A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy

by William B. Irvine

MODERN POLITICS presents another obstacle to the acceptance of Stoicism. The world is full of politicians who tell us that if we are unhappy it isn’t our fault. To the contrary, our unhappiness is caused by something the government did to us or is failing to do for us. We citizens are encouraged, in our pursuit of happiness, to resort to politics rather than philosophy. We are encouraged to march in the streets or write to our congressman rather than read Seneca or Epictetus. More significantly, we are encouraged to vote for the candidate who claims to possess the ability, by skillfully using the powers of government, to make us happy.

The Stoics, of course, rejected such thinking. They were convinced that what stands between most of us and happiness is not our government or the society in which we live, but defects in our philosophy of life—or our failing to have a philosophy at all.

In particular, the Stoics don’t think it is helpful for people to consider themselves victims of society—or victims of anything else, for that matter. If you consider yourself a victim, you are not going to have a good life; if, however, you refuse to think of yourself as a victim—if you refuse to let your inner self be conquered by your external circumstances—you are likely to have a good life, no matter what turn your external circumstances take.

This is what the Stoics advise us to do. It may be true that being a Stoic requires self-control and requires that we sacrifice in order to do our duty, but the Stoics would argue that we are more likely to achieve happiness—indeed, joy—by following this path than by spending our life, as most people do, working to fulfill whatever desires pop into our head.

The Stoics pointed to two principal sources of human unhappiness—our insatiability and our tendency to worry about things beyond our control—and they developed techniques for removing these sources of unhappiness from our life.

If our goal is not merely to survive and reproduce but to enjoy a tranquil existence, the pain associated with a loss of social status isn’t just useless, it is counterproductive. As we go about our daily affairs, other people, because of their evolutionary programming, will work, often unconsciously, to gain social status. As a result, they will be inclined to snub us, insult us, or, more generally, do things to put us in our place, socially speaking. Their actions can have the effect of disrupting our tranquility—if we let them. What we must do, in these cases, is use—more precisely, “misuse”—our intellect to override the evolutionary programming that makes insults painful to us. We must, in other words, use our reasoning ability to remove the emotional sting of insults and thereby make them less disruptive to our tranquility.

Along similar lines, consider our insatiability. As we have seen, our evolutionary ancestors benefited from wanting more of everything, which is why we today have this tendency. But our insatiability, if we do not take steps to bridle it, will disrupt our tranquility; instead of enjoying what we already have, we will spend our life working hard to gain things we don’t have, in the sadly mistaken belief that once we have them, we will enjoy them and search no further. What we must do, again, is misuse our intellect. Instead of using it to devise clever strategies to get more of everything, we must use it to overcome our tendency toward insatiability. And one excellent way for us to do this is to use our intellect to engage in negative visualization.

Consider, finally, anxiety. We are evolutionarily programmed, as we have seen, to be worriers: Our evolutionary ancestors who, instead of worrying about where their next meal was coming from and about the source of that growling noise in the trees, sat around blissfully enjoying the sunset probably didn’t live to a ripe old age. But most modern individuals—in developed countries, at any rate—live in a remarkably safe and predictable environment; there are no growling noises in the trees, and we can be reasonably certain that our next meal is forthcoming. There is simply much ...

intellect to overcome this tendency. In particular, we can, in accordance with Stoic advice, determine which are the things we cannot control. We can then use our reasoning ability to eradicate our anxieties with respect to these thin...

Stoicism, understood properly, is a cure for a disease. The disease in question is the anxiety, grief, fear, and various other negative emotions that plague humans and prevent them from experiencing a joyful existence. By practicing Stoic techniques, we can cure the disease and thereby gain tranquility.

Much the same can be said of resorting to Stoicism to prevent and deal with feelings of anxiety. It is safer than the medical alternatives, as any number of Xanax addicts will attest. Furthermore, Stoicism has benefits that spill over into other areas of our life. Practicing Stoicism might not cause us to gain energy, the way exercising will, but practicing it will cause us to gain self-confidence; we will become confident, in particular, of our ability to handle whatever life throws our way. The person who takes Xanax, in contrast, will gain no such confidence; indeed, he knows full well what a mess he would be if his supply of Xanax was cut off. Another benefit of practicing Stoicism is that it will help us appreciate our life and circumstances and may, as a consequence, enable us to experience joy. This is a benefit, one supposes, that taking Xanax is unlikely to deliver.

I am not, to be sure, the first Stoic to tamper with Stoicism. The Romans, as we have seen, adapted Greek Stoicism to suit their needs. Furthermore, individual Stoics were unafraid to “customize” Stoicism; as Seneca put it, “I do not bind myself to some particular one of the Stoic masters; I, too, have the right to form an opinion.”4 The Stoics regarded the principles of Stoicism not as being chiseled into stone but as being molded into clay that could, within limits, be remolded into a form of Stoicism that people would find useful.

Who, then, should give Stoicism a try? Someone who, to begin with, seeks tranquility; it is, after all, the thing Stoicism promises to deliver. Someone who thinks something is more valuable than tranquility would therefore be foolish to practice Stoicism.

