The Stoic and the Ubermensch

Nietzsche famously, or infamously depending on your perspective, condemned the Stoics (in his understated way) thusly:

You desire to LIVE "according to Nature"? Oh, you noble Stoics, what fraud of words! Imagine to yourselves a being like Nature, boundlessly extravagant, boundlessly indifferent, without purpose or consideration, without pity or justice, at once fruitful and barren and uncertain: imagine to yourselves INDIFFERENCE as a power--how COULD you live in accordance with such indifference? To live--is not that just endeavoring to be otherwise than this Nature? Is not living valuing, preferring, being unjust, being limited, endeavouring to be different? And granted that your imperative, "living according to Nature," means actually the same as "living according to life"--how could you do DIFFERENTLY? Why should you make a principle out of what you yourselves are, and must be? In reality, however, it is quite otherwise with you: while you pretend to read with rapture the canon of your law in Nature, you want something quite the contrary, you extraordinary stage-players and self-deluders! In your pride you wish to dictate your morals and ideals to Nature, to Nature herself, and to incorporate them therein; you insist that it shall be Nature "according to the Stoa," and would like everything to be made after your own image, as a vast, eternal glorification and generalism of Stoicism! With all your love for truth, you have forced yourselves so long, so persistently, and with such hypnotic rigidity to see Nature FALSELY, that is to say, Stoically, that you are no longer able to see it otherwise-- and to crown all, some unfathomable superciliousness gives you the Bedlamite hope that BECAUSE you are able to tyrannize over yourselves--Stoicism is self-tyranny--Nature will also allow herself to be tyrannized over: is not the Stoic a PART of Nature? . . . But this is an old and everlasting story: what happened in old times with the Stoics still happens today, as soon as ever a philosophy begins to believe in itself. It always creates the world in its own image; it cannot do otherwise; philosophy is this tyrannical impulse itself, the most spiritual Will to Power, the will to "creation of the world," the will to the causa prima.

It's hardly surprising, of course, that Nietzsche, who seems to have been an insistently, deliberately, emotional thinker, wouldn't find Stoicism congenial.  If ever there was someone overwhelmingly disturbed by things not in his control, it was Nietzsche.  It's unfortunate but typical of him (at least from what I've read) that he condemned it in this fashion; delivering yet another rant rather than a serious analysis.

I wonder sometimes if his frenzied style was typical of his time rather than a personal quirk. William James was more or less his contemporary, and C.S. Peirce; J. S. Mill was older, dying it seems when Nietzsche was in his thirties.  Imagine any of them writing in this fashion, and you (or at least I) can't help but laugh.  Perhaps this was the style in continental Europe, though, or at least in Germany.

Nietzsche's exclamatory comments are very Dionysian, certainly, but if you like me are unimpressed by mere denunciations--argument by exclamation--it's difficult to see in this excited outpouring much that is coherent or much of significance.  I'll perforce address what he seems to be saying to me.

First, he states that Nature is indifferent and we, by living are otherwise than indifferent; we value, have preferences, are unjust.  Of course the ancient Stoics didn't feel that nature was indifferent in the sense being used by Nietzsche, as it was infused with the Divine Reason and had a purpose, so Nietzsche rather than addressing or even acknowledging that is merely telling us what he thinks Nature to be.

Let that pass, though.  We humans are parts of Nature, however, and so our feelings, desires etc.--which Nietzsche seems to think of as contra Nature--are, therefore, just as much part of Nature, as natural, as we are.  So when the Stoics refer to acting according to Nature they obviously refer to acting according to human nature as well as Nature in general, as human beings interacting with the rest of Nature.  It's not possible for us to live "otherwise" than Nature as Nietzsche claims.  Nietzsche's distinction between us and Nature is thus unsound.  Perhaps, though, he didn't think of us as parts of Nature. 

