In contrast to the Sceptics, I am favourably inclined towards Stoicism. Defending them is easy for me. As I see it, there is only one significant problem in Stoicism, and, speaking just for me, I can find a solution to this problem that serves my purposes. Most of the other problems that Stoicism characteristically stands accused of can be shown to be misunderstandings.
Determinism is practically impossible
For all its rational (and nowadays scientific) support, very few people are willing to embrace material determinism in the way that Stoicism requires. Even if it is illusory, the impression that we are free to do or not do as we wish, and that our choices make a difference to what happens in the world, is an illusion so powerful that it is practically overpowering. We cannot help but think of ourselves as free.
Kant would agree. Speaking in the 18th century, he says that any being who cannot act except with the idea that they are free is, in a practical sense, really free. However you look at it, it will always be up to you to decide what to do, and so you must make choices as if they are free choices even if they are not. I agree with Kant, and for this reason I struggle to accept the Stoics’ version of compatibilism. There’s much more to be said on Kant’s behalf, but his is an idiosyncratic and nuanced view (to put it mildly) that does not easily fit with the Stoics’ way of looking at things. A detailed elaboration of Kant’s perspective will have to wait its turn. For now, it will suffice to say that I can’t help but think that it is up to me to act or not act in a certain way. When I get behind the wheel of a car, I understand that I have to drive it, that if I don’t turn the wheel then the car will not turn, and that I must try to be careful and attentive and not reckless or else there will be serious consequences. I understand the difference between being behind the wheel and being a passenger. Behind the wheel, I don’t feel like a passenger, and so I don’t act like one. I don’t think it would be right to act like one. But how much more important is living a life than driving a car? And so how can I see myself as if merely a passenger in my own life?
But this is the temptation with the Stoic view. If I am like a dog tied to a cart, then I am going where the flow of my life is going and there’s nothing I can do to change this. All I can do is choose to go along contentedly, or not, like a passenger in a car that is being driven by forces beyond their control. But is it possible to live a life in that way? Is it possible for a thing like me to live a life in that way?
I am a thing that thinks. That much we already know. And because I can think I can think about what I’m doing. Perhaps I can’t help but think about what about I’m doing: it is forced upon me as an unavoidable consequence of the kind of thing I am, just as asking the question ‘am I thinking?’ answers itself by itself and cannot answer ‘no’ without contradicting itself.
There are two breakfast options before me: toast or cereal. According to the laws of material determinism, the product of my choice has been fated since the initial conditions of the universe. Say we accept that. Does it help me decide what to have for breakfast?
How do I decide what to have for breakfast? I think about my preferences, my desires or aversions, my reasons for or against a particular choice. These preferences and desires and reasons weigh up the different consequences of my choices, which assumes my choices have consequences and that what I choose makes a difference. Can I do any of this unless I accept the idea that I have a choice to make, and that the choice is mine to make? Do I expect the universe to make the decision for me? And if I leave it up to fate – by tossing a coin, say – then isn’t that still a choice, to choose not to choose?
Any way I turn, it seems to me that I am making choices. And, as Kant might say, understanding yourself to be free to choose is a condition for the possibility of making choices. We do make choices. Therefore, we cannot help but think of ourselves as really free to choose.
Can this thought be held in happy compatibility with a commitment to material determinism? It doesn’t seem easy. If I think of the world as materially determined, I see my choices or my act of choosing as impotent, incapable of affecting any change in the world. The world will go the same way regardless of what I choose. In a sense, my choice is already made for me by the initial conditions of the universe. But if I think of myself as free to choose, I see the world going the way I choose it, at least as far as I am able to affect any change in it. The choice seems to be mine to make and I think my choices make a difference.
Either my choice is made for me by the initial conditions of the universe and nothing I choose can make a difference, or the choice is made by me by my own free will and makes a difference. These appear to be two different and irreconcilable perspectives on the world.
