On Despair and Meaning

Before the reader begins reading this post, allow me to share a bit of context of 'the why' I wrote this and 'the why' I'm sharing this now. In a recent podcast episode, I discussed various types of journaling (Stoicism in Practice) one of which is a deep form in which I reflect on my thoughts and emotions and value judgements. Sometimes these journal entries serve to help me rebound from a mental downturn and they help me put in check some faulty thinking. I've been doing this type of journaling at various times between 2018 and the present in 2026. I often go back to read these entries, which have a palliative effect on my thinking and emotions. As to why I'm publishing this particular journal entry; I have felt that this was an important entry, which not only was a pivotal point in my life, but it also demonstrates some types of practices which others might find helpful. Also, there is a bit of an aesthetic element to this journal entry, which ties multiple ideas, books, life events, a song and even a painting into the mix, all of which demonstrates we can find and use multiple avenues to help in our quest of making life meaningful and fulfilling. Having reflected on this journal entry for over six months, I felt that it was useful to share and it is timely in terms of Easter weekend.

Furthermore, let me add one other caveat to this post. I fully recognize that this was written from my unique perspective and that many will not fully comprehend nor appreciate the personal nature of this journal entry. Sometimes I don't fully comprehend my thoughts or events in my life (hence, one of the reasons I write these entries). The reader may have questions or scratch their head as they read, which would not surprise me. But perhaps there might be principles or new ideas which might spark positive changes in their life. Additionally, by sharing such things, there might be the possibility that others will feel less isolated in this world and know that they are not alone when they may possibly think similar things or even think their thoughts and ideas are strange too!

And one final point - I've edited various parts of the entry, replacing the names of people with their "role" or "relationship" in my life, or I've removed the specific type of work or activity and replaced it with something more generalized.

On Despair and Meaning

The third week of August (2025) was a tough one, especially as I did not do well in basketball. This triggered another 'lack-of-motivation' episode. Coupled with the on-going lack of sleep as the week progressed, and a week of pretty bad traffic on my daily commute, by Wednesday, August 20, I was not in much of a mood to be with people. On Tuesday, I had a 1-1 with my manager, and she surprised me with a question about what my top 3 items will be for performance assessment for the year. I shared with her what they were, to which she responded I needed to 'finish and tie a bow' on one of the items. This was a bit frustrating to me, due to the fact that (as others have mentioned to me), if this were easy work, it would be done already!

I went to a reunion lunch with some old co-workers, but I didn't feel much like talking. I didn't even talk to close friend, who was in town for the week. But I powered through that day and the rest of the week and kept progressing on work. By Friday, I really wasn't in the mood for basketball or chess.  Friday morning, I got up, went to basketball and played.  I ran up and down the court, but I was only going through the motions. After basketball, I lifted weights, since the workout at basketball was not that great.  Then I cooled off, and determined I just wanted to get through the day.  I cleaned up, then got coffee and went to a meeting with one of my direct reports. That meeting went well, but I was mentally done for the day.  I skipped chess and drove home. Later in the day, I had another meeting with another one of my direct reports, then I completed some mandatory staffing reports and then I logged off.

My wife and I had scheduled a dinner with some long-time, good friends.  The BBQ place we were planning on going to was closed at 5pm, so we didn't go there.  Instead, we went to Carrabas and ate pasta.  The dinner was fine, but the conversation was average. Then my wife and I went to a grocery story to get some prescriptions and ice cream.  Then we went home and ate ice cream and watched TV.

Saturday morning - I woke up around 8am or so; weighed in, which showed I was over my desired weight. I then decided to fast and not do anything all weekend. I didn't talk much on our normal weekend walk on Saturday. My wife wanted her closet shelf installed as well as the upstairs attic room finished (just some normal to-do tasks).  I wanted to watch the first day of college football at 11am. But after the feedback from my manager and the reminders from my wife to finish things up, I suppose I felt my 'freedom' continue to erode.  I am constantly reminded, by work and demands from others, that my life is not my own. And so, in a form of rebellion, I passively submit, but not with my heart. I rebel with my motivation (or lack thereof). Maybe it is resentment, and to exert my perception of 'freedom' I act socially by doing what others ask of me, but I don't act gung-ho about it.

So, I installed the shelf in her closet. I removed the old IT equipment from the closet upstairs and hauled it to the curb. I installed the legs on the desk. From 11am to 2:30pm, I did what my wife wanted to be done. Then, I rested, showered and laid on the couch, having missed the Iowa St. vs Kansas St. game, and watched the Fresno St. vs Kansas game and other games that were on. I laid there and watched TV all the way to 10pm, then I went to bed.  I fasted all day and went to bed and did not fall asleep.  I laid there in bed, with eyes wide open and stared at the reflected light from the street which came into our room. One of my dogs jumped up on the bed around 12, as he usually does.  I pushed him off.  He jumped up again around 2am and I lifted him and put him on the floor. And he tried again, one more time at 5am and I put him on the floor again. I finally got up at 8:30 and he jumped up on the bed and laid on the spot where I slept.

