Modern Stoicism Is Reduced to a Sales Funnel

There is a growing tendency to treat Stoicism not as an ethical discipline but as a delivery mechanism—a way to smuggle modern success metrics into ancient language and sell them back as wisdom. Happiness, wealth, power, influence, optimization: the goals are assumed in advance, and Stoicism is conscripted to serve them.

This is not a philosophical disagreement. It is a category error.

Stoicism bows and conforms to no metric—it is the metric.

Subscribe now

Stoicism is not a method for winning. It is not a productivity system, a mood regulator, or a strategy for personal advantage. It is an ethical framework concerned with one question only: what makes a life good, regardless of outcome? When Stoicism is repurposed to guarantee happiness, status, material gain, or “winning,” it has already been hollowed out. The conclusion has been chosen first; the philosophy is used afterward as branding.

That inversion matters. Any ethical system that judges actions by outcomes ceases to be ethical. It becomes instrumental. Virtue becomes a tactic. Discipline becomes a means to applause. And the moment virtue is justified by what it produces, rather than by what it is, Stoicism has been replaced by something else entirely—something far more familiar and far less demanding.

This post is not a debate between schools. It is a refusal to confuse philosophy with marketing.

Ethics Is Not Optimization

The core mistake behind this modern misuse of Stoicism is a simple one: it confuses an ethical framework with a performance system. These answer different questions, operate under different standards, and cannot be collapsed without distortion.

A performance system asks, how do I get better results?
An ethical system asks, what makes an action right, regardless of results?

Stoicism belongs entirely to the second category.

When someone imports pre-selected success metrics—happiness, wealth, power, influence—and then asks Stoicism to help maximize them, the philosophy has already been misapplied. Stoicism is not indifferent to results because it lacks ambition; it is indifferent to results because results do not determine ethical worth.

“Virtue is the only good; at least there is nothing good without virtue.”—Seneca, Letters, 71.32

This is the line modern “Stoic optimization” refuses to cross, and so it remains incomplete at best, a perversion at worst. If happiness, money, or status are treated as the goal, then virtue is no longer sovereign. It becomes instrumental—valuable only insofar as it pays off. That is not Stoicism; it is consequentialism in Greco-Roman robes.

The same error appears in the language of systems that “guarantee winning.” Optimization thinking assumes a controllable world: repeat the inputs, secure the outputs. Stoicism begins from the opposite premise—that the world is not controllable and that moral integrity must therefore be grounded in what is controllable: judgment, intention, and action.

“Some things are in our control and others not.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 1

A system can improve odds. It cannot guarantee outcomes. Stoicism never promises victory because it was forged in a world where victory is uncertain, temporary, and often irrelevant to the goodness of a life.

The category error, then, is not subtle. It is decisive. To treat Stoicism as a system for winning is to judge actions by what they produce rather than by what they are. The moment success becomes the measure, Stoicism has already been abandoned—even if its vocabulary remains.

Stoicism is not optimized for gain. It is optimized for rightness under constraint.

Goals, Systems, and the Stoic Order

There is a popular claim among so-called modern Stoics that Stoics do not set goals; they build “systems” that produce results without reference to explicit ends. This position is Stoic only in the most superficial sense. It is derived from a half-understood idea—that Stoics treat outcomes as indifferent and judge conduct, not results. While this is true in a narrow and technical sense, extending it to the conclusion that goals do not matter and systems replace ends is a distortion of Stoic philosophy, not an expression of it. This is not Stoicism. It is a misuse of Stoic indifference to justify intellectual laziness and moral drift.

This popular opposition between “goals” and “systems” collapses under even light Stoic scrutiny. Stoicism rejects neither. What it rejects is confusing their place in the moral hierarchy.

A Stoic may set goals. Ends are selected by reason in light of one’s roles and duties: to train the body, to educate the mind, to provide for family, to serve the community, to act justly in one’s station. To refuse to select ends would not be Stoic detachment; it would be abdication of duty.

“First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do.”—Epictetus, Discourses, III.23

What Stoicism forbids is allowing the goal’s outcome to become the measure of success. Ends guide action; they do not judge the self. Fate retains veto power over outcomes, and Stoicism refuses to argue with that reality.

Systems, likewise, have their place. Discipline, routine, training, repetition—these are not modern inventions, nor are they foreign to Stoic practice. But a system is a means, not a guarantee. It expresses commitment to right action; it does not certify victory.

“Do your duty, and leave the rest to fate.”
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VI.2

The Stoic order is therefore precise and non-negotiable:

• Virtue determines what ends are worth pursuing.

• Reason selects goals consistent with duty.

• Discipline governs the daily execution.

• Outcome is accepted without moral attachment.

Reverse this order—place outcomes first, systems second, and virtue last—and Stoicism is undone. You are no longer acting because the action is right; you are acting because you want a particular result. At that point, virtue has become conditional.

Seneca is explicit about this inversion:

“The wise man looks to the purpose of all actions, not to the results.”
—Seneca, On the Happy Life, 20.2

This is why the language of “guaranteed winning” is fundamentally un-Stoic. Winning is not promised. Showing up is not “victory.” What is demanded is clean action under uncertainty—the discipline to act well when success is possible, unlikely, or already foreclosed.

Stoicism does not erase the finish line. It simply refuses to let the finish line define the worth of the runner.

Duty vs. Optimization—and the Stoic Measure of Success

The so-called “Stoicism” of modern “Stoic optimization” collapses two things classical Stoicism keeps rigorously separate: duty and results. In doing so, it replaces ethics with efficiency and then mistakes that replacement for philosophical progress.

Optimization asks, what works?
Stoicism asks, what is required?

Duty, in Stoicism, does not arise from desired outcomes. It arises from role, reason, and circumstance. One acts because the action is fitting—καθῆκον (kathēkon, appropriate action)—not because it promises advantage. To subordinate duty to optimization is to invert Stoicism’s moral hierarchy.

“In life our first job is this: to divide and distinguish things into two categories—externals I cannot control, but the choices I make with regard to them I do control.”—Epictetus, Discourses, II.5

Optimization frameworks evaluate actions by payoff: efficiency, growth, winning. Stoicism evaluates actions by quality of assent and execution. Whether the action “pays” is not the measure. Whether it was just, rational, and disciplined is.

This is why the rhetoric of “losers” and “winners” is alien to Stoic thought. Stoicism does not recognize social ranking as a moral category. A soldier who dies at his post has not “lost.” A statesman who is exiled for refusing corruption has not “failed.” A parent whose efforts do not yield gratitude has not been defeated. These are not rhetorical flourishes; they are direct implications of Stoic ethics.

“What matters is not what you bear, but how you bear it.”—Seneca, On Providence, 2.4

The proper Stoic measure of success is therefore internal and exacting:

• Did I judge the situation clearly?

• Did I choose in accordance with reason?

• Did I act with justice, courage, temperance, and wisdom?

• Did I fulfill my duty without attachment to outcome?

If the answer is yes, the Stoic has succeeded—even if the project fails, the enemy wins, the market crashes, or the body gives out.

“The wise man looks to the purpose of all actions, not to the results.”—Seneca, On the Happy Life, 20.2

This is precisely what instrumental and “systems” Stoicism cannot tolerate. A philosophy that treats virtue as a tactic must justify itself by outcomes. A philosophy that treats virtue as the standard has no such need. The former requires guarantees; the latter requires resolve.

Stoicism was never designed to make you happy, wealthy, or powerful. Those are externals, subject to chance, competition, and decay. Anyone who tells you different and claims to be Stoic is lying.

“Do not seek for events to happen as you wish, but wish for them to happen as they do happen, and your life will go smoothly.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 8

Stoicism was designed to make you reliable under pressure, clean in judgment, and unbroken by results. It does not optimize for winning. It prepares you to act rightly when winning is uncertain, unlikely, or irrelevant.

Stoicism is not a system for success.

It is a discipline for duty.

Conclusion

Stoicism does not need to be rehabilitated for modern life by turning it into a system for success. It was never broken. What is broken is the assumption—so common today—that a philosophy must justify itself by producing happiness, wealth, power, or visible wins.

Stoicism refuses that demand, and so do I.

Stoicism does not promise victory. It does not guarantee results. It does not redefine success so that everyone “wins” by showing up. It demands something far more severe: that you act rightly regardless of outcome, and that you accept whatever follows without moral collapse.

“If you wish to make progress, be content to be thought foolish and stupid.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 13

The modern fixation on systems that “guarantee winning” reveals an inability to tolerate uncertainty, loss, and obscurity. Stoicism was forged precisely for those conditions. It does not anesthetize them. It trains you to stand inside them without surrendering judgment or duty.

“The good of a rational being is conformity to reason.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VII.11

When Stoicism is repackaged as a tool for gain, virtue is reduced to a tactic and philosophy becomes branding. But virtue that depends on payoff is no virtue at all—it is bargaining with fate under a different name.

Stoicism does not ask whether your system works.

It asks whether your actions are worthy.

And when the system fails—as all systems eventually do—Stoicism remains, intact and demanding, because it never outsourced the good to results in the first place.

“The happy life depends on very little—and that little depends on ourselves.”—Seneca, Letters, 44.7

That is not marketing.

That is philosophy.

The Appeal—and Danger—of Being Content

Stoicism has suffered in the modern age from excessive compression. Reduced to slogans, it becomes indistinguishable from generic positive psychology: emotionally soothing, rhetorically tidy, and philosophically thin. Aphorisms circulate that sound Stoic—calm, detached, reassuring—but quietly strip the philosophy of its central demand: disciplined action governed by reason.

Consider the common claim: “Feelings are just a matter of how you choose to view them.” The surface alignment with Stoicism is obvious. The Stoics did argue that emotions arise not from events themselves, but from the judgments we attach to them. As Epictetus famously put it, “Men are disturbed not by things, but by the views which they take of them.” I have said this myself, quite a bit, but there are qualifiers.

Stoicism does not stop at emotional analysis. It does not teach perspective in order to make life feel tolerable; it teaches judgment in order to make action correct. When perspective becomes a tool for emotional comfort rather than ethical clarity, Stoicism is replaced by mood management.

Stoicism is not about mood management.

Stoicism is about response management, which may include mood management as a tool, but it is not the end; it is the means.

This is the danger of modern Stoic aphorisms: they provide psychological relief without philosophical cost. One can feel calm, content, even “wise,” without confronting duty, effort, or self-command. The doctrine becomes cheap—easy to recite, easy to apply, and easy to abuse.

Seneca warned explicitly against this dilution. “Philosophy,” he wrote, “is not an occupation of spare time, nor is it designed to form cleverness of speech, but to shape the soul.” Stoicism that merely soothes is not shaping the soul; it is anesthetizing it.

Perspective Governs Emotion—Not Obligation

It is correct, as Stoicism teaches, that perspective governs emotion. An impression presents itself; the mind assents or withholds assent; emotion follows. But it is a categorical error to conclude from this that one may simply choose contentment as an end state by default.

Stoicism never treats emotional tranquility as the objective. Tranquility is a byproduct of correct judgment and virtuous action, not a substitute for them. To reverse this order—to aim first at contentment and then adjust judgment to support it—is to invert Stoicism entirely.

Seneca is unambiguous on this point: “The happy life is one which is in accordance with its own nature, and it cannot be attained unless the mind is sound and in constant possession of its sanity.” Sanity here does not mean calm feelings; it means correct evaluation of reality and one’s responsibilities within it.

The popular injunction to “be grateful and content” skips the crucial Stoic question: grateful for what, content with what, and on what grounds? Contentment derived from reframing may quiet dissatisfaction, but it says nothing about whether one is living in accordance with reason, virtue, or duty.

Epictetus again draws the line: “Do not seek for events to happen as you wish, but wish for them to happen as they do happen, and your life will go smoothly.” This is often quoted as a call to passive acceptance. It is not. It is a call to align desire with reality so that action can proceed without distortion. Acceptance clears the mind; it does not cancel obligation.

A Stoic may accept his present condition fully—and still judge that improvement is required. He may feel no resentment, no self-pity, no bitterness—and still act with firm intensity and resolve. Perspective governs emotion, yes. But reason governs action, and Stoicism never permits the former to excuse abandonment of the latter.

When emotional reframing becomes an endpoint rather than a preparatory step, Stoicism has already been abandoned. Calm that dissolves duty is not Stoic calm; it is complacency, rationalized into contentment.

The “Man With No Shoes” Fallacy

The proverb—“I was sad I had no shoes until I met a man with no feet”—is often offered as a lesson in gratitude and contentment. It is taken as the lesson: “Be happy with what you have; reframe it—it could be worse.” Stoically examined, it is instead a lesson in faulty reasoning. It attempts to settle the legitimacy of dissatisfaction by comparison rather than by judgment. Taken seriously, it collapses into an infinite regression: the man with no feet is silenced by the man with no legs; the man with no legs by the man with no arms; and so on, until only the single most deprived human being retains the right to discontent. Everyone else must stand down.

Stoicism rejects this entire structure. The philosophy does not evaluate a condition by asking whether someone else is worse off or by reframing to make your life better. It evaluates by asking whether the condition touches virtue, duty, or reason. As Epictetus states with precision, “When you see anyone distressed, be assured that it is not the event that distresses him, but his judgment about it.” The comparison to another’s suffering is irrelevant to that judgment. It neither corrects nor refutes it.

The deeper error in the proverb is not merely the infinite ladder; it is the normative rule it smuggles in: that dissatisfaction is illegitimate whenever greater deprivation exists elsewhere. Stoicism makes no such claim. Another man’s misfortune does not obligate you to declare your condition “good enough,” nor does it absolve you of improving what reason tells you can be improved.

Classical Stoicism resolves this cleanly through the doctrine of indifferents. Shoes, health, wealth, status—these are not goods in themselves, but they are not meaningless either. They are preferred or dispreferred insofar as they support or hinder the exercise of virtue. Seneca is explicit: “The wise man does not despise what is useful; he merely does not place his happiness in it.” The absence of shoes may be tolerable; that does not make striving to acquire shoes irrational, unnecessary, or un-Stoic.

Seneca again draws the boundary: “It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, that is poor.” This is often misread as an endorsement of complacency and a path to contentment. It is not. Seneca is condemning craving—irrational desire—not directed improvement. The man who calmly judges his condition, accepts it without complaint, and then works to improve it within reason is neither poor nor ungrateful. He is exercising rational agency.

The Stoic way: Acceptance without resentment is required. Abdication of effort is not.

Acceptance Without Surrender: What Stoicism Demands of Contentment

The Stoic boundary is not between contentment and ambition; it is between acceptance and surrender. Classical Stoicism demands the first and rejects the second. Modern treatments typically collapse them—treating acceptance as a psychological endpoint—when, for the Stoics, acceptance is a precondition for right action.

Contentment, properly Stoic, means this: I accept present facts without complaint, distortion, or self-pity.

Complacency means something else: I use acceptance to excuse inaction.

The Stoics make this explicit by distinguishing outcomes from agency. What happens is not fully ours; what we judge and do is. As Epictetus insists, “Some things are up to us and some things are not up to us.” Acceptance applies to the latter. Responsibility governs the former. To accept what is not up to you does not license neglect of what is.

This is why Stoicism introduces the doctrine of preferred and dispreferred indifferents. Health, strength, resources, reputation—none are goods in themselves; virtue alone is good. But these indifferents are not trivial. They are preferred when they enable virtue and dispreferred when they obstruct it. Seneca states, “The wise man does not disregard what is advantageous; he only does not make it the chief good.” Acceptance of loss does not imply indifference to improvement. It means improvement pursued without desperation, resentment, or moral compromise.

The modern slogan—“be grateful”—fails a decisive Stoic test. Does the reframing preserve duty? Or does it dissolve it? If the reframing quiets destructive passion while leaving effort intact, it is Stoic. If it quiets the mind by erasing the perceived need to act, it is not. Calm that cancels obligation is not Stoic calm; it is abdication.

A Stoic may be unsettled, ambitious, craving, and desirous; there is nothing inherently unstoic about the presence of those feelings or in using them to drive you. What is Stoic or not Stoic is not the feelings themselves; it’s what you do with them and how you do it.

Marcus Aurelius draws the line: “At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself, ‘I am rising to do the work of a human being.’” Acceptance of fatigue does not negate the work. It clarifies it. The Stoic does not ask whether striving feels pleasant; he asks whether it accords with nature and reason.

Seneca pushes this further, rejecting any philosophy that aims at comfort rather than fortitude: “We are not given a short life, but we make it short; and we are not ill-supplied, but wasteful of it.” The implication is sharp: tranquility that results from lowered standards is not wisdom; it is miserliness with one’s own capacity.

The Stoic demand, then, is exacting:

• Accept the present fully, without complaint. Judge what can be improved without illusion.

• Act decisively, without attachment to outcomes.

• Remain content with your character, not with your level of effort.

This is acceptance without surrender. Contentment without stagnation. Gratitude that does not borrow from another man’s deprivation, and ambition that is governed—never inflamed—by reason.

Personal Experience

At forty-nine years old, with a full career, a master’s degree, a stable life, and a four-year-old son, I made a deliberate decision: I returned to school to pursue a PhD. I did so while working full-time and supporting a family, and I had no reason apart from a rejection of complacency.

The responses were as predictable as they were disappointing.

Why?
What for?
That sounds like a waste of time and money.
I thought about doing that once, but I couldn’t justify it to my family.
Why can’t you just be happy with what you already have?

The message was consistent: be grateful, be content, don’t strain what’s already good.

From a Stoic perspective, that advice was incomplete—and therefore wrong.

I was grateful. I was not complacent. That is the key.

I judged that I had more capacity than I was using and therefore more obligation than I was fulfilling. My duty was not merely to maintain my position but to expand my competence—to build intellectual and professional resilience for the long term, for myself and for my family. Contentment with my current education would not have been acceptance; it would have been abdication of duty. Not an option.

I applied Stoic reasoning precisely where it belongs.

What was not in my control?
Other people’s opinions. The added difficulty. The discomfort. The risk.

What was in my control?
My effort. My discipline. My willingness to act.

Earning a PhD was within my power. Retreating into rationalized contentment would have been easier—but it would not have been Stoic.

Then, in my first semester, the pandemic hit.

Everything became harder. Stress multiplied. The structure collapsed. Once again, the language of “gratitude” was readily available. I had every socially acceptable reason to stop—to declare the attempt unreasonable and console myself with what I already had. A quarter of my cohort was wiped out that semester. They retreated into rationalized complacency.

I did not.

The pandemic was not within my control. My response to it was.

Our home became operational. One room, three desks: mine, my wife’s, and my son’s. Two adults working full-time remotely. Two full-time students working remotely—one of them working on a PhD, the other in first grade. Online meetings, lectures (giving and receiving), work, study, stress—all simultaneous. This was not a moment for philosophical comfort. It was not a moment to look for reasons to be upset or frustrated; it was not a moment to look for reasons to be content. It was a moment for execution under adversity—nothing more, nothing less.

As things got difficult, I reminded myself that I belong in hard work—because that is where my character is trained. The degree mattered, of course, but it was not the measure. The measure was whether I met the day with discipline. In the most extreme portions of stress, when breakdown was imminent, I would remind myself, “Just read one more paragraph; that’s all you have to do,” and “Just write one more sentence; that’s all you have to do.” Then another. Then another.

Stoicism did not ask me to feel content. It demanded that I act correctly under pressure—regardless of contentment.

Four years later, I completed my mission.

The point is not endurance for its own sake, nor ambition as self-justification. The point is this: Stoic acceptance is in no way synonymous with standing still.

Gratitude does not excuse unused capacity.

Calm is not the goal—character is.

Calm, like happiness, follows as a byproduct of a virtuous and fully developed character, not the other way around.

That distinction is the difference between being content and being complacent.

Am I now settled or ready to settle? No. I am grateful I have the skill, ability, and fortitude to continue to strive, and in that gratefulness, I ask myself again, what’s next to accomplish? And in my continued ability to ask and answer that question is where I find my contentment—stoically.

