misogynistic setting of ancient Rome. It further confirms that Stoic ideals of justice extended not just outward toward all of humanity, but toward our innermost circles as well.

Epictetus and Cynicism

Personally, when thinking about this issue of local versus cosmopolitan engagement, I find it helpful to consider an example of what is not required of us as Stoics. In Discourse 3.22, Epictetus provides insight into this when he lectures a student about Cynicism. Cynics like Diogenes of Sinope truly did consider themselves citizens of the world, belonging both nowhere and everywhere. Epictetus says they are purely devoted to the public good, “sent by Zeus to human beings as a messenger,” in a kind of fatherhood to the whole human race. For this reason the Cynic cut all conventional social ties in order to follow nature in the most literal sense, living on the margins of society without shelter or worldly goods.

Cynics were famous in antiquity for their extreme and unconventional behavior. While living on the street and begging for food, the Cynic would harangue passersby about their lack of wisdom, setting an example of complete indifference to social convention in the pursuit of virtue. Epictetus seems to consider Cynicism the purest expression of the Socratic paradigm—minimalism and cosmopolitanism taken to their logical extreme.

What’s interesting for us here is the distinction Epictetus makes between Stoicism, in which we practice virtue while maintaining our social relationships, and Cynicism, whose practitioners must give up conventional social ties*. As he puts it:

Isn’t it necessary that the Cynic should remain free from all distraction, to dedicate himself wholly to the service of God, and be able to walk about among people without being tied down by private duties, or being involved in social relationships he cannot violate if he is to preserve his character as a virtuous and good person, and which he cannot maintain, on the other hand, without destroying his nature as a messenger, spy, and herald of the gods?

A Cynic has a special calling, Epictetus maintains, and must be singularly devoted to his unique role outside the bounds of conventional society (much like prophets, priests, monks, nuns, and other religious roles in various cultures). Not only would a family cramp his style, but they would also weigh him down with unavoidable social obligations:

For consider, there would be some duties that he would have to fulfil toward his father-in-law, some that he would have to fulfil towards other relations of his wife, or towards his wife herself, so that he would finally be shut out from his calling…

What leisure will a man have for all this if he is tied down by his private duties? Wouldn’t he have to provide clothing for his children? Come, wouldn’t he have to send them to his schoolmaster with their writing tablets and their styluses, and, besides, get their little cot ready for them?...

Do you see to what level we’re reducing our Cynic, and how we’re depriving him of his kingdom?

But while the calling of the Cynic is admirable, it is not for everyone. People must be specially suited for the position and must be willing to give up those close social ties. Occasionally, remarkable people come along who meet these requirements (Diogenes, Crates, Hipparchia), and in those cases it’s appropriate for them to live outside the bounds of ordinary social relations. For most of us, however, this is impossible and should not be attempted. It is far more appropriate for us to live and work within society, implementing justice by conventional means.

I think this idea is quite significant coming from Epictetus. It’s well known that he had strong Cynic leanings, and in many ways he lived a quasi-Cynic lifestyle. But even if he regarded Cynicism as a shortcut to virtue, it’s not a requirement for virtue. For those of us living a more conventional life, we don’t implement justice by giving up our social ties but by acting appropriately within those social ties. In fact, Epictetus suggests that if a Cynic were to have children, he would be responsible for caring for them in the customary way.

In contrast to Cynics, Stoics are called on to express virtue within the parameters of everyday life. As members of society, we should fulfill social obligations as a way of furthering justice. We don’t want to ask people—including ourselves—to give up our natural attachments in favor of an abstract humanitarian ideal. Rather, we want to use our natural human sociability to expand our care and concern from a small circle to a larger one. Rather than diminishing our care for our friends and family, we learn that other people matter too. Justice isn’t about demeaning or impoverishing our close ties but contextualizing them within a bigger picture.

Which brings us back to Hierocles. Through his concentric circles, Hierocles suggests that we draw distant others from the outermost layers of our awareness into closer psychological proximity, learning to see them as fundamentally similar to ourselves. Remember how we defined oikeiosis in the previous post? As affiliation, familiarization, belonging, understanding, alliance, or alignment. We recognize that, ultimately, we’re all on the same team—not “us” vs. “them” but, as Hierocles says, “uncle,” “aunt,” and “cousin.”

Conclusion

This wraps up our discussion of Chapter 4 of Learning to Live Naturally. Thank you to all who are liking, commenting and sharing this series of posts with friends! Stoicism for Humans is a new publication, and your actions help other people to discover it and learn more about Stoicism.

Next week will bring us to Chapter 5 on emotional development. It’s one of the most important topics for everyday Stoic practice, so we will dive into how the ancient Stoics thought about emotions, impressions, and other topics in psychology. We’ll also address one of the biggest misunderstandings related to Stoicism—do Stoics advocate emotional detachment and repression? I hope you’ll join me as we discuss the next chapter of Chris Gill’s outstanding new book, Learning to Live Naturally.

*There is one important counterexample, which Epictetus’s student raises: the married Crates and Hipparchia. However, Epictetus responds that this relationship was altogether different from most marriages: “You’re referring to a special case in which the marriage was prompted by love, and you’re reckoning on a wife who was herself another Crates” (3.22, 76).