Virtue, Happiness, Indifferents

Resolving a Stoic paradox with Seneca's Letter 92

Photo by Celine Ylmz on Unsplash

What is a happy life? It is security and lasting tranquility, the sources of which are a great spirit and a steady determination to abide by a good decision. How does one arrive at these things? By perceiving the truth in all its completeness, by maintaining orderliness, measure, and propriety in one's actions, by having a will that is always well intentioned and generous, focused on rationality and never deviating from it, as lovable as it is admirable. Let me sum it up for you like this: the man of wisdom should have the sort of mind that would befit a god.

Seneca, Letters on Ethics, 92.3

One of the most important—and most challenging—ideas in Stoicism is that virtue is necessary and sufficient for happiness. In contrast to most people at most times in history, Stoics insist that a good life depends not on external attributes like health, wealth, or social position, but on our internal attributes such as character, good judgment, and emotional stability. You can have a good and happy life if you possess these inner qualities, regardless of how many or how few of the external things you have.

This view is so counterintuitive, so radically opposed to everything we learned as we grew up, that most people find it implausible or at least very puzzling. In ancient times, just like today, the Stoics spent a lot of time explaining this doctrine to people, answering questions, responding to objections. A great example of this is Seneca’s letter 92, in which he explains the connection between virtue and happiness to his friend Lucillius.

He begins by establishing a point on which many (though certainly not all) philosophers agree: “that one pursues outward things for the body’s sake, that one cares for the body in order to show respect for the mind” (92.1). Even people who don’t think virtue is sufficient for happiness, such as Aristotelians, would probably agree to this statement. He then says that our motor and nutrition functions “are given to us on behalf of the directive faculty itself,” which is “the one thing that does not look to anything else but rather refers everything else to itself.”

Thus Seneca takes careful steps from a position non-Stoics would agree with (that the mind has primacy over the body) and then suddenly pivots to his main point:

Now if we agree about this, it is only consistent that we should also agree on the other point; namely, that the happy life consists solely in perfecting our rationality; for perfected rationality is the one thing that keeps the spirit high and takes a stand against fortune. Whatever the situation may be, it keeps us free from anxiety. Moreover, it is the one good thing that never fails…Who wants to rely on fortune, and what intelligent person flatters himself because of things that do not belong to him?

Throughout the letter he continues building his case by responding to objections that Aristotelians frequently raised against Stoics. For example, he addresses a midway position adopted by a few Aristotelians (and even a few Stoics) that virtue is sufficient for happiness, but that this happiness can be increased by also having external goods such as wealth and popularity. Rubbish, says Seneca. Virtue (and eudaimonic happiness) is not a condition of degree, which can be increased or decreased, but rather an all-or-nothing condition that you either have or you don’t.

This once again seems confusing and counterintuitive to many of us, accustomed as we are to speaking of emotions as feelings that come and go, wax and wane. We might say we’re “a bit sad,” or “really happy,” or “hugely excited,” and we often describe our feelings in terms of degrees. But keep in mind that when we speak of eudaimonic happiness, we’re not talking about a feeling. We’re talking about a stable mental condition. You might think of this as the opposite of a detrimental mental health condition (like clinical anxiety or depression, etc.)—it’s a healthy mental health condition.

Seneca provides an illuminating analogy for thinking about the completeness of virtue, and how it can’t be augmented by external things. “You get the idea,” he says:

Not being satisfied with daylight unless there is additional illumination from a little flame. But when you have the sun’s brightness, what effect can a mere spark have? (92.5)

A spark makes no contribution to the light of the sun; for the sun’s brightness obscures anything that might shine in its absence. (92.17)

Likewise, virtue is such a great good—different in kind than material goods—that it overpowers other so-called goods. When the sun is out you don’t need a flashlight; in fact, you can’t even see a flashlight beam in the middle of the day. In the same way, when you have the bright happiness of virtue, the other things really don’t make a difference.

