Did the Stoics Really Say That? By Thomas Colligan

There has been a great surge of interest in Stoicism over the past few years. This interest has manifested itself primarily in online communities. Many members new to these communities are very excited to learn more about and share their knowledge of Stoicism. One popular way to share wisdom on the Internet, is to take a quote that you like, slap it onto a landscape image, and then share it with everyone on Instagram.

In their excitement, many people new to Stoicism end up sharing these various quotes and phrases, thinking that the Stoics such as Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, and Epictetus have indeed said all of them. But very often, this is actually not the case. Many of these misattributed quotes seem fairly close to what these Stoics may have said at first glance, but they often do not hold up to closer scrutiny.

From what I have seen in my own participation within the online Stoic communities, Marcus Aurelius appears to be the poster child for misattributed quotes. Here, we are going to look at some of the most popular quotes that are typically misattributed to Marcus Aurelius, try to figure out where they may have come from, and determine how we might go about distinguishing real quotes from fake ones in the future.

Let’s take a look at the first one.

From what I have seen, this is by far the most prolific quote that is often misattributed to Marcus Aurelius. This quote appears to be denying that there is an objective reality, and is instead endorsing an anything goes subjective view of the world. Marcus and the Stoics certainly would not of endorsed this kind of view. But then, where could this quote have come from? If we look inside of Meditations, we can find some passages that have interesting parallels to the quote in question.

In Meditations 2.15 Marcus says the following:

Everything is what you suppose it to be. For the words that were addressed to the Cynic Monimus are clear enough, and clear too, the value of that saying, if one accepts its inner meaning, so far as it is true.

The first part of this passage, “Everything is what you suppose it to be” sounds an awful lot like the quote we were looking at originally which started off by saying “Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact.” However, there is a lot of extra context to our passage in Meditations. Who is the Cynic Monimus? This is why having a translation with good footnotes is often important.

In the Robin Hard translation, it notes that Monimus was a Cynic philosopher in the 4th Century BCE who is supposed to have originally said “Everything is what you suppose it to be”. These words were also retorted back to him to show that they are self refuting.

Back in Meditations, Marcus says that these words are “clear and valuable if you accept their inner meaning so far as they are true”. So Marcus is saying here to not take these words literally, but to take their inner meaning. What is this inner meaning? If we read through more of Meditations is starts to become clear.

Do away with the judgement, and the notion ‘I have been harmed’ is done away with; do away with that notion, and the harm itself is gone. – Meditations 4.7

If you suffer distress because of some external cause, it is not the thing itself that troubles you but your judgement about it, and it is within your power to cancel that judgement at any moment. But if what distresses you is something that lies in your own disposition, who is to prevent you from correcting your way of thinking? – Meditations 8.47

From these two passages we can see what Marcus is really saying. That it is not things in themselves that cause us distress, but rather, our judgements that these things are bad which cause us distress. But we have control over our judgements, so we have control over what we consider to be harmful or not. It is in this way that “Everything is as you supposed it to be”.

But this is not to say that all judgements are equally valid, or that we should merely change all of our judgements so that we never think we are harmed by anything at all. This idea isn’t so clear from Meditations alone. We need to actually go to Epictetus, who Marcus Aurelius also drew many of his own thoughts from.

In Epictetus’s Discourses 2.11.13 it says:

Look now, this is the starting point of philosophy: the recognition that different people have conflicting opinions, the rejection of mere opinion so that it comes to be viewed with mistrust, and investigation of opinion to determine whether it is rightly held, and the discovery of a standard of judgment, comparable to the balance that we have devised for the determining of weights, or the carpenter’s rule for determining whether things are straight or crooked.

Epictetus here is explicitly saying that opinion and judgement can be rightly or wrongly held, so there is a correct standard by which to weigh these things. What is that standard by which we can weight these things? For the Stoics the standard is ‘reason’.

This becomes even more clear in one of Seneca’s letters where he says:

Reason then, is the arbiter of what is good and bad, and reason holds cheap whatever is external and not its own. Those things which are neither good nor bad are in its judgement very small and trivial additions; for as far as reason is concerned, every good is in the mind. – Letters to Lucilius 66.35

So reason allows us to form correct judgements about what is good or bad. Whatever is external to us for the Stoics, can neither be good nor bad. Our judgements may tell us that external things are good or bad, but these are incorrect judgements that need to be corrected. We often think we are harmed when actually we are not.

So, if we go back to the original quote we were looking at: “Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.”

We can see that:

1. Taken literally, as it often is, this is a self refuting statement, much like that statement that was said by Monimus the Cynic and mentioned by Marcus in Meditations.

2. It conflicts with the idea that the Stoics had, that reason can objectively decide whether an opinion or judgement is correct or not. Based on all of this, I think it is safe to say that this quote is now fully debunked.

Let’s take a look at another one.

The first thing that is interesting to note here is that this is not a picture of Marcus Aurelius, or at least, not the Marcus Aurelius that wrote Meditations. This is an image of Emperor Caracalla who ruled about 20 years after Marcus Aurelius did. Interestingly enough, Caracalla was just his nickname, his full name was originally Lucius Septimius Bassianus, but he was actually renamed Marcus Aurelius Antoninus at the age of seven as part of his father’s attempt at union with the families of Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius. So the mistake here actually makes some sense. Whoever created this image just got their Marcuses mixed up.

The quote itself is very agnostic or atheistic in its overall tone. It admits that if the gods exist they may or may not be unjust towards humans, and also admits that they may not exist at all. It seems to hold all potential options as equal in probability and to be of equal weight. However, in general this is not in line with ancient Stoic thinking. The vast majority of ancient Stoics were very pious, believing that the Universe itself was equivalent to God.

If we look through Meditations, we can find a passage, 2.11 that on the surface, appears to be very similar to the quote in question, but at a deeper level, it is very different.

Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. But taking your leave of the human race is nothing to be feared, if the gods exist; for they would not involve you in anything bad. If, on the other hand, they do not exist, or if they do not concern themselves with human affairs, why should I care to go on living in a world devoid of gods or devoid of providence?

But they do exist, and they do show concern for human affairs, and they have placed it wholly within the power of human beings never to fall into genuine evils; and besides, if anything were bad for us, they would have taken measures too to ensure that everyone would have it in his power not to fall victim to it.

Here Marcus gives us a very different perspective from our aforementioned quote. Marcus is saying that if the gods do exist, they would care for us and not involve us in anything bad, and if they do not exist we should question whether or not it is even worth living in a world that is devoid of them and providence. Marcus then affirms that the gods do in fact exist, and that they have given us the tools to not fall victim to true evils.

Now in other parts of the Meditations, Marcus does bring up the question of if the Gods exist or whether the universe is just atoms swerving randomly in the void as the Epicureans believed, but Marcus always comes back to the point that either way, whatever is true, it should not change how you behave, that you should be virtuous regardless for it’s own sake.

The last part of our quote in question is actually the most uncharacteristic portion where it says: “If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.”

Marcus frequently rejects the idea that living on in the memories of others is a valid basis for ethical action.

Close is the time when you will forget all things; and close, too, the time when all will forget you. – Meditations, 7.21

Turn it inside out, and see what sort of thing it is, and what becomes of it when it grows old, or falls sick or into distress. Short is the life of both praiser and praised, and of the one who remembers and the one who is remembered; and this comes about in just a corner of one region of the world, and not even there are all in accord, nor indeed is anyone in accord with himself, and the earth as a whole is but a point in the universe. – Meditations, 8.21

One who feels a passionate desire for posthumous fame fails to recognize that everyone who remembers him will die very swiftly in his turn, and then again the one who takes over from him, until all memory is utterly extinguished as it passes from one person to another and each in succession is lit and then snuffed out. And supposing for the sake of argument that those who will remember are indeed immortal, and the remembrance is immortal, what is that to you? I hardly need say that praise means nothing to the dead; but what does it mean to the living, unless, perhaps, it serves some secondary purpose? For you are rejecting inopportunely the gift that nature grants to you in the present, and are setting your mind on what others may say of you. – Meditations, 4.19

So from this, we can seem that Marcus deemed fame, praise, and the memory of others as an insignificant and trifling thing. We have again shown how this quote is an incorrect interpretation of what Marcus Aurelius actually said and thought.

There is one last quote often attributed to Marcus that I would like to cover, and it is this one.

First off, for anyone who is familiar with the content of Marcus’s Meditations, they can almost immediately tell that this is certainly far too positive a statement for Marcus to of written. The tone here should make you suspicious right away. Marcus is much more at home saying things such as:

You are a little soul carrying a corpse around, as Epictetus used to say. – Meditations, 4.41


When you have savouries and fine dishes set before you, you will gain an idea of their nature if you tell yourself that this is the corpse of a fish, and that the corpse of a bird or a pig; or again, that fine Falernian wine is merely grape-juice, and this purple robe some sheep’s wool dipped in the blood of a shellfish; and as for sexual intercourse, it is the friction of a piece of gut and, following a sort of convulsion, the expulsion of some mucus. Thoughts such as these reach through to the things themselves and strike to the heart of them, allowing us to see them as they truly are. – Meditations 6.13

The most similar passage to our new quote in question is from 5.1:

Early in the morning, when you find it so hard to rouse yourself from your sleep, have these thoughts ready at hand: ’I am rising to do the work of a human being. Why, then, am I so irritable if I am going out to do what I was born to do and what I was brought into this world for?

