Stoicism for Skeptics: Ancient Wisdom for Modern Cynics

I always assumed philosophy was for three types of people: bearded academics who enjoy arguments about whether chairs truly exist, earnest undergraduates who've just discovered existentialism and won't shut up about it at dinner parties, and Instagram influencers posing with Marcus Aurelius quotes they may not understand. As a properly raised British skeptic, I was taught to view enthusiasm with suspicion and sincerity with outright horror. Yet here I am, reluctantly admitting that a bunch of ancient Greeks and Romans in togas might actually have useful things to say about surviving the 21st century without having a nervous breakdown. Stoicism, it turns out, is surprisingly practical for those of us who roll our eyes at self-help books and develop a mysterious rash whenever someone suggests we "live our best life." So let's talk about Stoicism for skeptics.

The Reluctant Introduction to Stoicism

For the uninitiated (and happily so), Stoicism was founded by Zeno of Citium around 300 BCE, presumably because he had nothing better to do. The philosophy was later developed by chaps like Epictetus, Seneca, and Marcus Aurelius – the latter being the only philosopher with the good sense to also be an emperor, thus ensuring people actually listened to him. The core Stoic principles, stripped of academic pretentiousness and Instagram filter, are actually rather sensible:

1. Focus on what you can control

2. Accept what you cannot control

3. Use reason to manage emotions

4. Virtue is the only true good

If this sounds suspiciously reasonable, I sympathize with your discomfort.

Why Skeptics Might Grudgingly Appreciate Stoicism

Unlike many philosophical schools that drift off into unanswerable questions about the nature of reality (looking at you, Plato), Stoicism has the decency to focus on the practical business of everyday life. It's less "what is the true nature of existence?" and more "how do I deal with this absolute nightmare of a commute without wanting to throttle someone?" Here's why even the most committed skeptic might find something of value:

1. It's Refreshingly Pessimistic

The Stoics begin with the cheerful assumption that life will periodically be dreadful. Rather than the toxic positivity that plagues modern self-help ("just manifest abundance!"), Stoicism acknowledges that bad things happen, people can be terrible, and sometimes the universe seems to have a personal vendetta against your plans. This pessimistic realism is comforting to those of us who break out in hives when someone suggests "everything happens for a reason." No, Karen, sometimes things are just rubbish.

2. No Spiritual Woo-Woo Required

   You needn't believe in anything supernatural to practice Stoicism. No crystals, no chanting, no awkward retreats where strangers want to hug you. The Stoics were materialists who based their approach on observation and reason, not mystical revelation or burning bushes with surprisingly good diction. You can be a complete atheist and still find value in Stoic practices. You can maintain your commitment to scientific evidence while acknowledging that a Roman emperor had some decent tips for managing your temper in traffic.

3. It Doesn't Require You to Be Happy All the Time

Unlike philosophies that seem to demand perpetual bliss, Stoicism merely suggests you needn't be quite so miserable about being miserable. It's not about eliminating negative emotions entirely (an exhausting and frankly suspicious endeavor), but rather about not adding unnecessary suffering through catastrophizing or rumination. The Stoics would never suggest you should feel ecstatic about spilling coffee on your laptop. They'd just point out that adding an elaborate narrative about how the universe is conspiring against you isn't particularly helpful.

Stoicism for the Chronically Skeptical: A Starter Kit

If you're tentatively willing to dip a toe into these ancient waters without committing to full philosophical immersion, here are some Stoic techniques that even the most dedicated eye-roller might find useful:

The Dichotomy of Control

Next time you find yourself in a state about something, ask: "Do I actually have any control over this?"

The weather at your garden party? Not controllable.

Your reaction to the weather? Controllable.

The delay on your train? Not controllable.

How you use that time? Controllable.

The fact that someone ate the lunch you clearly labeled in the office fridge? Not controllable.

Whether you plot elaborate revenge scenarios involving their stapler and some glue? Controllable (though perhaps not advisable).

This simple distinction can save remarkable amounts of energy otherwise wasted on futile attempts to control the uncontrollable. I've personally reduced my daily anxiety by at least 17%, (made up number), using this technique alone, which I consider a smashing success.

Negative Visualization

This cheery practice involves briefly imagining how things could be worse. Not in a catastrophizing way, but rather to:

1. Prepare for potential difficulties

2. Appreciate what you currently have

For instance, imagine temporarily losing your smartphone. What would that be like? What workarounds would you need? When you return to reality and find your phone still in your hand (probably reading this article), you might feel a flicker of appreciation rather than taking it for granted. I initially found this practice morbid, but it's surprisingly effective at creating genuine gratitude without requiring you to write in a "thankfulness journal" or post inspirational sunrise photos on Instagram.

The View From Above

When caught up in what feels like a world-ending problem, try mentally zooming out—seeing yourself from above your city, your country, the planet, and beyond. From this cosmic perspective, does your current crisis maintain its catastrophic proportions? This doesn't invalidate your concerns, but it can provide helpful context. That work presentation still matters, but perhaps it doesn't need to trigger an existential crisis. I practice this whenever I catch myself drafting a scathing email over some minor professional slight. Seeing myself as a tiny dot on a tiny planet usually provides the perspective needed to step away from the keyboard before I burn bridges that would be inconvenient to rebuild.

The Reluctant Conclusion

I won't suggest Stoicism is a cure-all for life's difficulties. The ancient Stoics, after all, didn't have to contend with social media, climate anxiety, or the special torture of autocorrect turning innocent messages into career-ending faux pas. But their approaches to managing life's challenges with dignity and reason are surprisingly applicable to modern woes. You needn't go full toga or start calling yourself a philosopher. You can maintain your healthy skepticism while borrowing useful techniques from people who, despite having been dead for two millennia, somehow managed to understand the human condition with irritating accuracy. If you're intrigued by this reluctant introduction to practical Stoicism, you might enjoy "The Reluctant Stoic"—a guide for those who want ancient wisdom without the sandals and self-righteousness. It's for people who roll their eyes at philosophy but wouldn't mind suffering slightly less. Available at all good bookshops and probably some mediocre ones as well.

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Sean Robinson is the author of "The Reluctant Stoic" and firmly believes philosophy should be practical, accessible, and preferably accompanied by a good cup of tea. He maintains a healthy skepticism about most things, including his own advice.