Michael: Most people think being 'stoic' means bottling up your feelings and having a stiff upper lip. What if that’s not just wrong, but the exact opposite of what this powerful ancient philosophy is about? What if it's the key to emotional freedom, not suppression? Kevin: That’s a bold claim. Because my mental image of a Stoic is basically the emotionless Vulcan, Spock, from Star Trek. Just pure logic, no feeling. You’re telling me that’s a complete misunderstanding? Michael: A complete and total misunderstanding. And it's the central question in Massimo Pigliucci's fantastic book, How to Be a Stoic: Using Ancient Philosophy to Live a Modern Life. Kevin: Pigliucci is a fascinating guy to be writing this, right? He's not just a philosopher; he's also a PhD in evolutionary biology. He came to Stoicism as a scientist looking for a rational, practical guide to life, something without the dogma of religion. Michael: Exactly. He was approaching his 50th birthday, confronting mortality, and needed a framework that could stand up to scientific scrutiny but still answer the big questions. And that's what makes his take so powerful and why the book has been so widely acclaimed. He kicks things off by tackling that biggest misconception head-on. Kevin: Okay, so if Stoicism isn't about having a stiff upper lip, what is it? Bust the myth for me.

Michael: The myth is that Stoics suppress or eliminate emotions. The reality is that Stoicism is about examining your emotions and understanding where they come from. The Stoics argue that many of our negative emotions—anger, anxiety, frustration—stem from a fundamental error in judgment. Kevin: An error? Like, I’m feeling angry, and that’s… a mistake? My anger feels pretty real and justified when someone cuts me off in traffic. Michael: It feels real, but the Stoics would say it’s based on a false belief. And they offer a simple, incredibly powerful tool to correct that error. It’s called the Dichotomy of Control. It’s the absolute foundation of all practical Stoicism. Kevin: Dichotomy of Control. Sounds a bit clinical. What does it mean? Michael: It’s the practice of constantly asking yourself one question about any situation: Is this within my control, or outside of my control? The Stoics argue that some things are up to us—our judgments, our intentions, our actions, our character. And some things are not—the weather, the economy, what other people think, and yes, that guy cutting you off in traffic. Kevin: So, you just ignore the things you can't control? Michael: You don't ignore them, you accept them as external facts. You focus 100% of your energy on what you can control: your response. There’s no better example of this in action than the story of Vice Admiral James Stockdale. Kevin: Oh, I think I've heard this name. He was a prisoner of war, right? Michael: He was. A high-ranking Navy pilot shot down over North Vietnam in 1965. He was imprisoned in the infamous 'Hanoi Hilton' for over seven years. He was tortured repeatedly, kept in solitary confinement for years, and had no reason to believe he would ever get out alive. Kevin: I can't even imagine that. It’s the definition of a hopeless situation. Michael: It would be for most people. But Stockdale had a secret weapon. Before he was deployed, a professor had given him a copy of the Enchiridion by the Stoic philosopher Epictetus. And in that prison, Epictetus became his constant companion. His captors could break his body, they could isolate him, they could control his food, his environment, everything. But Stockdale realized they could not control his mind. Kevin: So he was applying the Dichotomy of Control. Michael: Perfectly. He accepted the reality of his situation. He couldn't control the torture, so he focused on what he could control: his character. He developed a code of conduct for the other prisoners. He created a secret communication system to keep morale up. At one point, his captors wanted to parade him in front of propaganda cameras. He knew he couldn't refuse, but he could control his appearance. So he beat his own face to a pulp so he'd be useless for their propaganda. He chose to control his will, his integrity. Kevin: Wow. That is an unbelievable level of mental fortitude. But okay, that's an extreme, life-or-death example. How does this apply to me when my Wi-Fi goes out during a critical meeting or my boss sends a passive-aggressive email? Isn't it just a recipe for apathy? ‘Oh well, can’t control it!’ and then you do nothing? Michael: That’s the perfect question, because it’s not about apathy. It’s about strategic action. Let’s take the Wi-Fi example. The Wi-Fi being down is not in your control. Getting angry, yelling at the router, cursing your internet provider—that’s wasted energy. It’s irrational. Kevin: I confess I have done all of those things. Michael: We all have! But the Stoic response is to pause and ask: What is in my control? I can control whether I calmly try to reset the router. I can control whether I use my phone as a hotspot. I can control sending a polite message to my colleagues explaining the technical issue. You shift your entire focus from the external problem to your internal, rational response. You solve the problem without the corrosive stress of anger. Kevin: So it’s less about ignoring the problem and more about filtering out the useless emotional noise so you can actually deal with it. Michael: Precisely. You accept the reality of the situation and then act with virtue and reason on the parts you can influence. It’s a mental superpower.