After a little bit of digging online, you can actually find that our quote is first attributed to Marcus Aurelius in a journal from 1913 called The Fra: For Philistines and Roycrofters, Volume 12, which is full of positive affirmations from various sources. The quote is not properly cited in that text, so at this point it is pretty safe to say that Marcus Aurelius did not say this quote either.

Finally to summarize, based on what we have learned, here are five rules of thumb you can use the next time you find a quote posted on the Internet that is attributed to a famous Stoic philosopher.

1. If there is no citation in the quote of where it specifically came from, be suspicious.

2. If it sounds like it endorses full blown relativism, be suspicious.

3. If it contains the image of a character that you do not recognize, be suspicious.

4. If it sounds very agnostic or atheistic in tone, be suspicious.

5. If it sounds like modern day positive thinking, be suspicious.

But does any of this even matter? Why should we care about whether these quotes that are often attributed to Marcus Aurelius are accurate or not?

Well on the one hand, these quotes do not correctly portray what Marcus and the Stoics thought in general. People who are just getting into and learning about Stoicism for the first time will take these as accurate representations, and attain an inaccurate image of what the Stoics were trying to say.

The Stoics were very concerned with understanding what was true, as they believed that knowing what was true or correct was crucial in order for one to live a good life. So it seems only fair that we try and represent their opinions as accurately as possible.

On the other hand, just because the Stoics did not say these things does not mean that these quotes are not valuable, or helpful. Perhaps these quotes in question even contain some truth of their own.

One of Seneca’s more popular sayings highlights this point well:

What then? Shall I not follow in the footsteps of my predecessors? I shall indeed use the old road, but if I find one that makes a shorter cut and is smoother to travel, I shall open the new road. Men who have made these discoveries before us are not our masters, but our guides. Truth lies open for all; it has not yet been monopolized. And there is plenty of it left even for posterity to discover. – Letters to Lucilius, 33.10

The source of these quotes does not matter as much as whether they are true or not, as the truth is what can help us to live a better life.

Thomas Colligan is a Software Engineer and a practicing Stoic living in NYC. His interests include technology, philosophy, and finding wisdom wherever he can. He was also inspired by Cicero’s archer metaphor in De Finibus to practice archery, and may even pretend he is good at it sometimes.

Stoicism and Happiness by Massimo Pigliucci

Leading up to Stoic Week this year – which runs from Monday, October 1 to Sunday, October 7 – we will publish a series of shorter weekday posts, focused on the theme of “Happiness”.  Interested in writing a 300-600 word post, well-informed by Stoicism, on that topic?  Email your draft to the editor of Stoicism Today.

Happiness is a strange word. It’s first use in the English language goes back to the 15th century, and in Shakespeare’s time it meant something different from what it means today: good fortune, in the sense of prosperity. Nowadays it refers to a pleasurable state of well-being and contentment, but even there it may indicate an in-the-moment feeling (“this gelato makes me happy!”) or a long term evaluation of one’s life (“I’m happy with my relationship”). Indeed, psychological research shows that these latter two senses are often at odds: people who have children, for instance, tend to be rather unhappy on a moment-to-moment basis, but often report a high degree of satisfaction when it comes to the meaningfulness of their existence.

It is for this reason that modern positive psychologists (i.e., the psychologists who work on normal aspects of human life, not just the pathologies) have dropped the word altogether. Instead, they have adopted the Greek term, eudaimonia, untranslated. This is an improvement, except that even the ancient Greeks meant different things when using the word.

For instance, the Aristotelians did mean something close to another popular translation of the term, “flourishing,” since they thought that a eudaimonic life requires not just the practice of virtue, but also a certain degree of externals, like health, education, wealth, and even good looks.

By contrast, the Stoics famously said that the sage is “happy” even on the rack, i.e., when tortured. That cannot possibly mean that the sage is flourishing, unless one is willing to deploy a very twisted sense of that term. What the Stoics meant was that — so long as the sage is virtuous (and she is, otherwise she wouldn’t be a sage) — her life was worth living, though very obviously not pleasurable.

Other Greco-Roman schools had their own account of what makes one eudaimon: for the Skeptics it was the suspension of judgment about things, which leads to non-attachment; for the Cyrenaics it was (moderate) physical pleasure; for the Epicureans it was (virtuous) absence of pain. And so forth. Indeed, an appreciation of the differences in how they cashed out eudaimonia is an excellent key to understand the panoply of philosophical approaches within the broad family of virtue ethics.

Within Stoic circles, the major source on happiness is of course Seneca, who wrote a whole book about it. From that book, we can extract what I occasionally call Seneca’s seven commandments, though wise suggestions would be a better way to put it (On the Happy Life, XX, commentary here):

I) I will look upon death or upon a comedy with the same expression of countenance.

II) I will despise riches when I have them as much as when I have them not.

III) I will view all lands as though they belong to me, and my own as though they belonged to all mankind.

IV) Whatever I may possess, I will neither hoard it greedily nor squander it recklessly.

V) I will do nothing because of public opinion, but everything because of conscience.

VI) I will be agreeable with my friends, gentle and mild to my foes: I will grant pardon before I am asked for it, and will meet the wishes of honourable men half-way.

VII) Whenever either Nature demands my breath again, or reason bids me dismiss it, I will quit this life, calling all to witness that I have loved a good conscience, and good pursuits.

I wager that this would be a far better world if we all strove to match our behavior to Seneca’s advice.

Massimo Pigliucci is the K.D. Irani Professor of Philosophy at the City College of New York. He is the author of several books, including How To Be A Stoic: Using Ancient Philosophy to Live a Modern Life. He produces the almost daily Stoic Meditations podcast and blogs at Footnotes To Plato.

Stoicism and the Family by Liz Gloyn

The following is a summary of the presentation Dr. Liz Gloyn provided at Stoicon-X London in 2017.  Dr. Gloyn will also be presenting at Stoicon 2018 next month.

Stoicism argues that we are each responsible for our moral disposition and thus are fully in control of our own journey towards virtue. It is very much up to us to look at our failings and to seek to improve them by correcting any misunderstandings we might have about what virtue actually consists of; as such, a lot of Stoic activity involves frank introspection and asking ourselves hard questions about whether our conceits and affronts are in fact justified. That doesn’t mean that Stoicism never talks about how we, as individuals, should engage with other people. The Stoics have a lot to say about how the good Stoic disciple should be an active and engaged citizen, and also about how he should interact with other sages, or with non-sages whom he encounters. Yet one aspect of Stoic thought which tends to get overlooked is how the Stoic should interact with his family.

Much of the approach the Stoics advocate is based on their theory of oikeiōsis. The Stoics used this term to refer to two distinct processes which were clearly related to each other, but no surviving text explains the link. The first phase, what has been labelled personal oikeiōsis, happens when we are infants, and is when a child realises that the pink waving thing in front of her face is actually her hand. The second phase occurs once we have reached the age of reason – presumably somewhere around fourteen or fifteen – when we are able to start thinking about the relationship between us and other people.

To explain this process, the Stoic Hierocles used an image of concentric circles. He wrote that the smallest circle is the one that includes the individual and the individual alone; the second circle, which surrounds the first, contains immediate blood relatives; the third circle contains more distant relations, like grandparents, uncles and aunts; the fourth circle contains any remaining relatives. The circles continue, gradually expanding to include neighbours, then members of the same tribe, then inhabitants of the same city, until finally the circles encompass the whole human race.

The process of oikeiōsis is the way in which the aspiring Stoic begins to brings the interests of the people in each of the circles into the circle which contains the self, until ultimately the perfect sage thinks of the interests of all of humanity as being her own. Hierocles talks about the early stages of this process as being firmly rooted in the family. Indeed, the bond between a mother and her baby was often used to illustrate oikeiōsis at work, both in animals and in humans; the way that a mother immediately protects its offspring, often in self-sacrificing ways, was taken as evidence of stepping out of that first circle of the self, into the circle that includes children, and considering someone else’s best interests to be your own.

Hierocles constructs a very different model for understanding ancient family relationships to the conventional ones we might be more familiar with. The normal structure of the ancient Roman family was very strongly hierarchical. At the top of the structure was the paterfamilias, the oldest male in the bloodline; that could be your father, grandfather, uncle or great-uncle, or perhaps even your older brother. The paterfamilias had absolute authority, including the right of life and death, over everyone in his familia, which included everyone related by paternal bloodline, as well as any wives who had married into the familia and any slaves belonging to the household.

