What does it mean to “practice” Stoicism?

There seems to be some confusion about what Stoic philosophy really consists of

Two ancient Greco-Roman pankration wrestlers, image by Midjourney.

We hear a lot that Stoicism is a “practical” philosophy, and that we need to practice “spiritual exercises.” I too have written about this, on several occasions, including co-authoring a whole book on the topic, together with my friend Greg Lopez. (See also these articles here at The Philosopher Garden, not to mention my almost complete 54-part series on the topic.)

Moreover, there is ongoing research, carried out among others by my Modern Stoicism colleague Tim LeBon, about whether Stoicism “works,” exploring the connection between Stoic philosophy and positive psychology.

While this sort of talk makes some sense, we need to be careful exactly what we mean, especially because there is a constant danger of descending from philosophy as a way of life into simple “life hackerism,” which is a wholly different, and not necessarily recommended thing.

Let me begin with a pertinent observation made by my colleague Owen Flanagan about a similar situation within Buddhism, specifically the relationship between the philosophy and various meditative techniques. Owen writes:

“This idea that Buddhism has mostly to do with meditation is a distinctively Northern Atlantic peculiarity. In 2011, I wrote a HuffPost column about what I called ‘bourgeois Buddhists’ in which I pointed out that your average Buddhist layperson in East and Southeast Asia meditates very little, about the same amount that your average American Christian prays. Most meditation in North America and Europe, which advertises itself as Buddhist or Buddhist-inspired, is served up as a tool for becoming less frazzled and more serene. It is about the self, not about being less selfish.” (How to Live a Good Life, ch. 1)

Owen is well aware of the efficacy and usefulness of various kinds of meditation, but he is right: meditation is only an aid to Buddhist practice, and one is not a Buddhist just because one meditates. Indeed, if meditation is used to cultivate the self rather than unselfishness, then it is decidedly not Buddhist! What makes someone a Buddhist—whether they meditate or not—is the acceptance of the Four Noble Truths and a commitment to the Eightfold Path.

The eight spoke Dharma wheel symbolizes the Noble Eightfold Path. Image from Wikimedia.

Similarly, praying doesn’t make one a Christian, as amply demonstrated by the fact that people of various religions, and indeed sometimes even non-religious people, pray at one point or another in their lives. What makes someone a Christian is a life lived in accordance with the Ten Commandments and the teachings of Jesus, regardless of how often, or even whether, one prays.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that modern Stoicism is often talked about in terms of practice and exercises, since the Renaissance of this ancient philosophy, though started in France and the UK, is definitely most evident in the ever pragmatic US of A. Hence, predictably, the “bad varieties” of Stoicism that I wrote about in the past: Broicism (the notion that Stoicism is a manly man, sexist philosophy), $toicism (the idea that it’s all about money and fame), and stoicisM (the conceit that Stoic techniques can be useful to make the Military more efficient at killing people, regardless of whether there are good reasons to do so).

To be sure, as Pierre Hadot explained in his landmark Philosophy as a Way of Life, the ancient Greco-Romans did have a concept of askesis, a word that is at the root of the modern term “ascetic,” and which indicated a life practice. But Hadot also pointed out that, though Stoicism was one of the most askesis-oriented of ancient philosophies (together with Cynicism and Epicureanism), what we nowadays call “Stoic exercises” either did not derive from Stoic philosophy, or where introduced by other schools, or where common to multiple schools.

For instance, one of the standard “Stoic” exercises is the sunrise meditation, meant to be a reminder of our connection to the cosmos and Nature at large. Here is how Marcus Aurelius puts it:

“The followers of Pythagoras recommend that we should start the day by looking up at the sky to remind ourselves of entities that remain constant and unchanging as they accomplish their work, and of their orderliness and purity, and their nakedness, given that nothing veils a star.” (Meditations, 11.27)

Notice, though, that Marcus himself tells us that this was done by the Pythagoreans, who flourished in the 6th century BCE, thus pre-dating the Stoics by over two centuries.

Recently, my friend and colleague Greg Sadler has pointed out that another “Stoic” technique, the famous premeditatio malorum, that is, a meditation on future adversity, is—again—not Stoic at all, as it can be traced back to the Cyrenaics, a hedonistic school established by one of Socrates’s students, Aristippus of Cyrene, almost a century before Zeno started the Stoa.

Now, I most certainly do not want to give the impression that “spiritual” exercises are not useful. Meditation is useful for Buddhist practice, and so is prayer if you are a Christian, Muslim, Hindu, and so forth. So what’s the issue?

One way to understand it is by going back to examples of how the Greco-Romans themselves described their concept of a philosophy of life. (For an in-depth exploration check out Beyond Stoicism: A Guide to the Good Life with Stoics, Skeptics, Epicureans, and Other Ancient Philosophers.)