Framing: Comparison Is Harder Than It Seems

Among the classical philosophies, Aristotelian virtue ethics is the one most often confused with Stoicism—for understandable reasons. Both speak the language of virtue rather than pleasure. Both emphasize character over rules, habituation over impulse, reason over appetite. Both reject the idea that a good life is reducible to comfort or sensation (e.g., Epicureanism). On the surface, they appear to be allies.

That surface agreement is precisely what makes the comparison faulty.

Subscribe now

When two systems share vocabulary, it becomes easy to assume they share conclusions. But philosophical differences are rarely obvious at the beginning. They emerge under pressure. When fortune turns, when capacity narrows, when life does not cooperate, is when fault lines appear.

The purpose of this comparison is not to adjudicate which philosophy sounds nobler or feels kinder. It is to ask a harder question, the question both philosophies attempt to answer: what, exactly, makes a life good—and can that goodness be injured by circumstance or luck?

Aristotle and the Stoics give different answers to that question, and the difference is not academic; it’s foundational and practical. It determines how one understands aging, illness, loss, disgrace, and duty. It determines whether a good person can be said to have lived a diminished life through no fault of their own—or whether virtue remains whole regardless of circumstance.

The line between these two philosophies is subtle but decisive.

Aristotelian Virtue Ethics, Fairly Presented

Aristotle’s ethics begins with a practical question: what does it mean for a human being to flourish? His answer is not a mood, a moment, or a private feeling, but εὐδαιμονία (eudaimonia)—a life that goes well as a whole, measured across time.

Flourishing, for Aristotle, is the activity of the soul in accordance with ἀρετή (virtue or excellence). Virtue is not innate; it is acquired through habituation—repeated right action guided by reason until excellence of character becomes stable. Central to this process is φρόνησις (practical wisdom): the cultivated ability to judge what is appropriate, here and now, given the particulars of a situation. Virtue is not rigid rule-following but trained discernment.

“The human good proves to be activity of the soul in accordance with virtue.”—Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, I.7

“Virtue makes the goal right, practical wisdom the things leading to it.”—Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, VI.12

Aristotle’s account is deeply human. He recognizes that we are embodied, social, and political creatures. We do not flourish in isolation, nor do we exercise virtue in a vacuum. Friendship, participation in the life of the community, and the ability to act meaningfully in the world are essential to a fully human life.

“Moral virtue comes about as a result of habit… we become just by doing just actions.”—Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, II.1

“Friends are thought to be the greatest of external goods.”—Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, IX.9

It is here that Aristotle makes his most controversial and honest claim: virtue alone is not sufficient for εὐδαιμονία (flourishing). A good life also requires certain external goods. Health matters, because severe illness can cripple action. Friends matter, because a solitary life is incomplete. Some measure of material stability matters, because extreme deprivation constrains agency. And fortune matters, because catastrophic bad luck can overwhelm even a well-formed character.

“For one swallow does not make a summer… nor does one day make a man blessed and happy.”—Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, I.7

Aristotle does not suggest that virtue loses its worth in misfortune. A virtuous person remains admirable even under hardship. But admiration is not the same as flourishing. Tragedy, in Aristotle’s framework, is real. A life can be morally serious, well-intentioned, and skillfully lived—and still fall short of full εὐδαιμονία (flourishing) through no fault of the person living it.

This is not softness or moral compromise. It is a tragic realism about the human condition. Aristotle refuses to pretend that character alone can neutralize all external blows. A good life, on his account, is excellent—but vulnerable, dependent in part on the cooperation of the world.

It is a powerful, humane vision.
It is also the point at which Stoicism will part ways.

Stoicism’s Counterclaim: Virtue Is Sufficient

Stoicism responds to Aristotle’s tragic realism with a harsher, narrower claim: the goodness of a life cannot be injured by luck. Where Aristotle allows fortune to complete or frustrate flourishing, Stoicism removes fortune from the moral equation entirely. This is not because Stoics deny the reality of loss, illness, or deprivation, but because they deny these things the status of good or evil.

The Stoic position begins with a radical compression of value. Virtue alone is good; vice alone is bad. Everything else—health and sickness, wealth and poverty, honor and disgrace—belongs to a separate category altogether and is removed from the equation.

“Virtue is the only good; at least there is nothing good without virtue.”—Seneca, Letters, 71.32

This is the decisive separation. Aristotle situates virtue within a broader account of flourishing; Stoicism identifies virtue as the good itself.

External conditions are not dismissed as unreal. They are classified. Epictetus draws the boundary with precision: what lies within our control is judgment, choice, and assent; what lies outside it is the body, possessions, and reputation.

“Some things are in our control and others not.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 1

“Not in our control are body, property, reputation, offices.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 1

By locating the good exclusively in what cannot be taken by force, accident, or time, Stoicism renders the good life sovereign. Fortune may constrain action, limit capacity, and impose suffering, but it cannot make a life morally worse unless it induces vice.

This is why the Stoics insist that virtue is sufficient for happiness—not because life becomes painless, but because happiness is no longer dependent on circumstances.

“They say that virtue is sufficient for happiness.”—Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Eminent Philosophers, VII.127

The Stoic does not deny that illness impairs the body or that exile constrains opportunity. He denies that these things impair the goodness of the life being lived. Suffering changes the conditions under which virtue is exercised; it does not negate virtue itself. Marcus Aurelius states the practical implication with characteristic bluntness:

“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VIII.47

This is not consolation. It is hierarchy. Aristotle grants that misfortune can wound flourishing. Stoicism refuses to allow the good to be placed anywhere that fate can reach it.

That refusal—more than temperament, more than tone—is the true line of separation.

The Fault Line: Can Luck, or Age, or Misfortune—Damage Virtue?

The decisive separation between Aristotle and the Stoics appears when fortune presses hardest. The question is simple and unforgiving: can external circumstances—luck, loss, illness, or old age—damage the goodness of a life?

Aristotle answers yes. Because εὐδαιμονία (eudaimonia, flourishing) includes effective activity in the world, it is vulnerable to the world’s refusal to cooperate. Severe misfortune can obstruct noble action and thereby diminish flourishing, even when character remains intact.

“It is impossible, or not easy, to do noble acts without the proper equipment.”—Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, I.8

For example, age, on this account, is not morally neutral. As capacities narrow, the range of actions through which virtue is expressed contracts. A life can remain admirable and yet fall short of full flourishing simply because age can diminish capacity. Tragedy is real because fate can wound the good life itself.

The Stoics reject this vulnerability outright. They relocate the good so that no external condition can reach it. What is subject to luck—body, health, status, time—is excluded from the category of good and evil. Age, illness, exile, misfortune are acknowledged as real and consequential but morally indifferent.

“Do not seek for events to happen as you wish, but wish for them to happen as they do happen, and your life will go smoothly.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 8

This does not minimize loss; it reclassifies it. Misfortune alters the instruments through which virtue operates, not virtue itself. The Stoic does not ask whether misfortunes reduce flourishing; they ask whether they impede justice, courage, temperance, or wisdom. They do not—unless one assents to that conclusion.

“Sickness is a hindrance to the body, but not to the will, unless the will itself chooses it.”—Epictetus, Discourses, I.18

For example, where Aristotle sees aging as a potential diminishment of the good life, Stoicism sees a change of theater. The stage narrows; the play does not end. Duty persists precisely because it is grounded in character, not capacity.

“What matters is not what you bear, but how you bear it.”—Seneca, On Providence, 2.4

This is why Stoicism can speak coherently about misfortune without denial and without tragedy. Misfortune may take strength, speed, endurance, resources, loved ones, possessions. It does not take the good—unless one has placed the good in what time and misfortune can steal.

“No man is unhappy except by his own fault.”—Seneca, Letters, 85.28

The fault line, then, is not temperament but metaphysics. Aristotle allows the good life to be injured by luck. Stoicism refuses to make the good hostage to anything external. For anyone subject to misfortune but still answering to duty, that refusal is not comforting. It is necessary.

Stoicism Wins the Test of Adversity

Aristotle offers a compelling account of the good life—so long as the world cooperates. His ethics are calibrated for a functioning πόλις (polis): stable institutions, intact health, enduring friendships, and sufficient fortune to sustain noble action. In such conditions, Aristotelian virtue ethics explains flourishing with unmatched clarity and humanity.

But philosophy is tested not by fair weather, but by exposure.

When Aristotle says, “It is impossible, or not easy, to do noble acts without the proper equipment,” he is being honest and exposing his limit. When fortune withdraws its support, flourishing becomes fragile. The virtuous person may remain admirable, yet the life itself can be diminished.

Stoicism is built for far harsher terrain. It assumes instability as the default and prepares the soul accordingly. Where Aristotle requires a cooperative world to complete εὐδαιμονία (eudaimonia, flourishing), Stoicism refuses to place the good anywhere that chance can reach.

“Virtue alone is sufficient for happiness.”—Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Eminent Philosophers, VII.127

This is why the difference is not stylistic but structural.

Aristotle works best in a stable polis. Stoicism works in exile.

The Stoic good does not depend on institutions, health, reputation, or time remaining. It depends on judgment, assent, and duty—resources that persist even when everything else remembers its claim.

“Some things are in our control and others not.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 1

Aristotle explains flourishing; Stoicism explains endurance.

Stoicism does not promise completion or fullness. It promises sovereignty of the moral will under pressure—when completion is no longer possible.

“No condition can make the wise man miserable.”—Seneca, Letters, 85.28

Aristotle teaches how to live well when life goes right; Stoicism teaches how to live rightly when it does not.

That distinction matters where age advances, capacity narrows, and luck turns indifferent or hostile. In those conditions, a philosophy that requires favorable externals to secure the good has already conceded too much.

Stoicism does not deny loss. It denies loss the power to judge the life.

“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VIII.47

This is why Stoicism wins the test of adversity—not because it is comforting, but because it is durable. It locates the good where neither age nor fortune can diminish it, and it demands duty precisely when circumstances make duty costly.

For those who must live not only when life goes right, but when it does not, Stoicism is not the gentler philosophy. It is the necessary one.

That’s why, for me, it is the necessary one.

Age is Just a Number

It is often said, “Age is just a number,” typically by influencers selling something or by those trying to convince themselves more than anyone else. Age is not just a number. If it were, 48-year-old men would be able to will themselves to NFL contracts, and 52-year-old women would be able to train themselves to Olympic gymnast gold.

They can’t.

Subscribe now

“Age is just a number” is offered as reassurance, but it is not wisdom; it is trite euphamism. It is a denial of an obvious fact: age is the real passage of time, and time leaves marks. Bodies change. Recovery slows. Probabilities shift. None of this is optional, and none of it is solved by wordplay and pandering to weakness. Stoicism begins precisely where euphemism and pandering end—with clear sight.

That said, it does not mean age is a verdict, or a moral judgment, or an excuse. It means it is real. And in Stoic philosophy, reality is never something to be argued away; it is something to be understood, accepted, and worked with. To pretend that age “doesn’t matter” is not strength. It is confusion about what matters.

The Stoic question is therefore not whether age is “just a number.” It is this: given that age is real, what remains under our control, and what does reason now demand of us?

What Stoicism Actually Says About Aging

Stoicism does not deny aging, soften it, or romanticize it. It classifies it.

Aging belongs to nature. Anything that belongs to nature is neither good nor bad in itself. It is necessary, universal, and outside our control. To call aging an evil or to lament it as misfortune is therefore philosophical error. To pretend it is not happening is a different error—it is a lie—equally un-Stoic.

The truth is age alters externals: the body weakens, recovery slows, endurance narrows, roles change. These are facts, not failures. But externals were never the measure of a good life in Stoicism. Virtue—reasoned action in accordance with nature—remains untouched by the passage of years. What changes is not what is required of us, but how it is expressed.

Stoicism therefore treats aging as a dispreferred indifferent: real, consequential, and to be managed intelligently, but never decisive in matters of character.

“It is not that we have a short space of time, but that we waste much of it.”—Seneca, On the Shortness of Life (Ch. I).

“Let us cherish and love old age, for it is full of pleasure if one knows how to use it.”—Seneca, Letters, Letter 12.

“Things not in our control are body, property, reputation…”—Epictetus (attributed from Enchiridion 1 in multiple editions).

Where “Age Is Just a Number” Goes Wrong

The slogan fails not because it is optimistic, but because it is inaccurate.

It attempts to defend human worth by denying biological reality. Stoicism does the opposite. It accepts reality without distortion and then denies that reality the power to rule the soul. The error of “age is just a number” is that it confuses these two steps.

By flattening age into irrelevance, the saying removes the need for adjustment, preparation, or humility. It encourages the fantasy that nothing changes—and therefore that no wisdom is required. That is not resilience. It is avoidance.

The Stoic does not say, “This doesn’t matter.”

We say, “This matters in the way it actually matters—and no more.”

A Stoic Replacement for a False Comfort

For the Stoic, “age is just a number” is rejected and replaced—not with bitterness, but with truth.

Age governs the body; it does not govern judgment.
Time narrows capacity; it does not excuse vice.
Decline is natural; surrender is optional.

This framing preserves what the slogan is trying to protect—dignity and agency—without falsifying reality. It does not promise youth. It promises sovereignty where sovereignty is still possible.

“It is not the things themselves that disturb men, but their judgments about these things.” — Epictetus, Enchiridion 5.

“You are but an appearance, and not absolutely the thing you appear to be.” — Epictetus, Enchiridion (on harsh appearances / impressions).

The Practical Question Stoicism Forces Us to Ask

Once age is seen clearly, the question changes.

The question is no longer, “How do I pretend nothing is changing?”

It becomes: “Given what has changed, what does reason now demand?”

Stoicism treats aging as a shift in strategy, not a collapse of standards. Strength may give way to positioning. Speed may give way to timing. Force may give way to judgment. But responsibility does not disappear. Discipline does not retire. Virtue does not age out.

The task of the Stoic in later life is not to compete with youth, nor to resent it, nor to deny its absence—but to deploy what remains with accuracy, restraint, and honor.

Personal Experience

I have spent most of my adult life in pursuit of mental and physical excellence. In youth, this meant rigorous academic, martial, and physical training. The governing principle of that phase was accumulation.

More degrees, certifications, and honors.
More techniques, speed, flexibility, and rank.
More strength, heavier lifts, greater size.

Accumulation is the gathering of capacity. It is appropriate—and even necessary—early in life. But if it continues unexamined, it decays into vanity. Accumulation that crowds out recovery, mobility, consistency, judgment, foresight, and—above all—usefulness becomes a liability.

Age is not just a number.
Accumulation is unsustainable.

Stoicism does not deny this transition. It demands that it be recognized and acted upon. The Stoic shift is not sentimental; it is strategic:

from accumulation → availability
from proving → revealing
from reaction → positioning

Availability means being physically and mentally ready on ordinary days: joints intact, back reliable, cardio sufficient, attention calm under surprise, judgment sharp under pressure. Availability is not peak performance—it is dependable readiness. It is the capacity to act when needed, and to teach, guide, and transfer knowledge without breaking down.

Revealing supersedes proving. Worth no longer requires demonstration through excess effort. It has already been established through discipline over time. If challenged, it is not argued—it is simply revealed.

Positioning supersedes reaction. Experience replaces impulse. Planning replaces scrambling. Surprise gives way to foresight. One is no longer defined by how fast one reacts, but by how rarely one must.

The lesson of age, properly understood, is not decline. It is reclassification. With a youth well spent, capacity is now sufficient. What defines worth is no longer how much capacity can be accumulated, but how much of it remains usable.

At 57, after well over four decades of study, training, practicing, and accumulating:

• I no longer lift for greater size and strength; I train to keep size and strength usable.

• I no longer train for more techniques, more martial advancement; I train to deploy martial skill with calm, detached precision, or to avoid its deployment entirely.

• I no longer study to accumulate academic accolades; I study to sharpen and expand knowledge, particularly knowledge that is useful and transferable to others.

Final Word

Aging is not a problem to be argued away with slogans. It is a fact of nature, and Stoicism begins with obedience to fact. The body will change. Capacity will narrow. Time will continue. None of this is an insult. It is the price of being alive.

What remains is the only thing that ever mattered: judgment, character, and duty. The Stoic does not seek to “stay young.” We seek to stay governed. We do not chase peak performance for applause. We maintain usable capacity for responsibility. We train not to prove, but to be available and useful. We plan not from fear, but from reason.

In youth, you accumulate. In age, you refine. And refinement is not decline—it is mastery: the disciplined conversion of what you have built into what can be reliably used and useful to others.

Age is not just a number.

What do you say when you see an old lion? The same thing you say when you see any lion: “Holy shit! That’s a lion.”—The Strategic Stoic

Epicureanism and Stoicism are often treated today as interchangeable, or at least adjacent, “ancient wellness philosophies.” Both are reduced to mood management, stripped of rigor, and folded into a vague ethic of calm. This flattening does a massive disservice to both traditions.

In reality, Epicureanism and Stoicism are coherent, demanding, and ethical systems—but they answer a fundamental question differently:

Is the good life built by aiming directly at tranquility, or by aiming at virtue and accepting tranquility only as a consequence?

To answer that honestly requires understanding Epicureanism as it actually was, not as a modern pleasure-maximizing caricature.

Subscribe now

Epicureanism, Properly Understood

Epicureanism is not indulgence. It is not luxury. It is not “do whatever feels good.” Epicurus defined the good as pleasure (hēdonē), but he defined pleasure with extreme restraint. True pleasure consists of two conditions:

• Ataraxia—freedom from mental disturbance

• Aponia—absence of bodily pain

This is not a call to stimulation but to stability. The Epicurean project is fundamentally disturbance-minimizing, not pleasure-maximizing. Epicurus was explicit that excess desire is the primary source of human suffering. To combat this, he classified desires with surgical clarity:

1. Natural and necessary (food, shelter, friendship)

2. Natural but unnecessary (luxury, refinement)

3. Empty desires (status, fame, wealth, power)

Only the first category is worth pursuing without reservation. The rest introduce anxiety disproportionate to their reward.

Epicurean life strategy is therefore conservative and prudential:

• Reduce exposure to fear, especially fear of death and divine punishment.

• Simplify material needs.

• Avoid status competition.

• Withdraw from unnecessary danger, including political life when it threatens peace.

• Cultivate friendship as essential to tranquility.

Epicurean ethics follow the same logic. Justice is understood as a mutual non-harm agreement, not because justice is sacred in itself, but because injustice reliably destroys peace of mind. Virtue matters—but instrumentally. It is valuable because it secures tranquility.

This is a disciplined, ethical philosophy. But its end is clear: tranquility is the goal.

This is a far cry from the modern interpretation of “Epicurean Delights” and the association with hedonism. Epicurus approved of no such things.

Stoicism in Contrast: Virtue as the Target

Stoicism begins from a different first principle.

For the Stoics, virtue is the only true good. Living in accordance with reason and nature—not comfort, not pleasure, not tranquility—is the aim. Everything else is secondary. Pleasure and pain, health and illness, wealth and poverty are classified as indifferents. They may be preferred or dispreferred, but they carry no moral weight.

Tranquility is not rejected in Stoicism—but it is not pursued directly. It arises, if it arises at all, as a by-product of correct judgment, duty fulfilled, and a disciplined character.

Stoic ethics are intrinsic and non-negotiable:

• Justice is required even when it is costly.

• Courage is demanded even when it hurts.

• Right action does not depend on outcome.

• Duty to virtue is non-negotiable.

Stoic life strategy reflects this orientation:

• Prepare for adversity rather than avoid it.

• Train for hardship instead of designing life to minimize risk.

• Accept fate as raw material for virtue.

• Engage with social and civic roles as duty and part of human nature.

Where Epicureanism asks, “How do I avoid disturbance?”
Stoicism asks, “How do I embrace disturbance and act rightly, whatever comes?”

Where They Overlap: The Often Missed Points

Despite their differences, the two schools share significant ground:

• Both are hostile to excess desire.

• Both reject status obsession and luxury.

