How to Think Like a Roman Emperor: The Stoic Philosophy of Marcus Aurelius

by Donald J. Robertson

For I go around doing nothing but persuading both young and old among you not to care for your body or your wealth in preference to or as strongly as for the best possible state of your soul, as I say to you: “Wealth does not bring about virtue, but virtue makes wealth and everything else good for men, both individually and collectively.”2

For I go around doing nothing but persuading both young and old among you not to care for your body or your wealth in preference to or as strongly as for the best possible state of your soul, as I say to you: “Wealth does not bring about virtue, but virtue makes wealth and everything else good for men, both individually and collectively.”2

We are to place more importance upon wisdom and virtue than anything else. A “philosopher,” in Socrates’s sense, is therefore a person who lives according to these values: someone who literally loves wisdom, the original meaning of the word.

We are to place more importance upon wisdom and virtue than anything else. A “philosopher,” in Socrates’s sense, is therefore a person who lives according to these values: someone who literally loves wisdom, the original meaning of the word.

Nevertheless, once I started working as a psychotherapist, it became evident to me that most of my clients who suffered from anxiety or depression benefited from the realization that their distress was due to their underlying values. Everyone knows that when we believe very strongly that something very bad has happened, we typically become upset as a result. Likewise, if we believe that something is very good and desirable, we become anxious when it’s threatened or sad if it has already been lost. For example, in order to feel social anxiety, you have to believe that other people’s negative opinions of you are worth getting upset about, that it’s really bad if they dislike you and really important to win their approval. Even people who suffer from severe social anxiety disorder (social phobia) tend to feel “normal” when speaking to children or to their close friends about trivial matters, with a few exceptions. Nevertheless, they feel highly anxious when talking to people they think are very important about subjects they think are very important. If your fundamental worldview, by contrast, assumes that your status in the eyes of others is of negligible importance, then it follows that you should be beyond the reach of social anxiety.

Nevertheless, once I started working as a psychotherapist, it became evident to me that most of my clients who suffered from anxiety or depression benefited from the realization that their distress was due to their underlying values. Everyone knows that when we believe very strongly that something very bad has happened, we typically become upset as a result. Likewise, if we believe that something is very good and desirable, we become anxious when it’s threatened or sad if it has already been lost. For example, in order to feel social anxiety, you have to believe that other people’s negative opinions of you are worth getting upset about, that it’s really bad if they dislike you and really important to win their approval. Even people who suffer from severe social anxiety disorder (social phobia) tend to feel “normal” when speaking to children or to their close friends about trivial matters, with a few exceptions. Nevertheless, they feel highly anxious when talking to people they think are very important about subjects they think are very important. If your fundamental worldview, by contrast, assumes that your status in the eyes of others is of negligible importance, then it follows that you should be beyond the reach of social anxiety.

It very soon became evident to me that Stoicism was, in fact, the school of ancient Western philosophy with the most explicitly therapeutic orientation and the largest armamentarium, or toolbox, of psychological techniques at its disposal. After scouring books on philosophy for over a decade, I realized that I’d been looking everywhere except in the right place.

It very soon became evident to me that Stoicism was, in fact, the school of ancient Western philosophy with the most explicitly therapeutic orientation and the largest armamentarium, or toolbox, of psychological techniques at its disposal. After scouring books on philosophy for over a decade, I realized that I’d been looking everywhere except in the right place.

As I began to devour the literature on Stoicism, I noticed that the form of modern psychotherapy most akin to it was rational emotive behavior therapy (REBT), the main precursor to CBT, first developed by Albert Ellis in the 1950s. Ellis and Aaron T. Beck, the other main pioneer of CBT, had both cited Stoic philosophy as the inspiration for their respective approaches. For instance, Beck and his colleagues had written in The Cognitive Therapy of Depression, “The philosophical origins of cognitive therapy can be traced back to the Stoic philosophers.”3 Indeed, CBT and Stoicism have some fundamental psychological assumptions in common, particularly the “cognitive theory of emotion,” which holds that our emotions are mainly determined by our beliefs. Anxiety largely consists of the belief, for example, that “something bad is going to happen,” according to Beck. From shared premises, moreover, Stoicism and CBT were bound to arrive at similar conclusions about what sort of psychological techniques might be helpful to people suffering from anxiety, anger, depression, and other problems.