Next, he equates the Stoic dictum live according to Nature to "live according to life."  It's not clear to me, though, why he does so.  In what sense is Nature "life"?  In the sense that it exists?  It does of course exist, but it has certain characteristics, as do we.   Is Nietzsche seriously claiming that the Stoic dictum in question is simply "exist" or "live"?  That would indeed by silly, and it is silly of Nietzsche to maintain that is the case.  The Stoics clearly refer to living in accordance with certain characteristics of Nature and humanity, i.e. to living in a certain way, not merely living.

Then, he accuses the Stoics of imposing morals and ideals on Nature.  He does not trouble to explain this claim anymore than he did his others, but he seems to be saying that the Stoics purport to see in Nature what to think and how to act. 

This makes no sense either, though, as the Stoics quite consistently insist that what is in our control is very limited, and what is beyond our control is vast.  The great majority of Nature, therefore, is not something with which we should concern or disturb ourselves.  So, we would not "see" Stoicism in Nature.  Instead, being Stoics, we understand that Nature is to a great extent something we lack the ability to impose upon.  Also, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius state that our lives are what are thoughts make it; that what disturbs us is not what takes place, but our feelings regarding what takes place.

Stoicism doesn't appear in Nature, but Nature and our nature, and our interaction, necessarily figure in how we should act.  We live according to Nature when we live as reasonable human beings, based on what we know of Nature and ourselves.

He also calls Stoicism "self-tyranny", again for no stated reason.  Just what tyranny is involved in not being unduly disturbed but rather tranquil, being calm and reasonable, is not clear.  But Nietzsche may have so committed himself to being full of Romantic sound and fury that even the merely sensible seemed to him vile and evil.

Not content to denounce Stoicism, he proceeds to denounce philosophy in general.  Indeed, why not, being Nietzsche?  What did he do that was not, directly or indirectly, a denunciation of something?  Nietzsche was an extremist, I think, and more an artist (a tortured one, of course) than a philosopher.  The reference to Bedlam in his condemnation of Stoicism is unfortunate in his case.  Perhaps if he had been a Stoic he wouldn't have gone insane in the end, identifying himself so much with Dionysius that he claimed to be the mad god.

The Problem with Hemingway

I'm an admirer of Hemingway's work, for the most part.  I'm not all that fond of his novels, except for The Sun Also Rises.  It seems to me that his longer works become disconnected, and lack impact as a whole (though parts of them are impressive).  His short stories are, for me, always enjoyable and sometimes remarkable.  I wonder, as I have here in other posts, whether this is the case for all American writers I've read.  But it may be that I lack the patience to appreciate novels generally.  This wasn't always the case, though, so it may be a function of age (strangely; but I'm nothing if not strange).

I think A Farewell to Arms retains what I will call the precision and purity of his short stories, but For Whom the Bell Tolls does not.  The latter novel straggles into the didactic and maudlin.  I'm uncertain whether The Old Man and the Sea is a novel or an extended short story. 

I refer to precision and purity not merely because I find them attractive in his work, but because Hemingway himself seems to have valued them highly.  He wrote in Big Two-Hearted River, or a version of it, that the character Nick wanted to write like Cezanne painted.  Nick, in that story at least, is generally considered Hemingway's alter ego.  He's also known to have been critical of James Joyce for using "tricks" in his work, though he also wrote that Joyce's characters were too much like Joyce himself.  Perhaps "simplicity" is a better word for the works of Hemingway I like.  Though I don't doubt he wrote with great care and purpose, I don't get the impression of contrivance and unnecessary and indulgent elaboration I receive when reading other authors when I read him; and I value this highly.

Since the days of his greatest popularity and acclaim, however, Hemingway and his work have been subject to a great deal of criticism.  Hemingway the person is said to have been unduly macho, cruel to friends and enemies, jealous; it's maintained he was an alcoholic, insecure in his masculinity (whatever that is supposed to mean), preposterous, a bore, self-serving.  His work is said to lack subtlety and art, to be easily imitated, to focus too much on "masculine" concerns like hunting, fishing, fighting and war; to be predictable.

