Love, kindness, … and Stoicism?

A reader asks what’s the relevance of Stoic philosophy to central aspects of our life. Here’s the answer.

Love (upper left), kindness (upper right), and Stoicism (bottom).

Darin wrote: I’m a subscriber at Figs in Winter, and am looking forward to the discussions about New Stoicism. When I mention Stoicism to people as a life philosophy and a way to deal with difficult, or indeed any points in life, I eventually get questions like ‘what about love, or kindness as central tenets, and helpful solutions to life’s ills?’ They feel like Stoicism is sterile and not addressing some central need. I feel like they are missing the point of Stoicism, but I don’t know how to address it. Can you post something in FiW to address this?

I get what these people are saying. I used to say the same sort of things, before I paid attention to actual Stoicism, rather than the stiff upper lip caricature of it. Years ago I came across an announcement from Modern Stoicism inviting people to celebrate Stoic Week. I thought, what? Why would anyone want to live their life like Mr. Spock from Star Trek?? (And I’m a huge fan of Spock, as a character…)

But then I looked into it more seriously and realized that Stoicism has actually nothing to do with suppressing emotions and cultivating a silent persona who endures the unendurable. So let’s address directly the questions Darin faced from his interlocutors.

First off: what about love? Stoicism is a philosophy of love, in the Greek sense of philanthrôpia, that is, love of humanity. Yes, I know, that’s likely not the kind of love the questioner had in mind. But hear me out. The cultivation of philanthrôpia is obviously related to the central Stoic idea of cosmopolitanism, the notion that we ought to behave as if all humankind were part of the same enlarged family, the cosmopolis:

“We can only follow the example of Socrates, and if someone asks where we’re from, never say ‘I’m an Athenian’ or ‘I’m a Corinthian,’ but ‘I’m a citizen of the universe.” (Epictetus, Discourses, 1.9.1)

Where do the notions of philanthrôpia and cosmopolitanism come from? From the process of oikeiosis, often translated as “appropriation” (of others’ concerns). Stoic developmental psychology, which is backed by its modern counterpart, says that we begin life as natural self-regarding animals, meaning that we take care first and foremost of our needs and to protect ourselves from harm. However, we also instinctively (i.e., by the doings of Nature) sense that our goal of self-preservation is best achieved by developing bonds with those who surround us, starting with our care takers and immediately extending to our siblings, relatives, and eventually friends.

At about the age of seven reason kicks into higher gear and we become capable of entertaining more abstract notions and more sophisticated thinking. That’s when we gradually realize that our welfare is no different from that of other people, and that we ought to extend our circles of concerns further and further, to strangers in the same city, to fellow countrymen and, if we are capable of it, to the entire cosmopolis. (Some modern Stoics go beyond even that, sketching a rational-ethical concern for other species and the environment.)

This is love, folks. Of the most encompassing and deeply rooted variety. But sure, let us talk about other types of love, like the romantic flavor, or the kind we feel for our children, among others. The Greeks, and hence the Stoics, had a far more sophisticated classification of love than the one available in modern English, using a four distinct words to indicate different nuances of the concept.

To begin with, there is agápē, which means love that comes with an aspect of charity, in the sense of benevolence, embedded into it. This is the sort of love we have for our children, but also for our spouse or partner. Early Christians adopted the term to mean the unconditional love that God has for his children. As Thomas Aquinas put it, agápē means “to will the good of another” (in Summa Theologiae I-II, 26, 4).

Second, we have érōs, which in part does mean, as the modern word “erotic” indicates, sexual attraction for someone. However, Plato for one expanded the concept to indicate, after maturation and contemplation, love for beauty itself. This is the origin of the phrase “Platonic love,” which does not mean love without sex, necessarily, but rather love of the ideal Form of Beauty. It may begin with erotic attraction, but eventually transcends it.

In the Symposium we are treated to a lesson on love by none other than Socrates, who says that érōs allows the soul to recall knowledge of beauty and thus to arrive at an understanding of spiritual truth. In this sense, then, both lovers and philosophers are inspired by érōs.

Third, we have philía, which describes a sense of affection and regard among equals (the above mentioned philanthrôpia is a subset of it.) Aristotle uses this word to characterize love between friends, for family members, or of community. It is a virtuous type of love, often cast as of a brotherly / sisterly sort, but with a component of enjoyment.

Finally, there is storgē. It means affection, especially (but not only) of the kind one has toward parents and children, and includes a component of empathy of the type felt naturally toward one’s children. Storgē was also used to indicate love for a country, or even a sports team, and—interestingly—in situations when one has to put up with unpleasant things, as in the oxymoronic phrase “love for a tyrant.”

You will have noticed that one thing is glaringly missing from the above characterization: lust. That’s because that is not a kind of love, but a desire to possess, specifically the object of one’s sexual interest. While scientific research indicates that a transitory phase of lust is often a prelude to romantic love and eventually to attachment, the Stoics consider lust an unhealthy emotion, because it overrides reason. True love, by contrast, including of the romantic kind, is in alignment with reason, meaning that it is virtuous and good for ourselves and others.

If you need a contrast to drive the point home, think of it this way: Paris’s lust for Helen caused the Trojan War, while Odysseus’ love for Penelope is what kept him alive during his ten years of wandering the Mediterranean, seeking his home.