I walked the dogs, then my wife and I went on our walk. She asked how I was doing and I told her that I just need to go through these phases every now and then and that I'd be back to normal after some time has passed. That satisfied her for the time being. We chatted about a few other things, but there wasn't much talking. We got home; I worked on reconstituting the rocks by the fence, then went inside and showered the dogs, trimmed my beard and showered. Then I repeated Saturday, and sat on the couch and watched golf and TV. I worked on some chess, read work email, prepped for week, but largely did nothing. We had the family call, then watched some TV and went to bed.

On Monday, August 25, I got up, drove to work and the gym, but did not go to basketball. Instead, I lifted weights. On my drive to work, I continued listening to Rollo May's Man's Search for Himself (1953). I started listening to this book after listening to an Irvin Yalom podcast (recorded a few years ago) in which he mentioned he and Rollo were really good friends. Today, I listened to a part of a chapter which talked about philosophical suicide. And one of the examples he shared really struck a chord with me. It read,

"Or a young man feels he can never be happy unless he gains some fame. He begins to realize that he is competent and valuable, let us say as an assistant professor; but the higher he gets on the ladder the clearer he sees that there are always persons above him, that "many are called but few are chosen,” that very few people gain fame anyway, and that he may end up just a good and competent teacher. He might then feel that he would be as insignificant as a grain of sand, his life meaningless, and he might as well not be alive. The idea of suicide creeps into his mind in his more despondent moods. Sooner or later he, too, thinks, “All right, assume I’ve done it—what then?” And it suddenly dawns on him that, if he came back after the suicide, there would be a lot left in life even if one were not famous. He then chooses to go on living, as it were, without the demand for fame. It is as though the part of him which could not live without fame does commit suicide. And in killing the demand for fame, he may also realize as a byproduct that the things which yield lasting joy and inner security have very little to do with the external and fickle standards of public opinion anyway. He may then appreciate the more than flippant wisdom in Ernest Hemingway’s remark, “Who the hell wants fame over the week-end? I want to write well.” And finally, as a result of the partial suicide, he may clarify his own goals and arrive at more of a feeling for the joy which comes from fulfilling his own potentialities, from finding and teaching the truth as he sees it and adding his own unique contribution arising from his own integrity rather than the servitude to fame."

While the above passage deals with this man's desire for fame, I think the lesson is applicable to a few aspects of my life. If I experiment with the idea of philosophical suicide in the domain of basketball (something which has been a part of my identity my entire life), then perhaps I have freshly burned ground on which to grow a new phase or talent in my life. For example, I am 6 months away from turning 50. What if, for the next 6 months, I don't play basketball, but instead, focus on lifting weights, sticking religiously to a keto or carnivore diet, coupled with fasting, and then as a 'reward' for my focus and diligent effort, I get two tattoos on my arms. On the underside of my left forearm, it says, "life begins on the far side of despair" and on the underside of my right forearm, it says, "toti se inserens mundo." And these would be constant reminders to myself of the numerous choices I have to each day of my life - the freedom I have. Allow me to elaborate more on this.

I came across the first phrase while reading Irving Yalom. “Human life begins on the far side of despair” comes from Sartre's The Flies (1989) and Yalom's Existential Psychotherapy (1980, 430). In The Flies, the main character, Orestes, has been living his whole life (of despair), by living for others. Ultimately, he finds his own reason for living: avenging the murder of his father, by killing his mother and her lover and then letting the people of Argos deal with their own despair.

As a quick footnote, on March 31, 2026, I came across a similar sentiment from Camus, while reading the book Albert Camus and the literature of revolt by John Cruickshank on p. xi (1960) in which he says Camus wrote “there is no love of life without despair of life.”

Sartre, according to Yalom, "arrived at a position in his fiction that clearly values the search for meaning and even suggests paths to take in that search. These include finding a 'home' and comradeship in the world, action, freedom, rebellion against oppression, service to others, enlightenment, self-realization, and engagement - always and above all, engagement" (1980, 10).

And then a paragraph later, Yalom notes, "What is important for both Camus and Sartre is that human beings recognize that one must invent one's own meaning (rather than discover God's or nature's meaning) and then commit oneself fully to fulfilling that meaning. This requires that one be, as Gordon Allport put it, "half-sure and whole-hearted"- not an easy feat. Sartre's ethic requires a leap into engagement. On this one point most Western theological and atheistic existential systems agree: it is good and right to immerse oneself in the stream of life" (1980, 10).

On this last point, regarding immersing oneself in the stream of life, I am reminded, again, of Seneca's toti se inserens mundo (Seneca, 2024, Letter 66).

Briefly, as a side note, Gordon Allport (1897–1967) was a pioneering American psychologist best known for founding the field of personality psychology. He penned the phrase 'half-sure and whole-hearted' in his book Becoming: Basic Considerations for a Psychology of Personality (1978), in which he explores how individuals grow and develop a sense of self. He suggests that genuine commitment often arises not from absolute certainty, but from a courageous willingness to act despite uncertainty.

