The problem I have with Stoics
They’re too awesome for the rest of us mortals.
My latest book seems to be hitting with Stoics, which is cool; Stoics include those rare men who still read books. I recently had several fun conversations with leading stoical podcasters, including the popular Tanner Campbell. He and I covered habits, “charms,” chaos, naps, and the power of words. You can listen here.
It surprises me that Stoics like my book, because I’m not a Stoic. The stoical insistance on the “good life,” striving for the Cardinal Virtues of Temperance, Justice, Courage, and Wisdom, leaves little room for ice cream or jokes.1
Q: How many Stoics does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Stoic: Is this joke necessary?
If there is a single Stoic motto, it might be: It’s all up to you! You’re in charge of your emotions and attitudes, you govern them with your rational self, your actions show how far you have gone on the path of virtue; and that is the point of a stoical life: It’s a life of virtue.2
You might say I’m more epicurious.
Epicureans believe that the point of life isn’t virtue but happiness. Your job, should you deign to have one, is to live free of fear and troubles. While a stoical diet is a “virtuous” one, an Epicurean diet comprises meals you won’t regret later.3
But my problem with modern Stoics isn’t their virtue—some of my best friends are virtuous!—it’s that most Stoics seem to have been born naturally stoical. They were attracted to the philosophy because they already lived disciplined lives. Books on Stoicism simply confirmed who they were. Like Shakespeare’s Prospero, the philosophy endowed their purposes with words that made them known.4
On the other hand, many “Stoics” through the ages were hardly stoical. The great Stoic philosopher Seneca served as the righthand man to horrible Emperor Nero.5 The Roman orator and rhetorician Marcus Tullius Cicero proudly declared himself a Stoic while living the most unstoical life imaginable. San Francisco is chockfull of tech bros who proclaim themselves Stoics while stepping over homeless people. So much for a life of virtue.
In short, Stoics tend to be either intimidatingly excellent regardless of philosophy, or they’re hypocrites.6 A rare thoughtful few—Tanner Campbell among them—swear that the great books on Stoicism made them Stoics. For the Tanner Campbells of the world, Stoicism offers a brilliant self-help philosophy.
For the rest of us…
The rest of us will violate the stoical rule of prosoche7 by downing an entire container of Cherry Garcia. For us there’s Aristotle, the original philosopher of habits. Aristotle understood that our virtuous, good-life-forward souls rarely align with our daily behavior. We struggle even to determine just what our soul is.
The philosopher offers a solution: learn to distinguish your “appetites” from your needs. Those needs—the things that satisfy our deepest sense of self—reveal your soul. When my wife suggested I write a book using rhetorical tools for self-persuasion, my Aristotelian soul provided an audience. By showing I was worthy of that uppity soul of mine, I could persuade myself into better habits.
But Aristotle doesn’t launch us into CrossFit and Keto. In his Rhetoric, he writes that the persuader (you) should make a goal seem irresistible, then make attaining it seem easy. I call this technique the Lure & Ramp. Envision a glorious achievement, then ratchet up slowly. My own Lure & Ramp experiment entailed a gloriously stupid and pointless athletic feat; I began my “training” by creating my own personal time zone.
Don’t get me wrong about Stoicism. The philosophy offers great practical wisdom if we can bear it. The stoical hegemonikon, the “ruling faculty of the soul” (a concept that comes straight from Aristotle) can inoculate us against self-pity and nostalgia.
Epicureanism, on the other hand, makes us more open to happiness without the need to apply ourselves too painfully. Though the two schools have hated each other for eons, I believe we can learn from each.
But I started with Aristotle, who taught me the value of napping, flossing, and manipulating my own noble soul.
Books on Stoicism
Tanner Campbell’s What Is Stoicism? offers the best primer.
Ryan Holiday’s The Obstacle Is the Way is the bestselling book on Stoicism as a modern practice. He and I recorded a podcast in Austin; I’ll post it when it publishes.
Emily Wilson’s The Greatest Empire: A Life of Seneca describes one of history’s most interesting hypocrites. Wilson later struck literary gold with her fresh translations of Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad.
Tanner Campbell has a delightful dry humor, an exception that proves the stoical rule.
“Virtue” comes from the Latin vir—man. The ancients defined the virtuous person as a man who lived nobly. In ancient times, women had little agency; men governed women, making women’s souls irrelevant. To the degree that women have agency today, they’re free to engage their hegemonikon. Or not.
The Epicurean diet does not include chefs’ tasting menus; ancient followers of their founder, Epicurus, lived mostly on porridge, cheese, and wine. He once said a block of cheese was as good as a feast. In his eyes I am no Epicurean.
It’s why trial litigators love Thank You for Arguing. I endow Greek and Latin names to the persuasion they already use.
To Seneca’s credit (?), Nero later forced him to commit suicide.
Hypocrite is a deeply rhetorical term. It comes from the Greek words for “before” and “decision.” It’s one of five lost words I covered in a previous post.
Prosoche is the practice of paying attention to the moment. Consuming a tub of ice cream without a thought is very un-prosochical.
Cicero was an Academic Skeptic, not a Stoic, but he did find many parts of Stoicism persuasive.
I just ordered your latest book about Aristotle (was that his first or last name? No one ever seems to call him Jimbo Aristotle......) so he, and you, can once again get me on the path to enlightenment (looking to shed 10-15 lbs).