Epictetus, a Greek, lived much of his life under Roman slavery. Like the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, he developed an insatiable interest in Stoicism. The philosophy appealed to people of all classes.
I’ve written on Stoicism before. But, maybe because I’ve experienced its transformative power firsthand, I can’t help writing about it again. At a time when Americans are suffering from unparalleled levels of stress, Stoicism’s a bit like Thanksgiving dinner. It reminds us what’s important. It points the way to a well-lived life.
Philosophy is often dismissed as “too abstract.” Yet Stoicism is pragmatic. Practical. Its books constitute a series of self-help manuals—without the charlatan-like lure of instant change. Whenever life gets tough, the advice of the Stoics—based on the lived experience of ancient people facing eternal problems—is there, readily accessible. If, like me, you are imperfect, or if, like me, you sometime over-focus on your flaws, well, Stoicism can grant some perspective. (Conversely, if you’re puffed up and self-important, Stoicism can inject some much-needed deflation, reminding you—like the aides whispering “memento mori” to Roman generals during victory parades—that you are mortal.)
As Roman emperor and Stoic Marcus Aurelius noted, Stoicism has an edge over medicine and other quick fixes because its lessons have no half-life. They stay with you. By embracing Stoicism, you gain a ready toolkit fit to use no matter where you are or what situation you’re in. After even cursory reading, Stoic aphorisms become part of you; all you need to retrieve them is to look within. To dig.
Of course, no one’s born with encyclopedic knowledge of anything—much less Stoicism. So before digging, you must put in the work. You must read up, cultivating an inner garden worth digging up, and you must maintain that garden—consciously, continuously, every day. Luckily, the journey itself is enough to transform your life for the better—all it requires is that you (1) read a bit of Stoicism (“cultivate”) and (2) reflect on what you’ve read by relating it to your life (“dig”).
How to dig? Easy: Keep a journal. As Ryan Holiday notes, journaling is a great, relatively time-efficient way to cement Stoicism’s lessons. It’s why Marcus, burdened by the duties of a war-time emperor fending off Germanic nomads, journaled upon waking at the crack of dawn. It’s why Seneca—tasked with tutoring Marcus Aurelius’s foil (the toddler-like dictator Nero, who eventually ordered Seneca to commit suicide)—journaled every night.
Morning journaling reminds us of our values before we have a chance to betray them. Nighttime journaling holds us accountable, helping us discern where we betrayed our principles and where we didn’t. Repeated, the process yields a rich inner garden. We reflect on the words of thinkers infinitely wiser than ourselves who nonetheless shared many of our own “modern” problems. As a result, our internal garden is enriched, and our external self grows. We gain (or re-gain) self-control, and therefore—like a reformed addict who’s just realized his power to abstain—we gain (or re-gain) freedom.
Events lose their power over our happiness; we come to the self-empowering realization that only our internal reactions to external events—put differently, our judgments—can influence our happiness. The result is that the lows seem less low, and the highs—though still high—become less crucial to happiness. Marcus put it better than I: “You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.”
Stoicism’s greatest use (especially when combined with reflective journaling) is its ability to counteract that great enemy of a well-lived life: Inertia. Many of us feel unsatisfied, utterly unfulfilled, yet we don’t try to improve our circumstances. Heck, we don’t even understand why we’re unhappy. We take the easy route, the path of least resistance, dulling our senses with excessive Netflix, food, alcohol, video games, and so on, avoiding even attempted understanding. Engagement’s just too scary.
Journaling admittedly takes more work than vice, but it’s an affirmative path towards solving life’s problems. It’s a braver path—a Stoic one that realizes that the only way to solve a problem is to tackle it, not to run from it or deny it. So rather than running from the causes of your unhappiness, identify them. Rather than doing nothing about your circumstances, tackle them.
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Where to start if you know nothing of Stoicism? Ryan Holiday and Stephen Hanselman’s The Daily Stoic is a great introduction, as is William B. Irvine’s A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy. Beginners who wish to pair their reading with journaling can also check out The Daily Stoic Journal. A nifty little book that combines “cultivation” with “digging,” the yearly journal includes Stoic quotes to guide daily reflection, a short blurb on Stoic principles for each week, and generous writing space (for both morning and nightly reflection).
Again, don’t expect a magic fix. Unlike too many contemporary self-help books, the Stoics recognized that life improvement comes deliberately—not quickly. Well-being is attained by the process of changing one’s character, which entails changing one’s destructive habits. Luckily, in addition to being a great habit in itself, the study of Stoicism can transform and strengthen your character. Studying its aphorisms builds a handy toolkit; with it, you can tackle even your most stubborn demons and survive even the darkest times. Words, especially wise words, are a powerful drug. Stoicism is medicine for the soul.
What are you waiting for? Start cultivating so you can get digging. Fairly soon, armed with a new toolkit, you’ll be able to earnestly remind yourself, as Marcus Aurelius exhorted during a morning journaling session two millennia ago: “Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.”
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This piece was originally published in The Good Men Project. You may follow Michael Shammas on Twitter.