And so, to wrap up this fascinating week and weekend, and after having fasted for 63 and 1/2 hours, a William Orbit song, which has haunted me for years, came to my mind late Sunday night after these two phrases ('life begins on the far side of despair' and 'toti se inserens mundo') bounced around my head all day. The song is called Piece in the Old Style III and for me, it has evoked an image of a seemingly endless desert plain before me, with the skies filled dark-purple under the light of dusk. And in the far off distant horizon, I see not only mountains, but lightening dancing and striking at the foothills of these mountains. I could not help but connect 'the plain' to the idea of enduring despair, and once I reach the far side of the plain, I will find mountains, energy and meaning. And then before me, a mountain, on which I will throw my entire effort to scale it.

And at this point, let me amend this journal entry and add to it, having looked back on this entry for about six months ( April 2, 2026). To add to the previous paragraph, I'd like to share even more, as it relates to a Facebook group post by a contributor named Emily Snow and the post is entitled The Crucifixion as Existential Revelation: A Metaphysical Descent Into Being from the Practical Existentialism Facebook group, April 2025. Below, this post which has made a profound impact on me, is fully copied.

The crucifixion of Jesus Christ, read through the lens of Existential Philosophy, ceases to be a mere historical or theological event and is unveiled instead as a profound ontological enactment—an archetypal exposure of the human condition. It is not simply a tale of suffering or sacrifice but a metaphysical drama in which the illusion of permanence, identity, and meaning is pierced by the naked confrontation with Being itself.

To begin with, the image of the crucified Christ stretched between earth and sky, arms outstretched in surrender, is the perfect symbol of thrownness—what Heidegger called Geworfenheit—the inescapable fact that we find ourselves "there" in the world, not by choice, but by the mystery of existence. 

Christ’s anguished cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46), is not the voice of a man abandoned by God, but the existential wail of consciousness severed from its imagined certainties. It is the collapse of metaphysical assurance. It is the trembling recognition that no scaffolding of inherited belief can shield us from the raw abyss of being.

Søren Kierkegaard, the father of existentialism, describes such moments as the dizziness of freedom—the point at which the individual stands alone before existence, with nothing but their own subjectivity as a compass. The crucifixion, then, is not an anomaly but the exposure of this essential condition: that no one can suffer, choose, or die in our place. We are each crucified on the cross of our own subjectivity.

Logically, the crucifixion deconstructs the Cartesian notion of the self as a thinking substance. For in Christ’s crucifixion we see not a thinking self but a suffering self—one reduced to embodiment, nailed into finitude, stripped of narrative control. This aligns with the existential rejection of essence preceding existence. There is no stable self enduring this ordeal—only the ongoing disintegration of every imagined identity.

The thorns upon the brow: symbols of thought as torment. The nails through hands and feet: metaphors for being nailed to the consequences of one’s own embodiment and actions. The pierced side: the exposure of the heart—of vulnerability as the only path to truth. In this way, the crucifixion is not tragedy but unveiling. 

As Albert Camus wrote in The Myth of Sisyphus:

“The only real philosophical question is whether life is worth living.”

And Christ, like Sisyphus, does not answer that question with words, but by embodying it. The cross is the confrontation with absurdity; the silence that follows is the death of explanation. But unlike Sisyphus who rolls his stone in defiance, Christ hangs in surrender—not to death, but to the transparency of Being itself. His final words—“It is finished”—are not defeat, but transcendence of meaning. For in that moment, the personal dissolves into the universal.

Nietzsche, who declared the death of God, was pointing not to theological heresy, but to the same existential abyss made visible on Golgotha. The death of the metaphysical God is the prerequisite for the birth of the authentic individual—one who does not borrow meaning but dares to bear its absence and still affirm life.

To grasp the crucifixion existentially is to recognize that salvation is not deferred into heaven but hidden in the very core of human despair. The cross becomes the symbol not of death, but of that space in which all illusions die. The self is crucified; what remains is not void, but the possibility of radical freedom.

This is echoed in Heidegger’s notion of resoluteness (Entschlossenheit)—the willingness to stand open before the truth of one's own finitude. In crucifixion, we confront the ultimate non-negotiable: mortality. Yet strangely, only by embracing it do we awaken to the fullness of life.

The crucifixion, stripped of religious dogma and seen through the existential eye, is the most honest image of human existence. It does not offer consolation, but confrontation. It does not preach redemption, but radical truth. It is the death of the false self, the annihilation of illusion, and the unveiling of the Real.

In this light, the crucifixion is not merely an event to be believed in—but a condition to be lived through. 

I copied the above into my personal notebook and have been re-reading it through the past year at various times. After re-reading the above, in March 2026, it struck me deeply yet again, to the point that I began contemplating crucifixion paintings. While looking at various Renaissance crucifixion paintings, I came across a Salvador Dali crucifixion painting entitled Hypercubus, and while looking at it, I was struck with amazement of not only its beauty, but also by the chessboard and the desolate landscape behind the crucified Christ. This background landscape is nearly identical to the one I had imagined while listening to William Orbit's Piece in the Old Style III. I was so impacted by this realization, that I found a copy of the painting online and purchased a reproduction of it and have hung it in my home office. I find myself looking at it and contemplating the symbolism described by Emily Snow and how it relates to me. The point which strikes me while looking at this painting is: While feeling despair and coming into contact with total reality and the abyss, I cannot simply resign or be stuck at 'despair' or, even if I am, I know there is still something 'up to me' to decide and act on in my life by creating my own meaning out of life - this is a positive affirmation of my commitment to living an authentic life. The Dali painting captures both the moment and realization of despair, as well as a forceful reminder as to what is on the other side of that realization.