The novel published after his death, The Garden of Eden, makes one wonder about the accuracy of the traditional, rather stereotypical, view of his personality and his writing.  It's difficult to think of Hemingway writing about what we would now call "gender roles" and "gender confusion" although his attraction to women of masculine appearance has been noted previously.  His scope as a person and as a writer may have been much greater than previously believed.

His personality and conduct must be considered in light of what seems indisputable--that he suffered from mental illness, as did other members of his family.  His father committed suicide as did other close relatives.  He clearly deteriorated during the 1950s, becoming paranoid and depressed, and was subject to various physical ailments as well.  It's speculated he was bipolar.

What seemed to be the primary problem with Hemingway as writer after his death, particularly in the late 20th century, was I think that he went out of style.  His writing was much imitated for a time, he fell out of fashion.  I recall feminists finding him particularly hateful, and anti-war feelings during the Vietnam era resulted in a lack of interest in his work.  So the themes of his work were thought chauvinist and macho.  But his style was also in disrepute, and as it seemed to some his later writing came to be repetitive in style as well as them.

My problem with Hemingway, to the extent there is one, has nothing to do with the fashion of the moment, nor am I a critic of his style, which I find admirable;  I very much enjoy reading his work, generally.  I have no problem with the subject matter of his work either, though I've never been a hunter or fisherman, and have no interest whatsoever in killing otherwise harming animals, especially for "sport"; nor have I been a soldier.  His fascination with "grace under pressure" is one which I may even share.  His manner of writing, and the way it seems to me to express ideas and feeling with which I'm familiar and for which I feel empathy, transcends subject matter in some fashion.

My problem with him arises from his (to me) inexplicable love for bullfighting.  I've read Death in the Afternoon but was unimpressed.  It seems to me to be a grotesque pageant in celebration of the extended ritual torture of an animal, ending in its death.  It's not clear to me how any reasonable person could enjoy such a spectacle, let alone admire it and its participants.

Bullfighting may have originated in the Roman games I did a post on recently, but if that's so something changed to have resulted in the adulation for the toreador we see in the cruel circus and in Hemingway.  Animal fighters, beastiarii, were held in low regard by the Roman populace, in contrast to gladiators.  The sacrifice of animals to placate the gods was also characteristic of pagan religions, and no doubt caused unnecessary pain and death, but as far as I am aware sacrifice did not involve prolonged torment. 

It's sometimes claimed the courage and skill required to be a successful toreador renders bullfighting interesting and them admirable.  No doubt the toreador is exposed to danger, but the bull has been tormented and bled by picadors by the time he encounters it.  How is it possible to find, as Hemingway did, grace, beauty, courage and honor in such mere slaughter?  There is something unseemly, unworthy and base in the spectacle and therefore in those who laud it.

This is what makes it hard for me to admire Hemingway as a person.  There is a cruelty present in him which doesn't arise from hate or circumstances which seem to justify cruelty in return for cruelty.  It is more a kind of sadism. 

Does this impact his work?  I don't think it's possible or advisable to separate a person from his work as others do, which is why I hold Heidegger in low esteem.  I have not felt that way about Hemingway, though.  Do I draw a distinction between philosopher and artist, cutting the artist more slack because I feel a philosopher should be held to a higher moral standard?  I suspect that's the case, and wonder why. 

But that is the subject of another post.

No Bread, No Circuses

The history of the Roman games (ludi) makes a fascinating study.  We're all too ready to draw comparisons with imperial Rome, which still haunts us after all these years, perhaps with good reason (the haunting I mean, not the comparing).  But they're fascinating in themselves, and don't serve merely as an expositive device on which to pontificate regarding the ills of our time.

It is the growth of the games that is astounding.  Not merely the growth in their scope and their expansion to all provinces, but in their number.  Initially a part of religious festivals, they became the means by which the people of the empire were placated, or at least kept relatively calm and complacent, even compliant.  There came a point when most of the year was made up of days devoted to the holding of games of one kind or another, for one reason or another, and this does not even account for the special games put on by the emperors in connection with triumphs or in honor of various favorites and family members.