• Both impose discipline and restraint.

• Both function as therapeutic philosophies aimed at stabilizing the human mind.

Neither school is indulgent. Neither promises constant pleasure. Both are, in practice, austere. This overlap explains why modern treatments often blur them together—and why that blurring is a mistake.

The Fault Lines

The disagreement is not about tactics. It is about value theory.

1. What is the good?

   • Epicureanism: Tranquility/pleasure is the good; virtue serves it.

   • Stoicism: virtue is the good; duty is the obligation; tranquility may follow.

2. Risk and engagement.

   • Epicureanism favors withdrawal when risk threatens peace.

   • Stoicism treats duty and engagement as part of nature.

3. Suffering.

   • Epicureans design life to minimize suffering.

   • Stoics train to endure and transform suffering.

4. Metaphysical posture (secondary but explanatory).

   • Epicurean atomism denies providence.

   • Stoic logos frames fate as rational order.

These are not cosmetic differences. They produce fundamentally different lives.

Two Different Answers to the Same Human Problem

Epicureanism produces quiet, insulated lives: simple, careful, friendship-centered, and intentionally low-risk.

Stoicism produces duty-bound lives: resilient, outward-facing, prepared for loss, obligation, and hardship.

Both are serious. Both are ethical. Both work—if practiced honestly. But they cannot be collapsed into one another without losing their integrity. Epicureanism aims at tranquility and uses virtue as a means. Stoicism aims at virtue and accepts tranquility only as a consequence.

Confuse those aims, and both philosophies dissolve into comfort-seeking platitudes.

Understand them clearly, and you can choose—deliberately—what kind of life you are actually building.

Personal Choice

As I study these systems, I must admit there is a genuine attraction to Epicureanism. It poses a simple, disarming question—one that is difficult to dismiss honestly: if you are not happy, or at least tranquil, what is the point? That question alone elevates Epicureanism from caricature to a philosophy worthy of serious consideration.

Viewed from the end of a life rather than the middle of one, the argument has force. A life spent in constant agitation, fear, or misery does not intuitively appear well lived. For many people, the Epicurean aim of tranquility—freedom from disturbance, freedom from unnecessary pain—is not only reasonable but sufficient. And for those whose lives allow it, this is not cowardice or indulgence; it is coherence. Epicureanism answers the human problem of anxiety with restraint, clarity, and discipline.

Yet for me, that answer is incomplete.

One word changes the equation: duty.

Epicureanism can justify ethical behavior, loyalty, and restraint, but it cannot demand them when they threaten tranquility. Its ethics are prudential—sound, rational, and often admirable—but ultimately conditional. Duty is accepted when it preserves peace of mind, avoided when it endangers it. That is not a flaw in Epicureanism; it is a direct consequence of its first principle.

Stoicism begins elsewhere. It does not ask first whether an action will make life calmer or more pleasant. It asks whether the action is right—whether it accords with reason, justice, and one’s role as a social being. Tranquility may follow, or it may not. That is not the measure and not relevant.

For someone whose life includes non-negotiable roles—father, husband, teacher, protector, provider, citizen—this distinction matters. Some burdens are not chosen because they promise happiness. They are selected because abandoning them would be a form of moral and ethical failure.

Stoicism does not require that duty be pleasant. It requires that it be fulfilled.

Epicureanism governs appetite by retreat. It avoids the storm by leaving the sea. It narrows desire until pain no longer enters, then calls this freedom (and it may be). This is skillful—but it is defensive skill, not virtuous strength, and not duty.

Epicureanism offers peace. Stoicism offers structure. Epicureanism minimizes disturbance. Stoicism accepts disturbance as the cost of living rightly. For many, peace is the highest good. For me, it cannot be.

A life can be tranquil and still be insufficient.

A life ordered by duty, even at the cost of comfort, cannot be dismissed so easily. I choose only the peace earned through duty, and if peace never comes, so be it.

That is why Stoicism, not Epicureanism, is the philosophy I decide to live by.

Modern “stoicism” has been flattened into a sedative.

Don’t worry.

Let it go.

Be calm.

That is not Stoicism. That is anesthesia.

That is also a good way to get your ass kicked.

The Stoics did not teach passivity. They taught preparedness without panic.

When people see disciplined preparation—physical training, contingency planning, deliberate exposure to hardship—they often ask a revealing question: “What are you so worried about?” “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy life?” The assumption is simple and wrong: preparation is taken as evidence of fear and anxiety.

The Stoic answer is the opposite.

My answer is the opposite: “I worry about nothing. I’m ready.”

That response sounds paradoxical only to people who confuse worry with foresight. Given modern so-called stoic nonsense, stoic-lite, and stoicism 2.0, it is no wonder people confuse preparedness with worry. The phrase “Don’t worry, be happy” has been linked to Stoicism and could not be further from the truth of it.

Subscribe now

Worry is passive. Preparation is active.

Worry is mental rumination without action.
Preparation is action taken precisely so rumination is unnecessary.

Worry imagines outcomes and freezes.
Preparation imagines outcomes and neutralizes them.

The Stoics were explicit on this point: anxiety is not caused by events but by unprepared judgment about events.

“We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.”
—Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 13

Notice what Seneca is not saying. He is not saying, “Therefore do nothing.” He is saying that uncontrolled imagination is the problem—and the Stoic response is to discipline it through reasoned rehearsal and readiness.

That practice has a name in Stoicism: premeditatio malorum—the premeditation of adversity. You imagine loss, pain, threat, and failure in order to defang them, not to wallow in them.

This is not worry.

It is Stoic preparedness.

The Stoics Did Not Say “Relax.” They said, “Train!”

Stoicism emerged in a violent, unstable world: exile, war, disease, political purges, and sudden loss of status and property. The idea that Stoics preached a soft, tranquil disengagement from danger is historically absurd. Can you imagine men of action such as Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of Rome, commander of legions; Epictetus, born a slave and crippled; Seneca, advisor to one of the cruelest and most dangerous emperors the world had ever seen, being weak, passive, or unprepared? Can you imagine them as the typical modern self-help so-called stoics preaching simplistic, “Don't worry; worry never solved anything?”

No.

The classic Stoics trained their minds the way soldiers train their bodies, with brutal and unyielding discipline.

“The mind that is prepared for hardship is the one least troubled by it.”
—Seneca, On Tranquility of Mind, 11

Training is not fear. Training is refusal to be surprised. Training is to look fear in the face and say, “Courage is not the absence of fear; courage is the ability to act in the face of fear, and I face you.”

A person who trains for physical or mental threats is not “living in fear.” They are eliminating fear by reducing uncertainty and increasing capability. The Stoic masters responses, masters triggers, and trains both mind and body for hardship.

Preparation comes first.

Calm comes after preparation, not before it.

“Don’t Worry” Is Incomplete Advice

“Don’t worry” without “therefore prepare” is negligence disguised as wisdom.

If you tell someone not to worry about:

• physical threats, but never train the body,

• financial shocks, but never build reserves,

• illness, but never condition the system,

• moral failure, but never test character under stress,

you are not teaching Stoicism. You are teaching fragility. You are teaching learned helplessness. You are teaching weakness dressed as virtue.

Marcus Aurelius was blunt about this:

“The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.”
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, V.20

The obstacle is not to be ignored. It is incorporated into training. The obstacle is to be faced head-on. You are required to adapt and overcome, not to ignore and “don’t worry.”

Calm Is an Outcome, Not a Strategy

Pop Stoicism treats calm as a mood you adopt. Classical Stoicism treats calm as a byproduct of readiness—and the sequence matters:

1. See reality clearly

2. Prepare deliberately

3. Act without disturbance

Reverse that order, as the modern Stoic preaches, and you get denial, not virtue.

The person who says “I don’t worry” but has done nothing to prepare is not Stoic. They are gambling on luck and calling it enlightenment.

The Stoic Position

• Do not worry—because worry is useless.

• Prepare relentlessly—because preparation is within your control.

• Accept outcomes—because fate still decides the final roll.

That triad is true Stoicism. Remove preparation, and the system collapses.

“Fortune favors the prepared mind.”
—Seneca, On the Happy Life, 4

Stoicism is not about being unbothered because nothing can happen to you, or even because you cannot affect what happens to you. It is about being unbothered because you have already faced what can happen—and trained accordingly.

Calm is earned—never assumed.

I have previously written about strategic stoicism regarding what it means versus pure stoicism and practical stoicism. In that writing I assert strategic stoicism means two things. The first, you live it, wholly and completely, without exception. The second, it is defined as a modern extension of the practical Stoicism of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius. While I have detailed the former in several places, including its relation to the warrior-philosopher and a deeper examination of the strategic stoic and the warrior-philosopher, I have not detailed the latter explicitly. This is that examination: Strategic Stoicism—live it wholly and completely, without exception, or you aren’t really doing it—you’re just pretending.

Subscribe now

Stoicism seems quite popular these days, but I would argue a true stoic lifestyle is not popular, not in the least. Rather, two other false-stoic phenomena have taken hold to give Stoicism the appearance of popularity.

1. The Corporate Masters: These are the executives, C-suite members, serial entrepreneurs, sports team owners, millionaires, billionaires, etc. who love to praise Ryan Holiday but have never read a single classical text nor ever studied Stoicism for themselves. This group takes Stoicism as a cloak for callousness. They mistake ἀπάθεια (apatheia)—freedom from destructive passion—for apathy (lack of concern). They quote Marcus Aurelius, “You have power over your mind, not outside events,” as justification to remain unmoved by the suffering their decisions cause.

   That is not Stoicism; that is moral anesthesia. The Stoics taught cosmopolitan duty—that each man is a citizen of the cosmos, obligated to the common good through reason. Marcus himself wrote, “What brings no benefit to the hive brings none to the bee.”—Meditations, 6.54. The true Stoic leader does not suppress empathy; he subordinates it to justice. Cold calculation without moral duty is not Stoicism—it is sophistry dressed in pretend armor.

2. The Pseudo-Intellectual Meme Curator: The second group mistakes Stoicism for a mood—an aesthetic of calm detachment, espresso, and sepia-toned quotes. They like the posture of the Stoic, but not the training of one. They take from Epictetus the words, “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it,” and forget that Epictetus was a slave teaching the mastery of self literally under chains, not offering lifestyle slogans to those with Wi-Fi. They want Stoic comfort but not Stoic discipline. They want serenity without self-denial, wisdom without work, and virtue without the grueling audit of conscience Seneca demanded each night: “When the light has been removed and my wife has fallen silent, I examine my entire day.”—Seneca, On Anger, 3.36

Both cherry-pick because the full Stoic doctrine is severe—it requires that one face death, loss, pain, insult, and the smallness of one’s own ego without complaint. Few wish to do that. Both of these groups treat Stoicism as a toolkit, not a calling. They think stoicism is a hammer or screwdriver to be pulled out when a nail needs pounding or a screw needs turning, and they never realize stoicism is not about the tools of building; it is about becoming a master builder. These false stoics and meme collectors use stoicism to manage circumstances, not to transform the soul.

To the corporate manipulator, Stoicism is pretend armor, polished to give the illusion of virtue but hollow and rotten underneath. To the pseudo-intellectual, Stoicism is decoration and costume, dressed over a fragile ego pretending to be “above it all.” For the true Stoic, Stoicism is heart surgery—slow, bloody, painful, and necessary.

Seneca foresaw this irony 2,000 years ago. He knew that it is Stoicism’s very clarity that makes it easy to plunder.

The words of philosophy are in everyone’s mouth, but the soul of it in few men’s hearts.—Seneca, Letters, 108.36

True Stoicism is not trite or pithy quotes used as it suits you to pretend you are above it all or to excuse inaction because you lack courage. True Stoicism is not an excuse to be cruel, unfeeling, passive, or unempathetic because “it’s all about perceptions.” True Stoicism is a battle-forged mentality won painfully through mental and spiritual combat both within and without. Stoicism is something you eat, sleep, and breathe in service to one and only one goal—virtue in accordance with logos. In that single goal, we define four inseparable components: wisdom, temperance, courage, and justice. As such, virtue is a composite formed by four atomic elements. Remove or pervert even one, and virtue is lost. It’s all or nothing.

In that light, we define Strategic Stoicism not as a different Stoicism or a new form but rather as both a modern extension and a return to the original form—the blade of Stoicism drawn clean.

To understand the role of the term strategic, consider the definition of the hierarchy of action. In all successful operations, whether it be business, military action, personal growth, or simply getting a job done, we define the hierarchy of thought and action as follows.

• Vision defines the singular end and destination—a fixed point on the horizon to which we continually set and reset our course.

• Strategy charts the path toward that destination, organizing major objectives into coherent, sequential campaigns that transform intent into achievable milestones.

• Tactics conduct the discrete engagements that advance each strategic objective, translating broad design into immediate action.

• Techniques apply the specific methods and actions within each tactic that accomplish the concrete steps of execution.

We can apply this hierarchy of thought and action to the Stoic framework itself, where philosophy becomes not merely theory but a command structure.

• Vision: Logos—the rational order of the cosmos—and the pursuit of virtue as life lived in harmony with that order. This is the fixed point on the horizon, the ultimate end toward which all Stoic action aims.

• Strategy: Stoicism—the organized system of reason and practice designed to align the self with logos through understanding and disciplined assent. Strategy here is the philosophical architecture that translates cosmic principle into a way of life.

• Tactics: The daily application of the four cardinal virtues—φρόνησις (wisdom), ἀνδρεία (courage), σωφροσύνη (temperance), and δικαιοσύνη (justice)—as the operational instruments of the Stoic campaign. Each virtue represents an active engagement: reason in judgment, endurance in trial, moderation in desire, and fairness in conduct.

• Techniques: The deliberate training of those virtues through fortitude, endurance, discipline, and daily mental and physical exercises. These are the immediate drills of the Stoic soldier—the journaling, meditations, reflections, and acts of restraint that condition the mind and body to obey reason.

Thus, Stoicism is both a strategy and a system of tactics and techniques subordinated to the vision of logos. The wise live by strategy; the disciplined execute by tactics; the vigilant train by technique.

Further, we can define theaters of operation in which we follow our strategy (Stoicism) and execute our tactics (wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice). These theaters represent the distinct arenas of life where the Stoic engages reality and tests the coherence of their discipline. Each theater demands tactical adaptation while remaining faithful to the strategic principle.

The Inner Theater—The Dominion of Mind

Here the battle is internal: perception, judgment, and assent. This is the primary front in Stoicism, for all external wars are first decided within.

• Objective: Mastery of impressions (phantasiai) and rational governance of emotion.

• Tactics: Apply wisdom to distinguish what depends on us from what does not, temperance to restrain impulse, and courage to face truth without distortion.

• Techniques: Meditation, negative visualization, reflective journaling, and deliberate exposure to controlled discomfort.

• Victory here means serenity—an unshakable correspondence between reason and will.

The Physical Theater—The Dominion of Body

This is the proving ground of endurance, health, and pain. The body is both ally and test.

• Objective: Cultivate the body as an instrument of reason, not a master of it.

• Tactics: Apply courage to endure discomfort, temperance to govern appetite, and wisdom to discern necessity from indulgence.

• Techniques: Physical training, fasting, controlled exposure to hardship, and disciplined rest.

• Victory here is fortitude—the body obeying the mind’s command.

The Social Theater—The Dominion of Conduct

This is the field of interaction with family, colleagues, society, and state. Stoic virtue cannot exist in isolation; justice is meaningless without others.

• Objective: Live according to nature by fulfilling social roles honorably and rationally.

• Tactics: Practice justice through fairness and service, temperance through restraint of speech and appetite, and courage through truth spoken without fear.

• Techniques: Active listening, honest discourse, measured reaction to insult, and consistent benevolence grounded in principle rather than sentiment.

• Victory here is harmony with others without surrender of the self.

The Temporal Theater—The Dominion of Circumstance

This encompasses fortune, change, loss, and death—the shifting terrain over which no human has command.

• Objective: Achieve equanimity amid impermanence.

• Tactics: Use wisdom to perceive transience rightly, courage to face uncertainty, and temperance to avoid clinging to what passes.

• Techniques: Memento mori meditations, gratitude practice, and measured withdrawal from dependency on external outcomes.

• Victory here is acceptance—tranquility before fate (amor fati).

Each theater demands distinct tactics but the same unwavering strategy, Stoicism, and the same immutable vision, Logos, and virtue within it. The Stoic, like a general, must understand where they are fighting, for confusion of theaters leads to defeat. A man who applies physical courage to a moral trial or social justice to a private illusion fights the wrong war.

Returning to the original point and question, what is Strategic Stoicism? It is both extension, i.e., modern practice over theory, and also a strict return to the original purpose—a core life strategy. Strategic Stoicism is the full circle, the extension of philosophy to modern practical application, and the return to classic philosophy as core to existence. For the classical Stoics, I believe they would laugh at the term “Strategic Stoicism” as redundant and pedantic. Seneca might say, “What other kind of Stoic is there?” and then answer himself, “None.” He might also point out, “Stoicism is the strategy of a virtuous life; therefore, there can be no other kind.” He would be right—for his time.

This is not Seneca’s time, and Stoicism has been hijacked, perverted, and twisted to sell books, push trite memes, and cultivate clicks for profit. It’s used as the very opposition to virtue to ease the consciences of corporate executives and placate the cowardly into believing inaction and passivity are somehow noble. Therefore, the term “strategic” is now necessary to distinguish between Stoicism-lite, so-called Stoicism 2.0, and bro-ism on one side (the wrong side) versus what the original Stoics truly intended.

Modern Stoicism’s corruption does not diminish its truth, but it reminds us of a lesson Marcus lived daily: that philosophy, when popular, becomes entertainment; when practiced, it becomes fortitude, resilience, and endurance. When lived fully and integrated into every aspect of life, Stoic philosophy operates as true armor and shield, and if necessary, as weapon.

Show me one who is sick and yet happy, in peril and yet happy, dying and yet happy, in exile and yet happy, in disgrace and yet happy. Show him to me, for by Zeus, I long to see a true Stoic. But if you cannot show me one fully formed, then show me at least one in formation; show me one who is tending toward these things.—Epictetus, Discourses 3.21.20–22

Read any modern popular interpretations of Stoicism, and you will quickly encounter the advice “don’t react.” To be fair, most characterize this as “don’t react emotionally” and “don’t react impulsively,” which are both wise and classically Stoic—on the surface.

When you are about to react, remind yourself: ‘Is this within my power?’ If not, do not concern yourself with it.—Epictetus, Enchiridion 1

Delay is the antidote to impulse.—Epictetus, Discourses 2.18

Do not give your assent hastily to appearances; first, say to yourself, ‘Let me see what you are and what you represent.’— Epictetus, Discourses 2.10

Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more hurtful to us than the injury that provokes it.—Seneca, On Anger, 3.42

Subscribe now

The problem comes in when these ideas are interpreted, as they often are, as “do not react quickly” and “do not react re-actively” or “do not react instinctively.” We can clearly see where this extension comes from; we are literally told “delay” by Epictetus, and other classic Stoics seem to agree—on the surface. The problem with these oversimplified statements is we should ask, what is “quickly?” What is “too quick,” and how do you know? It’s easy to say, “count to 10” and “take a breath,” but is it practical? Is it always in your best interest to delay? Further, what if your initial instincts were correct? Should you never react to them? Or should you just never act too quickly? And then again, what is “too quickly”?

Consider…

• Your child walked into traffic with oncoming cars. Do you pause, take a breath, and count to 10, or do you instinctively react and run to save your child?

• You look in your driver’s side mirror and see a man walking toward your parked car; you look up and see another man watching you intently from a few cars away. Do you floor it and pull away from both of them, or do you breathe, count to 10, and see if the man from behind passes you by?

• A man stands in front of you menacingly; he’s leaning in, insulting you, and his posture suggests an imminent attack (1-2 seconds away). Do you react first and defend yourself while there is time and before you take the first strike, or do you breathe, count to 10… well, to 2, because that’s as far as you got before you went unconscious?