Practically, for me, meaning means re-commitment to studying philosophy and psychology, and throwing myself into chess and living a physically healthy life and experimenting with other projects and joys, such as working in my yard and garden. These will be my meaning on a day by day basis - what I look forward to, and plan for, when work does not interfere. Specifically as it relates to chess, to not only enjoy playing it, but to connect with people (as I have done for many years) and enjoy the challenge and social nature of the game. Specifically as it relates to philosophy and psychology, to also connect with my peers, colleagues and students at the College of Stoic Philosophers and others. And on the weekend, to be with my wife and spend time with her and to live and be with her - to always strive to connect and reconnect with her. And beyond, we will continue to plan for more time together and to travel and be with our children and see the world.

This is effectively the end of my journal entry. But allow me to add just a bit more to this blog post, in the form of sharing some counseling and therapy advice for any who might come across this blog post and need guidance on how to contemplate what their 'meaning' ought to be. I found some of this advice through various books, on-line forums and even 'chatting' with some AI applications.

How to create your meaning

Begin with your lived experience - observe your actual life and your past (times which have been meaningful to you). Which activities seem to have made time disappear? When have you felt "yourself" the most? What has evoked moments of disgust, admiration or longing? You can also consider your "thrownness" as Heidegger has explained. How does your history, talents, limitations and culture inform your meaning?

Identify "existential tensions or anxieties" - sometimes conflicts often create meaning. Which contradictions refuse to go away in your life? Which injustices or absurdities can you not tolerate? Which responsibilities make you feel compelled to continue carrying on with? In brief, face your anxieties and try to pinpoint how this feeling threatens a value.

Note values which cause action in your life, as opposed to simple introspection - sometimes small experiments will reveal your values. Maybe a small life project frightens you, but commitments or 'dipping your toes in the water' will snowball into something bigger. Sometimes, writing about this will help identify and clarify values and cause action. Perhaps consider writing your own eulogy, write a list of values which are meaningful to you, or creating a bucket list or list of "unfinished tasks."

Invent your essence and direction of being through long-term commitments - for example, you could positively state what you stand for and which values are most important to you: "I will become someone who cultivates clarity in others." "I will fight for the injustices brought on women caught in the snare physical or even religious bondage."

Rebel and defy the void and nihilism proclaimed by so many - confront the absurd; resist the inertia of nihilism; refuse false comforts and in their place, create beauty, connection, creativity and meaning.

Consider your relations - how can you help others recognize their freedom and expand on it? Which relationships call to you and how do you fortify and enrich them? As you commit and build on these relationships, be sure to speak honestly, show your real self, allow others to matter and in turn let yourself matter to them. Furthermore, you may consider which relationships need repair. Be sure to express gratitude and say what needs to be said. Sometimes small acts will positively affect others and cause a ripple effect.

Always accept your freedom and responsibility in life - Where are you giving away your freedom? What choices are you pretending you don't have? What life are you waiting for permission to live? Your own meaning grows when you own your freedom.

To conclude, briefly, these two phrases encapsulate so many profound truths and ideas for me. Perhaps they will inspire change and meaning in you too:

Life begins on the far side of despair.

toti se inserens mundo.

References

Allport, G. W. (1978). Becoming; basic considerations for a psychology of personality; 33rd pr /G.W. Allport. New Haven

Cruickshank, J. (1960). Albert Camus and the literature of revolt. Oxford University Press.

May, R. (1953). Man’s search for himself. Norton.

Sartre, Jean-Paul. (1989). No Exit and Three Other Plays (S. Gilbert & I. Abel, Trans.). Vintage International. (Original work published 1944)

Seneca. (2024).  Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales. Uchicago.edu. https://artflsrv03.uchicago.edu/philologic4/Latin/navigate/129/7/4/

Yalom, I. D. (1980). Existential psychotherapy. Basic Books.

Notes and What I Learned From: Philosophy as a Way of Life - the essay "Philosophy as a Way of Life"

This is the last part of my lengthy review of Hadot's book Philosophy as a Way of Life. In the last essay of the book, Hadot makes a final summary of his main thesis: that philosophy was always to be lived!

He begins with a lengthy passage from Philo of Alexandria, who explains the many ways a lover of wisdom practices his craft. I won't copy it here, but you can find the entire passage on line at this site: https://www.earlychristianwritings.com/yonge/book28.html (scroll to the section THE FIRST FESTIVAL and begin reading from passage (44)).

The point that stands out foremost is that "during this period, philosophy was a way of life." (p. 265). We moderns are only now beginning to grasp this important concept, mainly due to the fact that the medieval Church threw philosophy into a chamber and locked her up in an academic prison! Later in the chapter, Hadot briefly explains this timeline. But during the ancient times, philosophy was viewed as a total way of being, thinking and living in the present instant, "the goal of which was to achieve a state practically inaccessible to mankind: wisdom" (p. 265). A bit further down the page, Hadot elaborates that being wise comprised of "peace of mind (ataraxia), inner freedom (autarkeia) and [possessing] a cosmic consciousness."