Hierocles’ model breaks that hierarchical structure down completely. The first circle beyond the self includes parents, siblings, your spouse and your children, in a subtle significant rearrangement of relationships. First of all, the father is taken down from his pedestal and put on the same level as the mother. Second, rather than simply reproducing the hierarchy with one’s parents at the top of the pile, the model completely abandons a top-down approach, and sees parents as standing in the same relation to us as our siblings, spouse and children. We might have seen our siblings and spouse as being vaguely equal, as they are more likely to belong to our age cohort, but Stoic theory challenges us to move away from thinking about our other family relationships in a vertical way.

Perhaps the easiest way to think about how this model changes our relationship to the family comes from thinking about the role that they are supposed to play in our lives, not just as authoritarian disciplinarians, but as ethical role models. The Romans generally expected fathers to be the benchmark by which their sons would measure themselves, and that mothers would police their sons’ more outrageous behaviour, but saw ethics as a fundamentally civil activity, concerned with producing good citizens, in contrast to the internal focus that Stoicism encourages in its adherents.

Marcus Aurelius puts the various qualities he’s inherited from his family at the front of the Meditations:

From my grandfather Verus I learned good morals and the government of my temper.

From the reputation and remembrance of my father, modesty and a manly character.

From my mother, piety and beneficence, and abstinence, not only from evil deeds, but even from evil thoughts; and further, simplicity in my way of living, far removed from the habits of the rich.

From my great-grandfather, not to have frequented public schools, and to have had good teachers at home, and to know that on such things a man should spend liberally. (Meditations 1, trans. George Long)

That he chooses to open the work with a list of these moral legacies, rather than with (for instance) a family biography, signals that the influence of the family on his moral development has been significant and deserves to have pride of place in the story that he wants the Meditations to tell. If you only read the first page of the Meditations, you will know that he feels debts of gratitude not only to his grandfather and great-grandfather, and indirectly his father, but also to his mother.

Indeed, he says that his mother taught him by her example about not only avoiding evil deeds but even contemplating them – such things simply did not occur to her. To be so in tune with virtue that the opportunity for vicious behaviour never comes to mind is surely what the Stoics would consider one mark of the perfect sage. Equally, simplicity in living is another mark of sage-like behaviour, not to be too attached to the trappings of wealth – although Marcus Aurelius’ definition of a modest lifestyle might not have matched up to the modest lifestyles of his citizens.

Mothers might act not just as models for their sons, but also as companions along the moral journey, further illustrating the Stoic challenge to the assumption of hierarchy in family relationships. In his Consolation to Helvia, Seneca writes a short speech that he imagines his mother Helvia saying as she grieves over his absence in exile, outlining the various elements of their relationship that she misses:

Therefore I am without the embrace of my most dear son; I cannot enjoy the sight of him or his conversation. Where is he, at whose appearance I relaxed my sad face, in whom I lay all my worries down? Where are the conversations which I could not have enough of? Where are the studies in which I took part more happily than a woman, more intimately than a mother? Where is that encounter? Where is that always boyish cheerfulness at seeing his mother? (Consolation to Helvia 15.1, trans. Liz Gloyn)

Alongside missing his smile and his delight in seeing her, Helvia also misses her son’s conversation and their shared studies. As the rest of Seneca’s advice to Helvia makes clear, the subject in question is philosophical – he encourages her to continue with her study of philosophy in order to give her true comfort in her situation. The implication is that Seneca and his mother have been working together on reading and talking about Stoicism, as a shared and mutually enjoyable endeavour. Rather than the parent funnelling down moral knowledge to the child, in a supposedly infallible way, Helvia and Seneca have been partners in the question of ethical exploration; the rigid hierarchy of a relationship based on age has been abandoned.

In part, this is because of Seneca’s own maturation as a rational adult – I am not suggesting the Stoics think this is an appropriate way to parent an eight year old. But the challenge to unquestioned parental authority, and the call to operate through mutual enquiry, seems to be the underlying premise of the relationship here.

These are just snippets of the things that the Stoics have to say about the family. The issue is that the family can often get eclipsed by other things – by the focus on the individual, or by other theories and ideas. But if a Stoic disciple is serious about living a life which is fully consistent with Stoic principles, then she must always apply them consistently – and that includes in her dealings with her family.

Liz Gloyn is Senior Lecturer in Classics at Royal Holloway, University of London. She is the author of The Ethics of the Family in Seneca. You can find her blog at Classically Inclined

Dear Seneca, Thanks for the Gratitude by Kevin Vost

Among the many and diverse errors of those who live reckless and thoughtless lives, almost nothing that I can mention, excellent Liberalis, is more disgraceful than the fact the we do not know how either to give or to receive benefits…Nor is it surprising that among all our many and great vices, none is so common as ingratitude. – Seneca, On Benefits[1]

Dear Seneca

Lucius Anneas Seneca (4 BC – 65 AD) is among the Stoic authors I hold most dear. I love to read him over and over and particularly enjoy alternating immersion in his world of elegant style and pithy bon mots, with that of the gruff and earthy no-nonsense Epictetus in his Discourses, and the somber profundities of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations.  Seneca’s extant philosophical writings consist mostly of a series of what are termed “Moral Essays,” in the Harvard’s Loeb Library edition, as well as his 124 Letters to his friend Lucilius. Seneca wrote on a vast number of interesting and important topics and here I’ll zoom in on his most noble musings on gratitude.

Seneca’s work De Beneficiis (On Benefits) is the longest of his moral essays, with 525 pages of text in Loeb’s Latin & English edition. Therein, he looks at the nature of and perfection of both giving and receiving, of the virtues of generosity and of gratitude. His Letter 81, “On Benefits,” summarizes the gist of his writing on gratitude in under a dozen pages.

Among the things for which I’m most grateful to Seneca is the way he so freely and frequently borrows from the sayings of other thinkers of other philosophical schools whenever he thought they spoke important truths about leading a virtuous life. I’ve also been a student of St. Thomas Aquinas for many years, and he was also famous for embracing truth wherever it might be found.  He would write in his famous little Letter of Saint Thomas to Brother John on how to study: “Do not place value on who says what, but rather, commit to your memory whatever true things are said.” (Though Thomas, like Seneca, was also very good about giving credit where credit was due, citing the sources for the truths he passed on to others.)

So, getting down to business, the little essay that follows is an excerpt from Unearthing Your Ten Talents, a book I wrote about Thomas Aquinas’s approach to ten virtues (the classical intellectual virtues of science, understanding, and wisdom; the cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance; and the Christian theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity.) It is within his treatment of the virtue of justice, of “giving each person their rightful due,” that St. Thomas expounds on the related virtue of gratitude that helps perfect the virtue of justice.

It is also here, among a few other places in his Summa Theologica, that he freely and frequently makes use of the wisdom of Seneca. In the second part of the second part of the Summa Theologica, Questions 106 and 107, (ST, II-II, Qs.106 & 107) Thomas includes ten articles  addressing various aspects of the virtue of gratitude and the vice of ingratitude.

A quick perusing by eyeball yields at least 23 direct citations from Seneca along with their locations within his On Benefits. Indeed, he cites Seneca far more often than he does “The Philosopher” Aristotle on this topic. I’ve included some of these citations below. For readers who might like to track some of them down, the Summa Theologica is free and easily searchable online and it will provide the sources. (I am thankful to find that Seneca’s Letters and his On Benefits are also freely accessible online – though I cannot imagine not owning hard copies!)

Anyway, what follows is my excerpt from my Unearthing Your Ten Talents summarizing what Aquinas had to say about gratitude – and how thankful he was to Seneca for paving the way![2]  I think there are still lessons in there of use to all of us today.

 Thanks for the Gratitude

The individual with the talent for justice seeks to repay debts, debts to God through the virtue of religion, debts to parents and country through piety, debts to those excelling in dignity through observance, and debts to benefactors, to those who grant  particular and private favors or benefits, through the virtue of thankfulness or gratiarum actio – gratitude.  St. Thomas tells us that Cicero rightly placed gratitude as one of the virtues annexed to justice.

It was another ancient Roman philosopher, Lucius Anneas Seneca (4 BC – 65 AD), who literally wrote the book on gratitude (De Beneficiis – On Benefits). St. Thomas shares liberally from Seneca’s sliver-tongued words of counsel when analyzing this virtue.  I can barely do it justice here, but I’ll try to show a little gratitude for what these great men have shared on this subject by introducing some highlights and praying that you will seek out more, both in the Summa and in the writings of Seneca.

“Give thanks in all circumstances” counsels St. Paul (1 Thess. 5:18). Let us consider the ways to give these thanks.  First of all, note that we are to give thanks “in all circumstances.” Are you ever tempted to disregard a favor from someone?“Well, she was just nice because she wanted something.” “His wife told him he should do it.” “He didn’t really want to do it for me, but he felt pressure from the boss, his co-workers, or friends.” “He just gave them to me because he didn’t want them himself. (Why, everybody knows he can’t stand black jelly beans!)”  “He gave me the money. So what? He’s rich and it was nothing to him.”  “Sure he put in a good word to get me that promotion, but he just wanted to show his clout.”  (Again I’m reminded of Aristotle’s comment on virtue and how there are so many ways to miss the bull’s eye.)