As I began to devour the literature on Stoicism, I noticed that the form of modern psychotherapy most akin to it was rational emotive behavior therapy (REBT), the main precursor to CBT, first developed by Albert Ellis in the 1950s. Ellis and Aaron T. Beck, the other main pioneer of CBT, had both cited Stoic philosophy as the inspiration for their respective approaches. For instance, Beck and his colleagues had written in The Cognitive Therapy of Depression, “The philosophical origins of cognitive therapy can be traced back to the Stoic philosophers.”3 Indeed, CBT and Stoicism have some fundamental psychological assumptions in common, particularly the “cognitive theory of emotion,” which holds that our emotions are mainly determined by our beliefs. Anxiety largely consists of the belief, for example, that “something bad is going to happen,” according to Beck. From shared premises, moreover, Stoicism and CBT were bound to arrive at similar conclusions about what sort of psychological techniques might be helpful to people suffering from anxiety, anger, depression, and other problems.

His followers believed that studying philosophical theory, or subjects like logic and cosmology, can be good insofar as it makes us more virtuous and improves our character. However, it can also be a bad thing if it becomes so pedantic or overly “academic” that it diverts us from the pursuit of virtue. Marcus learned the same attitude from his Stoic teachers. He repeatedly warned himself not to become distracted by reading too many books—thus wasting time on trifling issues in logic and metaphysics—but instead to remain focused on the practical goal of living wisely.

Zeno told his students that he had come to value wisdom more than wealth or reputation. He used to say, “My most profitable journey began on the day I was shipwrecked and lost my entire fortune.”6 Even today it’s not unusual for a client in therapy to arrive at the paradoxical revelation that losing their job may turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to them. Zeno learned to embrace the Cynic teaching that wealth and other external things are completely indifferent and that virtue is the true goal of life. In plain English, what the Cynics meant was that our character is the only thing that ultimately matters and that wisdom consists in learning to view everything else in life as utterly worthless by comparison. They believed that mastering this attitude required lifelong moral and psychological training in the voluntary endurance of hardship and renunciation of certain desires.

However, in contrast to the Cynics, other philosophers argued that “external goods”—such as health, wealth, and reputation—were also required for a good life, in addition to virtue. The problem is that these external things are partly in the hands of Fate, which seems to make a good life unattainable for many individuals. Socrates, for instance, was notoriously ugly by Athenian standards, lived in relative poverty, and died persecuted by powerful enemies. Would his life have been better, though, if he’d been handsome, wealthy, and praised by everyone? Didn’t his greatness consist precisely in the wisdom and strength of character with which he handled these obstacles in life? As we’ll see, Zeno’s innovation was to argue that external advantages do have some value but of a completely different sort than virtue. They’re not always completely indifferent. For Stoics, virtue is still the only true good—the Cynics were right about that—but it’s also natural to prefer health to sickness, wealth to poverty, friends to enemies, and so on, within reasonable bounds. External advantages such as wealth may create more opportunities but in themselves they simply don’t have the kind of value that can ever define a good life.

The Stoic school he founded had a series of leaders, or “scholarchs,” and a set of characteristic core doctrines, but students were also encouraged to think for themselves. After Zeno died, Cleanthes, one of his students, who had formerly been a boxer and watered gardens at night to earn a living, became head of the Stoic school; he was followed by Chrysippus, one of the most acclaimed intellectuals of the ancient world. Between them, these three developed the original doctrines of the Stoic school.

The teachings of Zeno and Cleanthes were simple, practical, and concise. True to his Cynic roots, Zeno focused on improving the character of his young students while avoiding long-winded academic debates.

On the other hand, Cleanthes, the teacher of Chrysippus, was not a great intellectual. According to legend, Chrysippus often said that it would be better if Cleanthes just cut to the chase and taught him the conclusions of the Stoic school so he could figure out better supporting arguments himself. Today many students of Stoicism adopt a similar attitude: they’re attracted to the Stoic worldview but prefer to “update” it by drawing upon a wider range of arguments from modern science and philosophy. Stoicism was never intended to be doctrinaire. Chrysippus disagreed with Zeno and Cleanthes in many regards, which allowed Stoicism to keep evolving.

Nearly five centuries after Zeno the dye merchant founded the Stoic school, Marcus Aurelius was still talking about dyeing things purple. He warns himself to avoid dyeing his character with the royal purple and turning into a Caesar, instead aspiring to remain true to his philosophical principles. He (twice) reminds himself that his purple imperial robes are mere sheep’s wool dyed in fermented shellfish mucus. He tells himself to dye his mind with the wisdom of philosophical precepts handed down from his Stoic teachers. Marcus Aurelius, indeed, viewed himself as a Stoic first and an emperor second.