Indeed, there are the three parts of philosophical discourse, which are leveraged to learn and teach philosophy (physics, logic, ethics), but when it comes to embodying philosophy as a way of life, these are "no longer a theory divided into parts, but a unitary act" (p. 267). We are to embody and live logic, physics and ethics in the ever-present now. Our thoughts and speech are logical; our perspective assumes a cosmic consciousness and our actions are ethical and just. As Epictetus taught, "A builder doesn't come forward and say, 'Listen to me as I deliver a discourse about the builder's art,' but he acquires a contract to build a house, and shows through actually building it that he has mastered the art" (Discourses 3.21, v. 4 see this post).

In order to orchestrate the three parts of theory and discourse into a single, constant act of living, one must be ever-present and pay constant attention to his thoughts, and actions. "In order to realize this state of attention ... a number of exercises [are] necessary: intense meditation on fundamental dogmas, the ever-renewed awareness of the finitude of life, examination of one's conscience, and, above all, a specific attitude toward time" (p. 268).

From there, Hadot outlines how ancient Hellenistic philosophy became embedded into Christian philosophy, and was then relegated, first to monasteries and later universities, where it was enslaved into a "purely theoretical and abstract activity" (p. 270). She was finally liberated from this bondage by Descartes, Spinoza, Malebranche and Leibniz. A second wave of philosophical academics re-entrenched philosophy in the university, with the exceptions of Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. Hadot quotes Schopenhauer who wrote: 

Generally speaking, university philosophy is mere fencing in front of a mirror. In the last analysis, its goal is to give students opinions which are to the liking of the minister who hands out the Chairs. . . . As a result, this state-financed philosophy makes a joke of philosophy. And yet, if there is one thing desirable in this world, it is to see a ray of light fall onto the darkness of our lives, shedding some kind of light on the mysterious enigma of our existence.

Towards the end of the essay, he gives three examples from ancient times, of people who were true philosophers, despite writing and teaching nothing! These three were Cato of Utica, the Roman statesman Rutilius Rufus and Quintus Mucius Scaevola Pontifex. All three were Stoics who exemplified and embodied the philosophy and earnestly endeavored "to live in accord with cosmic reason" (p. 272).

Finally, the last two points from this essay are important reminders, no matter which philosophy we subscribe to. Hadot observes that since there were so many philosophical schools in the ancient world, we are afforded the opportunity to see how each of their perspectives play out in the real world. And lastly, wisdom must always be viewed from a "cosmic dimension" in that we must think cosmically, act cosmically and always keep in mind that we are parts belonging to the Whole. Hadot quotes Seneca yet again, with his reminder that one must live with all his being in the world - toti se inserens mundo. And related to this cosmic perspective is the fact that we enjoy this existence with fellow cosmopolitans. Philosophy was "practiced in a group" and each and every day, today, we live and practice some form of philosophy. Virtually everything we do stems from some philosophical idea. All of these ideas eventually aimed at "having an effect on ... cities, transforming society, and serving their citizens" (p. 274).

In sum, a lived philosophy is one which equips the individual with the capacity to maintain inner peace and equanimity, while reminding him of the freedom he possesses, coupled with the responsibility and duty to his environment and fellow cosmopolitans, while always maintaining the perspective of the Cosmos.

Notes and What I Learned From: Philosophy as a Way of Life - the essay "The Sage and the World"

Hadot frames the problem with a quote from Bernard Groethuysen:

The sage's consciousness of the world is something peculiar to him alone. Only the sage never ceases to have the whole constantly present to his mind. He never forgets the world, but thinks and acts with a view to the cosmos.... The sage is a part of the world; he is cosmic. He does not let himself be distracted from the world, or detached from the cosmic totality.... The figure of the sage forms, as it were, an indissoluble unity with man's representation of the world (p. 251)

Not only do we see a constant assent and acceptance of the world and cosmos as it is, but the Stoic sage would go as far as assuming a "fundamental attitude" of a "joyful 'Yes!'" And as mentioned before, Seneca endorses this viewpoint with his toti se inserens mundo, which implies not only saying 'yes' to existence, but then to throw oneself into the mix of it all. This is no half-cocked commitment, rather it admonishes total allegiance and resolve to live the best life possible for oneself.

With this frame in mind, Hadot observes that for modern man, "the quantitative universe of modern science is totally unrepresentable" and that people may not feel at home in the cosmos and even experience loneliness. How do we help people transcend this delineation and come to feel at home in the universe, as the ancients once did? The path of wisdom and philosophy suggests a few answers.