Let’s hear Seneca on this one:

It is the height of malevolence to refuse to recognize a kindness, unless the giver has been the loser thereby.

And St. Thomas chimes in with his trademark profundity of wisdom and kindness:

It is the mark of a happy disposition to see good rather than evil. Wherefore, if someone has conferred a favor not as he ought have conferred it, the recipient should not for that reason withhold his thanks.

How then, do we show our gratitude to our benefactors in all circumstances?  Seneca says “Do you wish to repay a favor? Receive it graciously.” Even if we are benefited by someone so rich or powerful that we can never repay him in kind, we can still repay by our attitude, our facial expression, our words, and our deeds, or as Seneca notes with “good advice, frequent fellowship, affable and pleasant conversation without flattery.”

Further, the grateful “outpourings of one’s heart” should be heard, not only within the benefactors’ earshot, but within the hearing of others, repaying the benefactor with well earned honor.  Aristotle has noted after all, that honor is virtue’s reward. The benefactor who receives some well-earned esteem may then be all the more inspired to seek new ways to continue to benefit others.

When benefits are to be repaid, we should do so promptly and gladly, but we should not be in such a hurry to repay that we inconvenience the giver, or make him feel we have been made uncomfortable by the very favor he conferred.  And what then is the height of ingratitude?  It is not to fail to repay the favor, because we may not always be able to repay, though we would dearly like to. The height of ingratitude is to forget the favor or ignore the debt through negligence.

Surely we’ve all sinned through ingratitude at one time or another.  But how should the person who displays the virtue of gratitude treat the person who does not? We learn from the gospel of Luke, “the beloved physician,” that Jesus told us “lend, expect nothing in return.” (Luke 6:35).  Quite fittingly, St. Thomas advises us that:

he that bestows a favor must not at once act the part of a punisher of ingratitude, but rather that of a kindly physician, by healing the ingratitude with repeated favors.

To conclude in the words of old Seneca himself:

Is a man ungrateful for one benefit? Perhaps he will not be so for a second. Has he forgotten two benefits? Perhaps a third will recall to memory the others that have dropped from his mind…. In the presence of multiplied benefits the ingrate will not dare to lift his eyes: wherever he turns, fleeing his memory of them, there let him see you – encircle him with your benefits.[3]

[1] John W. Basore, trans., Seneca, Moral Essays, vol. iii, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001 [1938]), 8. (Seneca addressed this work to Aebutius Liberalis of Lyons, not to be confused with Lucilius, the close friend to whom Seneca addressed his Letters, Natural Questions, and On Providence.)

[2] The only thing not present in the original is the concluding quotation from Seneca.

[3] Ibid, 13.

Kevin Vost, Psy.D, is the author of eighteen books, including Unearthing Your Ten Talents: A Thomistic Approach to Spiritual Growth through the Virtues and the Gifts (Sophia Institute Press, 2009) and The Porch and the Cross: Ancient Stoic Wisdom for Modern Christian Living (Angelico Press, 2016).

Seneca’s Smartphone: Stoic Principles for Managing Digital Distraction by Jack Reeves

I hope this isn’t a spoiler alert: Lucius Annaeus Seneca did not have a smartphone.

Marcus Aurelius didn’t wear an Apple Watch; Musonius didn’t take selfies; Epictetus, not  once, to my knowledge, fired off a gChat. Stoicism’s architects lived before any of these modern day ubiquities.

But what if they hadn’t?

Stoicism is, in many ways, a product of its time, but it’s also a universal and timeless philosophy that can be adapted to the challenges of today. No Stoic is better suited to this adaption than Seneca, whose work often mines the mundanities of everyday life (exercise, parties, going to bed) for insights on the construction of the virtuous soul.

No, Seneca never explicitly tells us to take fewer selfies. But with a little tweaking, Seneca’s wisdom can be used to forge a healthier relationship with our digital devices.

I speak from experience. Seneca helped me grapple with a digital distraction crisis of my own. His practical advice on dealing with distraction, over-information, and mob mentality, among other hazards made me rethink how I used my technology. It enabled me to negotiate a healthier, more purposeful relationship with my digital devices.

All it took was imagining Seneca’s smartphone.

What is digital distraction?

I gave a version of this talk at Stoicon X 2017 in Toronto. I started by asking a few questions:

  1. How many people here own a smartphone? (Every hand went up).
  2. How many people take their smartphones with them everywhere except the shower? (Every hand stayed up).
  3. How many of you take it in the shower, too? (Some laughter — but hands still stayed up!)

A roomful of people with smartphones isn’t out of the ordinary today, but it’s remarkable how quickly the technology has proliferated. Mere decades ago, few people owned a cell phone. Today, over 80% of Americans carry these palm-sized supercomputers, which deliver gobs of information, entertainment and stimulation 24/7.

Smartphone saturation is only one aspect of a broader information revolution that is transforming life as we know it. The internet, computers, smartphones, wearables, public WiFi, and a proliferation of new media, social networks, streaming services and the like have radically changed how humans engage with their world.

Walk into a coffee shop, public park, boardroom, airport, classroom, museum or subway car. Or just examine yourself. You’ll find a species fascinated by glass screens. We hunch over our computers and crane our necks down at our smartphones. We don’t even bother to put them away on the sidewalk or in the bathroom. Why bother?  There’s a whole universe of stimulation behind those screens — and it’s faster and more enticing than the reality around us.

To be clear, I’m in no position to judge. I own (and use) a smartphone, a tablet, and even an Apple Watch. (Yes — I’m one of those guys). But in recent years, I’ve managed to reshape my my relationship with digital devices to be ordered and purposeful, not mindless.

What changed? I found Stoicism — and then I consciously applied its lessons to my digital habits.

How Seneca helped me beat digital distraction

I used to be a hardcore digital junkie. I toggled continually between inboxes, social media channels and news sites, gorging myself on information, overloading my brain with stimulus. I spent each day in a frenzy of buzzes, chimes and notifications.

  • If something happened in the world, I knew about it first (and probably hit the comments section to make sure everyone knew how I felt).
  • If I had a thought, quip, or pleasant/unpleasant experience of any kind, I immediately fed it into social media for immediate validation.
  • If I had a spare moment, I filled it by reaching for my phone and hunting through texts, email, and social media, until some pleasant little morsel provided a hit of reward.

I lived in a state that I now realize was digital distraction. It was a “love of bustle,” as Seneca writes, that wasn’t industry—it was “the restlessness of a hunted mind.” (Epistulae morales ad Lucilium, Ltr 3 (trans. Richard Mott Gummere).

Digital distraction is everywhere, but the symptoms are easily recognizable. When we find ourselves staying up at night compulsively surfing social media, or peeking at our phones during quality time with loved ones, or getting overwhelmingly distraught over the latest news headline that popped up on our home screens—that’s digital distraction.

Seneca, while never dealing with digital distraction, tackled the challenge of leading a virtuous and productive life while dealing with temptations and adversaries both internally (ego, avarice, hatred) and externally (fate and the amoral universe).

With that in mind, I ran a thought experiment: what might Seneca think about the smartphone? (Ignore, for a moment, that he’s been dead for two millenia). After all, much of his work touches on the same issues that lie at the root of digital distraction.

Seneca devotes considerable ink to things like money, socializing, and food, which are both necessary to life, and yet equally capable of causing great amounts of suffering. I suspect he would view digital tools in a similar light. The line between use and distraction is not always clear. We must, therefore, employ philosophy to guide us.

Seneca is also interested in cultivating a well-ordered mind. He continually explores the relentless tug of distraction, egoism and vanity, among other influences—and he gives us plenty of advice on how to deal with them. If the smartphone offers powerful distraction and egoism, then Seneca’s wisdom will help us manage it.

Challenges & Adjustments

Below are four guiding principles, drawn from Seneca’s writings, that I have used to negotiate healthier relationship with my digital devices.

To help organize things, each principle has a challenge—how digital distraction can make things difficult. And then, I’ll suggest adjustments—tactics that I’ve used to troubleshoot the distraction.

Principle 1: Don’t Waste Time


One of digital distraction’s chief symptoms is wasting time on things that don’t matter. We let inbound emails and texts, gossip, inflammatory news stories and the latest social media outrage pull us off course. We spend hours browsing through social feeds or playing brainless tap-tap games.

Our time is precious. Seneca advises us:

In guarding their fortune men are often closefisted, yet, when it comes to the matter of wasting time, in the case of the one thing in which it is right to be miserly, they show themselves most extravagant. De Brevitate Vitae, Ch. 3 (trans. Damian Stevenson)

We hand our time over to digital distraction because the distractions are enticing. Media companies use algorithms to find the most salacious headlines. Social media employs the same tactics as slot machines to keep us “pulling the lever” (swiping down our feeds) over and over, hunting for a payoff.