As much as the compatibilist tries to reconcile the apparently irreconcilable, combining material determinism with a notion of our choices still being ‘up to us’, the cold hard logic of their material determinism keeps biting back. Any choice I make is a physical event, one link in an unbreakable chain of cause and effect that stretches back to the initial conditions of the universe. If I understood the causes of my choice I would understand that it could not have gone any other way. It’s difficult to see this as a free choice, in that light. Even if we said that I was still the cause of the choice, because it was a product of my nature playing out in its particular circumstances, it’s easy to find analogies that show this type of causation to be something that we wouldn’t recognise as ‘free’. If I push you into someone who in turn falls off a cliff, you are the proximate cause of their falling to their death, as your nature plays out in its circumstances, but I bear the responsibility because you had no choice in the matter. You didn’t start the chain of cause and effect, and once you were caught up in it you couldn’t have done anything differently. Because of that you are off the hook. And so what are we to say if my choice to push you was caused by something beyond myself, such as the unbreakable chain of physical causes that stretches back to the initial conditions of the universe? I am no more the start of that causal chain than you are, and once its started there’s nothing either of us can do about it: it’s just my nature playing out in its circumstances.
Whatever the cause, the effect is clear: If you commit to material determinism, it’s more difficult to see yourself as free; and so conversely, if you must see yourself as free, then it is more difficult to commit to material determinism.
But this can’t help but weaken a Stoic’s resolve. If you believe yourself to be free to change it, why should you accept your fate? Why must you accept it? If you weaken the commitment to material determinism then you lose the main motivation for adopting the Stoic mindset. The Stoic division between ‘internals’ and ‘externals’ no longer holds as clearly. Because if the past, present, and future are not fixed and determined in some pre-ordained divine plan, then I can control what happens to me today. I can change my circumstances, not merely decide how best to meet them. And with that the whole Stoic project starts to break apart, because wouldn’t I be better served to try to make my circumstances a better fit for me, rather than settle on making myself a better fit for my circumstances?
The Stoics understood virtue to consist in what is ‘internal’ to you, or within your power to affect, such as your opinions and desires and aversions, because they understood that this was all that you could do. Because of their commitment to material determinism, they understand anything beyond this to be beyond your power to affect and therefore a matter of indifference. You cannot change anything in the material world because it has all been fated since the initial conditions of the universe. If, however, you think – perhaps because you must think – that you can do more and that you do have the power to affect things in the material world, then why should you be indifferent to them? How can you be indifferent to them? How can you act, or try to react, as if there is nothing you can do about these things?
For me, the Kant-inspired requirement to see myself as free is too strong. I would join him in saying that autonomy – or ‘ruling yourself by laws of your own choosing’ – is a condition for the possibility of virtue, which I know (from Socrates) is all that really matters. I understand that I must make choices and that these choices are mine to make. That is my first duty, since it is a prerequisite for virtue – everything depends on it – and I should, like Antisthenes, be averse to anything that leads me away from that duty: I would rather go mad than think of myself as not being free. And so I must think of myself as free, I cannot help but think of myself as free, and I do think of myself as free even if I am not right. Whether or not the universe is materially determined, I will continue to make choices on the assumption that my choices make a difference.
Does that prevent me from adopting the Stoic approach? I don’t think so, but I have had to find a new way to approach the problem. The problem is finding sufficient grounds to accept the Stoic approach without recourse to material determinism. The solution, as I see it, is the pursuit of consistency; a philosopher’s consistency: logical consistency.
Since Socrates and the Cynics we’ve understood that a certain conception of what it is to live well as a human being is to ‘live aligned with nature’. The Stoics believe that nature is materially determined, and therefore you should align yourself with it and want things to go exactly as they will go, because they are going to go that way anyway so you may as well go along contentedly, like a dog tied to a cart. If that’s something we can’t or won’t accept, then we need to find another reason to align ourselves with nature and want things to go as they will go. I suggest that you can do this even if you don’t think that nature is materially determined.
A philosopher’s consistency – logical consistency – is what you get when there are no contradictions; nothing that goes against itself; nothing that is its own refutation. And whether it is materially determined or not, the world as it is contains no contradictions. The universe or ‘Nature’ is perfectly consistent because it simply ‘is’. It is the total of all that exists and only what exists. What ‘is’ is in Nature, and what isn’t in Nature simply ‘isn’t’. Nature cannot go against itself. Nature has no purposes that can be thwarted; Nature cannot contain anything false. Nature is all that is, all that exists, and so the only thing that can go against that is what doesn’t exist. But nothing exists that doesn’t exist. Since Nature can never go against itself, it is perfectly consistent, in the philosopher’s sense.