There are people, I think, whose personality is uniquely well-suited to Stoicism. Even if no one formally introduces these individuals to Stoicism, they will figure it out on their own. These “congenital Stoics” are perpetually optimistic, and they are appreciative of the world they find themselves in. If they were to pick up Seneca and start reading, they would instantly recognize him as a kindred spirit. There are other people who, because of their personality, would find it psychologically challenging to practice Stoicism. These individuals simply refuse to consider the possibility that they are the source of their own discontent. They spend their days waiting, often impatiently, for the one thing to happen that will make them feel good about themselves and their lives. The missing ingredient, they are convinced, is something external to them: It is something that someone must hand to them or do for them. The thing in question might be a certain job, a certain sum of money, or a certain form of cosmetic surgery. They are also convinced that when this missing ingredient is provided, their dissatisfaction with life will be remedied and they will live happily ever after.

Most people have personalities that fall somewhere between these two extremes. They are not congenital Stoics, nor are they chronic malcontents. But although they might benefit from the practice of Stoicism, many of the individuals in this group see no need to give it—or, for that matter, any other philosophy of life—a try. They instead spend their days on evolutionary autopilot: They go around seeking the rewards their evolutionary programming has to offer, such as the pleasure to be derived from having sex or consuming a big meal, and avoiding the punishments their programming can inflict, such as the pain of being publicly insulted.

In summary, my advice to those seeking a philosophy of life parallels my advice to those seeking a mate. They should realize that which mate is best for them depends on their personality and circumstances. This means that no one is the ideal mate for everyone and that some people are a suitable mate for no one at all. Furthermore, they should realize that for the vast majority of people, life with a less than perfect mate is better than life with no mate at all.

The first tip I would offer to those wishing to give Stoicism a try is to practice what I have referred to as stealth Stoicism: You would do well, I think, to keep it a secret that you are a practicing Stoic. (This would have been my own strategy, had I not taken it upon myself to become a teacher of Stoicism.) By practicing Stoicism stealthily, you can gain its benefits while avoiding one significant cost: the teasing and outright mockery of your friends, relatives, neighbors, and coworkers.

is my experience that negative visualization is to daily living as salt is to cooking. Although it requires minimal time, energy, and talent for a cook to add salt to food, the taste of almost any food he adds it to will be enhanced as a result.

One thing I have discovered, though, in my practice of Stoicism is that it is easy to forget to engage in negative visualization and as a result to go for days or even weeks without having visualized. I think I know why this happens. By engaging in negative visualization, we increase our satisfaction with our circumstances, but on gaining this sense of satisfaction, the natural thing to do is simply enjoy life. Indeed, it is decidedly unnatural for someone who is satisfied with life to spend time thinking about the bad things that can happen. The Stoics, however, would remind us that negative visualization, besides making us appreciate what we have, can help us avoid clinging to the things we appreciate. Consequently, it is as important to engage in negative visualization when times are good as it is when times are bad.

have discovered, by the way, that applying the trichotomy of control, besides helping me manage my own anxieties, is an effective technique for allaying the anxieties of the non-Stoics around me, which anxieties might otherwise disrupt my tranquility. When relatives and friends share with me the sources of anxiety in their lives, it often turns out that the things they are worried about are beyond their control. My response to such cases is to point this out to them: “What can you do about this situation? Nothing! Then why are you worrying about it?

As a Stoic novice, you will want, as part of becoming proficient in applying the trichotomy of control, to practice internalizing your goals. Instead of having winning a tennis match as your goal, for example, make it your goal to prepare for the match as best you can and to try your hardest in the match.

In your practice of Stoicism, you will also want, in conjunction with applying the trichotomy of control, to become a psychological fatalist about the past and the present—but not about the future. Although you will be willing to think about the past and present in order to learn things that can help you better deal with the obstacles to tranquility thrown your way in the future, you will refuse to spend time engaging in “if only” thoughts about the past and present. You will realize that inasmuch as the past and present cannot be changed, it is pointless to wish they could be different. You will do your best to accept the past, whatever it might have been, and to embrace the present, whatever it might be.

One of the things that makes insults difficult to deal with is that they generally come as surprises. You are calmly chatting with someone when—wham!—he says something that, although it might not have been intended as an insult, can easily be construed as one. Recently, for example, I was talking to a colleague about a book he was writing. He said that in this book, he was going to comment on some political material I had published. I was delighted that he was aware of my work and was going to mention it, but then came the put-down: “I’m trying to decide,” he said, “whether, in my response to what you have written, I should characterize you as evil or merely misguided.” Realize that such comments are to be expected from academics. We are a pathetically contentious lot. We want others not only to be aware of our work but to admire it and, better still, to defer to the conclusions we have drawn. The problem is that our colleagues seek the same admiration and deference from us. Something has to give, and as a result, on campuses everywhere, academics routinely engage in verbal fisticuffs. Put-downs are commonplace, and insults fly. In my pre-Stoic days, I would have felt the sting of this insult and probably would have gotten angry. I would have vigorously defended my work and would have done my best to unleash a counterinsult. But on that particular day, having fallen under the influence of the Stoics,

had the presence of mind to respond to this insult in a Stoically acceptable manner, with self-deprecating

deprecating humor: “Why can’t you portray me as being both evil and misguided?” I...