The result? We disregard Seneca’s advice; we sacrifice precious minutes and hours to a never-ending feed of nonsense designed to harvest our attention for ad revenue.


  • Install a content filtering app on your digital devices. My personal favorite is Freedom. It lets you configure lists and allow access only at certain times.
  • When you need to do work, put your phone on silent and move it out of easy reach. Properly do the work you intend to do.
  • Purge your phone of the most distracting and time-wasting apps. I’ll play addicting games like Angry Birds for hours, so I just don’t allow them on my phone.

Principle 2: Don’t Drown in Information

The Challenge

The internet has dramatically increased the availability and volume of information, and accelerated the speed at which this information is delivered. Today it’s possible to wake up, grab your iPhone from your nightstand, and ingest more information in a few moments than our ancestors would have encountered in weeks. You don’t have to leave your bed to check your mail, read the news, or see what your friends got up to last night.

Our smartphones and wearables compound this condition by supplying a continual drip feed of alerts and notifications, buzzes and chimes. Breaking news headlines, texts from friends, work emails, IMs and more continually pepper our day with pinpricks of information.

Seneca warns us to avoid “discursiveness,” advising us instead to “linger among a limited number of master thinkers, and digest their works” if we want to enhance our personal wisdom. We should avoid restlessly jumping between information sources because:

everywhere means nowhere. When a person spends all his time in foreign travel, he ends by having many acquaintances, but no friends. And the same thing must hold true of men who seek intimate acquaintance with no single author, but visit them all in a hasty and hurried manner. Epistulae morales ad Lucilium, Ltr II (trans. Richard Mott Gummere).

Bear in mind that Seneca writes in a time when over-information meant reading too many books. The internet and smartphones have opened new frontiers in our ability to overindulge.

The Adjustment

  • Disable all notifications but the most important ones. On my phone, I only get texts and phone calls. Everything else (e.g. emails) is checked on my schedule. I have my computer in “Do Not Disturb” mode.
  • Favor “slow-release” media like books and print newspapers over their hyper-addicting digital alternatives.
  • Enforce phone-free times (the first hour of the day and final hour of the day, at minimum).

Principle 3: Don’t Engage With Crap


The internet is full of crap. Mass media has never been a friend to reason, but for many years, human beings were at least running the zoo. Information, whether distributed in books and newspapers, over the radio or on cable TV, was editorially curated. A real person decided what to put out into the world. And it was (relatively) hard to get the word out there — one generally needed considerable resources to get published or to get something on television.

The internet flattened barriers to entry, making it easy for anyone and everyone to produce media capable of reaching millions of people in mere seconds. To manage this huge quantity of information, networks switched from editorial curation to algorithmic curation: non-human lines of code that cycled headlines and links based on clicks and views.

What effect did this have on the media? You’ve seen it:

  • The rise of click-hungry tabloids and content farms like Drudge Report and Huffington Post, which provide emotional roller coasters while purporting to provide “news.”
  • A host of independent blogs, digital “influencers,” and anonymous crowds—creating an outrage culture addicted to mob mentality and cyberbullying.
  • An overwhelming tend towards negativity, resentment, bitterness, complaining and gossip—after all, this is what gets the clicks!
  • Proliferation of clickbait headlines, each one competing to be the most sensational, scandalous or emotionally resonant.
  • Rampant circulation of misleading “fake news” (on BOTH sides of the political spectrum, mind).

Is it any wonder that higher social media usage correlates with a higher likelihood of depression in young adults?

Seneca recognized the alluring, but harmful, nature of crowd psychology. He warns:

To consort with the crowd is harmful; there is no person who does not make some vice attractive to us, or stamp it upon us, or taint us unconsciously therewith.

What are we to do? Choose our company carefully. In the same letter, Seneca advises:

Associate with those who will make a better man of you. Welcome those whom you yourself can improve. Epistulae morales ad Lucilium, Ltr VII (trans. Richard Mott Gummere).

We must be particularly mindful, in our climate of ready outrage, to avoid that which makes us angry. Seneca tells us that the wise, peace-seeking man will:

shun the company of all those he knows are likely to provoke his anger… [and] choose men who are honest, easygoing, and have self-control. De Ira (trans. Leighton D. Reyonlds).


  • Stop reading cheap, hastily-assembled clickbait crap. Don’t reward it with your attention or emotional investment. Reward high-quality media sources that report the facts.
  • When consuming digital media, ask: “Does this make me a better person?” If you find it stroking your ego, or bringing out the nasty little child inside of you, get out of there!

Principle 4: Use technology purposefully


Digital distraction persists because technology is woven into the fabric of our lives.

You might try to look at your phone less, but you get important emails for work. Or, you go for a hike and take your phone for safety — and wind up looking at Facebook when you should be enjoying the view.

Remember, smartphones are powerful stimulants for the reward center. Dopamine, the brain’s feel-good molecule, is released when we encounter (or anticipate encountering) novel data, social information, and emotionally stimulation. All smartphones do is make this reward center activation seamless, which is why we sit in front of them, pecking away like lab rats.

Seneca would advise us not to seek a never-ending source of rewarding pleasure on our phones, but to be satisfied with what we have in the moment. “Nature’s wants are slight,” he writes, “the demands of opinion are boundless.”

When you are travelling on a road, there must be an end; but when astray, your wanderings are limitless. Recall your steps, therefore, from idle things, and when you would know whether that which you seek is based upon a natural or upon a misleading desire, consider whether it can stop at any definite point. Epistulae morales ad Lucilium, Ltr XVI (trans. Richard Mott Gummere).

If you’ve lost an hour (or three) to the rabbit hole of social media and online news, Seneca’s description of “limitless” wandering resonates.

Don’t wander. Be clear and purposeful about your intentions when using technology. Digital devices are tools to be used productively, not sources of infinite (but ultimately unsatisfying) pleasure.


  • Try this experiment on yourself: For a day, when you feel the need to take out your phone, make a mental note of why. No judgements—just self-study.
    • “I’m taking out my phone to check my work email.”
    • “I’m taking out my phone to see if my Instagram post got any likes.”
    • “I’m taking out my phone because I’m bored.”
  • When you catch yourself in a digital rabbit hole — simply stop. Put the phone down, and take a breath. Acknowledge the impulse to keep surfing, but don’t obey it.
  • Consider moving all of your apps off of your homescreen. This is my phone’s default setup. When I activate it, I’m looking at a blank screen with no information. It’s a reminder to pause and set my intention before using my phone.

Concluding Thoughts

If technology is so often the source of bad things, why do we continue to use it? Wouldn’t it be easier to toss our phones into a lake and move to the woods? Of course not. And this is why a Stoic framework for establishing healthy digital habits works beautifully.

Stoicism advocates being more effective in the world, not withdrawing from it. It takes more discipline, Seneca tells us, to mingle with the mob and preserve our virtue than to avoid the crowd entirely. Similarly, I believe it’s possible to construct a purposeful and virtuous life with technology as an aid, and not an obstacle.

But doing this takes work. The human brain did not evolve for a world in which hyper-palatable, hyper-stimulating distractions stalk us from our desktops, our pockets, our wrists. Leading the kind of life we desire necessitates taking a principled approach to our tools.

In this piece, I’ve given you a few helpful principles — but the true results, as always, come from what you do with them. Vale.


Jack Reeves is a strategy consultant and writer based out of New York City.  He writes at jackreeves.io

Stoicon 2018 – About the Conference, and Tickets Now Available! (by John Sellars)

This year Stoicon returns to London. It’ll take place on Saturday 29th September in the University of London’s Senate House, in Bloomsbury, the same location as last year’s Stoicon-x in London and just a few yards from where we held our very first public event back in 2013.

There’s short film about that first event (and we’ll make a similar film about this year’s event too).

When we organized that first event we didn’t anticipate repeating it. We had a small amount of research funding that covered the costs, and most of the speakers were either us – the Modern Stoicism team – or people whom we already knew and were relatively local. We had no idea how many, if any, people would turn up. Thankfully people did come and, as importantly, seemed to appreciate it. It was Jules Evans, I think, who encouraged us to do it again, who suggested that people would be willing to pay a registration fee to cover costs, and who later came up with the name ‘Stoicon’. So it was Jules who took the lead for the next two events, both at Queen Mary University of London, in 2014 and 2015.

We were all keen to invite new speakers along, conscious that an audience might soon get bored seeing just the same faces each year. In 2015 we were delighted to have Emily Wilson, William Irvine, and Massimo Pigliucci join us, all of whom came over from the USA. After three years in London, we wondered if it might be good to find a new location, in order to reach a different audience, and so didn’t hesitate to take up Massimo’s offer to host the event in New York, which we did in 2016. This gave Stoicon a completely new audience and a fresh line-up of speakers, including Julia Annas and Ryan Holiday.