Everyday Perception

While science may cause us to feel dizzy and confused, we still have access and control over how we choose to perceive the world. Regardless how the scientist or astronomer comes into scientific contact with the world, he still can observe and contemplate a sunrise or sunset. On this point, the predecessors of the Existentialists based their thought and focus on phenomenology. Hadot nods to Husserl and Merleau-Ponty, by noting that science is simply a "secondary expression" to actually experiencing the world. Simply observing, and experiencing the world and attempting to rediscover it as it exists, is one way for modern man to begin to reclaim his home in the cosmos. Hadot aptly sums, "philosophy is nothing other than this process by means of which we try 'to relearn to see the world.'" Later, he cites Bergson and how he argues artists are exemplars in seeing the world. "When they look at a thing, they see it for itself, and no longer for them." Stated differently, phenomenology in practice is an intentional endeavor to see and describe the world as it is. In Stoic terms, this is one of the practices of the discipline of assent. When we see the world as it is, we pause our value judgements, and try to see events and things as they are.

Aesthetic Perception

Beyond everyday perception and attempting to see things as they are, we can further advance our practice by contemplating how we perceive things and then to convert our attention into full participation with Nature.  Hadot cites the German-Swiss artist Paul Klee who noted the artist as having a dialogue with nature and see himself as as part of the Whole. Hadot writes, "there is the fact that we plunge our roots into the same soil, and that we share a common participation in the cosmos. This means that the artist must paint in a state in which he feels his unity with the earth and with the universe" (p. 255).

Speaking of a "gigantic Tintoretto in Venice" Cézanne described how it made him feel. He said Tintoretto's painting shows how "the earth and the sea, the terraqueous globe, are hanging above people's heads" and how "the horizon is moving off into the distance; the depth, the ocean distances, and bodies are taking flight, an immense rotundity, a mappamundi; the planet is hurled, falling and rolling in mid-ether!" Then Cézanne noted how he had the same "cosmic obsession" and how he wants to "lose [himself] in nature, to grow again with her, like her" (p. 256).

As an observation and related note to this, one modern theory of being, not dissimilar to Stoic physics and panpsychism, is that the universe in which we live is a simulation, and the player or programmer of the simulation is simply living in each of us, attempting to experience as many branches as possible. And perhaps, as part of this participation, each of us are doing what is programmed in us: to participate and create, thus closing the loop, or perhaps creating a new loop for future generations to enjoy.

New Spectator

Perceiving the world with fresh eyes is to see the world philosophically.  Hadot rightly notes how Seneca seemingly strips a veil from his eyes and glances on the world anew and in that process experiences "stupefaction" as if "seeing [this world] for the first time" (Letter 64). Hadot also notes a similar sentiment from an Epicurean philosopher. These evidences point to how the ancients similarly saw the same "paradox and scandal" we see today: "man lives in the world without perceiving the world" (p. 258). In other words, we proverbially shut our eyes to the phenomena of existence! We mindlessly go about turning our perception of the world into standard operating procedures, through "worry, quarrels, social rituals, and conventional values" (p. 258). Sadly, we hardly take time to pause, reflect, step back and look up, around, beneath us and wonder.

Thankfully, we have a solution to this problem.  We are both the perpetrators of not perceiving, as well as the remediators of seeing the world with a fresh perspective. Hadot argues "we must separate ourselves from the 'everyday' world in order to rediscover the world qua world" (p. 258). In brief, this spiritual exercise consists of stopping to smell the roses! Instead of rushing off to your next meeting, meander a bit, pause, look up, around and on the ground and simply observe. Contemplate the nature of existence; be in touch with the world around you; appreciate the moment.

As I write this passage, it is February 6, 2026 and the sunshine is pouring down on the earth and it feels like a fresh spring day with the air temperature at 75 degrees - perfectly comfortable. On days like these, I am transported back to my 5 year-old self when it was just me and my mom at home. Often, I would go outside to play. Even then, as a young child, the freshness of the world made such a strong impression on me. I can recall the buzzing of bees around the honey boards my dad hung on the side of the garage. I can see a bee land on one of those holes and poke its tiny body in the board. I can feel the fresh, cool grass and the lumps in our lawn from all the apricot pits from the trees in our yard. I can smell the fresh dirt and spot a pea pod in the garden. I can taste the sweet peas after cracking open the pod and spilling the little green balls into the palm of my hand. The fresh, plump, deep-red raspberries hang on prickly stems, then I pick them off one by one, and taste the earthy scent and feel seeds stuck between my teeth. I can still hear the grind of the seed mill 4 blocks from our home and I can see a white line drifting across the sky, as a jet makes its way to some unknown destination. When I stop and purposefully observe and slow down, I think this is what Hadot and others meant by becoming a new spectator of the world.

This Moment is Eternity

Looking on the world and cosmos as a new spectator, in a sense, freezes time. This very instant and moment helps us to dive entirely into the cosmos and experience the entirety of Nature. The more time we spend looking at the world anew, in our present moment, the more we begin to see Nature as it is. We separate ourselves from the future and the past, and we only see an ever-present Now. Doing so helps us to seize the day and live each moment and each day to its fullest. As Hadot notes, "concentration on the present instant implies the suspension of our projects for the future. In other words, it implies that we must think of the present moment as the last moment, and that we live each day and each hour as if it were our last" (p. 259). 

By coming into contact, intensely, with the present moment, we focus our perception on this current link in a long line of links which span time immeasurable from past to future. When we see the world now, and contemplate the present instant, we begin to appreciate the entirety of the cosmic project. And to be sure, whether tomorrow, or next week or next decade, we can return to this present moment in an "ever-renewed effort" (p. 261) to practice living and being present in the eternal Now. And by perceiving the world, we simultaneously "perceive our unity with the world."

