Many believe that stoicism as a way of life is an honorable goal—a great philosophy much worth giving. Through Stoicism, they say, anyone is capable of a life worth living–eudaimonia.
This poses the philosophical question though: What does it mean to have a life worth living, and who decides how eudaimonia might grow? Since stoicism is a study of action and lifestyle at an individual level, wouldn’t it be true—that the only person capable of deciding if your life is worth living is you?
And if to me, being heard means a life worth living, then one can achieve eudaimonia only if someone is listening. And this? This renders stoicism inapplicable. Or, at least for me, stoicism is wrong or inadmissible.
For even Aristotle argued that “it is not possible to achieve eudaimonia, unless one has access to at least some externals (e.g., health, education, wealth, reputation)”, and I assure you, my friend, without these externals, nobody hears you.
What is further, is while the Stoics acknowledge that a life with some externals is surely more pleasant, they maintain that life without, is still worth living for even the peasant.
But isn’t this oxymoron the most infinite yet—that an unpleasant life might be an honorable bet?.. And even if we decide, on an individual level, that this is sufficient—should there not be a responsible person or persons who sustain goals for your people beyond “unpleasant”? No, that person would be too omniscient.
So I ask you my friend, if Stoicism says only focus on what you can do… What can you do when even your words fail you?
So insignificant to the world that nobody hears you—without externals—toiling for your next meal. If no one is listening, is your narrative real?
So where can I look to for meaning and light? When so worn by the world, my powerless petty is scorned with deep empathy for those without eudaimonia. A young American academic I speak, my dear mate; for the unlistened to, the unheeded, the beaten, as good as unspoken, the broken…. and on behalf of my people, my heart fills with hate.
I hate the inequality in our world, and I hate blinding gaps in power that make it harder for girls. I hate running by and hearing “Keep it tight for me baby”… for all the times I say no… he fucking hears maybe.
I hate the letters lined up behind people’s names. Nonsensical babbling claims, piecing together random letters for points in this life-sized scrabble game. I hate that I want those letters, and maybe even need them to be heard.
I hate that people cannot talk to one another—their own sisters, parents, and brothers. Our words bounce around, no ears to be found.
We live in one of the richest societies in the world. One of the most unequal too, America, I hate you.
This hatred, I suppose, is not what you want to hear, so you cut me off to try to hasten a smile by making a point. You offer to play Bob Marley, and you’ll even roll the joint… but do you hear me? Are you listening?
To ease your discomfort I’ll consider other theories—I might even put out an official academic query.
Viktor Frankl writes that even in Auschwitz, man can find meaning, but what kind of meaning are we living for, if Auschwitz is the comparison— a reason for being?
The minimalists beg me to throw out my materials, but need I remind you my world is inferior?
John Barth and Joseph Campbell tell me to write my own story, maybe I’ll even be the ‘hero’. But in this world, people do not get to write their own stories. Only dollars do that, while I remain a zero.
But if I were not a zero…
If the tables might turn…
If I wrote my own story, people would listen—my story creating vision.
Out of my empathy, I would find great love rather than hate, and even with all of the hate that I feel, the love I experience is greater and even more real.
I yearn to the depths of my soul to try to make things change—To strive towards equality, and live up to equity, to forgive the past, and move towards the future. To believe that our people, our world, men, women, children, families, the rich, and the poor and the institution can do better.
That rather than publish or perish, we would prosper and foster—human life—over profit.
Are you listening now?
I know it is naive to think I might have an answer or mission, but I shake viscerally, down throughout my fingers and toes, feeling like I am the only one who knows.
That the system is broken, and there might be a token, that even with no letters or credentials, I and my people could be the differential?
But what could I say that will make a difference?
Can people actually change? Does good even matter? Is good even good? And who decides?
And what is all of this for, if I am not worth listening to?
Because the world tells me that I am not worth listening to. I am not good enough, qualified enough, smart enough, I don’t have enough letters behind my name. I do not have enough dollars in my bank account, enough boob in my bra, enough…
But isn’t that also part of the trap?
Enough with the philosophy, I have to ask myself what I believe.
I believe we can learn something from each other. I believe that in each person, in each situation, and in each instance in life, there is an opportunity for growth, reflection, and change. So, if I know I can learn something from you, could you not learn something from me too?
Could what I say also matter?
And finally, your assumptions will shatter?
If I can learn something from anyone, so too anyone could learn something from me.
And even though I’m ‘just’ a girl.
What I have to say ultimately means something to the world.
-Just Your Friendly Neighborhood Zero,
A Common Scientist, Lauren Anderson
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