Last year, 2017, the event took place in Toronto, organized by Donald Robertson, who has put so much into Stoic Week and our related activities since the beginning. A number of smaller Stoicon-x events also ran in a variety of locations, organized autonomously.

So, after two years in North America, this year Stoicon returns to London. The format remains more or less the same as in previous years, with a mix of plenary talks and parallel workshop sessions.

We are delighted that our keynote speaker will be Professor A.A. Long, without doubt the leading authority on Stoicism in the English-speaking world, who has been publishing on the topic for over fifty years. Some of you may be familiar with his book on Epictetus, published in 2002, and he has a new book on Epictetus coming out this summer (details here).

Other speakers include Professor Catharine Edwards, a leading expert on Seneca who has a number of television documentaries on Roman history to her name, and Antonia Macaro, who participated in our first event in 2013 and this year has published a book on Stoicism and Buddhism under the title More than Happiness (info here).

The other speakers and workshop leaders are a mix of academics, psychotherapists, and Stoic practitioners (see the full listing here). Other things currently being planned include bookstalls, an exhibition in association with Senate House Library, and an art installation. All this is, of course, subject to the vicissitudes of fate.

Tickets for the event are now available via Eventbrite. The registration fee covers the cost of tea/coffee and lunch during the day. In order to keep costs down we have secured generous funding from Royal Holloway, University of London, and the British Society for the History of Philosophy. The event is hosted by the Institute of Classical Studies and the Institute of Philosophy, both based in Senate House, who are providing the venue and logistical support. It simply wouldn’t be happening without them.

If you wish you could come along but can’t, we plan to film the plenary talks and to make a short film about the event, like to the two films above. If you wish there was an event like this closer to where you live, then why not consider organizing your own Stoicon-x event?

In the future we’d like to alternate Stoicon between North America and Europe. So we hope that for 2019 it will return to somewhere in North America, and in 2020 somewhere in Europe (not necessarily London).

A Stoic Approach to Problems from Nick Saban by Alec Bowling

I am not a fan of the Alabama Crimson Tide football team. I don’t have houndstooth pajamas. I don’t bow my head, fold my hands, and say “roll tide” before every meal. In fact, as a college football fan, it sort of annoys me that Alabama has been such a juggernaut these past several years, battering teams left and right and generally making the sport more predictable.

Not that they should be faulted for that. That’s a big part of the reason I’m intrigued by their coach, Nick Saban. I won’t be smiling as Saban leads Alabama to win three out of the next five national championships, but in the words of the fictional anchorman, Wes Mantooth: “goddamn it do I
respect you.”

In the fall of 2017, Alabama beat Texas A&M by only 8 points, a margin that was a misstep from the weekly lashings they had been doling out on their SEC foes. Saban’s team had a number of players native to Texas, who were returning to their home state for the first time since the destruction of Hurricane Harvey. When a reporter asked if this may have impacted their focus, Saban had the following to say:

It’s kind of like my dad used to tell me when I used to go to work at the station, my girlfriend broke up with me so I was treating the customers bad.

He said – ‘What’s wrong with you today?’

I said ‘My girlfriend broke up with me.’

He said ‘Well, you’ve got one problem, but if you keep treating the customers bad you’re going to have two more. I’m going to fire you and then I’m going to whip your ass for getting fired.”

In the wake of a hurricane, some might look at this sentiment as uncaring or mean. But often, as many of us have experienced, the difficult thing to say is the right thing to say. I don’t know the answer to whether this was the right thing to say at the right time, but I do know that there was, and is, great wisdom in this line of thinking.

The crux of what Saban is saying is that using unfortunate events that happen to us as an excuse to neglect other areas of our life is entirely counterproductive and a very effective form of self-sabotage. The practical application of this wisdom struck me this morning. I had had a terrible time getting to sleep the night before, so I was up and running on maybe 3 hours of sleep.

I was pissed off and the last thing I wanted to do was work hard. I don’t have the energy, I thought. How can I be expected to do good work on such little sleep, I thought. Then it hit me – I have one problem right now: a lack of sleep. But, if I let that be an excuse for not working hard at today’s work, I’m going to be facing many more problems.

A project falls behind on its deadline. That’s two problems now. A detail gets missed on a document to a client, and I look bad in front of my boss. Now I’ve got thee problems. You get the idea.

As I was thinking through this, all these gears lined up in my brain and I began to realize that this line of thinking echoes Stoicism in many ways.
One place I see this reflected is in Meditations: Book 6, Chapter 2. Marcus Aurelius says the following:

Just that you do the right thing. The rest doesn’t matter.
Cold or warm.
Tired or well-rested.
Despised or honored.
Dying… or busy with other assignments.

For so many of us (myself certainly included), our work ethic is conditional. Our moral duty is conditional. We have no problem doing the right thing as long as it doesn’t inconvenience us in any way. But that is not a sustainable way to live, as life rarely caters to our whims.

Nick Saban is a model of success in many avenues. How to coach. How to run an organization. The right things to value. The right way to live. His six national championship wins attest to that, in addition to him being nearly universally lauded as the greatest college football coach of all
time. Marcus Aurelius ruled over almost the entirety of Europe and North Africa and is widely considered one of the greatest Roman emperors.

Now, a core tenet of stoicism is the defeat of your emotions with reason. And from these two disparate sources, almost two millennia apart, we see the same common thread: put your emotions to death. What Saban provides here is the knife with which to kill them.

Let’s look at a scenario. Say you didn’t get the promotion you were hoping for. You are immediately struck many negative emotions, including resentment, frustration, and entitlement. Now, you don’t want to work as hard. Your internal monologue tells you things like, “Oh, it’s not like I’m going to get noticed anyway,” or, “I’m gonna take it easy today. I’m too angry, I can’t get work done like this.” For various reasons, you are tempted to neglect your duties.

But of course there is the other part of your mind telling you to press on. To do the right thing. To work hard in spite of the recognition. Problem is, we are often dealt such strong blows that it’s incredibly hard to conquer them through mere moral obligation. Sometimes, our selfishness is almost overwhelming. In these instances, this teaching from Saban is helpful.

Don’t do the right thing because you should. Don’t do the right thing because someone is telling you to. Don’t do the right thing to make someone else happy. Do the right thing, because if you don’t, you are just going to have more shit to deal with.

It’s certainly not something to put on a bumper sticker, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s a last line of defense against our selfishness. It in fact turns our selfishness to our advantage.

A bit more optimistically, Marcus also says the following:

At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself: “I have to go to work — as a human being. What do I have to complain of, if I’m going to do what I was born for — the things I was brought into the world to do? Or is this what I was created for? To huddle under the blankets and stay warm?

But it’s nicer in here …

So you were born to feel ‘nice’? Instead of doing things and experiencing them? Don’t you see the plants, the birds, the ants and spiders and bees going about their individual tasks, putting the world in order, as best they can? And you’re not willing to do your job as a human being? Why aren’t you running to do what your nature demands?

With this logic, we can substitute basically any word for ‘nice.’ You might say: helping that person would be hard. So you were born to only experience “easy” things?

You might say: my current situation is comfortable. So you were born only to be comfortable? That’s your purpose in life? This wisdom is effective because it helps to strip our situation of unhelpful emotion. It turns our
self-interest to an advantage, rather than our notion of what we ‘should’ do, which can often times frustrate us further. Our situation becomes unemotional, amoral, and practical. The correct next steps become clear immediately.

In my own predicament, being exhausted from a lack of sleep, this wisdom didn’t magically inject me with four additional hours of sleep, but it gave me something perhaps just as valuable – clarity and focus.

The next time you are faced with a problem, ask yourself: how many problems do I want to have?

Your car transmission dies and you’re angry. Do you want to create more problems by letting your frustration out on the mechanic who had nothing to do with it?

Your husband took too long getting ready and now you’re late for dinner with friends. Do you want to create more problems by speeding and potentially getting a ticket?

The people behind you are talking loudly during the movie. Do you want to add problems by not enjoying the film or getting into a needless confrontation?

You forgot about a test tomorrow and now only have 5 hours to study. Do you want to only have 4 hours to study because you spent an hour beating yourself up over forgetting?

Frequently, we use bad things that happen to us, problems, to be a license to neglect other areas of our life. Doing so feeds our pride, our idea that our lives are Greek tragedies, which in its own twisted way is gratifying (perhaps because it makes our failure extraordinary in our minds, and thus, it makes us extraordinary in some warped way). But in doing so, we only serve to create more problems, more pain, and more distance between ourselves and the people we want to be. To overcome this we must remember that we are just people and that problems are an everyday occurrence for every person who’s ever existed – even the important ones.

And to all of this, Saban might ask: how many problems do you want to have? When faced with the seed of a problem, we are the gardeners. We control whether that problem grows into a Redwood tree of more problems, or withers in the soil. When faced with a problem, ask yourself: do I want more problems? If the answer is no, proceed accordingly.


