Psychiatrist and expert on stoicism Donald Robertson, 52, outside his home in Montreal on April 6.Nasuna Stuart-Ulin/The Globe and Mail
In February, Donald Robertson was crossing a Montreal street, pushing his one-year-old through the snow in his stroller, when a man banged him hard in his shoulder. “Hey buddy,” Mr. Robertson called out. “What the hell was that about?” The man stopped, looked at him, and punched Mr. Robertson in the jaw.
Now, there was a time when Mr. Robertson, 52, would have thrown a fist right back. He’d been an angry, lost teenager. His father died when he was 13, and a bad temper only left him more alone. On his 16th birthday, he was asked to leave school, or face expulsion for fighting and other disruptive behaviour.
He might have remained his own worst enemy, except that he was clever and eventually made it to university, where he discovered Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, and the Stoics of ancient Rome. Philosophy, he says, became the father figure he’d been missing.
Today, Mr. Robertson is a cognitive-behavioral psychotherapist, and the author of several books, including How to Think Like a Roman Emperor. The Stoics, meanwhile, are as popular and influential as ever.
Their teachings are debated at Stoic clubs in Canada and around the world. The philosophy’s tenets are woven through modern psychotherapies and self-help bestsellers. Seneca and his peers, for instance, were among the original “Let Them” philosophers; they advised ignoring toxic people and their behaviour more than 2,000 years before American author Mel Robbins went viral with the phrase.
For many, the Stoics’ dusty words still read like modern wisdom – the very kind to steady one’s nerves in this national time of trial, during the Most Important Election Ever.
There is a lot coming at Canadians all at once: a nasty breakup with a former friend musing openly about ending our current existence, a high-stakes ballot day, all the regular problems of climate change, housing shortages and war. But here, we can imagine Marcus Aurelius putting down his quill, to repeat one of the most important tenets of Stoicism: “Do not waste your time on what you cannot control or influence.”
The Stoics were very big on saving energy for the situations we can change. The thug in the Oval Office? Not in our control. Casting an educated vote in our own election? Our choice to make.
A negative event – a tussle, say, with a stranger on a crosswalk – is defined not by the experience itself, the Stoics argued, but by our judgments about them. “Your powers lies in how you react,” says Chuck Chakrapani, a visiting professor at Toronto Metropolitan University, and the author of an coming book on Stoicism called The Power to Change. You can vent about life’s latest snowstorm, he observes. “Or you can have a hot chocolate.” (And then shovel your elderly neighbour’s driveway.)
If we are consumed with worry that this current political situation will end in annexation, we have ceded all the power; if we find joy and meaning and opportunity in the way Canadians are responding, we have taken it back.
“We suffer more from imagination than reality,” Seneca said. Set aside the past (and people) that cannot change, the future not yet known, and work to fix the present.
Ryan Broadfoot, a carpenter in Kamloops, B.C., discovered the Stoics as he listened to podcasts while renovating his home. At the time, he says, he felt unhappy and unfulfilled, too focused on what he didn’t have, not grateful enough for the life he’d made with his wife and children. Stoicism taught him to stop seeking outside affirmation; his happiness was entirely his own responsibility.
Mr. Broadfoot, who now writes a philosophy blog and offers his own insights on podcasts, realized the Stoic lessons were helping when, one day, his 6-year-old son once again dropped a heavy, open milk jug on the kitchen floor, and Mr. Broadfoot calmly cleaned up, not feeling his usual frustration. The mess was just “something that happens,” neither good nor bad. “It’s just some spilled milk,” he thought, and truly felt it.
“Our life,” says Marcus Aurelius, “is what our thoughts make it.”
Lia Pas found Stoicism ten years ago, around the time she was diagnosed with ME/CFS, the medical term for chronic fatigue syndrome. The philosophy helped the 53-year-old multidisciplinary artist accept that while her illness made singing too exhausting, slowing down and focusing in life’s essentials gave her more time for artistic endeavours, such as piano and embroidery, and deepened the emotion in her work.
Each night, she asks herself, “What could I have done differently today?” And each morning, she asks: “What will I do differently today?” (Right now, she is working on showering more slowly and mindfully.) She leans on the Stoic idea of amor fati, which translates to “love of one’s fate.” “What stands in the way becomes the way,” she says, quoting Marcus Aurelius.
The Stoics elevated four cardinal virtues: wisdom, temperance, courage and justice. They saw difficult situations, like the one Canadians are now experiencing, as an opportunity to practise those virtues.
For Ms. Pas, practising temperance means limiting exposure to anxiety-inducing news. Courage, although she’s too humble to say, is living well despite the sudden flare-ups.
But when the virtues feel too abstract for everyday use, Mr. Broadfoot relates them to his specific roles in life: What should a virtuous father, husband, neighbour or Canadian do in this moment?
The Stoics have plenty of suggestions. Be kind, without expectation of return, Seneca advised: “There is no grace in a benefit that sticks to the fingers.” Set an example, Marcus Aurelius argued: “A straightforward, honest person should be like someone who stinks; when you’re in the same room with him, you know it.” Stop whining about the injustice of a runny nose (and other minor grievances), and use your resources to solve the problem, lectured Epictetus, who knew hardship as a slave before becoming a philosophy teacher: “What do you have hands for, idiot, if not to wipe it?”
The Stoics were also realists. They proposed tolerance – and clear boundaries – for those who inevitably behave badly. “What matters is whether you become like them,” says Mr. Robertson, “or respond instead with wisdom and integrity.”
Which is why, on the crosswalk in Montreal, Mr. Robertson took his own advice, turned away from the punch, and continued safely home. As Seneca said, “It’s not about winning every argument, it’s about choosing which one deserves our energy.”
This applies to heated political conversations, as well as sidewalk rage. Take a stoic pause, suggests Mr. Chakrapani, before reacting to an offensive remark: Did the person mean to offend you? Is there truth to their statement? An insult only cuts if you let it. Laugh, if you can, Mr. Chakrapani advises in his book, and let it pass.
The Stoics may seem like a grim lot – they lived, after all, through tyrants, war and plague – but they saw life as a “festival,” replete with both challenge and charm. We find joy, Mr. Chakrapani writes, when we become aware of it around us.
Having educated ourselves on election issues, considered our opinions carefully, calmly cleaned the spilled milk, bought Canadian, helped a neighbour, and done our fallible best, what remains? Marcus Aurelius offered this lyrical answer: “Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.”