Notes and What I Learned From: Philosophy as a Way of Life - the essay "The Figure of Socrates"

While working on the podcast episodes of my book review of Pierre Hadot's Philosophy as a Way of Life, I discovered there were a few essays I did not review back in 2019.  So, I've re-read them and now am posting some thoughts and commentary on them.

"The Figure of Socrates" is Hadot's reflections on how we can put in practice the exercise of contemplating the sage. He asserts that Socrates can be studied and contemplated in three ways. First as a Silenus and as a mediator between the divine and the human condition, second as Eros and the different ways Socrates seduced, loved and was beloved, and thirdly, as Dionysos ("god of death and of life" p. 169) in which we learn how the sage loves life so much (i.e. has thought so deeply on it), he is willing to die to show it!

Silenus

Socrates was physically ugly, thus superficially, he was compared to a Silenus. These were "purely natural beings. They stood for the negation of culture and civilization, for grotesque buffoonery and for the license of the instincts" (Hadot, 149). But upon further reflection, we learn there is something far more important hidden beneath the lurid facade. Alcibiades compares Socrates to statues of Sileni which were not only ugly on the outside, but within were hidden mini figures of gods. Indeed, the symbolism is rich when thinking of the many times Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus and Seneca reference the divinity within ourselves!

Therefore, as we learn of the distasteful appearance of Socrates, we can contemplate how it is simply a mask he wears. If we can look past his outward appearance and even his method, we find we have much to learn. In brief, both his superficial appearance and his method act as masks which cover the deeper lessons he taught. This concept is known as Socratic irony. In other words, he may claim he knows nothing, but in so claiming and appearing ignorant, the line of questioning reveals he knows more than he lets on. Practically speaking, this attitude of playing the fool is often used to great effect in school and work. By assuming the role of 'the ignorant' one opens himself to being willing to learn and take a fresh perspective on things and processes.

We still benefit from Socrates' mask, as we read Plato and others who themselves don the Socratic mask. As we step into their words, our consciousness is sharpened as we near philosophical conversion. Others, through the age, have also donned the masks of others, in an attempt to teach their readers. Kierkegaard used pseudonyms and Nietzsche used the masks of Schopenhauer and Wagner (Hadot, 150-151). In fact, Nietzsche wrote, "An educator never says what he himself thinks, but always only what he thinks of a thing in relation to the requirements of those he educates" (151). Indeed, Socrates used self-deprecation and superficiality, and often pretended to concede others were correct, all in an effort to help the birth the idea simmering in the students' minds. As Nietzsche said, "Mediocrity is the most appropriate mask the superior spirit can wear" (152). On this quote, I'm reminded of Bill's point about Superman (from the film Kill Bill: Volume 2).

 

Through question and answer, Socrates became the midwife of knowledge. By birthing these ideas and concepts, and getting them out in the open, we free the purely conceptual idea from a prison of thought, and release it into the open to be lived and examined. "What he wanted to show us is that we can never understand justice if we do not live it. Justice, like every authentic reality, is indefinable, and this is what Socrates sought to make his interlocutor understand, in order to urge him to 'live' justice" (Hadot, 155). Socrates explicitly noted his aim: "trying to persuade each of you to concern himself less about what he has [than] about what he is, so that he may make himself as good and as reasonable as possible" (155). 

Another point related to this and the masks Socrates bore, is that in a sense, he descended to where man exists and thinks, and by assuming an ironic and mediocre stance, he was able to connect with those who listened and talked with him, to bring them to a higher state. Nietzsche wrote, "I believe I sense that Socrates was profound; his irony was above all the necessity to pass himself off as superficial, in order to be able to associate with people at all." Hadot continues, "for the existential thinker, banality and superficiality are a vital necessity. The existentialist must remain in contact with mankind, even if the latter is at a level of less-than-adequate consciousness" (156). 

Eros

Socrates as Eros is similar to the Silenus, in that the 'the mask' Socrates dons is that of a lover. This love is an educative love, where he pretends to be in love with one of his listeners but in fact the roles become eventually are reversed. Hadot provides the example of Alcibiades, who believed the love declarations from Socrates, but in fact, they were mere declarative seductions. Upon realizing this, Alcibiades finds himself deeply in love with Socrates. Later on, Hadot notes that Socrates' interlocuters actually fell in love with love itself - "to be in love with Socrates, then, was to be in love with love (160).

The entirety of the Symposium is dedicated to the discussion and praise of love. If we observe the description of love from Socrates' perspective (via Diotima), we learn Eros was the child of Penia ("poverty" or "privation") and Poros ("means" or "expedient" or "wealth"). Penia, seeing that she lacked so much, decided to lay with Poros as a way to escape her indigence. Eros, therefore, acquires features from both parents. While Eros may be "clever" and "inventive" he nonetheless remains impoverished and will always want and desire. And on this point, Hadot observes how "Eros is essentially desire, and the only thing that can be desired is that which one does not have" (161). Later we read other traits of Eros: he is a beggar, soldier, inventor, sorcerer, magician, and a clever talker - ever in pursuit of what he desires. In sum, Eros represents "merely a call and a possibility" and like the Silenus statue, which contains a figurine of a god within, "they only open up so that one can get at them. The etymological meaning of Poros, Eros' father, is 'means of access' or 'way out.' Socrates is only a Silenius, opening up onto something beyond himself" (162) and we, along with his listeners, become conscious of something we lack: wisdom.