If you read this and think, “those are extremes” and “that’s not what Stoicism is talking about,” stop and think deeper. Fact of life: you perform as you train. You are what you repeatedly do.

We don’t rise to the level of our expectations, we fall to the level of our training.—Archilochus (Greek poet, 7th century BCE)

Excellence is an art won by training and habituation… We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.—Will Durant, The Story of Philosophy, summarizing Aristotle.

The point being, if you train to always so-called stoically “take a breath” and “count to 10” and “walk away until you can think clearer,” then you will always perform with delay, including in critical situations. You perform as you train. Like it or not, there are often situations in life that call for immediate action, and often those situations are critical or even life-threatening. If you claim the above examples and the need for swiftness of action do not apply to the Stoic ideal (i.e., that’s not what Stoicism is talking about), then you have both created a logical contradiction and exposed a fatal flaw in Stoicism.

Premise 1: Always delay judgment for clarity; always delay action, never act impulsively or on first instinct.

Premise 2: Unless the situation is life-threatening, critical, or immediately dangerous.

Conclusion: Judge all situations immediately and without delay to triage them into critical and non-critical. Act immediately for critical situations; delay stoically for non-critical ones.

Problem: How do you adhere to Premise 1 and also obey the conclusion? You can’t. By definition, you must always judge immediately, if only to triage into critical and non-critical. Judgment is action, and that action must be immediate if we are to sort our reactions properly, thus logically contradicting the premise that leads to the conclusion. Aristotle would not be pleased.

No matter how you cut it, immediate reaction in the form of judgment (at least) is always needed, even if only to judge critical and non-critical situations. This does not even need to be life-threatening. It may simply be a matter of a moment of opportunity that, once gone, will never return. Do you always delay and always miss opportunities of the moment? Or do you immediately judge to triage into at least three buckets: 1) critical—> act immediately; 2) moment of opportunity—> think quick and act quick; and 3) non-critical, non-opportune—> delay for clarity.

Do you now say Stoicism only lives in case 3? It would be a feeble and flawed system if that’s where it needed to live, only where life is easy and affords time.

Fortunately, we have not found a flaw in Stoicism. The ancient Stoics knew this very well. They were not slow-witted monks. Marcus Aurelius was a commander-in-chief of Roman legions. Epictetus was enslaved, abused, and lived among soldiers and emperors. Seneca advised Nero, whose court was blood-soaked and treacherous.

We have instead exposed a flaw in the modern interpretations of Stoicism, which have reduced the discipline to vague aphorisms like “always pause,” “never react,” or “be calm no matter what.” These are nothing more than therapeutic distortions of Stoicism.

This is where Strategic Stoicism lives and thrives—at the heart of this apparent contradiction. Strategic Stoicism exposes the deeper Stoic principles beneath the oversimplified maxims like “pause and don’t react impulsively.” Stoicism does not command, “always delay action” or “always delay judgment.” It commands us to act virtuously and judge rightly. Virtuously and rightly does not mean slowly. It may mean preemptively, immediately, or decisively—or it may mean with deliberate delay. What matters is that right judgment itself must be immediate, or the opportunity to choose rightly and virtuously may be lost. That is true Stoicism, the philosophy of kings and slaves alike: not to always move with delay, but to always move with appropriate timing, which may be delayed or swift, as the situation and virtue demand. Speed is not the enemy—unexamined panic is. “Always delay” becomes a dogma that collapses in combat, conflict, or even basic leadership.

The true stoic knows we do as we train to do. To judge virtuously in the moment, the Stoic must train in advance—not just in thought, but in practice. We are not creatures of theory alone. When the situation arrives, there is no time to learn virtue. There is only time to reveal it.

The soul should stand ready, when needed, to act in accord with reason alone.— Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.55

For how can a man delay who has nothing to fear?—Epictetus, Discourses 1.2

Strategic Stoicism adopts a mindset of tactical triage. Every situation must be assessed, even if in a blink, and sorted:

1. Critical—Act immediately, with pre-trained resolve. Delay is failure.

2. Ephemeral opportunity—seize or lose. Think fast, act with clarity.

3. Non-critical—Delay for deeper judgment. Wait, observe, restrain.

This is not a contradiction. It’s a hierarchy of assent based on trained discernment. This is not an abandonment of Stoic discipline. It is the deep refinement of it, past the pop-culture superficial nonsense that has hijacked Stoicism. This is φρόνησις (phronēsis)—practical wisdom trained not only to endure hardship but to discern when endurance is foolish and action is required.

A practical real-life example that has literally saved my life: I have trained in martial arts for over 40 years. Going back to the earliest days, a drill we used to practice was as follows. We stand in front of a heavy bag, relaxed, arms down, eyes closed. Our partner stands behind the bag. Randomly, our partner reaches around the bag and slaps our face (hard). Our job is to instantly react with a punch to the opponent’s face (into the bag, where the assailant’s face would be). We practice this drill thousands of times, over and over, until reaction is instantaneous instinct.

The training just described is designed to take away the shock of being hit in the face and to replace it with a brutal, swift, and unerring counterattack. Do not think; act immediately. That is the lesson. Obviously this is not a technique for the ring; it is the trained response to a sucker punch. This is right action in context where danger and risk of further injury are very high. We are simulating a situation where the die is cast, action is demanded, and it is demanded immediately. We are training to act correctly for that situation so we do not delay; we do not think, we act.

While that was a simple and easily understood physical threat example, it can easily be extrapolated to every other domain: physical, mental, emotional, threats, or moments of opportunity. We perform as we train. We do not rise to the level of our expectations; we fall to the level of our training. Stoicism never said to wholesale abandon swift and immediate action or reaction. It says to train for right action, train to triage action immediately, and train for the timing of actions so you know when to delay and when to act.

Much of what is called Stoicism today is little more than therapeutic pacifism dressed in classical robes. It mistakes passivity for wisdom. But the Stoics were not passive. They were warriors, emperors, slaves, generals, and statesmen—men of the world. They did not teach inactivity; they taught righteous activity, and some righteous activity is swift, fierce, and reactive—not always, not even often, but occasionally necessary.

Don’t waste time debating what a good man is. Be one.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.16

That is not a call to withdraw. It is a call to advance without confusion. When the time to act comes, the Stoic does not pause to think—we have already done the thinking. Our mind has been forged in advance.

The wise man does instantly what the fool does eventually.—Seneca, Letters 76

Subscribe now

Typical hater behavior:

• Posting disparaging comments on others’ content (e.g., success stories, appearances, opinions).

• Minimizing or invalidating achievements, typically by attributing them to luck, corruption, or superficiality.

• Engaging in personal attacks, mockery, or ridicule.

• Demonstrating persistent negative focus on a particular person or type of success (e.g., wealth, attractiveness, fame).

Where a true critic aims to engage constructively or offer correction, a hater's goal is to undermine, hurt, or discredit, typically publicly and repeatedly. Hater behavior is rooted in insecurity, envy, and threatened self-concept.

• Social Comparison and Inferiority: According to social comparison theory (Festinger, 1954), individuals assess their value by comparing themselves to others. In the online world, where curated images of success, beauty, wealth, and confidence are ubiquitous, this can trigger negative self-evaluation. Haters often respond by attacking those they perceive as above them to reassert a sense of superiority or equality.

• Projection and Externalization: Freud’s concept of defense mechanisms applies here: rather than acknowledging their inadequacies, failures, or insecurities, haters project these feelings outward. By demeaning others, they attempt to externalize blame for their dissatisfaction with life or self.

• Narcissistic Injury and Ego Threat: Individuals with fragile self-esteem, especially those with narcissistic traits, may experience others’ success as a direct threat to their ego. Instead of self-reflection or growth, the response is rage, scorn, or belittlement.

• Anonymity and Deindividuation: Online environments provide a degree of anonymity and distance, which leads to deindividuation—a psychological state where individuals lose self-awareness and are less restrained by social norms. This facilitates aggressive, unempathetic, or impulsive behavior that the person might suppress in face-to-face interactions.

• Identity and Group Affiliation: Sometimes hater behavior is tribal: aligned with group identity, ideology, or aesthetics. For example, a person may hate a public figure not for personal reasons but because that figure represents a competing group or value system.

A hater is not simply someone who disagrees or offers critique but someone driven by emotional dysfunction—particularly envy, insecurity, and resentment—to attack, belittle, or undermine others. In other words, the hater is the anti-Stoic.

The hater is the perfect antithesis of the Stoic. The hater’s entire world is defined by rabid negative perception followed by impulsive negative action, the perfect opposite of Stoic virtue and the four pillars of virtue.

• Courage: The hater is first and foremost a coward. The hater typically hides and criticizes from a safe distance or criticizes from within a group as part of the mob. The hater never stands alone, proudly, and to your face.

• Justice: The hater operates from irrational emotion with one-and-only-one goal: to belittle and reduce the power of another regardless of reason.

• Temperance: The hater has no temperance, always unleashing maximum vitriol immediately.

• Wisdom: The hater not only never investigates or seeks to understand, they specifically avoid critical thinking and honest academic discussion. Honest and enlightened discourse undermines the haters’ only goal, to make others feel less worthy thereby making themselves feel (falsely) more worthy by comparison.

Perfectly unstoic, the hater is moved uncontrollably from emotion to action, without thinking. The hater sees the object of their hate, and this immediately causes negative feelings of inferiority. Then, without thinking they lash out. Afterward, the hater doubles down, telling themselves, “they deserved it” and “that will show them.”

As Stoics, we have the perfect response; Stoicism is both the cure for the hater’s disease (should they choose to treat and cure themselves) and is the perfect and impenetrable armor against them.

Haters are ruled by passion, not reason. Pay them no mind.

When you wake up, tell yourself: today I will meet the meddler, the ungrateful, the arrogant, the deceitful, the envious, and the unsocial. They are this way because they do not know the good and the evil.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.1

You will never reach your destination if you stop to throw stones at every dog that barks.—Unknown

Do not take haters personally. They act from mental illness.

When someone does you wrong, it is because he believes it is right. He is mistaken. But if you understand this, you will pity him, not be angry.—Epictetus, Discourses 1.18

Do not respond in kind. You must never become them.

The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.6

If you are insulted, remember that it is not he who insults you that harms you, but your opinion that you are insulted.—Epictetus, Enchiridion 20

They are noise, not signal. Treat them as such.

If anyone despises me, that is their problem. My only concern is not doing or saying anything deserving of contempt.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.28

You should not give circumstances the power to rouse anger, for they do not care.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.38

Do not expect to live without them.

You must know that such people exist. They always have. Your job is not to expect the world to change but to be unmoved by its flaws.—paraphrased from Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.36

Above all, remember this: the more haters you have and the angrier they get, the better you’re doing. Use the hater as a Stoic mirror. They are your opposite, your mirror image; the more they hate, the louder they scream, and the more of them there are, it simply means you reflect their opposite that much more, and they can’t stand it.

Good.

I never get mad at people who talk behind my back. They are precisely where they are supposed to be—behind and beneath me.—The Strategic Stoic

I never get mad at people who critisze me anonymously. They are doing exactly what cowards are supposed to be doing—hiding from me.—The Strategic Stoic

If you can be triggered, you can be controlled. If that’s okay with you, stop reading; there is nothing here for you; however, if that bothers you, read on.

Subscribe now

In the mechanical sense, a trigger is a mechanism to initiate a process or action, typically in another mechanism. The concept of a trigger usually means the process or actions to follow are unstoppable, or at least happen automatically unless something interrupts them.

The word “trigger” is also used analogously in an emotional context to indicate an emotional event (word, phrase, sight, sound, etc.) that initiates a series of emotional responses in a “triggered” individual. Similar to the mechanical use of the word, the emotional event “triggers” an emotional process and series of actions that are automatic. Put another way, as an individual capable of being triggered, you are reduced to a mindless process or mechanism. You can be controlled by anyone or anything that can pull your trigger.

If someone succeeds in provoking you, realize that your mind is complicit in the provocation.—Epictetus, Discourses, 2.18

Through triggers, you can be distracted, manipulated, disarmed, oppressed, and forced to fail. This should be alarming to anyone who understands the concept and who also knows they can be triggered; however, in today’s US culture, we are being taught to revere triggers and the triggered. Triggered individuals shamefully wear their triggers like badges of honor. We are taught embracing triggers makes us “authentic” and “emotionally aware.” We are encouraged to expose our triggers publicly and then demand others conform to them to avoid them for us instead of dealing with them ourselves.

For any rational, intelligent human, what I just described should be repulsive. The act of “being triggered” is an act of subjugation and submission. Being triggered, you submit to another and give up your will in favor of theirs. Allowing yourself to be triggered is an admission you are not sovereign over yourself. It is not just an admission of weakness; it is an embrace of weakness as a lifestyle.

For the Stoic, this is not acceptable. The Stoics would meet the modern notion of being triggered and the practice of “trigger warnings” with utter contempt, not because the suffering or the emotions are invalid, but because fragility is cultivated where strength should be forged. To the Stoics, the idea of needing to be protected from words, ideas, images, etc. would signal a civilization declining, one that raises citizens to seek safety instead of strength, validation instead of virtue, and shelter instead of sovereignty.

When someone provokes you, be sure that it is your own opinion which provokes you.—Epictetus, Discourses 2.18

If you wish to be free, do not wish for anything that depends on others.—Epictetus, Enchiridion 14

The Stoics teach us how to remove ourselves from triggers and being triggered. The first step is to recognize the feelings behind your trigger are valid, and there is nothing wrong with having those feelings. However, you must further recognize they are your feelings and not for broadcast or for you to demand others conform to them. Stoicism does not teach that emotions are valid or invalid or that we should or should not have them. Stoicism teaches it is what you do with the emotions that is virtuous or slavish, courageous or cowardly, strong or weak.

The next step is to see yourself in training. You will not be untriggered immediately, so we need a training tool. That tool is the interrupt mechanism. Imagine the emotional trigger happens—the trigger is pulled. Then realize what follows is a process. While it may feel instantaneous, it is not; it is a process.

People who prefer wallowing in weakness like to believe this process is instantaneous and atomic, and they have “no control” over it. That is just the excuse of a weak mind wishing to remain weak; it is a weak excuse for cowardly behavior. The truth is, there is a process involved, and that process can be interrupted.

You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.8

The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 5.16

The place for interruption lies within the emotional perception of the triggering event. At first, perception will not be easy to control, so we need time to process; we need emotional maneuvering room. This is where the interrupt mechanism comes into play. Analyze your trigger and create an interrupt script.

• Micro-physical reset: Immediately upon triggering, initiate a small physical action to distract yourself. Pinch your inner thigh, clench your fist, and focus on a neutral external detail like a chair, a rock, a painting, or a pattern in a tablecloth. Pick a simple physical response to distract yourself; teach yourself to do it immediately and out of habit.

• Macro-physical reset: Using the distraction moment of the micro-physical reset, breathe deeply 4-5 times while internally telling yourself, “calm,” “reset,” and “stop.”

• Mental reset: Mentally recite a simple counterpoint monologue to your trigger. Pre-write this monologue, memorize it, and recite it internally. For example, if your trigger is a racial slur, recite something like, “Other people’s labels of me do not define who I am; they define who they are. I will not conform to their image of me.” If your trigger is an object of obsessive compulsion, tell yourself, “That is not what I need; it is bait. I am being baited, and I do not take bait.” Keep it simple: 1 or 2 short sentences that invoke strength and personal pride in opposition to the trigger.

The interrupt script is a training tool. One you will use to train yourself to understand that emotional response and emotional reaction are part of a process, one that you can control. Ironically, the interrupt script itself is a cultivated triggered response, one that you must also eventually leave behind, and that is the key to your freedom from triggers. Train yourself so that your trigger triggers the interrupt script instead of your usual emotional response. In other words, since you are a triggered individual, the first step is to use that to your advantage; replace your irrational trigger with a rational one.

The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 5.20

Once you have mastered the interrupt script, you will see the emotional response process for what it is, a process that can be interrupted. Then you will no longer need the script. In other words, the purpose of the script is temporary; it is to replace your trigger with another trigger, one designed to train insight and introspection. Once that insight and introspection take root, the interrupt script will no longer be necessary and will go away on its own. Your goal is to learn that within the process of trigger to response, there is a point—emotional perception—where you must stop and assess. The interrupt script will train you to recognize this, at which point you will see it on your own, without the need for the script.

Once you have learned to freeze and hold judgment at the emotional perception stage (with or without the script), then you must rationally and calmly analyze your perception of the trigger. Ask yourself key Stoic points.

• Is this something in my control?

• Is this something I can affect, and if so, will it serve virtue to affect it?

• Is this thing actually something that matters, or is it just something I incorrectly perceive to matter? In other words, am I being indifferent to that which makes no difference, as I should be?

• Can a change in my perception of the event change my response to the event?

What is to be done then? Make the best use of what is in your power, and take the rest as it happens.—Epictetus, Enchiridion 1

It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 5

Men are disturbed not by things, but by the views which they take of them.—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 5

If a man gave your body to a passerby, you'd be furious. Yet you hand over your mind to anyone who insults you. Is that not shameful?—Epictetus, Discourses, 2.10

With each question, the goal is to alter your perception of the trigger. If you answer each question honestly, you will find that more often than not, the thing that triggered you was not in your control. It was not something you could impact, not something that mattered, and not something for which an uncontrolled emotional response would make it better. In fact, you will find more often than not that an uncontrolled emotional response will make things worse.

It is not things that trouble us, but our judgments about things.—Epictetus, Enchiridion 5

If you are pained by any external thing, it is not this thing that disturbs you, but your judgment about it. And it is in your power to wipe out this judgment now.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.47

Choose not to be harmed—and you won’t feel harmed. Don’t feel harmed—and you haven’t been.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 4.7

Once rational analysis is complete, then, and only then, should you assess action, and your first assessment is to consider inaction as action. Ask yourself, should I walk away and give the trigger no further thought? If you cannot affect the trigger, if it is not in your control, if there is no virtuous action you can take, then remove yourself mentally from the trigger—let it go. If there is virtuous action you can and should take, strictly within the bounds of justice, temperance, wisdom, and courage, then formulate your response within those bounds. As you formulate your actions, you must critically assess each of the four virtues and ask yourself:

• Are my actions courageous?

• Do I act fairly and with justice?

• Am I behaving with temperance?

• Is my response wise; does it proceed with full knowledge and understanding of the situation?

If you can honestly answer all with “yes” and you have also judged the situation as something that you can positively impact, then, and only then, do you move forward with action. Otherwise, you dismiss the trigger as indifferent, and you are indifferent to that which makes no difference.

Following this Stoic process will free you from triggers and being triggered. You must abandon the idea of triggers, seeing them for what they are: mental weakness and enslavement. Do not broadcast your triggers to the world; keep them internal, own them, contain them, and master them. Never expect or need “trigger warnings.” Realize trigger warnings are apologies for truth, and Stoicism offers no such apologies. The Stoic does not demand gentleness from the world; they demand toughness from themselves. If something triggers them, the Stoic does not ask that it be removed. The Stoic asks, why does it still control me? And then immediately begins the work of taking power back—quietly, internally, as a true sovereign.

Why do you shrink from hardship? You are born for it. No man is more wretched than one who avoids everything that might make him wretched.—Seneca, On Providence, 3

Subscribe now

This does not mean do not teach. We must explain as we teach (I’m doing it right now), but that is a different context of the word. In this sense, when we say “explain,” we mean justify, which is to say, never justify yourself. If you are living virtuously and you command respect, you don’t need to explain or justify—ever. If you need to explain to justify, there is your task—live with virtue and earn your respect—then do not explain yourself.

Stoicism, especially strategic Stoicism, relentlessly favors action over explanation and embodiment over rhetoric. A Stoic does not explain who they are; they demonstrate it. A Stoic lives with such clarity, discipline, and purpose that words become unnecessary.

“Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 10.16

“Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 50

“Show what you have learned by how you act, not how you speak.”—Epictetus, Discourses, 2.23

“Philosophy teaches us to act, not to speak.”—Seneca, Letters, 95

Recognize the pre-explanation as weakness in action. Look at any social media post beginning with “unpopular opinion” or “I don’t know who needs to hear this but…” and you are observing weakness in action. Those pre-explanations demonstrate the words that follow are likely hollow, weak, and cannot bear their own weight. If they could, you wouldn’t need to preempt them with explanations about them. Observe the manager or executive who must justify their actions before they commit them: “We’re doing well, but…” “I know a lot of you have obligations this weekend, and I sympathize, but…” Carefully listen to a friend or partner: “It’s not you, it’s me, so I just think…” “I’d love to help, but…” “I love so-and-so to death, but…”

Everything before the ‘but’ is bullshit, and what follows is likely a lie.

Similarly, recognize post-explanation as cowardice in action. In that case, someone has already said or done what they must have thought was right at the time, but now they’re feeling unsure, so they backtrack to see if they can post-justify their words and actions. If you believe you did what was right, and if your character carries respect, no explanation is needed. Let your previous actions and your character carry the weight of your current words and actions. If your character cannot bear that weight, then there is your task—improve your character and earn your respect.

If you ever feel you must explain yourself to justify words or actions, stop, assess, and ask yourself why. If the reason you must explain yourself is weakness, incorrect behavior, unethical actions, or living an unvirtuous life, then you must first correct yourself. If the reason you must explain is you do not command respect, again, you must correct yourself. In both cases, still do not explain but rather withdraw. Withdraw to correct, learn, and realign yourself virtuously and to begin the process of earning respect through action, not words. When you have done this, then re-engage, but still, do not explain yourself. Now, your actions speak, and words are not needed.

Stoicism has no tolerance for self-justification, self-explanation, or appeals for validation. A Stoic earns respect not through argument, but through unwavering conduct. They demand nothing from others but command admiration through discipline, silence, and consistency.

“Let deeds match words, or let words be silent.”—Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 20

“A good character, once established, defends itself.”—Seneca, Letters, 76

“A man should be upright, not kept upright.”—Quoted by Marcus, Meditations, 3.5 (originally from Seneca)

My first post on Substack was Stoicism And The Warrior-Philosopher. Sometime later, I posted strategic Stoicism, the Stoicism of the warrior-philosopher. Presented here is the fusion of these concepts, strategic Stoicism and the warrior-philosopher. Indeed, they are one and the same; the warrior-philosopher is the strategic Stoic, and vice versa.

Subscribe now

There are those who are born and bred to conflict, combat, and strive through conflict. They are no different from the bird that flies or the fish that swims; they fight for no other reason than that it is their natural form. Further, this combative form, born and bred to conflict, is irrespective of gender, ethnicity, or culture. As such, terms like “alpha male,” “A-type,” “dominant,” etc. have no place in this discussion. Those terms are one-dimensional and more often than not used by pretenders to cover weaknesses than they are true descriptors of those born with a fundamental instinct to strive through conflict.

In the modern world, we have discounted those who hold combativeness as their natural state. We now see them as a negative and even consider them hostile to modern sensibilities; however, this was not always the case. Throughout history, this combative archetype has frequently been revered. In the spirit of Plato’s Theory of Forms, we would call this combative archetype The Fighter.

Plato might say, Every individual who fights physically, intellectually, tactically is merely a shadow, a reflection, an imperfect instantiation of the perfect, eternal Form of the Fighter. This Form is not a person. It is an ideal essence of Fighter, unchanging, pure, beyond flaw or fatigue. This Form is perfect alignment of strength and restraint; flawless command of timing, distance, and motion; pure unity of will, skill, clarity, and duty; and action always in accord with logos.

Every fighter form in history—Spartan, Samurai, gunfighter, Viking, knight, gladiator, Zulu warrior, hoplite, Apache warrior, Shaolin monk, Mongol horseman, legionary, sniper, commando, mercenary, crusader, assassin, pirate, and hundreds more—are all variations, but none is The Form itself. None are perfect—all are imperfect instantiations of The Form of the Fighter. In that context, there are three basic variations of this Form—the barbarian, the warrior, the soldier. The labels are irrelevant; it is the idea behind each label that matters, and we label them only for ease of reference.

The barbarian is the imperfect Form of The Fighter who values pure individualism over all considerations. The barbarian would say, “live free or die,” and “free” in this sense means free of absolute external loyalty and duty and free from attachments and societal constraints. The barbarian follows no orders simply because they are orders, and individualism demands contradiction. This manifestation of The Fighter shakes up society as a core expression of their identity.

At the opposite end of the spectrum, the soldier is the barbarian’s opposite. The soldier prizes duty, loyalty, and the victory of the collective as the highest ideals. The soldier follows orders simply because they are orders, and honor and duty demand absolute obedience. This Form of The Fighter is the protector of society and its values, regardless of opinion, truth, or virtue. The soldier is society’s defender.

The warrior (in terminology used here) is the strategic and Stoic position between the barbarian and the soldier. The warrior lives free, but not free from duty or loyalty; free from impulse and mindless reaction. This Form of The Fighter obeys virtuous orders but discards orders to the contrary. The warrior will neither blindly worship individualism nor be subordinate to the collective and is always questioning every motive, order, and action.

The barbarian and soldier exist as direct expressions of society, explicitly challenging or explicitly defending. Conversely, the warrior moves only as reason and virtue dictate, regardless of alignment or contradiction with societal constraints. This form of the Platonic fighter form, taken to its logical conclusion, overlaps another classic Platonic form, that of The Philosopher. In that overlap lives the warrior-philosopher archetype.

The warrior-philosopher is the naturally Stoic Platonic Form of the fighter, always seeking to align strength and virtue, always questioning and calibrating, and always advancing in accordance with the four cardinal virtues: courage, temperance, wisdom, and justice. In this dichotomy between philosopher and fighter, strategic Stoicism is born. In this fusion of forms, the strategic Stoic and the warrior-philosopher become one and the same.

The warrior-philosopher enters conflict not for dominance but for duty, measuring every strike, word, and silence by whether it serves justice, courage, wisdom, and temperance. Never seeking peace for comfort nor conflict for conquest, but rather moving only as reason dictates. Every battlefield, whether literal or figurative, internal or external, is an arena to test the self, to exercise judgment, and to stand firm in the face of chaos without surrendering principle.

The strategic Stoic is sovereign over themselves, dangerous to the unwise, useful to the just, and indifferent to the applause or scorn of the crowd. Life as a strategic Stoic is a campaign of inner order imposed over external disorder. Not merely Stoic, the strategic Stoicism of the warrior-philosopher is the blade of Stoicism drawn clean, striking with precision, and re-sheathed with no unnecessary action. Strategic Stoicism is at its core a battle philosophy, forged at the intersection of Seneca’s clarity, Marcus Aurelius’ command, and a hard-lived disciplined brutality.

Strategic Stoicism is Stoicism weaponized for conflict, optimized for the person who must rule demons, must command the mind as a general would command an army, and must impose logos on a world that will never meet them halfway. The way of the warrior-philosopher is not passive acceptance; it is tactical containment. It is not peace; it is ordered readiness. It is not happiness; it is virtue commanded. This path demands you are never emotional in action and always rational and ready through the command of instincts and sovereignty over passion. The warrior-philosopher obeys order over impulse, reason over noise, action over talk. Strategic Stoicism is at its core a calibration system to assess threats, measure force, restrain excess, and execute only what serves mission, hierarchy, and virtue.

While all people would likely benefit from the incorporation of some Stoic values, and many people would benefit from adopting classic Stoicism wholesale, strategic Stoicism is Stoicism tailored to The Form of the Fighter and specifically to the warrior archetype. Similarly to the practical Stoicism of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, strategic Stoicism is a form of practical Stoicism.

Strategic Stoicism serves those who are called equally by both the Form of the Fighter and the Form of the Philosopher. While pure, classic Stoicism serves all who would find peace in virtue and alignment with logos, Strategic Stoicism serves those who must operate in the arena. The arena is where force, conflict, pressure, and domination are real and constant, and for those who demand not only inner peace but also advantage through disciplined self-command, Strategic Stoicism serves the warrior-philosopher well.

Strategic Stoicism is Stoicism adapted for the war-minded, the mission-bound, the containment-forged. Where pure Stoicism teaches equanimity, Strategic Stoicism teaches controlled aggression under ethical rule. Where others withdraw to preserve peace, the strategic Stoic enters the fray with clarity, strikes with judgment, and endures with unshakable resolve.

To ensure strategic Stoicism remains authentic—a legitimate Stoic variation and not a perversion—it must hold the same foundations as classical Stoicism, even if applied in harder terrain and under harsher conditions. As strategic Stoics, we must never forget Stoic virtue remains the highest good and must never be replaced with utility, effectiveness, dominance, or aesthetics. Those are tools, while Stoic virtue is the objective. Strategic Stoicism may wield force; it may break the bodies or minds of others, but it must not fracture the soul in doing so. If actions, no matter how efficient, undermine wisdom, justice, courage, or temperance, this is not Stoic.

Indifference to externals must remain operative. Strategic Stoicism does not disregard externals; it assesses them tactically, but it remains indifferent to their moral value. Power, victory, sex, money, strength, reputation, fear, admiration, etc. must not touch virtue. To do so is not Stoicism; it is egoism, and that is not Stoic.

Logos must rule—always. Not instinct, not will, not rage—logos must rule, reason must rule. Strategic Stoicism means trained aggression, unleashed only when logos permits, and only in alignment with duty and virtue. The battlefield does not excuse the strategic Stoic. Strategic Stoicism operates under pressure, war, betrayal, desire, and high stakes, but the code does not change. The standard remains. The strategic Stoic must relentlessly ask… Did I act with justice? Did I show courage? Did I exercise wisdom? Did I restrain myself with temperance? Even in rage, even in battle, even in command, these questions must always be answered in the affirmative.

Strategic Stoicism is not Stoicism with less mercy. It is Stoicism with more responsibility for mercy because it is weaponized and because it chooses to operate where others retreat. Strategic Stoicism is a battlefield form, not a softer or harsher version. If or when it must be harder, it is only because its terrain is harder, but it must also remain cleaner because its dangers to self and to virtue are greater.

The strategic Stoic must always be able to say, “I act in alignment with virtue. I use strength in service of logos. I rule myself, even while ruling others. I will not pervert Stoicism; I will sharpen it for the battlefield.”

If you identify with the Form of the Fighter, if you need to operate in battlefield form either internally or externally, and you wish to also act in accordance with virtue, this is your path. This is the warrior-philosopher’s path and is both for inner peace and operational effectiveness without sacrificing wisdom, justice, temperance, or courage.

This is the way of the warrior-philosopher.

Να θεωρείς τον εαυτό σου νεκρό και τη ζωή σου ολοκληρωμένη μέχρι τώρα. Τώρα ζήσε το υπόλοιπο σαν να είναι ένα δώρο, και ζήσε το με αρετή.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 7.56

The Lie

The biggest lie being pushed by false Stoicism today is the “you do you” philosophy, which tells us, “Do not compare yourself to others; only compare yourself to yourself.” This is unequivocally false Stoicism and in no way represents the ideals of the founding Stoics. “You do you” is a message born of modern pop-psychology “feel good” philosophy and is in no way Stoic. “You do you” is the self-centered, relativistic embrace of whatever pleases the self, devoid of objective virtue. “Never compare yourself to others” is the blanket dismissal of all external reference, even noble models and ethical mirrors. Both concepts are anti-Stoic.

Subscribe now

“Choose someone whose way of life, words, and habits please you—and keep that person before your eyes, as a model. Live as if he were watching.”—Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 11.8

“It is useful to see a man who is what you are not—more disciplined, more just, more rational. Not to hate him, but to measure your distance.”—Seneca, paraphrased from Letters, 52

“Other people’s faults are like a training ground for your patience and reason. If they are unjust, be just. If they lie, be truthful. Their vice does not excuse yours.”—Epictetus, Discourses, 1.6

The Stoics would see both “you do you” and “do not compare yourself to others” as abdications of reason, misunderstandings of selfhood, and ultimately philosophies of weakness. “You do you” implies personal impulse is sovereign, all choices are valid if “authentic,” ethics are subjective, and pleasure and expression are ends in themselves. These are the antithesis of Stoic discipline. “You do you” is slavery to internal whims. The Stoic aims to rule the self, not to worship it.

If those “you do you” messages have value for you, and you want to follow them, great—enjoy—but stop pretending you’re Stoic; you are not. Examination, both internally and externally, is a fundamental core Stoic principle. As Stoics, we must never give in to the idea we can simply live in a personal bubble, oblivious to the world around us, never comparing.

The Truth

The Stoic does not “do what feels right.” They do what is in accord with logos, reason, and virtue, even against their inclinations.

“If it is not right, do not do it. If it is not true, do not say it.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.17

“What you want is irrelevant. What is required of you, that is the question.”—Seneca, Letters 71

When you refuse to compare yourself to others, to society, to norms, what you are doing is living in ignorance. Your thoughts become inbred, and you are creating a self-defining loop of self-satisfaction. A simple example: you look in the mirror, you’re 10 pounds (4.5 kg) overweight, so you affirm, “It's okay, I like me, I don’t need to lose weight to conform to society’s image of health and beauty.” Maybe this is virtuous; perhaps it is not. Time will tell. A year later, it’s 20 pounds (9 kg), and you double down, “I like me; no one else’s opinion or standards mean anything.” Ten years later, you’re obese, and you’re still telling yourself, “I still like me!” No, you don’t. You know deep down you’ve sacrificed your health, your life, and the people who care about you for your weakness. Worse yet, you reinforce your simple-minded, selfish “I do me” philosophy by seeking others who tell you that you are doing the right thing. You have bought into a toxic body-positivity culture, and not only have you inbred your thoughts, but you’re also a hypocrite because you are not just “doing you;” you’re doing the easy thing while also using those who agree with you as justification. You’re not just “doing you.” You’re just doing what is easy.

“A strong soul dwells in a strong body. Train both.”—Seneca, paraphrased from Letters, 15

“Philosophy demands a healthy mind in a sound body.”—Seneca, Letters, 15

This simple example of a body-positivity position, when used with health, fitness, and right judgment, is Stoic and virtuous. Conversely, when body positivity is used to excuse obesity, gluttony, and self-indulgence, it is neither virtuous nor Stoic. Therein lies the key, and we must compare and judge rightly. Without just comparison internally and externally, we cannot make informed choices.

It does not matter if it’s fitness and health, intellectual advancement, professional attainment, philosophical awareness, or anything else; we must face the externals and calibrate against them. Imagine the company that fails to assess the competition and just “does its thing.” Imagine the army that fails to study the enemy. How about the scientist who fails to study any previous work and just “does their thing”? Do you want a physician who cares nothing for the current medical standards because, “Hey, you do you, and I’ll do me!”

“He who knows the terrain and the weather will be victorious.”—Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Chapter 10

“Victory is not in strength, but in understanding.”—Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Chapter 10, Terrain

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”—Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Chapter 3

Suppose you want a career that requires a degree, but you spent your 20s just “doing you,” and you would rather not get a degree because you don’t compare yourself to others and external metrics, and you’re “above all that.” Well, everyone else did compare, and you lose—sucks to be you. You want to be an NBA player, and you’re 5’2. Try explaining to the recruiters that you remember when you were five you were only 2’6, and now you are twice as big as you used to be! Comparing only to yourself, you’re a giant now. So, where’s your NBA contract? Imagine being under physical threat from someone who outweighs you by 70 pounds (32 kg) and is three times your strength, but hey, a month ago, you could only do one push-up, and now you can do two. You are twice as strong as you used to be, and measuring against yourself, that’s a 100% improvement! You’re a beast! So sure, you can probably take that guy who can bench press a car. Good luck.

The absurdity of “you do you” and “do not compare” is a modern weakness and has no place in a Stoic’s life.

The Seduction

The “you do you” philosophy is seductive because it’s easy, and worse yet, it seems virtuous. It is easy to frame it Stoically, on the surface, because a core Stoic principle is to be indifferent to externals. The problem, however, is the word “indifferent.” The word “indifferent” is a modern translation of the Greek word ἀδιάφορα—“not of difference.” This word does not mean to be “indifferent” in the modern definition, i.e., to be unconcerned. It means to “not treat as different” or “without difference.” In other words, being indifferent to externals means treating externals no differently than you treat internals; treat both with logic, reason, and fair and just judgment. It means to validate and judge both the internal and external critically and to hold both accountable to virtue. You are not simply supposed to walk away and dismiss all external standards; you are to examine them carefully and critically, judge them rightly and virtuously, and then decide what to do with them. In other words, you treat externals the same as your internals, with the Stoic principle of ἀδιάφορα. This may indeed mean you become indifferent (i.e., unconcerned), but not until after comparison and judgment according to virtue and reason.

The false or ignorant Stoic has somehow decided that internals are inherently virtuous, and externals are not. They are biased to believe what is in us is inherently good, and what is outside is “bad.” So they turn inward and idolize the “you do you” philosophy. The classic Stoics never advocated such things. What they said was, if virtue is to be found, it is within us, not external to us; however, at the same time, we must calibrate against both the internal and the external to ensure we are behaving rightly and justly.

As always, the truth is more complex and requires deep examination.

“Choose someone as a model whose life, speech, and face have won your approval, always have him before your eyes.”—Seneca, Letters 11

“We need someone against whom to measure our character. Without a ruler, you can’t straighten what is crooked.”—Seneca, Letters 11

To properly calibrate and constantly recalibrate, yes, we must look inside ourselves and compare ourselves to who we were yesterday, who we are today, and who we wish to be tomorrow. However, we must also compare to the outside world and ask, how do I compare? Am I serving properly and virtuously? Are my duties to others being fulfilled? Are there those from whom I can learn? Are there standards being set that have value to me or at least have information I can use? The reason it is so easy to dismiss the second part, the external comparison, is because it is easy to confuse calibration with conformity.

We are told by pop-psychology “philosophers” and self-help gurus that if you calibrate against another person or external standard, you are conforming. That’s their hook and their seduction. They give you a reason to eliminate the hard part of self-improvement, comparison, just so you can “feel good” fast, and they can sell another book or push a social media account. They eliminate the part where you have to face the world and both judge and be judged. Furthermore, they easily convince you of their way because they hide the truth in a lie. It’s easy to fall for this because they are half right; conformity in and of itself is unvirtuous, and the judgment of the masses is usually incorrect. However, calibration is not conformity, and that is the lie. The Stoic does not conform, but we do calibrate—both internally and externally—virtuously and with courage.

The Stoic Way

The Stoic way is the hard way. The easiest way to recognize false Stoicism is that it is easy. If it’s simplistic “self-empowering” quotes and pithy “advice” without context and advice without practical examples and application, then it is not Stoicism; it is modern self-help nonsense. Modern self-help doctrine tells us comparison is toxic. It says everyone is on their path, and you should focus only on your truth. Sounds good. It’s not. The Stoics tell us, yes, you must compare, but there is a big catch—you must do it Stoically and virtuously.

• Never compare for envy, jealousy, vanity, or status. Never compare to resent or despair. Do not compare with emotional content, but rather compare only with reason and logic to serve virtue. Never refuse comparison to excuse mediocrity.

• Always compare self-measure against virtue, personal excellence, and calibration. Compare yourself to the virtuous. Compare to improve. Compare to calibrate against standards of excellence.

Comparison, when used to inspire self-discipline, is essential to Stoic development. Which, in turn, brings up another core Stoic ideal also disparaged in the modern self-help era: to compare, you must also judge. Judgment is a core Stoic principle, but again, there is a catch. You must judge rightly, justly, virtuously, and without emotional content. If we say, “Compare yourself to the virtuous,” you must, of course, first judge who is and is not virtuous. This is perfectly Stoic, but if-and-only-if done under reason, logic, and Stoic restraint in accordance with Stoic logos and virtue. No, the Stoic does not believe “everyone is okay and valid,” or that “everyone has a valid opinion,” or that “all ways are valid ways.” Yes, the Stoic does judge and compare, but always under Stoic restraint, according to reason and logic, and in alignment with Stoic logos and virtue.

