Lessons in Stoicism

Lessons in Stoicism Plot Summary

Introduction

What if someone told you that much of your daily suffering—your anxiety, frustration, disappointment, and anger—was simply due to the way you think about things? This bold claim lies at the heart of Stoicism, one of history's most enduring philosophical traditions. From Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius to the former slave Epictetus, Stoic philosophers developed practical wisdom that continues to resonate in our modern world, offering insights just as relevant to our lives today as they were two thousand years ago. Stoicism isn't about suppressing emotions or maintaining a stiff upper lip, as popular misconceptions might suggest. Rather, it's a sophisticated approach to living well by focusing on what we can control—our judgments, actions, and character—while accepting what we cannot. Throughout this journey into Stoic philosophy, we'll discover powerful techniques for managing emotions, handling adversity, and finding tranquility amid life's chaos. We'll explore why the Stoics believed that happiness comes not from external circumstances but from within, and how this ancient wisdom can help us navigate the complexities of modern life with greater resilience and purpose.

Chapter 1: The Philosopher as Doctor: Understanding Stoic Therapy

For the ancient Stoics, philosophy wasn't merely an intellectual exercise—it was medicine for the soul. Epictetus, a former slave who established a philosophy school in Nicopolis around the end of the first century AD, described his role as that of a doctor and his school as a hospital for souls. This medical analogy wasn't unique to Epictetus; it extended back to Socrates, who argued that the philosopher's task was to care for one's soul just as a physician cares for the body. When Stoics speak of the "soul," they aren't referring to anything supernatural. They simply mean our minds, thoughts, and beliefs. The Stoics followed Socrates in believing that the condition of our soul ultimately determines the quality of our lives. While most people devote considerable attention to their physical health and material possessions, they neglect what matters most—their character and values. Socrates argued that external things like wealth are neither good nor bad in themselves; their value depends entirely on the character of the person who possesses them. A virtuous person can use money to benefit others, while someone lacking virtue might use it harmfully. The Stoics refined this insight by distinguishing between things that are truly "good" (like virtue and excellent character), things that are truly "bad" (like vice and poor character), and everything else, which they classified as "indifferents." These indifferents—health, wealth, reputation—are neither good nor bad in themselves, though the Stoics acknowledged that we naturally prefer certain conditions over others. They called these "preferred indifferents." All else being equal, we'd rather be healthy than sick, wealthy than poor. However, the crucial point is that we should never compromise our character to obtain these external advantages, nor should we believe that they can, by themselves, make us happy. The philosopher-doctor's role is to help us examine our existing beliefs about what is good and bad, what will benefit us, and what we need for happiness. The Stoics believed that a good life is one lived in harmony with Nature—both the external natural world and our own human nature. Unlike the common view that humans are naturally selfish and competitive, the Stoics held a more optimistic perspective: humans naturally mature into rational, virtuous beings. We are, by nature, reasonable and social animals. When things go wrong in our development, we find ourselves living out of sync with our deepest natural inclinations, leading to unhappiness. The first step toward recovery is to recognize that while there may be external aspects of our lives we wish to change, we must pay close attention to how we think about things. Our judgments about what happens to us, rather than what actually happens, determine our wellbeing. This fundamental insight forms the cornerstone of Stoic therapy.

Chapter 2: Control and Acceptance: What Can We Actually Change?