Alec Bowling is a marketing executive in New York City, a career field in which a stoic mindset is a must have.

Should a Modern Stoic be Vegetarian? by Massimo Pigliucci

Vegetarianism is a big deal, ethically speaking. It was put on the map in terms of public philosophy by utilitarian Peter Singer, with his landmark Animal Liberation, published back in 1975. In truth, utilitarians have been very clear on the subject from the beginning. The founder of the approach, Jeremy Bentham, famously said that when it comes to the treatment of animals “the question is not, Can they reason? nor, Can they talk? but, Can they suffer?” (in: Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, 1789).

What about Stoicism? A recent article by Jeremy Corter in Stoicism Today summarizes the situation as far as the ancient texts are concerned. I will not repeat Jeremy’s points here, since he does a superb job of it. After parsing several quotes from Zeno, Chrysippus, Seneca, Musonius Rufus, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, he concludes (correctly, in my view): “Stoicism and vegetarianism are two separate philosophies. Stoic teachings never denounced eating animals and, in fact, often stated that animals were there for us to use. Musonius and Seneca are the only two Stoics we know of that were vegetarians, but neither cite any Stoic arguments for being so. Seneca cites Pythagoras and it would be safe to think that Musonius would have been aware of the same reasons.”

So why am I not ending the post here? Because of this, one of my favorite quotes from Seneca:

Will I not walk in the footsteps of my predecessors? I will indeed use the ancient road — but if I find another route that is more direct and has fewer ups and downs, I will stake out that one. Those who advanced these doctrines before us are not our masters but our guides. The truth lies open to all; it has not yet been taken over. Much is left also for those yet to come. (Letters to Lucilius, XXXIII.11)

I think vegetarianism is, in fact, one of those cases where the ancient road is not the best one, and we need to revise it. Full disclosure here: I am not a complete vegetarian, though I heavily lean that way. My eating habits can best be described as vegetarianism with the addition of occasional wild caught fish thrown into the mix (paying attention to whether the species in question is being overfished). I have never considered veganism seriously, even though the ethical argument there is at least as strong as the one for vegetarianism (though it’s not easy to be a healthy vegan, an issue I don’t want to get into here because it would distract from the main point). You could accuse me of hypocrisy, and I will respond that I’m trying to do my best, and that at any rate I’m doing more than a lot of other people. Never claimed to be a sage, never will.

As Corter himself recognizes near the end of his essay, this is of course a variation of the somewhat annoying generic question: “is X Stoic?” He is somewhat dismissive of the question itself, which – to be sure – is often abused on social media. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a sensible question. Jeremy says “the Stoics don’t ‘approve’ of anything besides virtue … In short, it’s all indifferent.” Well, not exactly.

To begin with, virtue means nothing in a vacuum. Virtue is a propensity to engage in certain behaviors because that’s the right thing to do (as oppose to a vice, which is a propensity to engage in the wrong sort of behavior). One cannot be courageous, or just, or temperate, or prudent (phronesis) in the abstract. Virtue is considered by the Stoics the chief good because it can never, by definition, be used for ill. But it needs to be used for something nonetheless!

For what? Well, for handling the indifferents, which as we know come in two categories: preferred and dispreferred. This means that it is a bit too reductive and glib to say that the Stoics approve only of virtue because the rest is indifferent. The Stoics, for instance, opposed tyranny, and several of them lost their lives fighting it. Clearly, that means they disapproved of it! Seneca even approved of something as apparently neutral as rest and relaxation, as he makes clear in On Tranquillity of Mind, XVII.

So “is vegetarianism Stoic?” is a real question, and we need to find the answer not in the specifics of what the ancient said (since they are our guides, not our masters), but in the resources offered by the Stoic philosophical system as a whole. This approach is not unusual, being the same sort of exercise that modern Buddhists, say, or Christians, or Jews, engage in whenever looking at their own tradition for guidance concerning modern issues.

Indeed, the likely answer (in the affirmative) to the question of whether vegetarianism is Stoic is hinted at by Jeremy himself, near the end of his essay. He writes:

The Stoics felt that animals were there for human use, including for the use of food. This isn’t to say that the Stoics would have been in favor of factory farming or animal abuse. The Stoics thought that animals had souls, not like a human’s, but a soul nonetheless. Maybe I’m overthinking this part, but I’m suspecting that if they truly thought this, a Stoic would lean towards, if not protecting animals, at the very least not abusing and exploiting them.

Corter is not overthinking at all. He just should have pursued that line of thinking a bit further. We know a lot more nowadays about animal suffering than the Stoics did two millennia ago. Moreover, we have developed truly horrific standardized practices for the treatment of animals in quantities that the Stoics could not have imagined.

Just to give you an idea, these are the USDA statistics of slaughtered animals for the year 2008, obviously limited to the USA only:

Cattle: 35,507,500
Pigs: 116,558,900
Chickens: 9,075,261,000
Layer hens: 69,683,000
Turkeys: 271,245,000

I strongly suggest these numbers ought to disturb you, especially if you know anything about how all of this is actually done. And that’s without bringing into consideration additional factors that the ancient Stoics were not concerned with, like labor practices (generally speaking, horrible) and environmental impact (not at all good, to put it very mildly).

Given all this, I strongly suggest that modern Stoics should lean heavily toward vegetarianism, or at the very least endorse only humane practices of raising and killing animals, as it is done in a number of small, independently owned farms. The problem is that that model simply does not scale up to feeding billions of human beings, which means that, for practical purposes, Stoics should indeed be vegetarian.

But what about the idea – which the ancient Stoics surely did have – that animals and plants are here to satisfy human needs? That idea stemmed from the Stoic concept of a providential universe, understood as a living organism itself, endowed with the Logos, the capacity for rationality.

The problem is that modern science very clearly tells us that that’s not the kind of universe we exist in. Plants and other animals are the product of billions of years of evolution, just like ourselves, and so in no rational way can they be said to be here “for” us. Seneca, above, said that the truth lies open to all; it has not yet been taken over, as much is left for those yet to come. Well, two thousand years later we are still searching for a lot of truths, but we have found out a few more than in Seneca’s time. It is our ethical duty, therefore, to update our practices accordingly. Remember that one of the pillars of Stoic philosophy is precisely that the “physics” (i.e., all of natural science) should inform our ethics, so better knowledge of biology in particular should redirect the way we think about what is right and what is wrong when it comes to eating habits.

Jeremy argues that vegetarianism is an indifferent, and that “like any indifferent, it doesn’t make you a good or bad person.” I think that’s not the right way to look at it. Our diet is more properly referred to as the indifferent, but deciding what we eat and why is very much a reflection of our character, and therefore a function of how we exercise the virtues. As Epictetus put it in a different context:

What decides whether a sum of money is good? The money is not going to tell you; it must be the faculty that makes use of such impressions – reason. (Discourses I, 1.5)

Substitute “diet” for “money” and you can answer in the same way: reason. And reason – given contemporary scientific knowledge – very much tells us that we, as Stoics, ought to be vegetarians. Therefore, I’m going to redouble my personal efforts to follow this path and further reduce my intake of other foodstuff. I hope you will join me, to reduce both suffering in the world and our carbon footprint as a species. And Seneca adds, you’ll also feel better and think more clearly.


P.S.: very likely, there will be people who will read the above and argue the facts. I have neither time nor inclination to debate the science, so I will not respond. I have looked long and hard, as a biologist, into the various issues surrounding vegetarianism, and I have concluded to my own satisfaction that a vegetarian diet is: (i) better in terms of the ethics of animal suffering (though not as good as a vegan one); (ii) better for the environment; (iii) not supportive of horrible labor practices that are commonly engaged in by large agricultural corporations; and (iv) better for your health. If you are not convinced, that’s your prerogative, and clearly outside my control.


Massimo Pigliucci has a PhD in evolutionary biology from the University of Connecticut and one in philosophy from the University of Tennessee. He teaches philosophy at the City College of New York, and his latest book is How to Be a Stoic: Using Ancient Philosophy to Live a Modern Life. He blogs at How To Be A Stoic.

Philosophy as the Act of Choosing by Brittany Polat

As I’ve been practicing Stoic philosophy, I’ve come to realize that Stoicism isn’t really about virtue – it’s more about using good judgment to seek virtue. I’m not the first person to see things that way. “Do you want to know what philosophy promises the human race?” Seneca says to Lucilius. “Good judgment.”[i]

Virtue doesn’t exist in isolation, in some kind of pure form (sorry, Plato), although of course the concept of virtue can still be a useful one for us. In the world of humanity, virtue resides in virtuous actions, thoughts, and motives. When I think about my own actions, for example, I can’t separate my own virtue (or lack thereof) from the way I think and act. Could I be virtuous if I act viciously? Or could I actually be vicious if I act and think virtuously? I don’t see how that is possible. In a very real sense, as Epictetus says, we are our choices:

For you yourself are neither flesh nor hair, but choice, and if you render that beautiful, then you yourself will be beautiful.[ii]

These are strong words. We are not merely the sum of our choices, or the product of our choices; we are our faculty of choice.