The games became more and more frequent, and also more and more expensive.  Those arranging the games, senators, nobles, even emperors, regularly went into debt in doing so.  But it would have been unheard of for anyone to decline what became a duty as well as necessary if one was to obtain a high place or a desired end.  The games were an essential facet of politics and government.

Juvenal came up with the phrase that is the basis for the title of this post:  panem et circenses.  He was complaining (that's all he did, really) that in his time all the people of Rome cared for was bread and circuses, unlike their ancestors who were full of civic duty. That was all the people expected from the state, according to Juvenal, and he may well have been right.
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It's fair to be skeptical of the claims made by Juvenal and others (e.g. Tacitus and Suetonius) regarding the depravity of the Roman people and nobles, and of their emperors.  We're not certain when Juvenal was born or died, but it seems he lived during the time of the Flavian emperors, and perhaps even into the reign of Trajan.  It may not be the case that great hordes of gladiators, animals and criminals were killed on a daily basis in the arenas, or that the emperors took a personal delight in the wholesale slaughter they sponsored.  One can easily believe most anything said about Caligula, but this becomes problematic with the "good" emperors like Augustus, Vespasian, Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian.  Marcus Aurelius is said to have deplored them, but he attended them nonetheless; he was expected to do so.  He is known to have annoyed the crowd by attending to the business of the state while at the games.  Surprisingly, it seems Domitian tried to curb the excesses of the games.

Nonetheless, the games can be said to have been characteristic of Rome, and their ubiquity and frequency establish their importance to Roman society and culture.  It's likely that all but a few enjoyed the games.  As the emperors were judged in part by their willingness to openly appear at the games and openly enjoy them, it may be that the games served in a peculiar way as a kind of bond between the emperor and the people.

Now, shall I do what I tend to deplore myself, and refer dolefully to the bread and circuses of our time?  It may surprise some to learn that I think we have nothing like them now.  It may be that we're simply not there yet.  Our politics are certainly money-based, and it is becoming more and more expensive to run for and obtain office.  Naturally, our politicians inevitably become more and more reliant on and beholden to those who have the money to give them. 

However, our politicians don't seem inclined to spend much money on the people, at least for the purpose of feeding them or amusing them, and are in this sense different from the politicians of ancient Rome.  They are, though, quite willing to spend money to persuade them, even to fool them, as the politicians of Rome certainly did--but the politicians of today need not do so by feeding them or amusing them.  That is no longer necessary.  For now, in any case.

The avidity of the masters of ancient Rome to spend great sums in feeding the people and holding games for their entertainment indicates not merely that they were manipulative.  It also indicates that they respected and feared the people.  They were the mob, and it was always possible that they would become angry and violent.  The games were in a sense an expression of the power of the people.  The people were a force to be reckoned with, even in an autocracy.  The emperor controlled the legions, true, but only those who ranked above centurions could be considered the aristocracy of the empire; the rest were its subjects, like those attending the games.  They could be relied on only to a certain extent.  The legions came to name their own emperors and revolt when they saw fit; they were to be feared as well, and shrewd emperors took pains to keep them happy as well as the people.

It is an interesting thought that the politicians of our time may not fear us as the politicians and rulers of ancient Rome feared their people.  I refer to the politicians and rulers of the United States.  We haven't demonstrated the capacity for fury and violence the people of the Roman Empire were known to display every now and then; perhaps because we're not as bad off as they were.  No doubt this is a good thing, but it may be that the trade off for this is a certain disregard in those who govern us, and those who govern them through money.  They need not concern themselves overmuch with seeing to it we are fed and distracted, or do so only sporadically, at election time.  Of course, we don't look to our government to entertain us as the Romans did, though there is much amusement to be found in the antics of our politicians.  We have other things to distract us.

As noted, we constantly compare ourselves to ancient Rome.  As far as I am aware, however, we have not done so to note the care taken by the great of that time to keep the people happy, amused and content.  There may be a lesson to be learned in this for the high and mighty, as the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.