It’s only us that goes against Nature. We are the ones who have false beliefs or purposes that are thwarted. Without us, Nature is perfectly consistent. It is only the thoughts and desires of thinking things that introduces inconsistency into the picture. We are the problem; and because of that, we must understand ourselves to be the solution. If we want to resolve the inconsistency that we have introduced then we shouldn’t try to change Nature, only ourselves. And that is why we say: if you want to improve the world, improve yourself.
To be consistent, we should align ourselves with what is the case. Have your beliefs align with what is the case and you will have only true beliefs. Want things to go as they will go and you will have no thwarted purposes. You can live in perfect alignment with Nature if only you choose to align yourself with it and stop asking it to align with you.
Once again we circle back to the ancient wisdom of Zhuangzi: be like water. You can swim against the current, get tired, and end up swept downstream. You can swim with the current, get tired, and still end up swept downstream. Or you can learn to float and go with the flow. You can choose what you like, but if you want a life that is free from troubles then it would be wise to learn how to go with the flow and want things to go as they will go. The Stoics can show you how.
And so it turns out that a commitment to material determinism isn’t as essential as it might first appear. It’s clearly an essential part of the authentic Stoic picture, and any Stoic wishing to call themselves a Stoic must accept it or else be a hypocrite, but if you are only looking to benefit from the Stoic approach and take from it what you will then you don’t have to reject Stoicism on the basis of the practical impossibility of a commitment to material determinism. Whether or not the world is materially determined, we can still recognise the wisdom in living aligned with things as they are and not how we might want them to be. If a philosopher values consistency, and wants to live in a way that is consistent with themselves and that doesn’t contradict with the way that things are, then they should learn to live aligned with things as they are and not how they could be, or worse still how we want them to be. Wanting the world to be different than it is is a road that leads to certain frustration. But if you want the world to be only as it is, however it is, then you will never be disappointed.
What the Stoics recognise is that you are always free to choose what you want: you always have complete freedom to govern your desires and aversions, and your opinions and judgements. Virtue consists in recognising and exercising this freedom to bring your will into conformity with nature, aligning yourself with things as they are. This is what true freedom looks like, and in that freedom you will find complete tranquillity and imperturbability. Want things to go exactly as they will go and you will make yourself invulnerable to misfortune.
Happiness in slavery
But what if I am enslaved? What if my leg is chained and I am put to work? This being the case, should I align my will with it and want it to be the case? Doesn’t that consent to something unjust?
People often misunderstand Stoicism here. They say that a Stoic would be content to be a slave, and infer from this that a Stoic would be content with slavery and so wouldn’t resist many of the injustices that we see in world. Worse still, the Stoic seems to be encouraging the victims of injustice, such as a slave, to be content with their lot. But be assured this is a misunderstanding. The Stoics only say that you should be content to be a slave if you choose to be a slave. But if you do not want to be a slave, then do not be a slave. Only don’t pretend that you don’t have a choice. If you would not be a slave, then runaway or fight back. ‘But they will chase me down and kill me.’ Yes, they will try, and if on that basis you would choose to remain for the sake of your life and body then remain. But now do not pretend that this is not your choice. A Stoic would say that people sell themselves at different rates, and here you are selling yourself for the price of avoiding pain or death. That is your choice, to value your liberty so cheaply. They would say similar things to anyone prostrating themselves at the feet of the powerful. ‘But if I don’t pay homage to Caesar then he will cut my head off!’ And which do you think is more harmful to you: losing your head or losing your mind, your freedom, your autonomy, your governance of yourself by your own will and judgement? You must understand at what rate you will sell yourself, but if you decide to pay homage to the powerful then don’t complain about it.
It is a hard view – we might say ‘insensitive’ – but it is also liberating. What these rhetorical devices (which surely they are) are meant to show you is that you are always free, if you adopt the Stoic approach, and because of that absolute freedom in yourself you can never be enslaved by anyone other than yourself. Understanding Stoic philosophy, you understand yourself to be a will and a mind and a perspective, equipped with the powers of reason and desire and aversion, and you can use your reason to govern your desires and aversions. Because this capacity to reason is yours, absolutely, no one can force you to accept anything as true when it is false or false when it is true. And now someone says ‘you are my slave’. Do you accept that as true? If not, then who can force you? ‘If you do not accept that you are my slave then I will punish you.’ Punish me then, if you think it will do you any good, but nothing you do can force me to accept something as true when it is false.