Throughout letter 92 Seneca continues to address other objections raised by his opponents, which I won’t go into here. I would encourage you to read the whole letter if you’d like to know more. But for today I want to look at one other important point he makes, which is how we relate to indifferent things if we don’t regard them as goods. In keeping with the question-and-answer format of the text, he puts this in the form of a challenge:

“Not so fast,” says the opponent. “If good health, repose, and absence of pain are no impediment to virtue, will you not pursue them?”

Here is Seneca’s response:

Well, I shall do so, of course—not because they are good but because they are in accordance with nature, and because my taking them will be an exercise of good judgment. What in that case will be good in them? Just this one thing—that they are well selected. You see, when I put on decent clothing, or take a walk in the proper way, or dine as I should, it's not the dining or the walking or the clothing that is good but my intention in each case to maintain the measure that conforms to reason. Let me elaborate: selecting clean clothing is something a person ought to do, because a human is by nature a clean and seemly animal. Accordingly, while clean clothing is not in itself a good, the act of selecting it is, because goodness is present not in the thing but in the quality of the selection. It is the doing that is honorable, not the actual things we do.

92.11-12

I think this is one of the more nuanced issues related to practical Stoicism, and for this reason it frequently gets misunderstood or misapplied. Stoics are not withdrawing from the world like hermits, fasting and surviving on bugs and rainwater. We still live in society and participate in social activities, have relationships, pursue a career, make money, read books and watch movies, cook and eat good food, start families. All of these are considered normal, healthy activities that are compatible with a life of virtue.

But they are not considered true goods, because our happiness does not depend on them. We can be happy even without them, as long as we have virtue. We could be happy without relationships, a career, money, books, a family, or even without food—if we have to be. But given that these are a normal part of life (“according to nature,” as Seneca puts it), it’s appropriate for us to pursue them if they are available, as long as we do so in a way that aligns with virtue.

So if I can make money in an honest way, providing benefits to society, then great! I’ll make money. But if an apocalyptic event occurs and I have to steal someone else’s money to survive, I won’t do that because it harms others. In extreme situations like this, it may be preferable not to eat rather than to steal. In this case I can remain content with my life because I still have a good character, even though I might lose everything else.

Stoic philosophy is built to cope with these extremes, and history has proven that it does work even in very difficult situations (see James Stockdale’s book Courage Under Fire for how Epictetus helped him survive torture as a POW in the Vietnam War). However, it’s also built to cope with more normal situations, which is where most of us find ourselves most of the time. That’s why in “normal” times we are justified in pursuing indifferents in appropriate ways, always remembering that they are indifferent and not the route to happiness.

This is also why we try to help others pursue indifferents in acceptable ways: because we recognize that their pursuit of them is also a normal and reasonable part of their lives. We don’t think their happiness depends on attaining wealth or health, just as we don’t think our own does. But just as we can pursue these things on our own behalf in appropriate ways, we can help others pursue them appropriately.

A few weeks ago, in my post on the Dichotomy of Control in Ethics, I mentioned that some people mistakenly think a Stoic would refuse to help someone in need due to the sufficiency of virtue for happiness. But this is false. In fact, it would be contrary to the demands of human companionship for us to coldly refuse to help someone (assuming they are pursuing something “according to nature” like food or good health—not things contrary to nature like a luxurious villa or addictive substances). It is our responsibility to use indifferents appropriately, and that includes helping other people.

I hope this helps clarify some of the counterintuitive positions of the Stoics: that virtue is sufficient for happiness, and that “the act of selecting” indifferents is good, not the indifferents themselves. When we pursue things like the basic necessities of life, or good relationships, or financial security—or when we help others pursue them—we are showing good judgment by doing something honorable. These would become dishonorable if we were to pursue them in a way incompatible with virtue. In other words, given that a normal human life involves the wise handling of indifferents, learning the proper relationship between virtue, happiness, and indifferents is crucial.