How much control do you really have over your life? Can you prevent illness, accidents, or the death of loved ones? Can you guarantee your own success or ensure that others will treat you well? Questions like these were central to Stoic philosophy, and their answers reveal a profound insight about human happiness. Epictetus opens his Handbook with a distinction that would become fundamental to Stoicism: some things are "up to us" (within our control), while others are not. According to Epictetus, the only things truly within our control are our judgments, impulses, and desires—essentially, our internal responses to events. Nearly everything else—our bodies, possessions, reputation, and worldly success—ultimately lies beyond our complete control. Much of human unhappiness, he suggests, stems from confusing these categories, from thinking we control things when we don't. This division isn't simply between what's internal versus external, or mental versus physical. Rather, Epictetus claims we have control only over our judgments and what derives from them. We don't control all our thoughts—sensations and memories come unbidden—but we do control how we interpret and respond to our experiences. These judgments are crucial because they determine our desires and actions. We might see something, judge it as good, develop a desire for it, and then pursue it—perhaps at great cost to ourselves and others. The entire process begins with a simple act of judgment. Marcus Aurelius, the Roman Emperor who studied Stoicism, reminded himself of this by pausing to consider the physical nature of seemingly desirable things before judging them valuable. A fine meal is merely the dead body of an animal; an expensive car is just metal and plastic. Whatever value these things seem to have is value we attribute to them through our judgments, not anything inherent in the objects themselves. The liberating message of Stoicism is that we have complete control over our judgments. With reflection and practice, we can overcome the tendency to judge things unthinkingly. If we master our judgments, we control what truly matters for our wellbeing. We'll decide what's important to us, what we desire, and how we act. Our happiness will be within our control. But what about everything else? Epictetus isn't suggesting we ignore the external world; rather, we should develop the right attitude toward it. He proposes thinking of life as if we were actors in a play. We haven't chosen our roles, we don't decide what happens, and we have no control over how long the play will last. Our task is to play whatever role we find ourselves in as best we can. Even when we act skillfully, we cannot guarantee outcomes. Antipater, an earlier Stoic, compared this to archery: even an expert archer sometimes misses because the wind blows the arrow off course. The same applies to all of life. We can strive to act as best we can, but we cannot completely control the results. If we tie our happiness to achieving specific outcomes, we risk frequent disappointment. But if our goal is simply doing our best, nothing can prevent our success.

Chapter 3: Managing Emotions: The Stoic Approach to Feelings

Imagine someone is angry with you. What can you do about their anger? According to Epictetus, "Nothing; you can do nothing about it." We cannot control other people's emotions because they fall into the category of things not up to us. What we can control is our own reaction to their anger. If their anger upsets us, that's the real problem—and fortunately, it's one we can fix. This approach illustrates the Stoic view of emotions. When modern English speakers hear the word "stoic," they often think of someone unfeeling and emotionless, typically seen as a negative trait. Today, many emotions are valued positively: love, compassion, empathy. But the Stoics were primarily concerned with negative emotions like anger, resentment, fear, and jealousy—emotions that can damage our wellbeing and relationships. The central Stoic claim about emotions is straightforward yet profound: our emotions are the product of judgments we make. Consequently, we are responsible for them. If someone's criticism upsets you, it's because of the attitude you take toward it. If you viewed it differently, you wouldn't be upset. Importantly, the Stoics aren't suggesting we should deny or repress emotions; rather, we should try to avoid developing harmful ones in the first place. Seneca, who served as an adviser in the Roman imperial court, knew firsthand how destructive emotions could be, especially when experienced by powerful individuals like the emperors Caligula, Claudius, and Nero. In his essay "On Anger," Seneca describes emotions like anger and jealousy as a temporary madness. Once anger takes over, it compromises the entire mind. Being mildly annoyed occasionally is simply part of life, but being so angry that one can no longer resist violent impulses is another matter entirely. Seneca insists that we don't need anger to respond appropriately to wrongs. It's always better to act calmly from a sense of justice than to rage for revenge. Anger, like all emotions, starts with a judgment in the mind but quickly becomes physical—racing heart, rising temperature, sweating. Once these physical symptoms develop, we can only wait for them to subside. The Stoics recognize that humans naturally experience what Seneca calls "first movements"—initial reactions where we might feel shocked, scared, or even cry. These are natural physiological responses, not emotions in the Stoic sense. For these reactions to become full emotions requires the mind to judge that something terrible has happened and then act on that judgment. As Seneca puts it, "fear involves flight, anger involves assault." Why do we make the judgments that generate harmful emotions? If someone criticizes you, Epictetus suggests pausing before reacting. Consider whether what they say is true or false. If true, they've pointed out a fault you can now address—they've benefited you. If false, they're in error and harming only themselves. Either way, you suffer no harm from their remarks unless you let them provoke you into anger. Contrary to common misconceptions, Stoics don't advocate eliminating all feelings. A parent's love for their child is a natural instinct, not an irrational emotion to avoid. Healthy relationships are based on natural desires for companionship, while unhealthy ones involve possessiveness and jealousy. The Stoic ideal isn't to become an unfeeling stone but to avoid developing the negative emotions that can ruin our lives: anger, resentment, bitterness, jealousy, obsession, and excessive attachment.