“When you meet someone, ask: Does this man have wisdom, justice, temperance, courage? If not, what is there to emulate?”—Paraphrase of Epictetus, Discourses 3.1

“We must examine everything and only then proceed. For no bad man is happy, and no good man is miserable.”—Seneca, De Vita Beata 4

For the Stoic, comparison is simply calibration, nothing more. Comparison is a tool, and in our comparison toolkit we have two tools: external comparison and internal comparison. To use only one of your tools for self-improvement is foolish. If you compare only externally, you are a slave to externals, you have abandoned yourself, and you are no more than a hollow reflection of the outside world. If you compare yourself only to yourself, you are mentally and emotionally inbred, cowardly, and likely failing in both your duty to yourself and to others. The Stoic uses both internal and external comparison and calibration—virtuously. To do anything less is to fail your Stoic duty.

“When you wake each day, ask yourself: ‘Will I be less than Socrates or Diogenes?’”—Epictetus, Discourses 4.1

If you were to meet me today, unless you were a highly skilled mental health professional, or you knew me very well, you would never be able to detect the controlled chaos in my head. You would dismiss me (or accept me) as an anomaly, a high-IQ (mathematically), obsessive, overachiever, and that’s probably all the thought you would give me. This is by design—my design. Truth is, I was born with a perfect storm of neurological circumstances; dyslexia, dysgraphia, ADHD, extreme introversion, and an obsessive compulsive personality disorder, OCPD (not to be confused with OCD, they are different).

Subscribe now

With that list of “issues,” by all conventional measures, I was doomed from birth (they are primarily genetic). At age 3-4 I was placed in a “special” day care because I had almost zero development in any conventional sense. At age 6, I was shipped off to Greece (from the US) to live with grandparents in the hopes another environment and language would be better for me (it was, but that’s another story). At age 9, back in the US, my parents were told I was “retarded” and would never read or write past a 5th grade level (yes, they said “retarded” because it was the 70s, and that’s how people talked). In high school I was told by the “guidance counselor” (a misnomer if there ever was one) I needed to find a “trade” and forget college (“trade” was code for manual labor). In 11th grade, my parents were told I probably would not graduate, and as it turns out, they were correct; I flunked out of my senior year (I couldn’t pass English).

By most accounts, my life up to about age 21 was not good; however, there were bright spots: events and people who planted seeds of strength and discipline that would eventually take root. The first was my 6th grade teacher. Although my work was horrible, he would pull me aside and show me where my work had promise and point out where I saw things differently than others. He told me that is where my power resides: “You don’t see things like other people, and that’s good. It means you will be able to understand and do things others will never be able to do.” I still remember his name, Mr. Mikoz; the only primary school teacher’s name I remember.

To help another man use his reason rightly is to perform the greatest service one human can offer another.—Epictetus, Discourses, 1.6 (thank you Mr. Mikoz)

The other person who helped put me on my right path was my martial arts master. At age 14, I enrolled myself in martial arts (against my parents wishes and without their support). Master Buzzanco was absolutely ruthless and brutal. This was way before strip-mall martial arts, martial arts franchises, and so-called martial arts “organizations.” Master Buzzanco was a Vietnam vet and a construction and factory worker who trained old-school fighters in militaristic-style personal combat. He was mixed martial arts before the term was coined. I started at 14, and I was horrible. I didn’t know left from right, couldn't pay attention long enough to learn anything, and literally couldn’t do a single pull-up or push-up. I had my ass handed to me so many times in the first few years, I don’t know how I survived. In the first few years, I had my nose broken three times, two dislocated ribs, a torn ligament in my right knee, and one confirmed concussion (I suspect there were more unconfirmed). I don’t remember how many times I was knocked out because I was unconscious—a lot.

No matter how bad I was, Master Buzzanco was right there with me: “Get up! Get off your ass and fight! You have it in you! Stop being weak! Do it! Fight!” About a year into training, he pulled me aside, and he told me, “You’re fighting all wrong. You’re trying to be Bruce Lee, fast and light. You’re too tall, too stupid, and too clumsy to be Bruce Lee.” He continued, “You will never be fast. You need to be a monster, so big, so strong, you don’t even need to aim; whatever you hit, you crush.” He invited me to supplemental weightlifting classes, and we began my 6-day/week training, which continued for the next 5 years unbroken. I went from 6’ 160 lb (183 cm, 72 kg) of clumsy, gangly, awkward skin-and-bones to 6’4, 240 lb (193 cm, 109 kg) of pure terror; a second-degree black belt, with a 405 lb (184 kg) bench press, 500 lb (227 kg) squat, and 650 lb (295 kg) deadlift, and I could do a full split. I went from not being able to do one push-up or pull-up to being able to do 250 push-ups in 5 minutes and 27 wide-grip pull-ups in a row. But I was still academically lost, and for that matter, completely lost in every other regard; it showed, and I suffered for it.

You take such care training your body, look at your exercises, your discipline, your food. But what of your reason? Have you trained your judgment? Have you exercised your will? You have become a fine beast, but are you a rational being?—Epictetus, Discourses, 3.1

What these two stories have in common is one thing: in each case, a teacher told me, “Yes, you are different, you don’t fit in, you’re not normal, but that’s not just okay, it is powerful. You have all the power you need; all you have to do is harness it.”

It wasn’t until about age 20 that I finally started to understand that message. Fast-forward a few years later: two bachelor’s degrees (finance and economics). A few more years later, a master’s degree in computer science. Finally, a PhD in computer science. In each one, I graduated summa cum laude, first in my class. Further, I went from barely being able to read and write English to being bilingual (English and Greek), and I’m a published researcher and author in artificial intelligence and machine learning. To this day, over three decades later, I still train martial arts, lift, read, write, and study—daily—and let nothing slide. So the question becomes, “How? Against all odds, how!?” The answer is because it wasn’t against the odds; it was against conventional thinking, and that is what this is about. The odds were actually in my favor all along. All I needed to do was change my thinking and my perceptions.

You have power over your mind, not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 12.36

Impressions come to us of themselves. Assent is in our power.—Epictetus, Discourses, 3.8

Our life is what our thoughts make it.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 4.3

The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 5.20

Dyslexia, introversion, and ADHD are not disabilities; they are superpowers. I have abilities and accomplishments not one in 100,000 people have, not despite those circumstances, but because of them. The obstacle is the way.

Dyslexia and dysgraphia are nothing more than seeing things differently. If left unfocused and undisciplined, yes, they become disabilities. However, they are not inherently disabilities; they are just circumstances, and it is up to me how I see and use those circumstances. Properly focused and harnessed, dyslexia and dysgraphia allow me to see things the average person cannot. Where the average person sees a straight line, a single sentence to be read left to right, or a single path, I see a multifaceted gem, which I can turn and look through in any direction I choose. Where other people see one dimension, one direction, one path, I see options. I can process information backwards as fast as forwards, and much faster in any direction than so-called “normal.”

ADHD, properly harnessed, is another superpower, in the extreme, and is my greatest asset. Unfocused and unharnessed, ADHD prevents focus and attention to detail, but oddly, it also includes the occasional need to hyper-focus. This hyper-focus is so intense it causes the loss of external awareness and is difficult to detach, while at the same time, even simple tasks are impossible from lack of focus. If left as is, ADHD is a liability. Focused, harnessed, and disciplined, ADHD becomes an incredibly powerful asset. This is accomplished by realizing ADHD is just a set of tools. Don’t see it as “inability to focus,” but rather see it as the ability to detach quickly and to multitask, and then train those abilities. Don’t see hyperfocus as being uncontrollably lost in the depths of an activity, but rather use hyperfocus as a tool on command to focus at will on any activity. In the places where focus is needed, command forth hyperfocus. Where quick thinking and multitasking are needed, command forth the ability to detach quickly. For 5 years straight, I used this ability to simultaneously work full-time while earning a PhD full-time, consulting part-time, and raising a 5-10 year old (during a pandemic and homeschooling), and I never gave up my workouts or martial arts training. Controlled and disciplined ADHD is a superpower, and it works.

Introversion is not a liability—not if properly directed and controlled. While introverts have a difficult time in social situations, crowds, and unfamiliar situations, and do not like noise and chaos, they also are hyper-aware of their surroundings and highly analytical. When trained, introverts can read a person and a room with incredible speed and accuracy. Introverts naturally and expertly analyze and have the ability to run multiple mental scenarios, in real time, in any situation and with profound insights. Again, the so-called “downsides” of introversion can be controlled, focused, and disciplined. The introvert can train to handle social situations, crowds, and noise while at the same time exploiting their natural abilities to assess, analyze, and read people and circumstances. The key is the introvert must learn not to judge but to assess purely analytically, and the key to that is to control the introvert’s overdeveloped fight-or-flight response. Learn to detach the fight-or-flight response, and introversion becomes another superpower (there is an outstanding book on this subject, The Introvert Advantage).

In my introduction, I also mentioned OCPD, the details of which are unimportant, but the effect of which is significant. The effect of that particular circumstance is bouts of extreme, at times debilitating, anxiety and fixation on the object of compulsion. However, what are anxiety and compulsion at a base level? Energy. That’s all those things are; they are just energy. It’s our perceptions and the application of energy to feelings that give energy context. If left unchecked, OCPD is a raging fire that will burn you alive. Conversely, harnessed, contained, and focused, it becomes an engine of inexhaustible power. That process is long and involved and is beyond the scope of this writing, so I will just say this: anyone who knows me is continuously astounded at my energy level and the amount I can accomplish. Why? Because I am walking-talking, anxiety disorder harnessed and disciplined for productivity. I don’t let OCPD control me; I have turned it into a personal fusion reactor powering my life for the better. No, it is not easy, nor is it without “bad days,” but there are far more good than bad—if you’re strong enough.

Everything that happens is either an obstacle or raw material—depending on your perception.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 8.35

Just as nature takes every obstacle, every impediment, and works around it—so too can the rational soul convert every difficulty into fuel for its purpose.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 8.35 (expanded)

Difficulties are things that show a person who they are.—Epictetus, Discourses, 1.24

Illness is a training ground for patience. Use it.—Epictetus, Discourses, 1.6

Misfortune is virtue’s opportunity.—Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 67.4

Now For The Hard Part…

… and you’re probably not going to like it—tough.

All this comes down to this: if you are in one or more of the circumstances described here, STOP BUYING INTO THE IDEA YOU HAVE DISABILITIES. Stop talking about yourself as “neurodivergent” and “neurospicy.” Stop accepting accommodations. Stop asking for special treatment. Stop letting anyone make accommodations for you. Never, and I mean NEVER, allow anyone to talk about you as lesser or in need of special treatment for your so-called “disability.” You have superpowers—grow up and act like it. If you are suffering from any of these circumstances, that’s on you, and you need to change your mindset and your outlook. Stop looking at these things as disabilities that make you “special.” You are not special, and neither are these circumstances. Everyone bears burdens. Grow up and stop thinking your burdens are more than anyone else’s. They aren’t. Yours just got hijacked, labeled, and glorified by people who want an excuse for failure. These labels are now worn as some kind of twisted badges of pride—disgraceful. You need to realize that mentality is not elevating you; it’s robbing you of your power. Take your power back—now. The first step is to stop saying, “I can’t because…” and start saying, “Given my circumstances, how will I advance and succeed?”

You must say to every harsh circumstance: 'You are precisely what I was looking for. You are training for the soul. You are what I was made to face.’—Epictetus, Discourses, 1.6

Next step, if you share any of these circumstances with me, you must come to terms with the fact that so-called accommodations do not help you; they keep you down. They train you to see yourself as lesser and dependent, and they teach learned helplessness. Referring to yourself as “neurodivergent” or “neurospicy” is just another way of asking for accommodation and making pre-excuses for future failure. Whether you admit it or not, the reason you use those words is so other people excuse your faults. You use it as a loophole. Stop it.

No one needs to know anything about you except what you can do. So stop talking and show them. In 50+ years on this planet, I have never brought up any of this to anyone, or asked for any accommodation for anything, or excused my behavior because I have “issues.” I only write about it now for two reasons: 1) I have come out the other side, and maybe I can help someone else not spend 40 years figuring it out alone; 2) I know someone who needs to hear it, and I’m writing for him. Otherwise, you’d never hear any of this from me. This modern practice of shouting your “unfortunate” circumstances from the rooftops to excuse failures and bad behaviors is nothing short of disgraceful. It will be a cold day in hell before I refer to myself as “neurodivergent” or “neurospicy.” My neurons are just fine the way they are; they probably work better than yours, and I don’t make excuses for them; I use them.

Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it.—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 46

Stop being a victim. Stop seeing the world as needing to adjust to you. It doesn't, and it won’t. Stop seeing other people as having to give you a pass or having to excuse you. Here is the reality: people love giving you accommodations and coddling you because on some level, they know this controls you and keeps you in place. On some level, people know you are a sleeping giant, and they want to keep you that way, unaware and unrealized. They know, even if only subconsciously, if they stress you or push you, you might figure out you have power. That’s the last thing they want. Is that how you will spend your life? Conforming to everyone else’s expectation of your packaged, branded, and labeled “disorder,” or do you rise and show them what you can do? Your choice.

These are my choices:

Dyslexia is not a disability. I can read and process information in any order, including learning languages where word order is opposite of English, because word order is not relevant to me. I can read and write faster and better than average (by far) because I see past the words to the meanings. I am not held back by rigid structures, not in words or in life. Thank you, dyslexia.

ADHD is not a disability. I can multitask expertly, and I can turn focus and detachment on and off like a light switch. I spent three months straight studying for my PhD comprehensive exam, reading and memorizing 20 PhD-level research papers. I passed that test, tied with the highest score ever in the department. Don’t ever tell me I can’t focus. Thank you, ADHD.

Introversion is not a disability. I use strategy and tactics like a field general and can read a room, a person, and threats like I was born to it because I was. Thank you, introversion; you’re my favorite.

OCPD is not a disability. After much work and many battles, my demon and I have an understanding. I am sovereign, it is subordinate, and it serves my needs, not the other way around—ever. I’m not thanking this one; we’ve just learned how to live with each other, and we’ll leave it at that.

What this all comes down to is one simple life philosophy. No one tells me who I am or what I can or can’t do. No one labels me. I will decide who I am and what I will or won’t do.

What will you do?

If you want to continue with your circumstances as a victim, making excuses, that’s on you. If you want a different approach, then discipline and focus are the answer. The key to those is to change your mindset and use progressive resistance. Follow these steps:

• Stop making excuses. Stop referring to yourself as “neurodivergent.” Stop letting others categorize and label you.

• Stop seeing any of these things as a disability. They are nothing more than your circumstances. They have no good or bad quality in and of themselves. You assign meaning, and now you will assign the meaning, “I have superpowers.”

• If you can handle it, immediately stop accepting accommodations. Don’t ask for them; don’t accept them. You are not inferior and in need of accommodations. You are superior—start acting like it.

• If you cannot handle that yet, that’s fine. Instead, begin a mental training regime to escape the accommodation trap. Start with your accommodations as they are now. In each activity, work to beat the accommodation; little by little, lower the need and raise the bar. If you require twice as much time as someone else needs to accomplish some task, take the 2x time, but use only 1.75x. Restrict yourself to a little less—strictly. When you are comfortable at 1.75, reduce it to 1.5. Develop the thought processes and insights you require at each level to reduce the time little by little until you require less time than anyone else. Trust me, you can do it.

• In every activity and every endeavor, stop and ask yourself, “How do my circumstances and abilities make me more powerful here?” I promise you, there is always an answer to that question—you just have to find it. No circumstances are good or bad, or an asset or a liability; they are only what you choose to make them. If you cannot focus, multitask. Don’t do one thing at a time; do three deliberately, and focus roundabout in small bites. As you go, take bigger and bigger bites, focusing longer and longer until you can reduce the tasks and focus on one task for as long as you decide.

• Start seeing discipline and focus as the fire that burns and reforges you. Start small. Make a promise to yourself to overcome one small thing holding you back. Keep your promise. When you’re good at that, make bigger promises to yourself. Keep them. Continue. See yourself as being slowly reforged, tempered, and sharpened in the fire of discipline. It takes time, but that doesn’t matter; it only matters that you do it, slowly, day-by-day.

If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid by those who don’t understand, and let your example prove your strength.—Epictetus, Enchiridion, 13 (paraphrased)

These circumstances are not easy for anyone. Not me, not you. They are brutal and painful. But that’s the way power works. If left unchecked, it will destroy you. Controlled, disciplined, and focused, it will turn you into a superhero. Stop seeing yourself as disadvantaged, lesser, and weaker. You are not. See yourself as you truly are, lucky—if you are strong enough.

I don’t do politics (in the modern sense of the word). I don’t write about it, I don’t discuss it, and I don’t think about it any longer than it takes to remind myself how averse I am to it; not my circus, not my monkeys. With that said, I’m going to write one-and-only-one piece (this one) about this topic and then be on my way, Stoically. Regardless, this is not really about politics, it’s about why the true Stoic has no time for such nonsense. Do not misunderstand, it is not that I do not stand for things, or that I am suggesting that you do not stand for things; I am saying whatever you stand for should be based on reason, logic, empathy, science, and facts—not alternate facts—real facts. That is Stoic, and by definition that cannot be anything to do with modern politics.

Subscribe now

Modern politics is not based on reason and logic, it is based on ideology and power structures, and has nothing to do with right and wrong. Political parties are just marketing companies selling a product, nothing more. Politics is about power, and power is about money. There is nothing else to it. An instructive example: John Boehner, former speaker of the US House of Representative, and a staunch conservative, was firmly opposed to marijuana for his entire political career. As soon as Mr. Boehner leaves political office, what was first on his agenda? A marijuana business. So, after years of helping to pass laws against marijuana, and helping to lock up tens of thousands of people for marijuana possession, now he is a cannabis businessman. Now he sells a drug to all the people he didn’t manage to lock up for the same drug. He even has the audacity to lobby for the legalizing of marijuana. Of course, he attributes that to “evolving” and “learning,” and giving the American people what they want, and other such fabricated nonsense to justify his dishonorable, hypocritical behavior.

Yes, people do evolve and change opinions, but that’s not what this is, and you’re a fool if you believe it is. This is simple. While in office, Mr. Boehner made his fortune and kept power by towing the party line. Now, out of office, he makes money selling marijuana. It’s really that simple, money is all that matters. I doubt he ever had any real views either way. John Boehner is not a conservative, he’s a capitalist, and nothing more. He will sell anything that turns a profit, including ideology and marijuana. In office, he sold anti-drug conservative ideology for profit. Out of office, he sells drugs.

Meanwhile, while Mr. Boehner “evolves” and makes millions, tens of thousands of people with minor drug possession charges languish in prison because of him. While he lobbies to make marijuana legal, ask this: is he also lobbying to get those people out of prison because he “evolved” and realized he was mistaken? No, of course not; there’s no money in that.

“If it is not right, do not do it; if it is not true, do not say it.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 12.17

“Don’t go on discussing what a good man should be. Just be one.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 10.16

There is no need for any further example because that one example can serve for every politician, every political party, and every set of political views, left, right, and otherwise; they are all just excuses for building power and making money (I should probably throw religion in there too, but that’s another post). Modern politics has one and only one definition, whatever is convenient to power and money is “right” and “moral.” Everything else is “wrong.” There could be no more dishonorable and un-Stoic behavior.

“They spend billions of dollars every year lobbying to get what they want. Well, we know what they want. They want more for themselves and less for everybody else… They don’t give a fuck about you. They don't care about you at all—at all.”—George Carlin.