The Stoic understands that virtue consists in the governance of yourself by your own judgement. And in the exercise of this you are absolutely free, if only you choose to be. If you understand this, then you understand that even a slave is free. And this is why you can be happy even if you are enslaved, because virtue is sufficient for happiness, and so you can never really truly be enslaved by anything other than your own ignorance. Bind my body? And do you think that binds my judgement? Threaten me with punishment? And what harm can punishment do me? Like Socrates, the Stoics realise the truth of the philosopher’s ideal: ‘A good person cannot be harmed.’ They understand that goodness is found in your autonomy, your own governance of yourself.
You can be enslaved to yourself, when you are, by your own ignorance or weak will, unable to resist the power that your desires or aversions have over you. And because it is natural to be led by these things then in a sense we are all slaves: to our appetites, to our fears, to our dependence on good fortune. Far from consenting to slavery, Stoicism is the attempt to liberate ourselves from the slavery of being dependent on externals. If you agree with them then you would say that this form of slavery – being a slave to your own ignorance – is much worse than forced labour. Just as Socrates would rather know his ignorance than be ignorant of it, a philosopher would rather be a philosopher and a slave than be an ordinary ignorant person who is ‘free’ on paper and yet cannot govern themselves by their reason. Diogenes the Cynic was a slave and was content because he was always free to live by his own judgement: having built up his store of philosophical wisdom, who could take that away from him? Epictetus, the great Stoic, was a slave (until he was freed), but this didn’t prevent him from being a philosopher.
This is why the Stoic says that we can be happy even in the worst of circumstances. Because no matter what happens, we are always free to exercise our judgement. Because of that we can always be virtuous, and virtue is sufficient for happiness. This is always the case, no matter what circumstances you find yourself in, and that is why you can be happy now or you will never be happy.
For the Stoic, true freedom consists in governing yourself by your own judgement. Anything else is slavery, whatever the world might say. Being ruled by your desires or fears is to be a slave to them. And as we’ve seen, one way to free yourself from these wants and fears is to (whether or not by embracing material determinism) align your will with what is the case: to want things to go only as they will go. Because you are a will equipped with the power of reason, and you can use your reason to govern your desires and aversions, it is always in your power to want this, no matter what happens. This doesn’t mean you can’t resist injustice when it comes, if you choose. It just means you must accept what you must accept.
When a war comes and you are invaded by a hostile nation you will fight in that war in order to defend your home, if you judge that to be the right and virtuous thing to do. And when you are defeated, you will understand that someone is always defeated in war; sometimes everyone is defeated. That is the nature of war. You already know this. You cannot go to war and expect not to suffer loss. You chose to go to war, understanding this, and now complain when you suffer? But you cannot complain for getting what you choose.
You are free to resist injustice, but it would be inconsistent to reject the consequences of resistance. That is like playing a game but refusing to accept the result, which only shows that you weren’t seriously playing the game in the first place. You must balance the judgement that you ought to resist injustice with the sober recognition that the world is not always just or fair or good or kind. This is why the Stoic will meet suffering and injustice with equanimity. They will be ‘level-headed’ or ‘equal-minded’ about it. On the one hand, they will resist injustice because that is the right thing to do; on the other, they will accept it once what’s done is done, knowing that it cannot be changed. And besides, like good students of Socrates, they understand that it’s better to suffer injustice than commit it. In resisting an irresistible injustice, the Stoic did what was right, in resisting, and does what is wise in accepting that the world is not always fair. Socrates argues his case, but accepts the judgement of the court when his argument fails, because he understands that it is better to suffer the injustice of an unjust sentence than commit an injustice by running away.
Stoicism and God
The Stoic’s determinism is a product of their materialism, as they understand it, but many Stoics push even further than this. Many Stoics believe that everything must happen exactly as it happens, not only because the universe is material and so determined, but also because the material universe is the product of a perfectly rational divine mind. God has made everything in the universe according to a perfect plan and we are just along for the ride.
I am reluctant to dwell too much on this aspect of Stoicism, since it detracts, in my view, from the strength of their philosophy. There is always a danger of passing the buck of philosophical responsibility onto a religious notion, vaguely gesturing towards something divine and mysterious in the hope that it explains something. Invariably it explains nothing. It is pure mythos, rarely logos. Because of this, religious notions can be philosophically impotent. And this is especially true in our secular age when so few people are monotheistically religious. If I told you, the atheist reader, that the wealth of Stoicism depended on the existence of God, what reason would you have to listen? You’d reject it out of hand, already knowing it to be founded on junk and nonsense.
