In a passage from Diogenes Laërtius’ Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, we read a description of Diogenes the Cynic’s teaching on how to become a philosopher. I quote at length:
“He used to say that there are two kinds of training (askēsis), one mental and the other bodily. Through constant physical exercise, mental impressions are produced which facilitate the realization of virtuous actions. The one kind of training cannot achieve its full effect without the other, since good health and strength belong no less among the qualities that are essentially required, both for the soul and for the body. He put forward arguments to prove that physical exercise can ease the way to the attainment of virtue. It can be seen how in the handicrafts and other arts, the craftsmen acquire remarkable dexterity through the constant practice of their art, and how flautists and athletes likewise come to excel in their respective fields through assiduous and unceasing effort; and if they had changed the scope of their training so that it was also carried over to their soul, their labours would have proved neither fruitless nor ineffective. Nothing whatever in life, he would say, can be brought to a successful conclusion without training; it is capable of overcoming anything. […] Such was the way in which he would argue and he certainly seems to have acted accordingly, re-stamping the currency in very truth, by not ascribing the same worth to merely conventional values as to those that accord with nature; and he thus maintained that his way of life was of the same stamp as that of Heracles, in so far as he set freedom above all else.”
(Diogenes Laërtius 6.70-1)
This is how Diogenes the Cynic thought about philosophy, as a training, of both body and mind. One should not only train the mind, but also the body. For as much as the mind might be more worthy of esteem and attention than the body, we are nonetheless living as a composite. And as a composite of both body and mind, we should train both. And as Diogenes tells us; in training the body, we simultaneously train the mind. He who trains his body to endure hunger, trains his mind to be able to overcome the inclinations of the body. And he who engages in physical exercise mindfully, overcomes not only the limits of the body, but thereby also the limits set by the mind. Diogenes tells us that “The one kind of training cannot achieve its full effect without the other.” This is evident, for we might be training our mind through reading and logical reasoning, but if the body is continuously sending signals that it requires to be taken care of, we can hardly focus on our reading. A strong and healthy body might not be absolutely necessary to attain the heights of thought, but it sure helps us get there. And what sort of thoughts will we have, when our bodies are in despair? Will our thoughts be healthy, when our bodies are sick?
The Greek word used for training is askēsis, which originally was used for the training undergone by athletes. Later, as we see here, it was used more broadly for the training of both body and mind, coming to apply to the training of virtue and contemplation. When we hear of askēsis, we think of asceticism, the practice of liberating oneself from one’s finite existence as a being tied to the inclinations of the body and the thoughts of the mind. Our body continuously tell us what to do, it sends us the signals of hunger, of pain, of pleasure, thus pushing our actions in a certain direction. Our mind continuously produces thoughts, urging us to do this or that. But if this is the case —that our bodies and minds are in control of us—, then are we truly free? The ascetic sees this problem, and he seeks liberation from body and mind, believing that in doing so he will achieve true freedom, and will touch the Divine.
The silencing of the mind through meditation, fasting, sexual abstinence, breath-control, exposure to cold and heat, these are all forms of askēsis practiced by contemplative traditions throughout history. All ways in which the practitioner seeks to calm the chatter of the mind and body, so as to achieve a stillness, a state of pure contemplation in which the Divine can be touched.
The usage of askēsis by Diogenes is interesting, for it carries both the original meaning of an athlete’s training of the body, and the training of the mind. Both are present in Diogenes, and both are said to be necessary to achieve what we all seek: liberation. We cannot just train our body, and neglect our mind. And we cannot just train our mind, but neglect our body. Rather, Diogenes invites us to look at things holistically. Living as we are, we are composed of mind and body, and as composite beings we should train ourselves. For Diogenes, philosophy is this training. And although Diogenes spoke little of the Gods or of higher states of consciousness, we can safely say that he sought just the same as all the ‘ascetics’ of history: liberation, freedom. For it is in training the mind, that we take control over our mind, and stop being enslaved by whatever thoughts might come up. In training the mind, we gain control over our thoughts. And it is by training our body that we are no longer chained by a weak organism, but have a capable body to use as we wish. It is also by training our body that we gain control over our bodies. Having become accustomed to pushing through pain in physical exercise, a state in which our body asks of us to stop, but in which we push through anyways, we now know that not all bodily desires should be listened to.
In all simplicity, philosophy seeks to liberate the individual. And if the individual is to free not only his mind or only his body, he has to train everything. And when the body has been brought under submission through training, and the mind has been silenced through ascesis, when we are no longer bothered by the ceaseless distractions of our body-mind, only then can we start paying attention to who we truly are.