Left: seduction of Helen by Paris, antique fresco in Pompeii, 1st century. Right: the return of Odysseus, illustration by E.M. Synge from the 1909 Story of the World children’s book series. Images from Wikimedia.

Let us now turn to kindness. At this point, this ought to be easy: loving others implies being kind to them. But this is a good moment to talk about the Stoic take on emotions in general, of which love and kindness are examples.

Stoics divide emotions, broadly speaking, into two categories: healthy and unhealthy. As we just saw, the first group is defined as being in agreement with reason, the second group as being opposed to it. Consider an analogy with physical health: there are certain behaviors that are healthy for us (e.g., going out for a walk) and others that are unhealthy (eating fried foods on the couch). What makes a given behavior healthy or unhealthy is how reasonable or unreasonable it is given the particular goal of maintaining a healthy body.

Similarly, what makes a given emotion reasonable or unreasonable is the particular goal of maintaining our mind healthy or unhealthy. A healthy mind, for a Stoic, is one that is guided by virtue or right reason, the two amounting to be the same thing (Seneca, Letter 66.32).

Being loving and kind, the behaviors, are the result of feeling loving and kind, the emotions. The two feed into each other: obviously, if we feel in a certain way we act accordingly. Less obviously, but in agreement with modern cognitive behavioral therapy, if we willfully decide to act in a certain way we will, eventually, feel that way. It is in that sense that reason and emotions are connected, and in the same sense that character traits are both the result of innate dispositions and yet can be trained by mindful application. It’s a beautiful system of ethical self-improvement: we have a natural ability to be loving, kind, and generally prosocial; we realize that this is a good thing; and we nudge our behavior accordingly, so to reinforce the corresponding feeling.

More broadly, does Stoicism have helpful solutions to life’s ills? Hell yes! I have already outlined a major example in terms of developing a healthier relationship between emotions and reason. Here is my absolute favorite one:

“Some things are up to us and some are not. Up to us are judgment, inclination, desire, aversion—in short, whatever is our own doing. Not up to us are our bodies, possessions, reputations, public offices—in short, whatever isn’t our own doing.” (Epictetus, Enchiridion 1.1)

I simply cannot tell you how many times this has been useful in my life, putting me in a position to tackle problems and setbacks ranging from minor to pretty big ones. Epictetus’s fundamental rule has helped me quickly get over an episode of pickpocketing in which I lost my cash, credit cards, and driver’s license while I was on my way to meet my brother for dinner. It has helped me dealing with rejections from publishers of a book idea that I thought was obviously marvelous. And it has helped me overcome the grief caused by my mother dying.

The basic idea is two pay attention to where our agency is maximized and contrast it to where it’s minimized. We then focus on the first group of items and do our best to develop an attitude of acceptance and equanimity toward the second group.

For example: if we lose our job it is natural to “catastrophize,” as cognitive behavioral therapists put it. “Poor me, this is a horrible thing, I will never recover from it!” If we adopt that sort of reaction it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, as we descend into depression and despondency, which aren’t exactly going to be helpful while we are looking for another job.

Instead, draw a table with two columns on a piece of paper: “up to me” and “not up to me.” Start adding entries to both columns such as:

And so forth. The more entries under each column the better, because your analysis of the situation will be more accurate and detailed. Once you have a reasonably sized table begin your two-pronged preparation following Epictetus’s advice: on the one hand, focus your energy, attention, and time on the left column. On the other hand, go over the right column and repeat to yourself that those things are not up to you and that you need to accept the corresponding outcomes no matter what.

Of course, Stoicism is not a miracle making panacea. You may do exactly what I outlined above and still not find a job, at least not immediately. But you will have done your best, and if so Epictetus makes us a strong promise:

“If you regard as yours only what is yours [i.e., what is up to you], and as not yours only what is not yours [i.e., what is not up to you], which is the way things are in reality, no one will ever constrain you, no one will impede you, you’ll blame no one, you’ll reproach no one, you’ll never act reluctantly, no one will harm you, and you’ll have no enemies, because you’ll never suffer harm.” (Enchiridion, 1.3)

Finally, let’s talk about another important issue raised by Darin in his letter: Stoicism as a philosophy to deal with both the difficult and indeed any points in life. There is a tendency to think of Stoicism as what you do if things go to shit. And to be fair, a lot of Stoic literature, both ancient and modern, refers to setbacks and challenges because, as Seneca says, everyone is a good pilot in a calm sea (Letter 85.34).

But to act reasonably, that is, virtuously, is just as important in good as in bad times. Yes, you will certainly need Stoicism if the stock market crashes and you lose half the savings for your retirement. But you will just as surely need the philosophy to handle well the windfall of an inheritance. Sure, handling a breakup will require all your Stoic training, but so will falling in love and then maintaining a relationship. There is literally no aspect of your life that cannot be helped by Stoicism or a similar philosophy. I mean, it’s not like you can be a Buddhist, or a Christian, part time, only when things go bad. There is a reason why these are called philosophies of life.

So ask yourself a question that ought to be always first and foremost in your mind: how can I be virtuous, right here, right now?