Stoicism is not a faith-based philosophy. Nothing in their philosophy depends on the existence of God. God comes as part of the picture, for some Stoics, but it is only a part and not a necessary one at that. You have everything you need to believe, with them, that the universe is materially determined without having to resort to the notion that it is this way ‘because God made it so’. Take God out of the picture and you will still be left with a materially determined universe. And in such a universe, everything that happens must happen exactly as it happens and cannot happen differently, whether or not God made it so.
What you will lose is the notion that everything that happens happens for the best. It is this idea of the perfect goodness of all creation that the notion of God adds to the picture. I find it to be a problematic notion. In my former life as an academic philosopher, a lot of my research was centred on ‘the problem of evil’: this is the problem of reconciling belief in a good and powerful God with all the terrible evil and suffering in God’s creation. If God were really good and powerful, why would He let such terrible things happen? A common response to this problem is the various stories of ‘theodicy’, that each try to convince you that everything that happens happens for the best. They will say that suffering is character building. They will say that it is necessary for there to be a balance between good and evil. They will say that the evils of the world are the product of our misuse of free will.
To cut a long story short, these are all lousy responses that do not stand up to rational or moral scrutiny. It is controversial to say so, because the debate is still an active debate, but by now I am contentedly settled on my view. The defining issue is one of moral limits: specifically, are there any? For a theodicy, there are no moral limits: everything bad that happens must be justifiable by a morally-sufficient reason. It is ‘made good’ by something, even if we can’t yet understand what that something is. But I don’t think everything can be ‘made good’ in that way. I think there are limits to what we can justify by a morally-sufficient reason – there are some evils that we ought not excuse or ‘make good’, even if we wanted to. I don’t think we have a right to forgive on behalf of the victims of these terrible things; I don’t think we can explain their suffering away. I think there is something deeply morally problematic about pointing at the worst evils in the world and saying: ‘worry not, that’s actually a good thing!’
To the extent that the Stoics depend on the existence of God and the perfect goodness of God’s creation, they inherit the problems of theodicy. And so because I see theodicy as being morally problematic, I would have to say that Stoicism is morally problematic too.
But I don’t think Stoicism is morally problematic. In part this is because I don’t think that their philosophy depends on God in any way. For the Stoics, God is just an adornment or decoration, not a foundation stone. All their God-talk is just a way of painting the picture in a mythical light; the underlying logos does not change, and cannot change, whether or not God exists. (Note: the same cannot be said of genuinely religious views, for whom the whole picture collapses if you take the monotheistic foundation stone away.) More importantly, I think that Stoicism avoids the moral problems of theodicy because it would be a mistake to think that Stoicism is endorsing any kind of theodicy. That would misunderstand what Stoicism is doing. Stoicism is not excusing the evils of the world: it is asking you to make your own judgement and stand by that judgement. It is asking you to be consistent with yourself. If you judge these evils to be inexcusable, then don’t excuse them. If you judge them to be a regrettably necessary dark part of an overall brighter picture, then, in recognising that necessity, do not complain about them. Attend to your beliefs about how the world works and then remain consistent with yourself. You can do this whether or not you believe that the world was created by a perfectly rational divine mind.
Again, it is a matter of being consistent within yourself. Consider illness. This is an evil, a ‘bad thing’ that we wish would not be in the world. How could a good and powerful God allow an innocent child to become ill and die? It is intolerable. Theodicy is powerless to solve this problem. How can it be character building for a young child to die? They are not given the opportunity to develop their character! Can we call this ‘good’? No, and we shouldn’t try to.
But neither must we fall into abject despair. You can only be expected to do what you can. You cannot cure your child or prevent them from being ill, but you can govern yourself. Stoicism can give you a way forward. All that it asks is that you be consistent with yourself. You understand, of course, that illness is a part of this world, and as a part of material reality, it is not something that you can control or do anything about. You can make all the right efforts, protecting them and vaccinating them, but you cannot prevent your children becoming ill. It will go as it will go. You understand all this, and you choose to have children and care for them. You have children and care for them in the full knowledge that they will get ill. You cannot be surprised when they do. You cannot complain for getting what you choose, even when your child is in a bad way. You must care for them when they are ill, and suffering will come with this. It would be inconsistent not to suffer. If you want to avoid this suffering, then don’t have children in the first place, or else choose not to care for them. But you wouldn’t make those choices. So see the truth of the matter: suffering is the price we pay for loving our children.