deprecating humor has become my standard response to insults. When someone criticizes me, I reply that matters are even worse than he is suggesting. If, for example, someone suggests that I am lazy, I reply that it is a miracle that I get any work done at all. If someone accuses me of having a big ego, I reply that on most days it is noon before I become aware that anyone else inhabits the planet. Such responses may seem counterproductive since in offering them, I am in a sense validating the insulter’s criticisms of me. But by offering such responses, I make it clear to the insulter that I have enough confidence in who I am to be impervious to his insults; for me, they are a laughing matter. Furthermore, by refusing to play the insult game—by refusing to respond to ...

Because anger has these characteristics—because it can lie dormant within us and because venting it feels good—our anger will be difficult to overcome, and learning to overcome it is one of the biggest challenges a Stoic practitioner faces.

WHENEVER YOU UNDERTAKE an activity in which public failure is a possibility, you are likely to experience butterflies in your stomach. I mentioned above that since becoming a Stoic, I have become a collector of insults. I have also become a collector of butterflies. I like to engage in activities, such as competitive rowing, that give me butterflies simply so I can practice dealing with them.

I have also turned elsewhere in my pursuit of butterflies. After I began practicing Stoicism, for example, I decided to learn how to play a musical instrument, something I had never done

before. The instrument I chose was the banjo. After several months of lessons, my teacher asked if I wanted to participate in the recital his students give. I initially rejected the offer; it sounded like no fun at all to risk public humiliation trying to play banjo in front of a bunch of strangers. But then it occurred to me that this was a wonderful opportunity to cause myself psychological discomfort and to confront—and hopefully vanquish—my fear of failing. I agreed to take part.

THE STOICS, as we have seen, recommend simplifying one’s lifestyle. Like programs of voluntary discomfort, lifestyle simplification is a process best left to advanced Stoics. As I have explained, a novice Stoic will probably want to keep a low philosophical profile. If you start dressing down, people will notice. Likewise, people will notice if you keep driving the same old car or—horrors!—give up the car to take the bus or ride a bike.

When I started experimenting with a simplified lifestyle, it took some getting used to. When, for example, someone asked me where I had gotten the T-shirt I was wearing and I answered that I had bought it at a thrift store, I found myself feeling a bit ashamed. This incident made me appreciate Cato’s manner of dealing with such feelings. Cato, as we have seen, dressed differently as a kind of training exercise: He wanted to teach himself “to be ashamed only of what was really shameful.” He therefore went out of his way to do things that would trigger inappropriate feelings of shame in himself, simply so he could practice overcoming such feelings. I have lately been trying to emulate Cato in this respect.

What brought about this state of affairs? The profound realization, thanks to the practice of Stoicism, that acquiring the things that those in my social circle typically crave and work hard to afford will, in the long run, make zero difference in how happy I am and will in no way contribute to my having a good life.

Seneca also suggests that a Stoic might welcome death, inasmuch as it represents the ultimate test of his Stoicism.

It is possible that when I am in my seventies or eighties I will conclude, as the elderly people I know seem to have concluded, that nonexistence is preferable to old age. It is also possible, though, that many of those who find old age to be so burdensome have themselves to blame

for their predicament: They neglected, while young, to prepare for old age. Had they taken the time to properly prepare themselves—had they, in particular, started practicing Stoicism—it is conceivable that they would not have found old age to be burdensome; instead, they might have found it to be, as Seneca claimed, one of the most delightful stages of life, a stage that is “full of pleasure if one knows how to use it.”

THE GOAL OF STOICISM, as we have seen, is the attainment of tranquility. Readers will naturally want to know whether my own practice of Stoicism has helped me attain this goal. It has not, alas, allowed me to attain perfect tranquility. It has, however, resulted in my being substantially more tranquil than was formerly the case. In particular, I have made considerable progress in taming my negative emotions. I am less prone to anger than I used to be, and when I find myself venting my anger at others I am much more willing to apologize than was formerly the case.

When I start having second thoughts about Stoicism, my current practice is to recall that we live in a world in which certainty is possible only in mathematics. We live, in other words, in a world in which, no matter what you do, you might be making a mistake. This means that although it is true that I might be making a mistake by practicing Stoicism, I might also be making a mistake if I reject Stoicism in favor of some other philosophy of life. And I think the biggest mistake, the one made by a huge number of people, is to have no philosophy of life at all.

I suspect that in coming decades (should I live that long) whatever doubts I may have had about Stoicism will fall by the wayside as the aging process takes its toll. Stoic techniques can improve a life when times are good, but it is when times are bad that the efficacy of these techniques becomes most apparent. If I find Stoicism to be beneficial in my sixth decade of life, I am likely to find it to be indispensable in my eighth or ninth decade. Unless I am an unusual person, my biggest tests in life lie ahead. I will, I think, be glad to have developed an understanding and appreciation of Stoicism before these tests are administered.