Chapter 4: Dealing with Adversity: Finding Strength in Challenges

Sometimes bad things happen. Even if we accept Epictetus's lesson that many things are beyond our control, that knowledge alone might not lessen the blow of adversity. How do we face life's inevitable challenges without being crushed by them? The Roman Stoics considered navigating adversity a central task of philosophy. No one knew this better than Seneca, whose life was far from tranquil. During the tumultuous first century AD, Seneca endured the death of his son, exile to Corsica for nearly a decade, a precarious career advising Emperor Nero, and eventually, forced suicide. In his essay "On Providence," written relatively early in his life, Seneca addresses why good people suffer misfortune. Seneca approaches this question from multiple angles. First, he reminds us that nothing bad ever really happens, given that external events are neither good nor bad in themselves. Someone who keeps this in mind and doesn't rush to hasty judgment will simply accept what happens without labeling it terrible. More provocatively, Seneca suggests we should welcome apparent misfortunes as beneficial challenges. The good person, he says, treats all adversity as a training exercise. He draws an analogy with wrestlers who benefit from facing tough opponents and would lose their skills if they only faced weaker challengers. Similarly, adversity lets us display our virtues and develops them further. If we can see this, we'll welcome adversity when it comes. Conversely, Seneca argues that excessive good fortune is actually harmful. When are we ever tested if we never experience difficulties? How will we develop patience, courage, or resilience if everything always goes well? There is "no worse luck," Seneca says, than unending luxury and wealth, which only make us lazy, complacent, and greedy for more. Whatever adversity life throws at us offers an opportunity to learn about ourselves and improve our character. While this perspective might seem to depend on belief in a providential deity, Seneca's point works regardless of one's religious views. Whether one believes in a benevolent deity, pantheistic order, or atomic chaos, it remains entirely up to us whether we choose to see an event as a disaster or an opportunity. Is losing a job a calamity or a chance to do something new? Though such events inevitably present practical challenges, we can choose to view them as terrible blows or positive challenges. In another work, Seneca introduces what's sometimes called the "premeditation of future evils"—reflecting on potentially bad things that could happen so we're better prepared to handle them if they occur. Grief hits people hard, he says, because they don't anticipate it. We see and hear of misfortune affecting others all the time, yet rarely contemplate how we might respond in similar circumstances. It's illogical, Seneca argues, to think "I didn't expect this to happen to me" about some misfortune, especially when we've seen it happen to many others. This practice doesn't mean seeking out adversity—no one in their right mind does that. But developing skills to cope with difficulty when it comes can only benefit us. Adversity falls hardest, Seneca notes, on those who don't expect it, but is easier to handle when one is prepared for it. This important, if uncomfortable, lesson reminds us to prepare for all eventualities, including those we'd rather not think about.

Chapter 5: Nature and Fate: Our Place in the Cosmic Order

Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor from AD 161 to 180, kept a personal notebook while on military campaigns near modern-day Vienna. In these private writings, later published as "Meditations," he repeatedly contemplates humanity's place within the vastness of nature and time. "What a tiny part of the boundless abyss of time has been allotted to each of us," he writes, "and this is soon vanished in eternity; what a tiny part of the universal substance and the universal soul; how tiny in the whole earth the mere clod on which you creep." Marcus imagines looking down on Earth from a great height—as astronauts have since done—seeing how minuscule countries, cities, and individual humans appear from a cosmic perspective. This contemplation of our smallness within the universe might suggest nature's indifference to human concerns, but this wasn't the Stoic view. The Stoics didn't see nature as an indifferent mass of matter in motion. Instead, they perceived a rational principle within nature, responsible for its order and animation. They called this "God" or "Zeus," though not as a supernatural person but as nature itself. Nature isn't chaotic; it's ordered and beautiful, with its own rhythms and patterns. It's not composed of dead matter but functions as a single living organism of which we are all parts. This Stoic conception of nature shares similarities with the modern Gaia hypothesis developed by James Lovelock, which views Earth's biosphere as a self-regulating system that maintains conditions suitable for life. Like this scientific theory, the Stoic view can be explained in technical terms or presented more poetically. For the Stoics, "God" and "Nature" were simply two names for the same living whole encompassing everything. Stoic nature operates according to fate, by which they meant a chain of causes. The natural world follows cause and effect, which physics attempts to describe. For Stoics like Marcus, accepting the reality of fate—of causal determinism—was essential. Not only are some things beyond our control, but they couldn't have happened any other way given all the causes at play. This might sound fatalistic, but the Stoics didn't advocate passivity. Our actions make a difference as causes that contribute to outcomes. As one ancient source put it, fate works through us. We are contributors to fate and parts of the natural world governed by it. Nonetheless, once events happen, given all factors involved, they could not have been otherwise. Marcus writes: "Nature gives all and takes all back. To her the man educated into humility says: 'Give what you will; take back what you will.' And he says this in no spirit of defiance, but simply as her loyal subject." For the Stoics, contemplating fate helps us handle adversity. Once we grasp that something was inevitable, we can see that bemoaning it is pointless and only creates further distress. While Seneca emphasized nature's providential order, Marcus focused more on the inevitability of events. In some passages, he expresses agnosticism about whether nature is a rational system or merely random atoms colliding. His conclusion, however, was that our response should be the same regardless: accept what happens and act as best we can. By understanding ourselves as parts of nature, subject to its greater forces and inevitably swept along by its movements, we can find a more harmonious way of living. As Marcus reminds us, grasping that there is some kind of order and reason for what happens helps us face life's challenges more calmly.