Epictetus has a useful analogy. He says that a foot, in is natural state, would be clean and uninjured. This is what it means for a foot to be in a good state. But if that foot is a part of a greater whole, by being attached to a body, then because of its role it will sometimes be that the foot gets dirty or injured. It is inevitable and necessary. The foot cannot then complain when it is dirty or injured.
Likewise, you are a human being, vulnerable to illness. You are a part of a greater whole: a world in which there is illness and suffering. In your natural state you are healthy and happy. But you understand that not everyone is healthy and happy all the time. It is therefore inevitable and necessary that you will be ill and unhappy at some times. And in those times, you cannot complain, because you knew this was inevitable all along. It is only avoidable by refusing to be a part of the whole: but a foot is not much at all if it is cut off, and if you refuse to be a part of material reality then you cease to exist. You choose to exist in this world, knowing it to be as it is; you cannot complain for getting what you choose. Remain consistent with yourself.
The Stoic Sage is an emotionless monster
A philosopher is brought news of his son’s death. The philosopher responds impassively: ‘I already knew I had begotten a mortal.’
Damn, that’s cold. There’s something monstrous about the Stoic ideals being perfected and realised in an individual human being. Anyone genuinely capable of being indifferent to anything ‘external’ to themselves is someone we might recoil at, rather than admire. ‘What is wrong with you?!’, we might ask: ‘How can you be so cold?’ And they will answer that they are a well-trained Stoic. They understand that there is nothing to be done about their son’s death, and so there is no point getting worked up about it. They want to live a life free from disturbance and so they use their reason to govern their desires and aversions, like a good Stoic. They want things to go only as they will go. Their reason tells them that death is inevitable and necessary, and for this reason they choose not to be averse to it. They come to see no badness in death. And so if there is no badness in death, what reason would they have to feel bad about their son’s death?
Whilst we might respect the philosophical commitment of such a person, most people wouldn’t see anything particularly admirable in the realisation of this ideal. The effect of the story is not inspirational, but cautionary: don’t let your philosophical commitment go so far as to lose your humanity. As Hume said: ‘Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still a man.’
But, again, this cautionary tale probably represents a misunderstanding of Stoicism. The good Stoic is not expected to be an emotionless monster. The story is probably an exaggeration, or else told to make a rhetorical point. Many other stories (perhaps more believable and certainly more admirable) tell of philosophers being overcome with grief, as is only natural, but able to recover themselves and move on with life within a short period of time. They do grieve, but they grieve well and do not let their grief overcome them. They never lose themselves to grief, at least not for very long. This is closer to the Stoic ideal: to respond naturally but never lose your judgement.
We all know that death is a part of life. If you would live then you must face death: that is inevitable and so unavoidable. All you can do is choose how to respond to it. Do you want to be unaffected by grief? Then do not love or care for anything and you will make yourself invulnerable to the misfortune of losing loved ones. That is your choice. But is that a desirable ideal? I would say that it is a solution, but it is not the solution.
If you would live and love then you must accept that what you love will die. And when they die, you will be hit by grief. You will weep and fall to your knees. You will be bereft of any will to carry on. You will want only to join them. Do not lose yourself in that grief. Remember yourself, that you are a will and a perspective, equipped with the powers of reason and desire and aversion, and you can use your reason to govern your desires and aversions. Understand that death is natural and inevitable; understand that it comes to us all. Understand that grief is the price that we pay for love. Understand that you choose it anyway. So pay the price and grieve, and when grief has passed then move on as a philosopher must.
The Stoic ideal is not to not feel, but only to not let your feelings govern your judgement. Sometimes it is right and only natural and necessary to feel and feel strongly, and in those cases a Stoic would feel just as they ought to feel. But they will remember that, as a philosopher, they understand that it is their choice to feel this way. They know that they are a will and a perspective, equipped with the powers of reason and desire and aversion, and they can use their reason to govern their desires and aversions. They already knew they had begotten a mortal, when they had a child. Now their child dies and they grieve. But did they not choose to have children, knowing they would die? And knowing that, they chose anyway. And so they must grieve, because it is only natural, but they cannot say that it is not their choice. And you cannot complain for getting what you choose. But philosophy is a bitter medicine.
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