Epictetus, for instance, often makes an analogy with athletics, as in this case:

“You’d like to be a victor at the Olympic Games? Good heavens, so would I! That would really be fine! But consider the project from start to finish before setting about it. You have to be disciplined, maintain a strict diet, give up sweet pastries, undergo a strict training regime, exercise regularly every day however hot or cold it may be, refrain from cold drinks, drink no wine except when prescribed. In short, you have to submit to a trainer as you would to a doctor. Then, during the contest, you have to wield a spade, risk dislocating a wrist or spraining an ankle, swallow a lot of sand, possibly get flogged, and, as if all that wasn’t enough, possibly suffer defeat as well.” (Enchiridion, 29.2)

The sage from Hierapolis is drawing a direct comparison between the commitment that it takes to be an Olympic athlete and the similar level of commitment that it takes to be a good philosopher—meaning not an academic who writes about theoretical matters, but someone who lives her chosen philosophy. In the passage, Epictetus here does mention “a strict training regime” and regular exercise. But those are aimed at facilitating a whole life style, which the athlete will have to follow all the time, not just when he’s about to compete. This means that he will have to get into the habit of giving up sweet pastries, drink wine in moderation, maintaining a strict diet, and so forth. For life, or at least so long as he wants to be an athlete.

The Palaestra at Olympia, a place devoted to the training of wrestlers and other athletes. Image from Wikimedia.

What may be misleading here is the commonly used word “practice.” It has a number of meanings, two of which are pertinent here: (i) “To do or perform habitually or customarily; make a habit of”; or (ii) “To do or perform (something) repeatedly in order to acquire or polish a skill.” The famous spiritual exercises, Stoic or not, fall under (ii), that is they are meant to help us acquire or polish a skill, just like the various kinds of Buddhist meditations do. But those skills are in the service of (i), that is, practicing Stoicism (or Buddhism, or Christianity) “habitually or customarily,” making it a lifelong habit.

Another analogy often used by the ancients may be helpful here: that between philosophy and medicine. Listen to Epictetus again:

“Gentlemen, a philosopher’s school is a doctor’s office. You shouldn’t leave after having had a pleasant time, but a painful one, because you arrive unhealthy, one with a dislocated shoulder, another with a tumor, another with an abscess, another with a headache. So am I to sit here and regale you with clever ideas and bons mots so that you can leave after praising me, one of you with his shoulder just as it was when he arrived, another with his head in the same condition, another with his abscess, another with his tumor? And is it for this, then, that members of the younger generation are to leave their homes, parents, friends, relatives, and property—so that they can say ‘Bravo!’ when you come up with a witty expression? Was that what Socrates used to do, or Zeno, or Cleanthes?” (Discourses, 3.23.30-32)

Notice that Epictetus is comparing his school with a doctor’s office: you go to the doctor in order to get help with an ailment, but you are usually not cured once you leave. It takes more than that: you need to follow the doctor’s prescriptions for days or weeks, and of course after that you will have to do your best to live a healthy life—eating the right things, exercising, getting plenty of sleep, and so forth—so to minimize the chances of finding yourself again in the doctor’s office after a short while.

The point is this: if you just occasionally engage in a premeditatio malorum, or write in your philosophical journal, or get up to see the sun rise, you are not practicing Stoicism in the all-important sense (i) above. At best, you are doing a bit of (ii), at worst not even that, as the individual who engages in meditation not to follow the Eightfold Path but simply to feel better about his own self.

What, then, does it really mean to practice Stoicism as a philosophy of life? This, whatever you do, at all times:

• Ask yourself whether what you are contemplating is in line with the cardinal virtues of wisdom, courage, justice, and temperance. If not, don’t do it.

• Ask yourself whether you are truly following the fundamental rule: are you focusing on what is up to you, i.e., on your judgments, decisions to act or not to act, and chosen values? Or are you pining for externals that are not up to you, like health, wealth, reputation, and so forth?

• Ask yourself whether you are applying the best judgment to the situation at hand, based on the best reasoning and evidence available to you.

• Ask yourself whether you are performing the roles that Fate assigned to you, that of a father or mother, son or daughter, friend, colleague, and so on, to the best of your abilities. If not, try to do it better. (See role ethics.)

• Ask yourself whether you are behaving truly as a cosmopolitan, a member of the universal human family, who thinks that every human being—regardless of nationality, ethnicity, creed, gender, or whatever—is to be treated with dignity and respect, and who cares about being a good steward of the environment and biosphere on which all life, including our own, depends.

This is what it means to practice Stoicism. And if you find one of the specific types of askesis helpful in that respect, by all means do them. But never confuse mere gym practice for the actual Olympics.