Personally, I don’t care if it’s left, right, up, down, sideways, orthogonal, parallel, or whatever; if you subscribe to any modern political ideology, you are not and cannot be Stoic. A Stoic’s life is based on reason, logic, and aligning with nature (true nature, not made up nature to suit your political agenda). There is nothing political about Stoicism in the modern use of the word. No belief-system or individual belief should be accepted by the Stoic without in-depth scrutiny using reason and logic, including Stoicism itself.

“The wise man does not jump to conclusions. He withholds assent, reserving judgment until he has tested the impression with reason.”—Paraphrased from Epictetus, Discourses, 1.27

“The ruling faculty must not be confused, rushed, or overthrown. It must stand ready, calm, and deliberate, examining all with justice and truth.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 3.9

“Truth is never hurt by scrutiny. Only falsehood fears examination.”—Seneca, implied throughout Letters to Lucilius, esp. 48 and 95

In the context of current US politics, and using myself as an example, I often get mistaken for right-wing. This is due partially to my look; 193 cm (6’4), shaved head, 113 kg (250 lbs), militaristic tattoos, muscular and fit. This is also partially due to my no-nonsense attitude, I am regularly heard to say, “no one cares, shut the fuck up and work harder,” and I am firmly opposed to entitlement behaviors. I avidly train martial arts, I am good with various weapons, and I tolerate absolute zero nonsense, physically, mentally, or emotionally. Sounds pretty right-wing, right? Wrong. I could not be more disgusted with the US right-wing. They are cruel, power hungry, hypocrites and, as far as I’m concerned, the definition of evil.

I am sometimes mistaken for left-wing. I am a PhD, a college professor, and part of the so-called “intelligentsia.” I am an atheist, in favor of all rights for everyone, believe democratic-socialism is superior to capitalism, and I’ll use whatever pronouns you ask me to use because it’s not about pronouns, it’s about respecting human dignity. Sounds pretty left-wing? Wrong. I could not have less respect for the US left-wing. They are weak, reactionary, entitled, naive, and, as far as I’m concerned, the definition of weakness and cowardice.

The Right has convictions without wisdom. The Left has convictions without courage. Both are devoid of justice and temperance. Both fail all Stoic core precepts of virtue, and neither is worthy of a Stoic.

For this post, I took an inventory of myself. I listed the top 10 political positions of the US Right and Left, and then I listed them for myself. No surprise to myself, my list was an equal mix of right and left. I cannot even claim to lean one way or another. Not that I do not have strong opinions on most top issues, they just do not fit into the broken boxes known as “left” and “right.” Further, my opinions can change depending on the country, society, and culture being discussed. Currently, I split my time between homes in Greece and the US. Some views I hold in the US do not hold in Greece, and vice versa. This is because I do not have political views. I have social views, and those views depend on the society, i.e., the original definition of politics (πολιτικά) as defined by classic Greek philosophers.

Modern political views are the refuge of weak minds corrupted by a mass marketing machine. Social views are the duty of every human, especially every Stoic. There is a massive difference. One demands you conform. The other demands you think—critically.

All that aside, the very idea there are two and only two options, and you must fit within one, tells you all you need to know about US politics. Why two? Because those are manageable products. “Right” and “left” are just brands, the parties are corporations, together they have a monopoly, and it’s about profit—not justice, governance, ethics, or anything else politics should be—for the people, by the people. The parties just split the issues down the middle, handed them out to each other like playing cards, and told you that you need to pick one. If you don’t, they shame you with idiotic statements like, “you have to pick the lesser of evils” and it’s “your patriotic duty to support one or the other.” The Stoic does not “pick the lesser of evils.” The Stoic rejects the unvirtuous. Done. The Stoic does not respect or support any system unless it earns respect—virtuously, and when it fails to do so, the Stoic withdraws support.

As for my views, I’m not going to list them because it’s not about my views, it’s about modern politics and why you, if you want to be Stoic, must not lower yourself to such things. The Stoic does not believe what they are told out of hand. They do not tow the party line. We do not follow the masses, and in fact, anything followed by the masses is immediately suspect, put on trial, and subjected to the most profound scrutiny.

“The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 6.10

“You should meet the opinion of the masses with this calm response: ‘You are mistaken.’”—Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 29

“If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid by the crowd.” —Epictetus, Discourses, 1.2.24

“We should not, like sheep, follow the flock in front of us. We should plan our course by reason.”—Seneca, Letters, 123.10

While on this topic, it is a good time to address the current right-wing trend of playing at Stoicism, especially as it relates to concepts of masculinity and gender roles. Because aspects of Stoicism are seemingly unfeeling, emotionally hard, and admittedly masculine in some terminology, the conservative bro-culture has co-opted it, twisting and perverting it to their agenda (as usual). Let’s be clear, there is NOTHING about Stoicism which supports misogyny, gender superiority (in any direction), or forced gender roles. NOTHING. FULL STOP. For that matter, there is nothing about Stoicism which supports capitalism, hustle-culture, so-called Christian values, conservative morality, or discrimination in any way. If you’re on my Substack because you subscribe to “Broicism” and you think I’m with you, let me be perfectly clear about this—leave, go away, you are not welcome. If that’s what you think Stoicism is for, there can be no compromise or meeting-of-the-minds between us.

“Women have received from the nature the same reasoning power as men. They are therefore capable of the same virtue and should study philosophy.”—Musonius Rufus, Lectures, Fragment III

“It is not the body or the role that defines a person, but how they use reason. Whether slave or emperor, man or woman, what matters is judgment.”—Epictetus, paraphrased from Discourses 1.2

“What difference is there between training the soul of a man or a woman? Both are born for the same virtue.”—Seneca, paraphrased from Letters 94

Bottom line, if you wish to be Stoic, you must divorce yourself from modern political parties and modern political agendas. You must not participate in the gender-wars, class-wars, or culture-wars, except to condemn them. You must not submit to left versus right, or play into the political party games. The truth is, the ancient Stoics did participate in the politics of their time, and considered it a duty to do so, but the word and process had a very different meaning. The word “politics” (πολιτικά) was not about parties or power, it was about how people lived justly and virtuously together in an organized society. It was the art of living in common under reasoned order. As a Stoic, that must be your approach as well. This is your guide.

• You do not have political views. You have social views. Each one is formed independently and virtuously, through reason, logic, wisdom, justice, empathy, temperance, and truth. No exceptions. This is where your civic duty lies.

• You refuse to subscribe to group think, especially political parties.

• You refuse to be labelled right or left. You are a Stoic—you don’t explain, you don’t argue. If someone wishes to learn, teach, but do not explain yourself or argue with those who do not seek to learn.

• You do not choose between the lesser of evils. Evil must be opposed—done. The Stoic does not participate in injustice, hypocrisy, and greed just to stop greater injustice, hypocrisy, and greed. You fight all of it, or you remove yourself from it. Pick one.

• Lead by example. Say and do what you mean, mean and do what you say. If you cannot mean what you say and do, then nothing you say or do has meaning.

• In everything you say, think, and do, ask yourself; does this align with courage, wisdom, justice, and temperance? If the answer is no, do not do it.

• None of this means you do not stand for things, or that you do not fight for things, or that you remove yourself from public discourse. It simply means you refuse to support a corrupt and ignoble system designed to cage and contain, rather than uplift and free.

Above all, remember this, Stoicism is never exclusionary, never to be weaponized against any group, and never political (in the modern sense). Stoicism is never to be used to keep someone else down. Stoicism is a human philosophy meant to empower and uplift whoever adopts it, and to be taught to whomever has not yet adopted it and wishes to do so. It is not male, female, white, black, brown, gay, straight, trans, left, right, corporate, religious, or anything else besides human. If you are playing at Stoicism for any other purpose apart from the improvement of yourself as a virtuous human, and for the betterment of humanity—virtuously, then you are perverting Stoicism and you are not one of us.

If you accept this, then your political agenda is clear; you don’t have one.

If your goal is to be a true Stoic, there are a few hard truths you need to face. The first, Stoicism is not easy. It is not the feel-good pop-psychology peddled by most so-called Stoics on social media and in the popular press. The second hard truth, following from the first, Stoicism requires intense focus, discipline, and training. It takes months of study and focus to even begin moving substantively into a true Stoic mindset, and years before Stoicism becomes fully integrated into your being. Anyone who tells you different is selling something. The next hard truth, following from point two, Stoicism takes daily study and training. This daily training is not just to learn Stoic thought and behavior, but is itself the act of being Stoic. You must train and improve daily, both mentally and physically, not just to become a Stoic, but to be Stoic.

Subscribe now

The last hard truth (for now), is the harshest. There are no unenlightened Stoics. There are no sloppy, lazy, fat, unhealthy Stoics. There are no Stoics who accept mysticism, magic, pseudo-science, anti-intellectualism, or any belief system which does not stand up to rational, logical discourse. While you may start with one or more of these traits as you begin your Stoic journey, you cannot retain any of them and also be Stoic. Weakness and Stoicism are in no way compatible.

On physical training:

Progress is not achieved by luck or accident, but by working on yourself daily.—Epictetus, Discourses, 1.4

A man should discipline his body rigorously, so that it may not be disobedient to the mind.—Epictetus, Discourses, 4.4

You should train your body, not for the admiration of others, but so that it may serve the soul with strength and endurance.—Epictetus, paraphrased from Discourses, 3.12

On rational examination:

The wise man does not jump to conclusions. He withholds assent, reserving judgment until he has tested the impression with reason.—Paraphrased from Epictetus, Discourses, 1.27

The ruling faculty must not be confused, rushed, or overthrown. It must stand ready, calm, and deliberate—examining all with justice and truth.—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 3.9

Truth is never hurt by scrutiny. Only falsehood fears examination.—Seneca, implied throughout Letters to Lucilius, esp. 48 and 95

On intellectual advancement:

Study, therefore, what will help you live better, not just argue better.—Seneca, On the Shortness of Life, 3.1

No man is born wise, but we are all born for the pursuit of wisdom. Philosophy is the art of becoming better, not sounding clever.—Seneca, Letters, 76.2

He who does not advance falls behind. Each day you must examine yourself: What did I learn today? What did I unlearn?—Seneca, paraphrased from Letters, 83

To be a Stoic is not about cherry-picking verses that suit you in the moment, or make you feel better, or justify your preconceived notions of what Stoicism should be. Stoicism is a whole-life philosophy and requires constant, daily mental and physical training. To accomplish this requires planning, strategy, energy, and focus. What follows is a general Stoic approach to daily and continuous improvement across four points: passive and active improvement, and tactical and strategic improvement.

Passive Improvement

Passive improvements are about weaving healthy activities, and both Stoic actions and non-actions, into your daily life. These are not things you need to think about, or plan, or set aside time to accomplish; they are things you just do (or don’t do) as part of living Stoically. Organize your life to weave these items into your daily routine. If any part of your life is hostile to these objectives, eliminate that part, or reform it to make these core behaviors flow naturally.

• Sleep eight hours.

• Eat healthy and in moderation.

• Do not drink or partake in any recreational substances.

• Speak less. When you feel you need to speak, don’t. Wait and reserve opinion.

• React less. When you feel you need to react, don’t. Wait and reserve judgment.

• Associate only with those whom you admire.

Active Improvement

These improvements are about things you must go out of your way to accomplish. Your life must be reorganized around these things, and they must be core to your daily routine. They cannot be an afterthought when or if you have time; they must take priority.

• Each morning, plan your day, your improvements, and set your daily goals.

• Choose one per day and alternate (30–60 minutes a day): strength training and endurance training.

• Choose one per day and alternate (30–60 minutes a day): Read classical Stoic source material, study an intellectual field, learn/practice an art, or learn a language.

• Each night, self-examine and add to tomorrow’s plan. What succeeded? What failed? Why? How will you do better tomorrow?

Strategic Improvements

Strategic items are your big long-term goals. Look at your daily improvement activities, and ask for each one where you want each one to go over the next year. It doesn’t matter what you choose, so long as they are realistic but challenging, and they are logically the result of your daily activities. Plan out the strategic goals, write down your goals and time frame, and hold yourself accountable with a daily record. Some examples:

• Add 5–10 pounds of muscle.

• Lose 40+ pounds of fat.

• Run a 5k or 10k.

• One year without alcohol or substances.

• Complete a certification or part of a degree.

Tactical Improvements

Tactical items for improvement are the specific daily things that you do that fit into your larger strategies. Tactics go hand in hand with strategic goals. If your strategic goal is to run a 5k, then your daily endurance training tactic is running. If your strategic goal is to have read all the classic Stoic writings, then your daily reading tactic is 30–60 minutes of reading the classics.

Put It All Together

Begin by outlining your passive improvements and start them immediately. They do not have to be perfect; they just have to be consistent and improve as you go. List your strategic goals and time frames. From the strategic goals, detail your daily tactics to achieve your strategic goals, and those will tell you your daily active improvements.

You will not get it right at first. You will fail. This does not matter. Only consistency matters. Fall one hundred times, get up one hundred and one. Consistency alone is enough to improve. As you improve, further refinements will take on a life of their own, but first you have to actually get up and do something to get started. The longer you sit there, the further away it gets until it will be unreachable forever. Despite what self-help nonsense tells you, that there is “always time,” the Stoic knows that is a lie. Time is finite, and the clock is ticking.

“Don’t act as if you were going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over you.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 4.17

It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it. Life is long enough, and a sufficiently generous amount has been given to us for the highest achievements, if it were all well invested.—Seneca, On the Shortness of Life, 1.1

Let us prepare our minds as if we had come to the very end of life. Let us postpone nothing. Let us balance life’s books each day.—Seneca, Letters, 101.7

Stoicism is popular, and as such, like anything that becomes popular, it is hijacked by the talkers, salesmen, influencers, and anyone else who thinks they can turn a dime off it. The problem is true Stoicism is not very appealing to the average person. True Stoicism is brutal; it requires deep thought, discipline, focus, and mental training. It is not something you can cherry-pick and apply here and there to get through an annoying business meeting or avoid road rage, just to discard it later when you want to yell at your kids or get into an argument online. True Stoicism is all-or-nothing. If you’re situationally cherry-picking, then you’re not Stoic; you’re just engaged in self-gratifying pop-psychology nonsense, and nothing could be less Stoic.

Subscribe now

To make Stoicism palatable to the average person, who mostly just wants to band-aid their daily issues, it must be watered down and turned into a self-affirming “feel-good” philosophy. Stoicism is not a feel-good philosophy, not even close. The truth is, the average person who attempts to engage in Stoicism has never read one word of the source material. They rely on pithy and trite quotes or “advice” without context, peddled by social media influencers, designed for one-and-only-one purpose: to acquire followers and monetize. These charlatans have turned Stoicism into self-help pop-psychology foolishness. At best, some people who believe they are following and advocating Stoicism have at least read books about Stoicism, but typically these are modern interpretations of Stoicism and, again, designed to sell, not to instruct. If you have not read and studied the source materials in their entirety, you are not a Stoic; it’s as simple as that.

Bottom line, true Stoicism is too hard, too strict, and does not translate well to our well-fed, comfortable, easy modern lives. So, for one reason or another, it is diluted, bent, twisted, and contorted to fit into a modern world, which ironically needs the original version more than ever. Today, most who discuss Stoicism, regardless of intentions, care more about followers, likes, and sales than they care about true Stoicism. That in itself is counter to Stoicism and gives us our first test of a true Stoic: they couldn’t care less about followers or likes—or monetization.

“The approval of the crowd is a worthless goal. What is praised by many is often to be feared by the wise.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 6.30

“The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 6.10

“You have been trying to win the approval of many? Let it go. What matters is whether you are in harmony with yourself.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 2.6

The next test of true Stoics and Stoic thought is to examine the typical pop-psychology clichés being peddled by so-called Stoic influencers and shed Stoic light on them. The following is the typical “advice” being sold as Stoic and the reasons they are anything but Stoic.

“Don’t feel,” or “Control your feelings,” or “Suppress your feelings”

🚫 False Stoicism: Emotion is bad. Be numb. Be stone.

✅ True Stoicism: Emotion is natural, but you do not obey it. You rule it through reason and controlled responses. Stoicism teaches control of responses to feelings, not suppression or control of feelings themselves.

“You may tremble in the flesh, but let your mind stand firm.” —Seneca, Letters 78

“Ignore everyone else. Focus only on yourself.”

🚫 False Stoicism: Other people don’t matter. Just “do you.”

✅ True Stoicism: You are part of the whole. Your duty is to mankind. You must act justly, not selfishly. This is a core virtue of Stoicism.

“What is not good for the hive, is not good for the bee.” —Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.54

“Walk into a room without comparing yourself to anyone at all.”

🚫 False Stoicism: Blind yourself to all others.

✅ True Stoicism: Compare strategically to learn, to correct, to prepare, and to calibrate. Not to compete. Not to flatter or scorn. Comparison is calibration, and the Stoic is always seeking calibration.

“Take a model whose life, speech, and face you admire… Keep him always before you.” —Seneca, Letters 11

“Let it go.”

🚫 False Stoicism: Just detach. Don’t think about it. Avoid discomfort.

✅ True Stoicism: Face it. Examine it. Let it burn. Judge whether it lies within your control, and then act accordingly. Letting go is the consequence of reasoned judgment, not a tactic itself.

“Don’t hope that events will turn out the way you want, but welcome events in whatever way they happen.” —Epictetus, Enchiridion 8

“Everything happens for a reason.”

🚫 False Stoicism: Everything is meant to be. Don’t worry, it’s all for the best.

✅ True Stoicism: Everything happens in accordance with cause and effect, not for you and not for comfort. The only meaning is what you make of it through virtue. Not “for a reason,” but according to reason. There is no divine favor.

“A blazing fire makes flame and brightness out of everything that is thrown into it.” —Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.1

“Stay positive.”

🚫 False Stoicism: Smile. Think good thoughts. Be optimistic.

✅ True Stoicism: Prepare for the worst. Accept fate. Act with discipline even in darkness. Face the fire. The Stoic does not “stay positive”; they stay ready.

“Rehearse the thought that you may lose everything. Let death and exile and all that is terrible be before your eyes every day.” —Epictetus, Discourses 3.24

“Just be yourself.”

🚫 False Stoicism: Don’t change. You’re perfect as you are.

✅ True Stoicism: You are raw material. Your duty is to forge yourself in virtue and in Stoic fire. The Stoic becomes; they do not remain as-is.

“Progress is not achieved by chance or accident, but by working on yourself daily.”—Epictetus, Discourses, 1.4 (paraphrased)

“Be unbothered.”

🚫 False Stoicism: Don’t let anything get to you. Be chill.

✅ True Stoicism: Things will disturb you. But you must correct your judgment and act according to reason. Peace is earned, not granted and not owed to you. “Unbothered” is not Stoic. Composed under fire is.

“You must build up your life action by action, and be content if each one achieves its goal.” —Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.32

When you read any pop psychology and “feel-good” nonsense like these examples above, at best you are listening to someone with good intentions but ignorant of true Stoicism; at worst, you are listening to a fake, a salesman, and a talker who wants followers more than truth. If you choose to listen to either one, that’s fine, but don’t pretend you, or they, are Stoic—you are not, and they are not.

As a final broad-spectrum series of tests, ask the following questions. When someone speaks of Stoicism, observe and note, do they cite their sources and give examples from original source material? Can they quote from memory? Do they know the history of Stoicism? Do they understand where Stoicism falls in the greater spectrum of virtue ethics? Can they compare and contrast Stoicism to other philosophies? None of these are optional for the true Stoic. A true Stoic adherent engages in daily, deep Stoic self-examination, and this is not possible without a profound understanding of the original source material and knowing where Stoicism falls in the greater spectrum of virtue ethics.

As for me, I seek Stoic discipline and focus, no more, no less. I don’t seek to extinguish or avoid the Stoic fire; I seek to burn in it and be reforged—stoically.

If you seek the same, follow or subscribe—or don’t.

Stoicism as Philosophy

Stoicism is not doctrine, not religion; it is, in the purest sense, a philosophy. Stoicism does not have a holy book or a holy figure and has no centralized authority. Stoicism does not define a morality code in the same sense as most religions and many philosophies.