For Stoics, that goal is defined as “living in agreement with Nature,” which we’re told was synonymous with living wisely and virtuously. Stoics argued that humans are first and foremost thinking creatures, capable of exercising reason. Although we share many instincts with other animals, our ability to think rationally is what makes us human. Reason governs our decisions, in a sense—the Stoics call it our “ruling faculty.” It allows us to evaluate our thoughts, feelings, and urges and to decide if they’re good or bad, healthy or unhealthy. We therefore have an innate duty to protect our ability to reason and to use it properly. When we reason well about life and live rationally, we exhibit the virtue of wisdom. Living in agreement with Nature, in part, means fulfilling our natural potential for wisdom; that’s what it means for us to flourish as human beings. The Stoics therefore took the name of philosophy, meaning “love of wisdom,” quite literally. They loved wisdom, or loved virtue, above everything else. If “virtue” sounds a bit pompous, the Greek word for it, arete, is arguably better translated as “excellence of character.” Something excels, in this sense, if it performs its function well. Humans excel when they think clearly and reason well about their lives, which amounts to living wisely. The Stoics adopted the Socratic division of cardinal virtues into wisdom, justice, courage, and moderation. The other three virtues can be understood as wisdom applied to our act...

They had names for many different types of good passion (eupatheiai), a term encompassing both desires and emotions, which they grouped under three broad headings: 1. A profound sense of joy or gladness and peace of mind, which comes from living with wisdom and virtue 2. A healthy feeling of aversion to vice, like a sense of conscience, honor, dignity, or integrity 3. The desire to help both ourselves and others, through friendship, kindness, and goodwill They also believed that we have many irrational desires and emotions, like fear, anger, craving, and certain forms of pleasure that are bad for us. Stoics did not believe that unhealthy emotions should be suppressed; rather, they should be replaced by healthy ones. However, these healthy emotions aren’t entirely under our control, and we’re not always guaranteed to experience them, so we shouldn’t confuse them with virtue, the goal of life. For Stoics, they’re like an added bonus. They also taught that our initial automatic feelings are to be viewed as natural and indifferent. These include things like being startled or irritated, blushing, turning pale, tensing up, shaking, sweating, or stammering. They are natural reflex reactions, our first reactions before we escalate them into full-blown passions. We share these primitive precursors to emotion with some non-human animals, and so the Stoics view them with indifference, as neither good nor bad. Indeed, Seneca, as we’ll see, noted the paradox that before we can exhibit ...

By now you’ll appreciate how much confusion is caused by people mixing up “Stoicism” (capital S) with “stoicism” (lowercase s). Lowercase stoicism is just a personality trait: it’s mental toughness or the ability to endure pain and adversity without complaining. Uppercase Stoicism is a whole school of Greek philosophy. Being emotionally tough or resilient is just one small part of that philosophy, and lowercase stoicism neglects the entire social dimension of Stoic virtue, which has to do with justice, fairness, and kindness to others. Also, when people talk about being stoic or having a stiff upper lip, they often mean just suppressing their feelings, which is actually known to be quite unhealthy. So it’s important to be very clear that’s not what Marcus Aurelius and other Stoics recommended. Stoic philosophy teaches us instead to transform unhealthy emotions into healthy ones. We do so by using reason to challenge the value judgments and other beliefs on which they’re based, much as we do in modern rational emotive behavior therapy (REBT) and cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT).

Teachers of rhetoric, the formal study of the language used in giving speeches and part of any young aristocrat’s curriculum in those days, were known as Sophists, reviving a Greek tradition that went back to the time of Socrates. They often included moral lessons, bits of philosophy, and other aspects of intellectual culture in their lessons. Hence our word “sophistication,” which is loosely what they sought to impart. As Socrates had long ago observed, although Sophists often sounded like they were doing philosophy, their underlying goal was to win praise by displaying verbal eloquence rather than attaining virtue for its own sake. Put simply, while they spoke a lot about wisdom and virtue, they didn’t necessarily live in accord with those values. They were usually more concerned with competing against one another to win public applause for their knowledge and eloquence. The appearance of wisdom therefore became more important to many Romans than wisdom itself.

By contrast, Epictetus, in typical Stoic fashion, continually warned his students not to confuse academic learning with wisdom and to avoid petty arguments, hairsplitting, or wasting time on abstract, academic topics.

