Stoicism in 2014

The first time I remember hearing about Stoicism, I was in 9th grade, in Mr. Stanton's history class at the old, terrible, Christian school. The idea was wonderful to me. At that time, I was a prime candidate for initiation into what would later become the cult of Emo. My life was pretty miserable, and I was miserable because of it, and every decision I made (I'd later figure out much to my chagrin) was increasing my misery. More than that, I'd been taught to find happiness to be cheap. This was partly through my upbringing, and it was strengthened by my need to be better than other people. Add to this my fascination with Star Wars and the Jedi code as laid out by the horrible prequels, and you see how the notion of feeling nothing was appealing. Around this time, I was also interested in Buddhism, Dao/Taoism, meditation, and whatever else seemed to be out there. I was looking for a lot of answers, and a lot of guidance, that a small, very conservative, Christian school couldn't give me. Stoicism sounded cool.

I remember, I must have been fifteen, Ami visited Michigan all the way from California. At that time, attempted (barely understood) Stoicism was my belief de jure, and at a Wednesday night service, afterwards I believe, I mentioned that I was a Stoic. Bekka laughed at me and told me that I was the least stoic person in the world. She wasn't far off. If I hadn't spent much of my life thereafter dealing with actors and the Chinese, I'd probably still agree.

After, I went through a long period of time where I convinced myself that I couldn't feel emotions. This was obviously untrue, but, at the same time, wasn't entirely as dumb as I always believed it to be. Simply put, I didn't feel things the right way. I didn't think about things the normal way. I didn't react as I probably should, and my triggers were very different than other people. I was doing it wrong. So, I decided that I didn't have emotion. Again, Stoicism seemed an appealing idea.

One of the great difficulties with Stoicism, and with Christianity for that matter, is that I like to have fun. I like to be silly and lighthearted. I really believe that this is compatible with both beliefs, but, at the same time, it's hard. I think that the true state of holiness on earth really is the state of non being so well described in the various Buddhist texts whose summaries I've skimmed (which is more than I can say for Stoicism). I remember teachers commenting about all of the problems with The Book of James, and trying to smooth over various "contradictions". I read the whole thing last night, and it seems to me that the whole thing makes a great deal of sense. Where we see contradictions, it is only because we are blind to the realities of who we are and what we do and what it means to be or to do.

Being holy is hard, and it's not any fun because it can't be fun. Ones own holiness cannot be reflected on because to do so would ruin it. However, being holier-than-thou is incredibly enjoyable. Relatively easy, too. This all relates to something that I find to be interesting. Holiness, to a very large degree, is letting go. Being right, being good, being what we ought is, to a large extent, letting go of what we shouldn't have. I seldom reflect on how nice it would be to have spinnerets like a spider. It would undoubtedly be nice, but it's so far removed from my nature and my conception of self and reality that I don't really reflect on it at all. When I do, I do it academically, removed from any emotional conception of what it is that I'm talking about. I wonder, when we banish what is wrong from our natures, then what happens? Would it be the same? Of course, the trouble is, what's wrong is often what gives us immediate pleasure. Rightness and wrongness are seldom a case of action and are, more often, a case of degree. Not just in a religious sense of right and wrong, mind you, but also in an ethical sense.

I don't think that by saying that when we let go of what is wrong, we will become what is good is a vote of confidence in human nature. I certainly believe that we're all evil. Even if somebody proves tomorrow that there's no God, or even if I suddenly become the Patriarch of Constantinople and renounce the notion of Original Sin, people are all evil because that's what works. When we let go of what is bad we are, for the most part, simply limiting our perspective. This, however, is horrifying to me.

I hate the notion of a limited perspective, and this is, of course, one of my greatest problems. I can't let go of nearly anything once I care about it. I've barely spoken to a particular Lauren in years, and, now that she's engaged, I find the jealousy of a rejected teenage boil up to the surface sometimes. All this from a woman who never gave me any hope. Similarly, I still struggle with Rachael (much less in the last two years) and I'm currently attempting to cut myself off from Amber. Again. But that's the story for another time.

If I could accept the notion of a noble lie, I'm fairly certain I'd be happier and better adjusted. If I could accept the notion that we must limit our perspectives to be happy, I think I'd be happier and better adjusted. I know that I've decided that it's good in the past. I advised Courtney on it. It even came up in her diary. However, it's something that's difficult for me to do, even if it makes me happy.

I seem to think that, though I'm hideously aware of my weaknesses, that it's my job to bear all things, to endure all things, and to overcome all things. And I must do this without doing anything to make the task easier.

No wonder I fail.

No excuse.

But no wonder.