In the Star Wars prequels, we see the romance
between Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and Queen of Naboo Padmé Amidala and how the overly
attached Anakin suffers from an extreme fear of losing Padmé. His attachment and fear are so strong that
he’s willing to betray the Jedi Order and turn to the Dark Side if that prevents him
from being separated from the person he’s deeply in love with. Unfortunately (spoiler alert), his greatest
fear becomes a reality, leading to intense emotional suffering. Although extreme, Anakin’s fear of loss
is a fear many people share. And, oftentimes, we go to great lengths to
keep the people we love present in our lives. However, the Stoics discourage strong attachments
to things not in our control, including other people. For example, according to Epictetus, someone
wishing his children, wife, and friends to live forever is “stupid” as we try to
control things we cannot and hope for the impossible to happen. Still, people struggle significantly after
losing their loved ones, which seems to be a natural phenomenon. Also, the mere prospect of losing someone
close to us triggers anxiety in many. But the Stoics observed that the fear of loss
and the torturing distress of grief are consequences of irrational thinking. This video explores Stoic philosophy in the
context of attachment, loss of loved ones, and how to deal with being separated from
those we care about. Strong emotional attachment to other people
seems to be a celebrated and normalized part of life. The latter is probably the case because, in
many ways, our biology has wired us to bond with other human beings. But the magnitude of our attachments varies,
from fondness and attraction to being sicklily obsessed with someone. When we’re attached to someone, we wish
that this person is present. And when this person is present, we don’t
want this individual to leave us. Emotionally, such an attitude leads to problems,
and the stronger the attitude, the more problematic it becomes. Attachment to something not in our control,
be it an object or a person, leads to us putting our happiness in the hands of Fate. After all, Fate decides if what we’re attached
to stays by our side or leaves us. And so, Fortuna, the goddess of chance and
luck, can toy with us, making us feel happy one moment and sad another. And we often try hard to prevent ourselves
from parting from the people and things we’re attached to, which the story of Anakin Skywalker
shows us as he betrays the Jedi Order and turns to the dark side just to keep Padmé
in his life. From a Stoic point of view, Anakin is not
free. His desires enslave him. He is a plaything of Fate. If he were free, his actions wouldn’t be
dictated by outside circumstances, attachments and desires, and disabling emotions (like
fear, hate, and jealousy). Instead, he would act from a place of reason,
free from troubling emotions regarding external things. At its core, trying to keep the people we’re
attached to in our lives is a selfish pursuit. When we desire people to be with us, we generally
don’t desire this for them, nor the betterment of the common good, but to fulfill our own
selfish desire, which is the ‘not wanting to part from what we’re fond of.’ Devoted to our interests, we tend to make
decisions that aren’t smart or wise. We just want to fulfill our desires. And, as Epictetus told us: whatever appears
to stand in the way of our interest, we hate, accuse, and curse, which clearly shows in
the ways of Anakin, who causes death and destruction just to fulfill his selfish needs. I quote: For its nature is to love nothing so much
as its own interest; this to it is father and brother and kinsmen and country and God. When, for instance, we think that the gods
stand in the way of our attainment of this, we revile even them, cast their statues to
the ground, and burn their temples, as Alexander ordered the temples of Asclepius to be burned
when his loved one died. End quote. We could say that the widely celebrated romantic
love and other strong attachments to things not in our control are potential recipes for
disaster. How much violence and murder has humanity
cast upon itself on account of these attachments? When a friend dies, your spouse leaves you
for a lover, or a child wishes to never see you again, you likely feel that something
that’s yours is taken from you. The separation from the people you care for
probably comes with the notion of loss: you’ve lost someone. But from a Stoic point of view, this isn’t
the correct way to look at such events: you don’t lose people; you return them, as they
were never yours. Never say of anything, “I have lost it”;
but, “I have returned it.” Is your child dead? It is returned. Is your wife dead? She is returned. (...) said Epictetus. The fourth book of Epictetus’ discourses
thoroughly explains why external factors like our children, family members, or spouses are
not in our control and, thus, not actually ours. Most of what we call ‘possessions’ aren’t
truly our possessions, as we can lose these things in the blink of an eye. When it comes to the people we’re attached
to, most of us probably find ourselves in a gray area. In the days of Epictetus, slavery was normal. People used to own other people as possessions. Epictetus used to be an enslaved person himself
before he began teaching philosophy in Rome, and later Nicopolis. But today, slavery isn’t common anymore,
and we, generally, don’t see the people surrounding us, be it employees, family members,
or friends, as our possessions. However, we often still tend to feel a degree
of entitlement to the presence of these people. We think that our friends and family owe us
time and attention, our employees arrive at work on time, and our spouses don’t do things
that make us feel unhappy. Moreover, we often feel connected to the people
we care for as if they are part of ourselves and belong in our lives. But as much as we think that something or
someone is ours, it’s probably not the case. External things are never ours because if
they were, they would always do as we wish; they’d never leave us, and no one would
be able to take them away. Thus, from a Stoic point of view, ownership
of external things is just an appearance; it’s at odds with reality. I quote: When you want your body to be whole, is the
matter under your control, or not?—It is not.—And when you want it to be well?—Nor