Michael: And that's the perfect lead-in, because your question about apathy gets to the heart of the Stoic goal. It's not about not caring; it's about caring for the right thing. For them, that one and only thing is virtue. Kevin: Virtue. That’s a word we don’t use much anymore. It sounds a bit old-fashioned, a bit preachy. What did the Stoics mean by it? Michael: For them, virtue was about expressing the best version of your human character. It’s made up of four key qualities: wisdom, courage, justice, and temperance. Living a virtuous life was the sole goal. Everything else—health, wealth, reputation, even life and death itself—was considered an 'indifferent'. Kevin: Hold on. My health is 'indifferent'? My career is 'indifferent'? That sounds like a cope for failure. 'Oh, I didn't get the promotion, but it's indifferent anyway!' That feels like a psychological defense mechanism, not a philosophy. Michael: I know it sounds jarring, but this is where it gets really interesting. They distinguished between 'indifferents' and 'preferred indifferents'. Of course, it is preferable to be healthy rather than sick, wealthy rather than poor. You should actively work towards these things. But they are not essential to your worth as a human being. Your character is. Kevin: So you try to get them, but you don't tie your happiness or self-worth to them? Michael: Exactly. Epictetus had this brilliant analogy. He said life is like a ball game. Imagine you're playing ball with Socrates. The ball itself—that's the 'indifferent'. It could be a promotion, a relationship, your health. The goal of the game is not to possess the ball. The goal is to play your part in the game with skill, with focus, with grace, with fairness. Kevin: So the outcome—whether you win or lose, get the ball or drop it—doesn't matter as much as how you played. Michael: That’s it! The ball is external, outside your complete control. Your effort, your attitude, your character—that is entirely within your control. So you play to win, you play with skill, but you accept the outcome with equanimity because you know you played your best. You don't compromise your character just to get the ball. Kevin: Okay, that analogy helps. It reframes success. Success isn't the outcome; success is the quality of your effort. Michael: Yes. Pigliucci gives a great personal example. He realized the bank he'd used for years was involved in some really unethical practices. The convenient banking was a 'preferred indifferent'. But supporting them conflicted with his virtue of justice. So, he went through the hassle of closing his account and moving to a more ethical credit union. He gave up a preference to maintain his character. Kevin: That makes sense. You wouldn't cheat in the ball game just to win. It would corrupt the very reason you're playing. Michael: You've got it. That's the core of Stoic ethics. Your character is the one thing that is truly yours, the one thing you can't lose unless you choose to give it away. Everything else is on loan from fortune.

Kevin: Okay, I'm starting to see how this applies to myself and my own goals. But what about other people? Especially people who do terrible things. The guy who stole the author's wallet, or a corrupt politician, or worse. My instinct is anger, not a calm assessment of my own virtue. Michael: This is probably the most challenging and most transformative part of Stoicism. The Stoics had a radical take on wrongdoing. They believed that no one does evil willingly. Kevin: Come on. Of course they do. People choose to be cruel, to be selfish, to hurt others all the time. Michael: They choose to act, yes. But the Stoics, following Socrates, argued that they do so from a place of profound ignorance, or what the Greeks called amathia. It's a lack of wisdom about what is truly good for them. They think that gaining power, or money, or getting revenge will make them happy, but they are fundamentally mistaken. They are acting against their own nature as rational, social beings. Kevin: So when someone does something awful, the Stoic view is that they're not evil, they're just... confused? Deluded? Michael: Exactly. They are 'lamed in their most important faculty,' as Epictetus would say. They are spiritually blind. And what is your proper response to someone who is blind or deaf? Is it anger? Kevin: No, it's pity. Or compassion. Michael: Precisely. This is where Hannah Arendt’s famous concept of the "banality of evil" comes in. She covered the trial of Adolf Eichmann, one of the chief architects of the Holocaust. She went in expecting to find a diabolical monster. But what she found was terrifying in a different way. He was a thoughtless, cliché-spouting bureaucrat. He wasn't evil in a grand, satanic sense; he was a man who had a profound inability to think from the perspective of others. He was a prime example of amathia. Kevin: Pitying someone like Eichmann? Or even just the guy who cuts me off in traffic? That feels like letting them off the hook. It feels unjust. Where's the accountability? Michael: This is the crucial distinction. It's not about absolution or letting them escape justice. Eichmann was rightly executed for his crimes. The Stoics were very much in favor of a functioning justice system. This is about protecting your inner state. It's about your own tranquility. Kevin: How is pitying someone protecting me? Michael: Because what is anger? Seneca called it a 'temporary madness'. It's a corrosive, destructive emotion. It clouds your judgment and ruins your peace of mind. Epictetus says getting angry at someone for their ignorance is as absurd as getting angry at a fig tree for not producing figs out of season. You are getting upset at reality for being what it is. Kevin: So the anger harms me more than it harms them. Michael: Infinitely more. It's like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. By choosing compassion or pity, you are choosing reason over rage. You are recognizing that this person is acting from a place of brokenness, and you are refusing to let their brokenness infect you. You protect your own citadel, your inner peace. Kevin: That is... a radical reframe. It takes the moral charge out of the interaction and turns it into a strategic, self-protective move. Michael: It is. It’s not easy. It takes constant practice. But it’s the path to what the Stoics called apatheia—not apathy, but a state of tranquility and freedom from disturbing passions.

Michael: So you see, it all connects. You start with the Dichotomy of Control, this simple filter for reality. You use that tool not to become a robot, but to clear the mental space to focus on what truly matters—playing the game of life with virtue. Kevin: And that focus on virtue, on your own character, becomes your north star. It guides your actions and helps you navigate the world of 'preferred indifferents' without losing your way. Michael: Exactly. And then you extend that same rational, compassionate logic to others. You see their failings not as malicious evil to be met with rage, but as a form of spiritual ignorance, or amathia, to be met with pity and a firm defense of your own tranquility. It’s a complete, integrated system for living. Kevin: It's a radical shift in perspective. It's asking you to stop judging outcomes—did I win, did I get what I want?—and start judging your responses. It's a tough ask, but it feels incredibly empowering. It puts you back in the driver's seat of your own life. Michael: It does. And Pigliucci’s book is such a great guide because he makes it so practical. Maybe the first step for anyone listening is just for one day, when something small goes wrong—a spilled coffee, a rude comment—to just pause and ask that one question: 'Is this in my control?' Just that. That's the start of the practice. Kevin: I love that. It’s not about becoming a perfect sage overnight. It’s about one small, repeated action. We'd love to hear how that goes for you all. Does this philosophy feel liberating, or does it feel like a total cop-out? Find us online and share your thoughts. Michael: This is Aibrary, signing off.