Chapter 6: Life and Death: Embracing Our Mortality

None of us knows when or how we will die, but we do know that one day our experience will end. How many of us live with full awareness of this fact? Those who have faced near-death experiences often emerge with a renewed appreciation for life. For the rest of us, it's easy to forget our mortality and the limited time we have. Seneca, ever conscious that his life could end at any moment through illness or imperial decree, reflected deeply on the value of time. Surprisingly, he insisted that all of us have more than enough time, regardless of our lifespan; the problem is that we waste most of it. In his essay "On the Shortness of Life," Seneca observes that many people are only ready to start living when their lives are nearly over. We procrastinate, pursue things of little value, or wander aimlessly without clear focus. Some strive for success to acquire luxury goods that will be discarded long before they die. Others merely go through daily routines without appreciating that time—their most valuable commodity—is slipping away. Many have clear ideas about what they want but, paralyzed by fear of failure, delay action and make excuses. All these types, Seneca says, fail to truly live. How can we take control of our lives and live them fully? First, Seneca advises, stop worrying about what others think. Don't pursue their favor for advantage. Too many people care about others' opinions while neglecting their own thoughts. They sacrifice their time to others but rarely set aside time for themselves. It's absurd, Seneca notes, to protect one's money and possessions yet freely give away one's far more valuable time. We must also hold in mind the fact that we will die. Our time is limited, much of it already gone, and we have no idea how much remains. Today could be your last day. It's easy to assume we'll live to eighty or ninety, but this assumption encourages postponing things to a future that may never come. Seneca mocks those who delay their dreams until retirement. Will you reach that age? Will you be healthy enough to pursue your ambitions? Even if all goes well, why postpone life until most of it is over? There's also the question of what's worth pursuing. Many seek success in various forms—wealth, fame, honors, high office. Yet Seneca notes that those who attain such things rarely find satisfaction, as success brings new demands and pressures. Having gained everything they wanted, they lack the one thing they now desire: time for themselves, for peace and quiet. Modern life's constant distractions—noise, interruptions, media—demand our attention to the point that focusing becomes difficult. "Living is the least important activity of the preoccupied man," Seneca observes. Such people become restless, unable to relax or concentrate, only fully appreciating life's value when it's nearly over. If we don't address these issues, Seneca argues, it doesn't matter how long we live. Even a thousand-year lifespan would be largely wasted. The task isn't to extend life but to make full use of each day, recognizing it could be our last. Though learning to live well may take a lifetime, preserving our time and devoting it to ourselves is essential: "Everyone hustles his life along, and is troubled by a longing for the future and weariness of the present. But the man who spends all his time on his own needs, who organizes every day as though it were his last, neither longs for nor fears the next day." This approach doesn't mean avoiding planning for the future. Seneca reminds us to contemplate that any day could be our last, creating urgency that prevents wasting precious time. With this awareness, he recommends philosophy—thinking, learning, reading history and literature, reflecting on past and present—as the most worthy activity, in contrast to rushing around pursuing worldly success, which is "won at the cost of life."