As the years passed, Marcus would grow increasingly aware of his disillusionment with the values of the Sophists and his natural affinity with those of the Stoics. We can probably thank his mother for this to some extent. Domitia Lucilla was a remarkable woman who, like Marcus’s father, came from a distinguished Roman patrician family. She was also immensely wealthy, having inherited a vast fortune, including an important brick-and-tile factory situated near Rome. However, Marcus would later say that he was particularly influenced by the simplicity and unpretentiousness of her way of life, “far removed from that of the rich.”4 This love of simple living and distaste for the ostentatious impressed her son.

Several decades later, Marcus revealed his distaste for the pretense and corruption of court life in The Meditations. He promised himself, though, that he would never again waste his time dwelling negatively on it.

In any case, Diognetus taught Marcus not to waste his time with trivial matters and steered him away from popular amusements such as quail fighting—the Ancient Roman equivalent of today’s video games, perhaps. He warned Marcus not to be duped by charlatans who hawked miracles and magic charms or by those (presumably early Christians) who professed to exorcise demons. Disdain for the supernatural and caution against wasting time and energy on diversions such as gambling are attitudes that Marcus may have learned from a Cynic or Stoic philosopher.

Moreover, Epictetus told his students that one of the Stoics he held in particularly high regard, Paconius Agrippinus, used to write similar letters to console himself whenever any hardship befell him.33 When faced with fever, slander, or exile, he would compose Stoic “eulogies” praising these events as occasions to exercise strength of character. Agrippinus was truly a master decatastrophizer. He would reframe every hardship as an opportunity to cope by exercising wisdom and strength of character.

But if something is outside your control, then it’s simply irrational to demand that you should obtain or avoid it. It’s a contradiction to believe both that you must do something and also that it’s not within your power to do so. The Stoics viewed this confusion as the root cause of most emotional suffering.

Although he may have preferred to live, he was relatively indifferent to dying as long as he met his death with wisdom and virtue. This used to be known as the ideal of a “good death,” from which our word “euthanasia” derives. However, for Socrates and the Stoics, a good death didn’t so much mean a pleasant or peaceful death as one faced with wisdom and virtue. Knowing that not everyone sees a certain situation as catastrophic should make us more aware that the “awfulness” of it derives from our own thinking, our value judgments, and our way of responding rather than the thing itself. Awfulness (badness) is not a physical property. As Aristotle said, fire burns just the same in Greece as in Persia, but men’s judgments about what’s good or bad vary from one place to another. Marcus therefore compares our opinions to beams of sunlight shining on external objects, not unlike Beck’s analogy of looking at the world through tinted glasses. By realizing that our value judgments are projections, Marcus says, we separate them from external events. He refers to this cognitive process as the “purification” (katharsis) of the mind.

As Marcus said elsewhere, philosophy was his mother, the court merely his stepmother.2

He also taught Marcus to be a careful and patient student of philosophy, to read attentively rather than just skimming things, and not to be swayed too easily by speakers who have a silver tongue. Epictetus likewise told his students repeatedly that they should not speak about philosophy lightly, like the Sophists, but rather show its fruits in their very character and actions. In typically blunt fashion he told them that sheep don’t vomit up grass to show the shepherds how much they’ve eaten but rather digest their food inwardly and produce good wool and milk outwardly.5

Marcus wrote that anyone who truly wants to achieve wisdom through Stoicism will make it his priority in life to cultivate his own character and seek help from others who share similar values.7 That seems like the role Junius Rusticus played for him. We should ask that person if they notice any unhealthy passions in us, says Galen, assuring them that we’re not going to be offended if they speak frankly. Galen also explains that the novice is bound to feel that some of his mentor’s observations are unfair, but he must learn to listen patiently and take criticism on the chin without becoming irritated. From what Marcus says, that was probably quite challenging for him at first, although Rusticus was good at smoothing things over. Marcus had another Stoic tutor, called Cinna Catulus, about whom we know very little. Marcus observed that Catulus was a man who paid attention to his friends when they found fault in his character; even if they did so unjustly, he would always try to address matters and restore their friendship.8 Through their own behavior, therefore, Rusticus and Catulus both showed Marcus that a wise man should welcome criticism from his friends.