that, either.—And to live or to die?—Nor that, either.—Therefore, your body is not
your own possession, it is subject to everyone who is stronger than you are.—Granted.—And
your farm, is it under your control to have it when you want, and as long as you want;
and in the condition that you want?—No.—And your paltry slaves?—No.—And your clothes?—No.—And
your paltry house?—No.—And your horses?—None of these things.—And if you wish by all
means your children to live, or your wife, or your brother, or your friends, is the matter
under your control?—No, nor that, either. End quote. In addition, Epictetus argued that all these
external things are subject to the “revolution of the universe,” something outside of any
human being’s control unless this person possesses the might of an omnipotent God. When Padmé told Anakin he’s not all-powerful,
he answered: “Well, I should be,” as he realized that the only way to keep Padmé
secure is through ultimate, all-encompassing power. It’s not a surprise that we often speak
of romantic love as ‘passionate,’ as, like nothing else in the world, the infatuation
with another person engages the passions, leading to volatile emotional experiences. Again, today’s society seems to view the
engagement in passionate romances as positive; many even consider “being in love” as
one of the highest possible states available to the individual. Unsurprisingly, the ancient Stoics saw the
passions as problematic. As explored in a previous video called ‘How
Not to Be Pathetic,’ they distinguished four passions: pleasure, appetite, distress,
and fear. Being attached to someone, let alone deeply
in love, accompanies a symphony of all four passions. When a beloved friend is with us, we experience
‘pleasure.’ When he isn’t there, we experience an appetite
for his presence. The woman who a man is in love with, he fears
losing. And when she leaves him or dies, he likely
experiences excruciating pain. But, according to the Stoics, the thoughts
preceding the passions are irrational judgments of the situation. For example, there’s nothing inherently
good about someone being in your presence from a Stoic point of view. There’s also nothing inherently wrong about
a person leaving you or dying. Loss and death are part of life; neutral at
best. But if we irrationally judge things as good
and others as bad, we’ll evoke the passions as our thinking is disobedient to reason. And so, the Stoics seek to uproot the passions
using reason. Epictetus gives the following advice: This is what you ought to practise from morning
till evening. Begin with the most trifling things, the ones
most exposed to injury, like a pot, or a cup, and then advance to a tunic, a paltry dog,
a mere horse, a bit of land; thence to yourself, your body, and its members, your children,
wife, brothers. Look about on every side and cast these things
away from you. Purify your judgements, for fear lest something
of what is not your own may be fastened to them, or grown together with them, and may
give you pain when it is torn loose. End quote. When Anakin and Padmé discussed their impossible
romance and their feelings for each other, Padmé wanted to follow the voice of reason. Because of Anakin’s allegiance to the Jedi
Order and her position as a senator, a romantic relationship was out of the question, regardless
of how they felt about each other. But Anakin stated, and I quote: You’re asking me to be rational. That is something that I know I cannot do. Believe me, I wish I could just wish away
my feelings, but I can’t. End quote. But could he? According to Stoicism, with the right mindset,
discipline, and practice, it’s very well possible to let go of strong attachments to
other people and be able to bear it when someone close to us departs from our lives. Should a practitioner of Stoicism be emotionless
in the face of loss? Maintaining equanimity after someone close
to us dies is challenging for most people. Freeing oneself from the passions lies at
the core of Stoicism, but it’s very difficult to accomplish and takes time and tremendous
practice. In all likelihood, even ancient Stoic sages
like Epictetus, Chrysippus, and Seneca weren’t perfect at it (but at least they tried). Also, the Stoics acknowledge what they call
‘proto-emotions,’ which are feelings that arise automatically, and we don’t have control
over them. A proto-emotion could be an initial startling
when encountering danger or one’s eyes tearing up when hearing about a tragedy. Stoicism isn’t about repressing these involuntary
bodily reactions but about freeing ourselves from the passions that arise afterward if
we think irrationally. One of Seneca’s letters shows us an interesting
take on handling the grief of loss. In 41 AD, the new empress Messalina accused
Seneca of adultery (an affair that some historians have doubted). Initially, the Senate sentenced Seneca to
death, but emperor Claudius commuted this to exile. And so, Seneca departed to the island of Corsica,
where he spent the next eight years. While in exile, he sent a letter to his mother
Helvia, in which he offered her consolation as she was grieving her son’s fate. Seneca told her not to make excuses to weep
without limit. He also mentioned that their ancestors reserved
ten months of mourning for women who had lost their husbands and thus regulated their grief
by ‘limiting’ it. I quote: They did not forbid them to mourn, but they
set limits to their grief: for while it is a foolish weakness to give way to endless
grief when you lose one of those dearest to you, yet it shows an unnatural hardness of
heart to express no grief at all: the best middle course between affection and hard common
sense is both to feel regret and to restrain it. End quote. And so, it seems that Seneca advised a middle
way: to grieve moderately and with limitation. Such a view on grief is different from the
ideal described by Epictetus, which is a dispassionate individual who’s not disturbed by the loss
of loved ones. But the vast majority of people (including
Seneca’s mother) aren’t Stoic sages and will experience grief. For them, Seneca offers a realistic way to
deal with loss; not the complete extinction of the passions, but moderation. Nevertheless, he urged his mother to take
responsibility for her emotional well-being by studying philosophy and applying herself
to it. “This will heal your wounds and take away
all your sadness,” he wrote. Thank you for watching.