Chapter 7: Living Together: Stoicism and Our Social Nature

Much of Stoic philosophy appears self-focused, but this doesn't mean it advocates turning away from others to concentrate solely on personal wellbeing. The Stoics emphasized that we are not isolated individuals but parts of nature. They agreed with Aristotle that humans are by nature social and political animals. We are born into communities: our family, local community, country, and ultimately the community of all humankind. The Stoic turn inward is primarily aimed at cultivating virtuous character traits and avoiding harmful emotions like anger, so that we can be more effective members of these communities. Epictetus stressed that each of us inhabits multiple social roles, some natural (like being a parent) and others connected to social positions or jobs we hold. Someone who becomes a doctor or magistrate commits to responsibilities that come with the role, and we judge harshly those who neglect these duties. Living a good life means being a good human being—embracing our nature as rational and social creatures while fulfilling our various roles. Epictetus once chided a magistrate who had fled when his daughter became gravely ill because he couldn't bear to see her suffering. Epictetus pointed out two failings: selfishly focusing on his own feelings while neglecting his daughter's, and abandoning his role as a father. The man claimed to have fled out of love for his daughter, but true parental love would have made him stay. He failed to fulfill his role. Beyond specific roles, the Stoics believed we have duties to the wider human community. Hierocles described humans as situated within expanding circles of concern, beginning with ourselves, then encompassing our immediate family, local community, and eventually all humankind. This Stoic cosmopolitanism recognizes dual citizenship: in our local community and in the universal community of rational beings. This cosmopolitan outlook didn't mean neglecting local responsibilities. Seneca wrote: "Let us grasp the idea that there are two commonwealths—the one, a vast and truly common state, which embraces alike gods and men... the other, the one to which we have been assigned by the accident of birth." We have responsibilities to both, though our duty to humanity transcends local customs when they conflict. Far from advocating political passivity, Stoicism has a long tradition of political engagement. Helvidius Priscus, a Roman senator and Stoic, refused to back down when Emperor Vespasian abused the Senate's authority. Despite warnings, he defended the rights of all senators and was executed for his principles. Marcus Aurelius later honored him as someone who taught the value of "a community based on equality and freedom of speech for all." The Stoics also recognized the equality of all humans. Musonius Rufus, who taught Epictetus, argued that women have the same powers of reasoning as men and the same natural inclination toward virtue. Though this might seem unremarkable today, it was progressive two thousand years ago. For the Stoics, all people are equal in their shared rationality and capacity for virtue. While Stoicism emphasizes our social nature, Epictetus cautioned against certain social influences. It's difficult to break free from destructive habits if we're surrounded by people still living that way. "If you brush up against someone covered in soot," he warned, "you're going to get covered in soot yourself." When trying to develop new habits, we should be cautious about whom we spend time with, seeking out those whose values we share or admire rather than those who embody what we're trying to escape. This wisdom inspired ancient philosophers to form schools and likely influenced monastic traditions in various religions. Today, people interested in Stoicism often seek communities of like-minded individuals, either in person or online. Despite warning against harmful company, Epictetus recognized that learning Stoicism benefits from being a social endeavor. The final lesson is that we are naturally parts of multiple communities, both local and global. Far from counseling isolation or political disengagement, Stoicism encourages us to fulfill our responsibilities to others and to live up to the highest standards of civic virtue. The Stoic ideal is not withdrawal from the world but more effective engagement with it.

Summary

At its core, Stoicism offers a revolutionary perspective: much of our suffering stems not from external events but from our judgments about them. The Stoics teach us to distinguish between what we can control—our judgments, actions, and character—and what we cannot. By focusing on what's within our power while accepting what isn't, we can achieve tranquility regardless of external circumstances. This doesn't mean becoming emotionless, but rather directing our emotional energy productively and avoiding destructive feelings like anger, resentment, and fear. Perhaps the most powerful aspect of Stoic philosophy is how it transforms our relationship with life's inevitable challenges. Rather than seeing adversity as misfortune, we can view it as an opportunity for growth and character development. Similarly, by embracing our mortality instead of denying it, we gain a profound appreciation for the time we have. What questions might this ancient wisdom raise for our modern lives? How might our relationships, careers, and communities change if we adopted the Stoic practice of focusing on what we can control? How would our political discourse transform if we emphasized our shared humanity above our differences? For anyone seeking practical wisdom in an uncertain world, the Stoic path offers timeless guidance for living with purpose, resilience, and inner peace.

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John Sellars

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