As was often the case, the Stoics adopted a more moderate approach, and they were concerned that their speech should not only be honest and simple but also appropriate to the needs of the hearer. There’s no point in speaking plainly to people if it doesn’t benefit them. Throughout The Meditations, Marcus makes many references to the value he places on speaking the truth, but he also consistently recognizes the importance of communicating it appropriately. For instance, Alexander of Cotiaeum, his childhood grammarian, made a lifelong impression on Marcus by the tactful way he would correct those making a verbal error.9 If someone used a word incorrectly, Alexander would not overtly criticize the speaker. He never interrupted them or challenged them on the spot. Instead, the grammarian had a more artful and indirect way of steering them in the right direction. Marcus noticed that Alexander would subtly drop in the correct expression while replying or discussing some other topic. If the real goal for Stoics is wisdom, then sometimes just blurting out the truth isn’t enough. We have to put more effort into communicating with others effectively.

Correcting someone else’s vices, Marcus says, is like pointing out that they have bad breath—it requires considerable tact. However, he noticed that Sextus won the respect of all sorts of people by skillfully adapting his conversation so that it seemed more charming than any flattery, even while he was speaking frankly or disagreeing with them. Clearly, Stoics like Marcus placed a lot more value on manners and civility than the Cynics did. The Stoics realized that to communicate wisely, we must phrase things appropriately. Indeed, according to Epictetus, the most striking characteristic of Socrates was that he never became irritated during an argument. He was always polite and refrained from speaking harshly even when others insulted him. He patiently endured much abuse and yet was able to put an end to most quarrels in a calm and rational manner.11

What’s required first is a more general openness to criticism: we should give everyone we meet permission to tell us what our faults are, according to Galen, and resolve not to be angry with any of them. Indeed, Marcus tells himself both to enter into every man’s mind, to study their judgments and values, and to let every man enter into his.12 If anyone gives him a valid reason to believe that he’s going astray in terms of either thought or action, he says he will gladly change his ways. Marcus sought to make it his priority in life to get to the truth of matters, reminding himself that nobody has ever really been harmed in this way but that those who cling to error and ignorance harm themselves.13 We’re told this advice goes back to Zeno. Most men are eager to point out their neighbors’ flaws, he said, whether we ask them to or not. So instead of resenting it, we should welcome criticism from others as one of life’s inevitabilities and turn it to our advantage by making all men into our teachers. Galen therefore says that if we desire to learn wisdom, we must be ready to listen to anyone we encounter and show gratitude “not to those who flatter us but to those who rebuke us.”14

This doesn’t mean we should trust all opinions equally, of course. Marcus makes it clear that we must train ourselves to discriminate good advice from bad and learn not to preoccupy ourselves with the opinions of foolish people.

It’s prudent to listen carefully to most of the people we meet in life but not to give eq...

Rather, by welcoming criticism and accepting it dispassionately, we can gradually learn to sort through it rationally...

In one passage, Marcus imagines a wise teacher instructing someone to think of nothing he would be unwilling to say aloud, uncensored, as soon as it comes into his mind. Marcus doubts that the majority of us could really endure this for even a single day because we foolishly put more value on other people’s opinions than on our own. And yet he aspired to this level of transparency. He says that we should imagine someone asking “What’s going on right now in your mind?” without warning and that we should be able to answer truthfully without feeling the need to blush. Marcus says he wants his soul to be naked and simple, more visible even than the body that surrounds it. Elsewhere he goes even further and, like a Cynic, says we should never crave anything in life that requires walls or curtains. On one hand, these are expressions of Marcus’s desire to work toward a lofty moral ideal: being so pure of heart that he has nothing to hide from anyone.

Even if you don’t have a real-life mentor following you around, you can still benefit from the concept by using your imagination. Marcus, like other ancient philosophers, conjured the images of various advisors and role models in his mind. He also believed it was important to consider the character and actions of famous historical philosophers. At one point he says that the writings of “the Ephesians,” possibly meaning the followers of Heraclitus, contained the advice to think constantly of individuals from previous generations who demonstrated exemplary virtue. As we’ve seen, the story of Zeno begins with him being given the cryptic advice to “take on the color of dead men” by studying the wisdom of previous generations. Marcus tells himself to focus his attention on the minds of wise men, particularly their underlying principles, and carefully consider what these men avoid and what they pursue in life. In The Meditations, he names the philosophers he most admires: Pythagoras, Heraclitus, Socrates, Diogenes the Cynic, Chrysippus, and Epictetus. Of course, you might even choose Marcus himself as a role model if you’re studying his life and philosophy.20 Your first step is to write down the virtues exhibited by someone you respect. Listing the qualities you most admire in another person, just as Marcus does in the first book of The Meditations, is a simple and powerful exercise. He explains in a later chapter that he contemplates the virtues of those who lived with him in o...

