I play an instrument I call “The Thing.” It is an imposing trapezoidal five octave one-of-a-kind fusion of a hammered dulcimer and cymbalom a gifted luthier designed and built for me years ago. This instrument’s sound evokes tears of joy, nostalgia, or a sense of the holy in its listeners. Performing and composing on The Thing is an essential part of my life. It is a vocation, something to which I feel called. Yet, I never mention this when I am in philosophical circles or professionally writing or speaking. 

We “contain multitudes” 

I started thinking about how false this division between head and heart is. “I contain multitudes,” proclaimed Walt Whitman. However, we are compelled to foster a pared down presenta-tion of self in the social and professional spheres. This simplification makes us intelligible to others, secures trust, and helps us more easily connect with or make common cause with others. 

But what about those multitudes? What about the real, more messy, nuanced, and complex version of ourselves in which we actually dwell? And what about those dimensions of ourselves that are and should be heart-driven, that embrace and are actually impelled by the non-rational? Where does—or can—Stoicism fit in here? Particularly since it might be said that Stoicism elevates rationality over imagination, deliberation over spontaneity, reason over mystery? 

Art in the world of philosophy 

I don’t hear much talk about the arts in the philosophical world, except when art is abstracted into the abstruse language of aesthetics. What is beauty? What is its relationship to truth? Is beauty independent of the beholder, the listener? That sort of thing. 

But what about the all-too-human and thankfully common experience of making art, making music, making food, making—whatever? Can this sphere of experience gibe with Stoicism with all of its moral introspection and emotional management? Is art perhaps what the Stoics call an “external,” something we needn’t trouble ourselves with? 

Stoic values infuse my music 

Stoic values, principles, and practices infuse my music every day, and I hope artists of all kinds will start to appreciate and incorporate them into their lives as visionaries and makers. Here are a few examples of the ways Stoicism helps make me a better musician and could help with anyone’s artistic endeavors. 

Making music and making art involves a lot of fear and self-doubt. Here’s where my pal Epictetus sits at my side whispering: remember what you can control and remember what you can’t and don’t get those things mixed up! 

Within my control is my ability to routinely practice my instrument and to write music regardless of how it may be received in the world. Artists want to make “good art.” 

We want our audiences to love us. But there will be plenty of people who don’t understand what we have to give or couldn’t care less. So we have to pull back into ourselves and simply create or work in the Stoic sense of “inhabiting our role” in life as an artist. It is simply our job to make our art, to make our music; it is not our job to try to please our critics. It doesn’t matter if people “get us” or not. 

Stoicism places great stock in the notion of virtue. It enjoins us to aim our will (prohairesis) toward “accord with nature.” What better way to describe art or music when it works: when it summons a sense of “yes!” inside of us. When musicians get their egos out of the way and let the music come through themselves or when an artist can allow the painting or sculpture to come through their brushes or clay, they have achieved an accord with nature, a kind of authentic message that needs no explaining. 

I look forward to more conversations about the convergence of art and the practice of Stoic philosophy. We have so much to explore my friends! 

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Sharon Lebell is the author of The Art of Living and is a member of our Advisory Board. 

 

 

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