After pondering this somewhat bizarre line of thinking, and trying to put it into practice, I’ve realized that Epictetus is right. (Of course he’s right–has he ever been wrong about human nature?) And this leads us to an even stranger meta-conceptual truth about Stoic philosophy: philosophy is the act of choosing to do philosophy. By making the choice to use your reasoning ability to seek out the best, most virtuous behavior, you are doing philosophy. Why? Because you are trying to bring your thoughts, actions, and motivations in line with your beliefs about what is true and good.

Let’s think about it this way. Say you are confronted with an irritating situation, like someone cutting you off in traffic. Most people don’t realize it, but we have a choice about what to think and feel in this situation. The non-philosopher will probably take the conventional route of feeling angry. The Stoic philosopher, who knows that this is merely a dispreferred indifferent and not a cause for anger, has a choice. He can choose the conventional option and become angry, or he can choose the Stoic option and not feel irritated at all.

What does he decide? Hopefully he will choose the Stoic option – and in making that choice, he is doing philosophy. He is bringing his thoughts in line with what he believes to be true. He is using his reasoning ability to become more virtuous. That is philosophy in action.

Epictetus speaks in the highest possible terms about our faculty of choice –prohairesis. Not only does discussion of the “sphere of choice” pervade his basic philosophical precepts, but he uses superlatives mainly for speaking of the gods and choice. Here is but a small sampling of his dictums related to choice (I have added italics for emphasis):

The gods have placed in our power only the best faculty of all, the one that rules over all the others, that which enables us to make right use of our impressions; but everything else they haven’t placed within our power.[iii]

The essence of the good is a certain disposition of our choice, and that of the bad likewise. What are externals, then? Materials for our choice, which attains its own good or ill through the way in which it deals with them.[iv]

Consider who you are. First of all, a human being, that is to say, one who has no faculty more authoritative than choice, but subordinates everything else to that, keeping choice itself free from enslavement and subjection.[v]

Where does the good lie? ‘In choice.’ Where does the bad lie? ‘In choice.’ And that which is neither good nor bad? ‘In things that lie outside the sphere of choice.’[vi]

What is it that makes use of everything else? Choice. What is it that takes charge of everything else? Choice. What is it that destroys the whole person, sometimes through hunger, sometimes through a noose, sometimes by hurling him over a cliff? Choice. Can it be, then, that there is anything more powerful among human beings than this?[vii]

But if you ask me, ‘What is the most excellent of all things,’ what am I to say? The faculty of expression? I cannot, but must rather say the faculty of choice, when it becomes right choice. For it is choice that makes use of the faculty of expression, and of all the other faculties, both great and small. If it be rightly directed, a person becomes good; if it be badly directed, he becomes bad. It is through choice that we encounter good fortune or misfortune, and that we reproach one another or are pleased with one another. It is this, in a word, that brings about unhappiness when neglected, and happiness when properly tended.[viii]

In this line of thinking, philosophy is not the pursuit of virtue, but first and foremost the act of choosing to pursue virtue. That decision must come before everything else. We must choose to leave behind convention and unexamined impressions. We must actively decide to engage our reasoning ability to make the wisest possible choice in whatever circumstances we might find ourselves.

If you read the Discourses with this in mind, you notice that this is what Epictetus recommends. All of his advice to his students centers around the act of choosing to do philosophy. His more specific recommendations – for example, making proper use of impressions, remaining vigilant, or practicing the disciplines of desire, impulse, and assent – are specific ways of exercising the capacity for choice. These are ways of breaking down the problem of choice, of dealing with the problem of choice, and of knowing what we should choose. Choice is a very tricky problem, and it must be carefully examined. We must have the discourse to talk about it, and we need many psychological tools to help us use our capacity for choice wisely.

For example, when we are confronted by a disturbing impression, what should we do? Throw it away. But first we must make the choice to do philosophy at all. As always, we have a choice: we could do what most people do, and let the impression get the better of us. That choice does not qualify as philosophy, because we have not applied our reason to seek out virtue. But if we make the decision to apply reason and examine our impression, we have made the decision to do philosophy. It’s entirely possible that we do not have appropriate knowledge and wisdom to act in a sage-like manner. But simply by making the decision to apply our reasoning in the service of virtue, we have done philosophy.

If it seems strange to us to think about philosophy as basically a capacity for rational choice, that’s because we’re not used to seeing it in that way. For a very long time in the West, it is religion that has been used as a guide for proper thought and action, not so much philosophy. But why shouldn’t philosophy (rather than religiosity, intuition, or moral convention) guide our every thought and action? We have revived Stoicism for modern times. Maybe we need to revive the centrality of choice, too.

Putting Philosophy To Use

It’s possible that I’m reading too much into Epictetus’ words, and this isn’t really what he was talking about. I have no way of knowing what he meant to say in those famous lectures. Maybe I’m way off the mark. Ultimately, though, I don’t think it matters. What interests me, and probably most modern Stoics, is applying ancient wisdom to live better lives today. And I believe that focusing on philosophy as choice can help us a great deal. I have already felt a profound difference in my own Stoic practice as a result of this new perspective.

When you picture your Stoic practice as a series of moment-by-moment choices, your philosophy becomes urgent, vital, almost alive. Philosophy isn’t something that you just practice sometimes, like you might practice tennis or piano. Philosophy is something that you practice every minute of your life. This is because every moment requires a decision from you. What do I do in this moment, in this situation – practice philosophy or not? Do I make the effort to bring my thoughts and actions in line with my principles, or do I let it slide? Seeing philosophy as a choice forces you to confront your principles daily and hourly. There is nowhere to hide.

And not only does philosophy become necessary – inescapable – but it also becomes more possible. It’s not some grand venture that you might get around to when you’re better prepared. It’s a simple choice you have to make right now. Do you practice philosophy, or do you not? If you do not consciously choose in this moment to practice philosophy, then by default you are not practicing philosophy. It’s a binary choice. There is no in-between.

Epictetus, and also Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, provide us with a great deal of helpful advice about how to make the right choice. This is why we read their works today. The doctrines, the psychological techniques, the external body of work that we call Stoic philosophy, is essential to help us on the path to wisdom. We need the theory in order to know what virtue is, and how we should apply it in specific situations. Epictetus is quite clear that theory is necessary to support action. At one point he says that the task of philosophy is in establishing standards, so that we may know how to judge things properly.[ix] But what is the task of the philosopher?

My principal task in life is this: to distinguish between things, and establish a division between them and say, ‘External things are not within my power; choice is within my power.’[x]

We must make the choice to choose.

At first, this way of seeing philosophy might seem exhausting in its insistence for action. How could anyone ever hope to reach this standard? To be virtuous, you would have to bring every choice you ever make in line with virtue. Yes, exactly. That’s why only the perfectly virtuous person is wise, and the rest of us are drowning below the surface. Only the sage knows how to align every choice with wisdom. Only the sage knows how to direct every thought toward what is noble and true–to always say yes to philosophy, even unto the moment of death.

And yet, this is what it would mean to be truly free: to maintain your capacity for choice up until the very end. “For my part,” Epictetus says, “I’d wish that death may overtake me when I’m attending to nothing other than my power of choice, to ensure that it may be unperturbed, unhindered, unconstrained, and free.”[xi] Epictetus may not have considered himself a sage, but he continues to inspire and show us the path to virtue.

On a practical note, I think that the rest of us can still make progress in our capacity for choice by viewing every moment as an opportunity for philosophy. I was delighted to learn that the root word of prohairesis is something like “grabbing.”[xii] What better metaphor do we need than reaching out and grabbing philosophy?

When you are confronted with a choice – do I see this as distressing or not? Do I respond the Stoic way or the non-Stoic way? – you can always reach out and seize the philosophical response. I’ve started keeping this choice before my eyes at all times as I go about my daily business. I find that when it put things in terms of a binary choice, the decision is much easier. I don’t have to do anything complicated or grand. All I have to do is choose philosophy.

[i] Seneca, Selected Letters, 48.7.

[ii] Epictetus, Discourses, 3.1, 40.

[iii] 1.1, 7

[iv] 1.29, 1-2

[v] 2.10, 1

[vi] 2.16, 1

[vii] 2.23, 17-18

[viii] 2.23, 27-29

[ix] 2.11, 24

[x] 2.5, 4

[xi] 3.5, 7

[xii] Greg Sadler, “What Does Epictetus mean by Prohairesis?”, PocketStoic. Available at https://medium.com/pocketstoic/what-does-epictetus-mean-by-prohairesis-cd23fed321d


Brittany Polat practices Stoicism daily with her three young children and describes her experiences at apparentstoic.com. Her book on Stoic parenting, Tranquility Parenting: Timeless Truths for Becoming a Calm, Happy, and Engaged Parent, is scheduled to appear in 2018.