In The Meditations, Marcus said that it was Antoninus who showed him that an emperor could win the respect of his subjects without bodyguards, expensive robes, precious ornaments, statues, and all other such trappings of his station in life.

Marcus contemplates Antoninus’s vigorous commitment to reason, his simple piety, his unshakable inner peace and calm demeanor. Marcus even says that his father was like Socrates in his ability to abstain from things that the majority are too weak to do without and to enjoy things in moderation that most people cannot enjoy without going to excess. He tells himself that if he can emulate all of these virtues, then he will be able to meet his own final hour with the same equanimity and clear conscience that Antoninus showed on his deathbed.

For example, Marcus frequently examines his own character and actions, perhaps posing the sort of questions a Stoic mentor might have asked. He asks himself, in different situations, “What use am I now making of my soul?”29 He probed his own mind, scrutinizing the fundamental values he was taking for granted. “Whose soul do I now have?” he would ask. “Am I behaving like a child, a tyrant, a sheep, a wolf, or am I fulfilling my true potential as a rational being? For what purpose am I currently using my mind? Am I being foolish? Am I alienated from other people? Am I letting myself be dragged off course by fear and desire? What passions are there right now in my mind?” You might also ask yourself, “How’s this actually working out?” Sometimes it’s necessary to interrupt the things you’re doing out of habit so that you can ask yourself whether they’re actually healthy or unhealthy for you in the long run.

Remember: the fundamental goal of life for Stoics, the highest good, is to act consistently in accord with reason and virtue.

My interpretation is that Lucius organized his whole life around the pursuit of empty pleasures as a form of emotional avoidance. Psychologists now know that people often engage in habits they consider pleasurable—from social media to crack cocaine—as a way of distracting themselves from or suppressing unpleasant feelings. In Lucius’s case, alcohol and other diversions perhaps offered him a way to escape worry about his responsibilities as emperor. As we’ll see, there’s nothing wrong with pleasure unless we begin craving it so much that we neglect our responsibilities in life or it replaces healthy and fulfilling activities with ones that are not.

Chasing empty, transient pleasures can never lead to true happiness in the long run. However, pleasure can be tricky—it can lure us in by posing as something it’s not. What we’re all really seeking in life is the sense of authentic happiness or fulfillment the Stoics called eudaimonia.

Fronto came around to Marcus’s way of thinking in the end. He gradually realized that there was more to life than socializing among the Roman patrician class, whom they both came to view as lacking any genuine warmth or friendliness. Marcus also faced criticism from the old guard for promoting men such as his future son-in-law Pompeianus based on merit rather than nobility of birth. He picked his friends carefully, based on the character traits he most admired rather than what seemed congenial to those of his social class.

The wise man’s sense of delight comes from one thing alone: acting consistently in accord with virtue.11 Nevertheless, Marcus does elsewhere mention two additional sources of joy. Together these correspond with the three core relationships that Stoic ethics encompassed: our self, other people, and the world as a whole. 1. Contemplating virtue in yourself. As we’ve just seen, Marcus says that the most important source of both “serenity” and “joy” for a Stoic comes from letting go of attachment to external things and focusing on living wisely, particularly by exercising virtue (justice) in our relations with others. 2. Contemplating virtue in others. Marcus also tells himself that when he wants to gladden his heart, he should meditate on the good qualities of those close to him, such as energy, modesty, or generosity. That’s essentially what he’s doing in book 1 of The Meditations when he lists the virtues of his family members and teachers at length, and it helps to explain the important role of these friendships in his life. 3. Welcoming your fate. Marcus also tells himself that rather than desiring things that are absent, as many do, he should reflect on the pleasant aspects of things he already has before him and contemplate how he would miss them if they were not there.12

The Stoics wanted to develop a healthy sense of gratitude in life, unspoiled by attachment. So they practiced calmly imagining change and loss, like a river gently flowing past, carrying things away.

However, spending too much time chasing empty pleasures can also prevent us from pursuing activities that we may find genuinely rewarding, such as living more fully in alignment with our core values. Arguably, that’s the most serious problem of all.

You’ve already learned about the concept of Stoic indifference, or apatheia. It has a very specific meaning—freedom from harmful desires or passions—that the Stoics distinguished from ordinary indifference. It’s not about being coldhearted or uncaring. Whereas Stoics believed that the only true good is wisdom and virtue, we tend to slip into the habit of thinking about external things as if they were more important than fulfilling our own nature.