What Stoicism does possess is a set of core ideals, and if you intend to be a true Stoic adherent, you must incorporate them into your life—without exception. This is the first core tenet of classical Stoicism; it is unforgiving.

Subscribe now

These principles do not define morality; they define virtue, and as a result, ethical and duty-bound behavior. Stoicism rises above simplistic morality and instead targets virtue as the highest good, with morality being the result of living a virtuous life. Similarly, Stoicism makes no promise of happiness and cares little for its pursuit. Instead, Stoicism sees happiness as a possible byproduct of a virtuous life, aligned with Stoic logos.

Stoicism as Structure: The Pillars

One of the defining characteristics of Stoicism, unlike most religions and most behavioral belief systems, is that it does not direct the follower outward to a higher power or higher external ideal; rather, it asks you to reforge yourself virtuously—internally. Most religions and doctrines ask us to look outward first and to obey an external image or system and then conform to that externality. Conversely, Stoicism asks you to look inward and draw virtue into your being, creating a new virtuous internal system that explicitly does not obey the external.

To accomplish this, Stoicism defines the four pillars, i.e., the four cardinal virtues.

• Wisdom (φρόνησις)—Clear judgment; understanding what is good, bad, and indifferent; acting according to reason and reality.

• Courage (ἀνδρεία)—The capacity to act rightly in the face of fear, pain, risk, or social pressure.

• Temperance (σωφροσύνη)—Self-control and restraint; mastery over impulses, desires, and excess.

• Justice (δικαιοσύνη)—Right action toward others; fairness, duty, and alignment with the common good and natural order.

Virtue is then defined as the totality of the four pillars—all or nothing. Whoever you are, whatever you do, whatever you believe, whatever your individual mission or circumstances, to act with wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice is virtuous. Fail in even one, and you break virtue.

Importantly, Stoicism does not deny the individual, but it does require that you reforge the individual virtuously. In this way, Stoicism serves the worker, soldier, warrior, and emperor alike. The emperor has different concerns than the worker or soldier, but all are directed to serve virtue equally.

The Classics

Looking at the classic Stoics, you can see this individual but shared value in action. The classic Stoics ranged from slaves and laborers to warriors and emperors. Each adapted Stoic thought to their life and reality. Each reforged themselves in the Stoic ideal.

Zeno of Citium, the founder of Stoicism, was purely focused on virtue as the highest good and was reportedly uncompromising in this view. All actions and thoughts must serve virtue, or they are invalid. Arguably the most purely theoretical of the Stoics.

“Man conquers the world by conquering himself.”—Zeno, reported by Diogenes Laertius

Seneca, an advisor to Emperor Nero, was practical, psychological, and self-examining, focusing on mastering emotions, especially anger, fear, and grief. Seneca’s brand of Stoicism was highly practical, with good being the result of virtuous actions in practical application, not in theory.

“Philosophy teaches us to act, not to speak.”—Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 20.2

Epictetus, a slave turned sage, was disciplined and uncompromising in his razor-edge Stoicism. Mastery of will and strict control of judgment must be absolute. Whereas Seneca focused on the practical, Epictetus lived in theory made manifest through force of will.

“You may fetter my leg, but not even Zeus can fetter my will.”—Epictetus, Discourses 1.1.23

Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor, focused on duty, endurance, and loving your fate (or at least accepting it), whatever that may happen to be. He blended theory and practice expertly in Stoic fashion to rule justly. His concern was that of a just ruler with a blend of practicality and theory.

“You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.36

In each case, each man followed Stoic ideals, both within the life they lived and the life they wished to live. None compromised on the Stoic ideals themselves, but each applied the ideals to their circumstance. In this way, Stoicism distinguishes itself as a guide, not dogma. Stoicism is the light on the path, not necessarily the path itself, and the source of that light is virtue, the highest Stoic ideal.

Stoicism in Action

Virtue in the Stoic sense is the perfection of reason in action with consistent alignment of the soul with nature in every thought, choice, and deed. Virtue is achieved through obeying the four cardinal virtues: wisdom (σοφία), courage (ἀνδρεία), justice (δικαιοσύνη), and temperance (σωφροσύνη).

Stoicism has many consequential ideals, the primary among them being duty. The others: living according to nature, apathy, self-sufficiency, indifference to indifferents, amor fati (love of fate), and premeditatio malorum (preview of ills).

The Stoic Sage, therefore, is a person free of passion, unmoved emotionally by praise or blame, grateful in fortune, unshaken in misfortune, rules themselves, serves the whole, practices daily preparation and evening self-examination, speaks little, acts well, and dies unafraid.

“To be like the rock that the waves keep crashing over. It stands, unmoved, and the raging of the sea falls still around it.” —Marcus Aurelius

The Stoic is not without emotion and does not suppress emotion. Stoics feel the full range of emotion as any human; however, the Stoic has mastered the response to emotion. The Stoic demonstrates control of response, not control or suppression of emotion.

Stoicism is Not Passivity

The Stoic is not passive nor a pacifist as an explicit goal. While a pacifist would benefit from and be empowered by Stoicism, Stoicism itself does not necessarily lead to pacifism. The Stoic warrior is a well-known archetype. While the Stoics do not glorify violence, neither do they forbid it. Violence and conflict are simply tools to be employed as needed, but only in Stoic fashion, just like any other reaction to anything.

Stoics are not necessarily individuals of action nor individuals of inaction. They are persons of right action, which may also be no action. Stoics hold to reason and virtue as the strict guides, and under those guides, action, force, conflict, and even violence may be justified; however, they are never driven by passion, cruelty, or personal gain.

“The wise man will sometimes go to war, not because he hates his enemies, but because he loves peace.”—Seneca (paraphrased from De Otio and De Vita Beata)

Strategic Stoicism—The Warrior

The person of action, the warrior, practices a form of Stoicism that can be appropriately termed Strategic Stoicism. Strategic Stoicism is in the spirit of Seneca in that it emphasizes practical application over theory but takes that pragmatism a step further in the application of the warrior’s mindset and goals.

Strategic Stoicism is pragmatic and utilitarian and fully treats philosophy as readiness, not retreating into purity but entering the arena fully armored. The four virtues adapt to the warrior mindset.

• Wisdom (σοφία): The clarity to position strategically, to choose proper tactics, to move only when victory is assured, virtuously.

• Courage (ἀνδρεία): The ability to act virtuously and strive for victory in the face of pain, death, fear, shame, and hardship.

• Justice (δικαιοσύνη): To never move out of cruelty or malice, but only when and how necessary to achieve virtuous victory, and nothing more.

• Temperance (σωφροσύνη): To never move out of anger, jealousy, ego, pride, or any other passion.

In this way, the Stoic warrior is virtuous, never descending into barbarism or cruelty for the sake of cruelty, and never simply “following orders.” Strategic Stoicism, like all Stoicism, demands virtue and reason rule. The Stoic warrior is not constrained by this but empowered by it.

The Dialogues

Pure (Hard) Stoicism (Zeno, Epictetus): I find myself in a situation that challenges virtue. First, I ask, “Can I act virtuously here?” If yes, I do so. If not, I examine whether I can leave. If I can, I leave. If I cannot, I withdraw emotionally and mentally from what is not mine to control, and I endure with reason and fortitude.

Practical Stoicism (Seneca, Marcus Aurelius): I find myself in a situation hostile to virtue. First, I ask, “Can I improve the situation through virtuous action?” If yes, I act. If not, I ask, “Can I or should I leave without violating duty or reason?” If so, I do. If not, I detach internally, remain disciplined, and endure, watchful for any opening to steer the situation toward reason and justice.

Strategic Stoicism (Warrior-Philosopher): I find myself in a situation that offends reason, yet I must remain to fulfill my objective. First, I ask, “Can I shape the situation through virtuous means without compromising the goal?” If so, I act. If not, I ask, “Can I achieve my objective virtuously, even in a hostile environment?” If yes, I adapt, act, and endure. If not, I ask, “Can I abandon the objective and exit without failing my duty?” If so, I withdraw. If not, I press forward with uncompromising virtue, and if this leads to loss, I accept it as the judgment of fate.

The Tests

Insult

Pure Response: An insult is only harmful if I assent to its meaning. If it is true, I reform. If false, I remain unmoved. In both cases, I preserve virtue and control by withholding judgment from externals.

“If someone speaks badly of you and it is true, correct yourself. If it is false, laugh at it.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion 33

Practical Response: I consider whether the insult merits a response, not emotionally, but ethically. If responding would correct error, defend justice, or serve virtue, I speak with restraint. If not, I absorb it silently, knowing no insult can reach the man who governs himself.

“The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.”—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.6

Strategic Response: I assess the insult as a potential threat vector. If it undermines mission, authority, or discipline, I respond with calibrated force—reputational or physical—to neutralize its effect, never from vanity, always from necessity. If it poses no threat, I ignore it as I would a leaf in the wind.

“Insult is a probe. If it breaches nothing of value, it is wind. If it threatens order, I strike, not from ego, but from duty.”—The Strategic Stoic

Reputation:

Pure Response: Reputation is an external beyond my control and thus indifferent. I do not pursue or protect it. If virtue costs me reputation, I pay without hesitation. Let me be thought a fool, so long as I am not one.

“If you wish to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid with regard to externals.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion 13

Practical Response: Reputation is not my goal, but I attend to it when it enables me to act virtuously, to teach, to govern, or to influence justly. I guard it only when its loss would harm my duty, not for vanity, but for effectiveness.

“Reputation should be considered not for itself, but for the influence it lends to virtue.”—Seneca, paraphrased from De Tranquillitate Animi

Strategic: Reputation is an operational asset, armor against slander, and a weapon of influence. I guard it dispassionately, as I would my sword: maintained not for vanity, but for effectiveness. If it must be sacrificed for virtue or mission, I let it go. But while it serves, I keep it sharp and wield it virtuously.

“Guard your name like as warrior guards his sword, not for show, but for survival.”—The Strategic Stoic

Dominance:

Pure Response: Dominance over others is indifferent, neither good nor evil. The only true dominion is over the self. To seek mastery over others is to become a slave to opinion and desire. I concern myself only with mastering what is mine: my will, my reason, and my character.

“No man is free who is not master of himself.”—Epictetus, Discourses 4.1

Practical Response: Hierarchy exists, but it is neither to be worshiped nor rejected. If I hold authority, I exercise it justly, ruled by reason, not pride. I accept command as a duty, not a prize, and I obey law and structure when they align with virtue.

“It is not the position which exalts the man, but the man who exalts the position.”—Seneca, Letters 104

Strategic Response: Dominance is a condition of the battlefield—social, political, or literal. If victory requires that I assume and maintain command, I do so rationally, dispassionately, and without cruelty. I assert power not to exalt myself, but to protect order, mission, and those under my charge. When dominance no longer serves virtue or objectives, I release it without regret.

“The lion does not rule the Savannah out of cruelty, but necessity.”—The Strategic Stoic

Accolades, Position, Rank:

Pure Response: Titles, awards, and social rank are neither good nor evil. They do not elevate a man, nor diminish him. I do not pursue them, and if they come, I treat them as I would the wind—passing, external, and irrelevant to virtue.

“If you want to be noble, first understand that nobility comes not from titles but from virtue.”—Epictetus, Discourses 3.22

Practical Response: Honors and positions are facts of human society. I neither pursue nor scorn them. If they come, I use them to serve virtue; if they do not, I carry on unchanged. They are not my identity, only tools, useful when directed by reason, irrelevant otherwise.

“If you are offered a command, ask if it is necessary.”—Seneca, paraphrased from De Tranquillitate Animi

Strategic Response: Rank, title, and position are tools of influence. I pursue them when needed to complete my mission or secure the means of command, but never from vanity. I carry them as I would a weapon: clean, sharpened, and ready to discard the moment they no longer serve virtue or objective. They are not who I am; they are leverage.

“The wise man will accept honors if they come without compromise, but never forget they are clothing, not skin.”—The Strategic Stoic

The Warrior-Philosopher

If Strategic Stoicism is the way of the warrior, then when taken to its logical conclusion, the warrior-philosopher is born: the individual who equally prizes the duality of virtue, intellect, wisdom, discipline, and duty on one side, and physical conditioning, personal combat training, and striving through conflict, adversity, and adversaries on the other. Most importantly, this duality is wholly contained within Stoic virtue.

This distinguishes the warrior-philosopher from the barbarian and the soldier. Each is a form of “the fighter,” the one whose very being demands conflict, competition, combat, and striving through adversaries and adversity.

The warrior-philosopher, through strategic Stoicism, elevates reason and virtue above all other traits. The warrior-philosopher would never submit to passion and risk descending into cruelty, nor would they “follow orders” when those orders are contrary to virtue.

The way of the warrior-philosopher and Strategic Stoicism stand apart, and in their way, are the most demanding forms of Stoic philosophy. Strategic Stoicism is not a retreat from the world, where pure Stoicism tends to lean, but instead is dominance and sovereignty over the world through intellect, discipline, and internal command. Not dominance in the sense of “dominating others,” but in the sense of ultimate sovereignty of self. Further, strategic Stoicism is not simply a virtuous response to an unvirtuous world, as is practical Stoicism.

Strategic Stoicism demands proactive action from its adherents; we must get up, move forward, strive, train, learn, and fight, and do so fearlessly and wholly within the constraint of virtue.

A hard road.

Why Teach at a Community College?

Author’s note: This is only partially about teaching at a community college; it’s also about doing what makes you happy, providing value, and living a virtuous life aligned with Stoic Logos. I write more about Stoicism on Substack.

About 8 years ago, after over a quarter-century in industry, I left corporate for academics. At the time, I had two bachelor’s degrees (finance and economics) and a master’s degree (computer science), and my industry career was wholly focused on technology and software engineering. In deciding to move to academics, given I didn’t have a PhD, my only academic career option was a community college (only a master’s is required). I quickly got a job at the local college; however, as an obsessive, somewhat neurotic, overachiever, I immediately applied to the nearest PhD program. I was accepted, worked full-time, went to school full-time, and graduated 4.5 years later with a PhD in computer science, with a concentration in artificial intelligence and machine learning.

The closer I got to graduation, the questions began.

“So, what are you going to do now?”

“Do you have a University you’re applying to?”

“Are you going back to industry?”

Nope. Nope. Nope. I’m happy where I am.

I often heard, and I still regularly hear, “You can make 2–3 times more money in industry.” True, with my background and area of expertise, mid-six figures is a given. I hear, “You could get a tenure-track position with a ‘decent’ university.” True, my area of expertise is as hot as it gets right now. As a graduate of Texas State University (currently an R2/R1 university), while I could not get a position at the likes of the University of Texas, a position in a solid mid-level research institution is assured. It was even floated that I take a position as a “Professor of Instruction” (fancy title for lecturer) at Texas State.

Thanks everyone, but no thanks. I’m happy where I am.

By all accounts, I am a fool, albeit a happy fool. However, there is a method to my madness. It’s all about priorities and alignment with Stoic Logos. My priorities are personal freedom, academic freedom, intellectual freedom, low stress, and providing high value. Notice what is not in that list: money, status, and prestige. My interest in money only goes as far as what I need to live the life I want to live and what I require to keep my family safe and well provisioned. So far, I’m doing just fine in both regards. My interest in status and prestige is virtually nonexistent. Other people’s opinions of me and my life carry about as much weight as pocket lint.

“The approval of the crowd is a worthless goal — what is praised by many is often to be feared by the wise.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 6.30

“The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.”— Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 6.10

Given my priorities, I analyzed my options.

• Corporate: No personal, intellectual, or academic freedom, high stress, dubious value-providing. I’d get lots of money, and the cost of that money? Just my soul, that’s all. That is a non-starter; my soul is not for sale — ever.

• University: moderate personal, intellectual, and academic freedom; high-stress, possibly high-value providing, but substantially less money than I make now (all our salaries are public, so no secrets there). The university option is at least partially rewarding, but when stacked up against the community college career, for me, it’s not really a choice.

No doubt, a university position carries more prestige and status, but for me, it comes with a steep cost. First, there is the “publish or perish” directive. To get a university position as a full professor (a position I already have in my college) requires publishing often and in respected venues. You not only have to publish frequently, but you also need to do so on in-fashion topics and bring positive in-fashion attention back to your department. You cannot just pursue your heart’s desire; you need to follow the trends. So much for academic and intellectual freedom. University careers also carry a massive amount of politicking and positioning, which for me is also a massive stressor. A university position at my level would require undergraduate and graduate advising, which is mostly unpaid, and again, a stressor. There are only two things a university position really offers: prestige and research opportunities. Prestige is meaningless to me, and I’m already free to research whatever I choose.

“Reputation is worthless. It comes from those who do not know you, and it leaves before you do.” — Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 75

“What is called ‘prestige’ is an opinion, and opinion is a weak master.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 6.16

Conversely, community college life, for me, is outstanding. Start with complete personal, academic, and intellectual freedom, with no one breathing down my neck to publish. If I want to research, I am free to do so, and on any topic I wish. I won’t get college support, but I also don’t get administrative interference. I have no student advisory duties, but if I would like to advise, I can (unofficially). My stress level is almost zero. I have a great administration, a great boss, good support, good salary, good benefits, great students, and a lot of my job is just reading and talking about stuff I enjoy reading and talking about anyway.

“No man is happy who is not in harmony with himself.” — Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 123.3

“Freedom, happiness, and peace are found only in one place: in a man’s own judgment and reasoned choice.” — Epictetus, Discourses, 1.29

All that is already enough to make the decision, but the real gold star goes to the value I provide at a community college. At a university, I’m just another professor, just another PhD, and my 25+ years of corporate experience are mostly useless. In a university, my students would primarily be 18- to 20-year-olds, most of whom aren’t really sure why they are there except that they are “supposed to go to college” (which I also happen to agree with). Conversely, in the community college, my students need me, not just anyone; they need me specifically. My students run the spectrum: the 18-year-old who is there because their parents said so; 20-somethings who came back to school because they need to; 30-somethings who require or want a career change; 40- and 50-somethings who are unemployed or underemployed and require a new start or leg up; and just about any other circumstance you can imagine. Most importantly, many of our students are ones who, for one reason or another, cannot drop $100k on a university education but still deserve that same quality education. And therein lies the value—my students deserve a PhD at the front of the classroom every bit as much as the university students, maybe more. Unfortunately, the sad truth is, most PhDs are not willing to take this position. I will not only take it, I take pride in it.

“Do not waste the remainder of your life in thoughts about others… unless you are considering how you can help them. Otherwise, you are losing the chance to act.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 3.4

“What is your profession? Being a human being. Then do what your nature demands: provide for others, work with others, help them.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 8.12

Whatever their background, all my students have one thing in common: they require hard-nosed, real, practical training in addition to an academic and theoretical education. I am literally built for this. In a university, I’d be just another PhD, but in the community college, I’m able to give my students access to cutting-edge PhD-level perspectives and education, which they might not otherwise get, along with practical hands-on training. While I would provide value to a university student too, the value I can provide to a community college student is 10x. In my college, I have the opportunity to teach both theory and practice (universities are seldom interested in practical industry application), and I’m using my experience and education to the fullest while giving my students twice the education they could get in a university. Everyone wins.

“The wise man is useful to others — not only when he wishes, but even when he sleeps. His life is a lesson. His example is a beacon.” — Seneca, On Leisure, 3.5

Point being, this is not only where I’m happy; this is where I’m needed. When all things are considered, isn’t that really what life is supposed to be about? If you’re not happy, not at peace, and not providing value while happy and at peace, what the hell are you doing?

None of this is about selling people on a community college teaching career; it’s about alignment of priorities with Stoic Logos. It’s about examining what really makes you happy. It’s about asking, what do you really want, what are you willing to give up to get it, and how are you going to achieve it? If your life is not one where you can genuinely say you are happy and at peace while you are also providing high value for others, fix it.

Now. Today. Don’t think. Just do it.

“Consider yourself dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what’s left and live it properly.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 7.56