Hadot later summarizes this aspect of the spiritual exercise of the contemplation of the sage, in the form of Eros. He does so via Nietzsche, Goethe and Holderlin.

• Nietzsche: "The deepest insights spring from love alone."
• Goethe: "We learn only from those we love."
• Holderlin: "Mortal man gives his best when he loves."

Dionysos

We also see the sage Socrates in Dionysos, who was the god of tragedy and comedy, as well as the god of life and death (169).  Hadot channels Nietzche in asking how Socrates, who seemed to love life so much, could be so willing to submit to death and even possibly hating existence? (167). We begin the detective work by simply observing how the sage loves life, as Nietzsche wrote, "they have thought most deeply, must love what is most living and, as sages, incline in the end to the beautiful." Even more guffawing to Nietzsche is the observation of Socrates suggesting a debt be paid to Asclepius, who has found the antidote to the disease of life: death! But alas, perhaps he misunderstood. Socrates did not think life was a disease, but rather he may felt that a certain way of life was: the life left unexamined.

An examined life - one that is contemplated and tested most deeply - becomes a life worth living and one that is rich, flowing and sustaining. Hadot recalls an "old medieval encomium of the Holy Ghost" that aptly describes the benefits of an examined life: flecte quod est rigidum, fove quod est frigidum, rege quod est devium" which is translated as 'bend what is rigid, warm what is cold, guide what has gone astray.' And what an apt description of the aim of making life livable!

Hadot concludes the essay with "Nietzsche's encomium"

The genius of the heart, as that great concealed one possesses it, the tempter god and born pied piper of consciences, whose voice knows how to descend into the netherworld of every soul; who does not say a word or cast a glance in which there lies no secret goal of seduction ... the genius of the heart who silences all that is loud and self-satisfied, teaching it to listen; who smooths rough souls and lets them taste a new desire - to lie still as a mirror, that the deep sky may mirror itself in them ... the genius of the heart from whose touch everyone walks away richer, not having received grace and surprised, not as blessed and oppressed by alien goods, but richer in himself, newer to himself than before, broken open and sounded by a thawing wind; more uncertain, perhaps; tenderer, more fragile, more broken, but full of hopes that as yet have no name.

Ways to Practice

That concludes my review of Hadot's essay on "The Figure of Socrates." After reading the essay and writing this commentary, I thought of a few ways for how you and I can be more thoughtful in how to implement some exercises as we contemplate the Socratic sage.

Perhaps the most obvious way is to assume the Socratic mask, by practicing humility and irony. For example, we could regularly approach conversations and learning opportunities by “playing the fool." In this humble attitude, we position ourselves to ask questions, and be willing to admit ignorance. This opens us to genuine learning and helps others feel comfortable in sharing their perspectives. Sometimes a bit of self-deprecation can reduce friction and help open dialogue and learning.

Another way to put these ideas into practice is to embody our values. We should try to focus less on what we possess and more on who we are. We should make a daily practice of reflecting on our actions and choices, asking ourselves if they align with our values and ideals.

We can also learn through friendships and relationships and with those we work. Often others exhibit behaviors and possess knowledge of what we lack. This desire and love to learn mindset could be exhibited in relationships with mentors, friends, and colleagues - virtually anyone who inspires us to grow. Recognize that deep learning often springs from affection and admiration. In these interactions and conversations we can allow ourselves to be changed by them. We should be open to falling “in love with love”—that is, with the process of learning and growing through connection.

Additionally we can embrace the examined life through reflection, question and transformation. This is not simple daily reflection, but rather a deeper exercise in taking a step back and looking more cosmically. We could question our beliefs, test our assumptions, and strive to “bend what is rigid, warm what is cold, guide what has gone astray.” Practically speaking, after a particularly challenging time in life, we could could ask ourselves: What did I learn? Where did I change? What remains unexamined? Then, we can use these reflections to guide our future actions and decisions.

We also can practice greater and deeper acceptance of life’s paradoxes, by balancing joy and acceptance of our mortality. We can think about what brings joy in our life and contrast that with the limits of existence. Recognize that loving life deeply also means accepting its end, and that a life left unexamined is the true “disease.” Practically speaking, gratitude and acceptance of and meditation on the beauty of life and the inevitability of death, helps us to live more fully and authentically.

Lastly, we can be a midwife of ideas both for ourselves and others. In our own teaching, mentoring, or leadership, we can focus on helping others “birth” their own ideas. We can use questions and dialogue to guide rather than dictate. For example, when someone seeks advice, resist the urge to give direct answers. Instead, ask probing questions that help them clarify their own thinking and arrive at insights themselves.

Reference

Hadot, P. (2017). Philosophy as a Way of Life : Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault (M. Chase, Trans.). Blackwell Publishing.