Peer Approval

As I have said several times in my first book, anyone who has a serious wish to pursue the Stoic life style will soon discover that this entails far more than merely accepting some different philosophic propositions. It is not as if I am deciding that sense data theory is correct, that we do not perceive objects directly. If I did accept that theory—and I don't—what real difference would it make in my life? Would I live any differently, be any happier, if I accepted that I am perceiving sense-data of a pen and paper rather than the objects themselves? I think not. To seek to become a Stoic entails something far more difficult: it involves a change in the way we perceive and act in the world around us. If it is anything else, it is a waste of time.

Why is this so difficult? Simply for this reason: one of the most powerful influences on any person is the desire to please, and receive the approval of, our friends and acquaintances. We call this the desire for peer approval, and it works both ways. We crave approval by our associates, and we know that this approval must be reciprocated. From the Stoic perspective, the tricky part is that, in order to obtain this approval, we must act in ways that will elicit this approval, and we must demonstrate approval of others' actions. After all, how can we expect to receive approval when we will not grant it ourselves? If we reject our friends' actions, they will probably interpret this rejection as a rejection of them, personally, and there goes the friendship.¹ Furthermore, this pressure to conform to our friends' expectations is constant and reinforced by all types of pressure, from the most inane popular psychology to serious ethical dissertations.

Epictetus, however, along all the other Stoic teachers, pointed out that as seductive as this is, this desire is just as harmful to the Stoic ideal as the desire for wealth, fame or power. He was absolutely correct on this point. When we think about it, we realize that peer approval is just as much outside of our control as anything else we might desire. I can no more control a friend's or acquaintance's attitudes or opinions anymore than I can control a stranger's. Oh, I might be able to claim some small measure of influence, but ]certainly not control. Remember the basic principle: if I desire something that is not in my control but in another's, then I am, in reality, a slave to whomever does control what I desire. But how, when I am just learning to follow the Stoic principles, can I escape from this habit?

Epictetus actually taught his students to leave their family and friends and live at his school while they were still learning the basic principles, and many of the other teachers of philosophy felt the same way. This physical isolation from friends and family would help remove the new student from the daily temptations with which he was surrounded. Those temptations might take the form of acting in ways that while contrary to the Stoic life would elicit the approvals of friends and family, or they might be the temptation to abandon any serious adoption of Stoic life in favor of political or business advancement. Suppose his former friends made up a crowd dedicated to hard living and drinking after work; it would certainly be much harder to decline taking part in their revelries if one lived in the same town rather than hundreds of miles away! Epictetus felt that trying, on the one hand, to live by Stoic principles surrounded by friends who had no use for them made as much sense as trying to train to run a marathon while continuing to smoke cigarettes would today. How does one learn to despise external pleasures when constantly associating with people who pursue them?²

Remember this basic truth: why care at all about what others think, of what they approve or disapprove? Consider a hypothetical comment, from an acquaintance I will call “Tom.” Suppose he lets you know that he completely disapproves of the position that you have taken, that we should consider anything external to our own will as unimportant. Furthermore, he thinks that such an attitude is totally irresponsible: “How can one be a productive member of a modern society and refuse to care about what is happening around you?” No matter the nature of your relation to Tom, whether he is a casual acquaintance or a life-long friend, you have to ask yourself these questions: First, is Tom himself a serious student of philosophy, is his challenge coming from a trained intellect or is it a “gut reaction?” If the answer is “yes,” then these questions arise. Are his premises correct, and is his logic valid? If the answer to either of these is “no,” then you must consider his comments as simply erroneous. He has made a mistake, and you might want to correct the error.

Suppose the answer to the first question is “no,” that he has no training, or possibly even interest, in philosophy. If this is the case, you should consider the objection as meaningless. Assuming that you began the study of the Stoic perspective because you understood that it would have some value for your life, why should his disapproval mean anything to you? I am not saying that you need treat him with disdain; he might be a good friend for other reasons, but a good friend would not expect you to live according to his lights, anymore than you should expect him to adopt the Stoic life, simply because you have done so. Nonetheless, you have no moral obligation to accept his perspective, either, and every reason to refuse to do so. You may appreciate his friendship, but you also want to be able to look yourself in the mirror and approve of what you see. And consider this: Besides you own approval, whose would you rather have? Tom's, or Epictetus'? Tom's, or Cato of Utica's? Tom's, or Cicero's? That is, in fact, the choice you have to make.

Obviously, unlike the young men who studied with Epictetus and others, there are steps that we do not have the option of taking. How many of us are the children of millionaires who can take the time to dedicate ourselves to philosophy to the exclusion of all practical affairs? Most of us, me included, have to work in order to have food, shelter, clothing, support a family, and so on. We do not have the luxury of traveling hundreds of miles to study with a teacher in some bucolic setting, oblivious to the world around us, cleansing our minds of the erroneous habits of a lifetime. We have to work, care for our families, cook, clean, perhaps tend to our yards, in short, do all those things that everyone else has to do. How do we, how can we, take the time to learn and perfect those principles we need to learn?

It is precisely because we have these responsibilities, these cares, that we need to find a way to make the extra efforts. Physical withdrawal may not be an option, but psychic withdrawal is. The easiest way to accomplis that is to step back from any comment we receive, any compliment or criticism, and analyze it the same way we would analyze an external event. Just as we do with appearances, when someone make a comment, we must “turn the mask,” as Epictetus said, and see exactly what it means. Assume for a moment that a co-worker gave you a compliment at work. What you are going to have to do is analyze the comment by starting with these two questions: First, who gave me the compliment, and second, what behavior, what action, elicited this compliment. Is he or she a philosopher, conversant with Stoic principles? Probably not, true? And be honest with yourself. Wasn't the compliment something to do with matters that most people might value but which you have learned as something to regard as outside of your control, hence neither good nor bad in itself? Did you really get a compliment on how much progress you are making in learning how to regulate your desires and aversions, or what is something as mundane as a task at work or, even worse, your clothing or personal appearance?

“What if I receive a compliment at work, and it concerns how I have performed my job, and the compliment comes from a co-worker who is an expert in the work I do? Are you seriously saying that I should not be pleased, not be proud?” Of course not, nor am I saying that you should not offer a pleasant “Thank you” for such a comment. Being a Stoic is not the same thing as being rude; every Stoic teacher has taught that it is a virtue to perform any task to the best of one's ability. There is never a reason to act in a churlish of self-righteous manner and openly deprecate a sincere compliment. What is important is to refrain from internalizing the compliment; in other words, let it be as water of a duck's back, emotionally. It does not touch you as a person. Now, it may well speak a great deal about your value as an employee, and there is nothing wrong with that. However, it does say nothing about you as a human being, and it says nothing about your progress towards the Stoic ideal. THAT is what should be truly important to you.

Is it being hypocritical to accept a compliment from someone while, at the same time, telling yourself that you should disregard it? Not at all, unless you have chosen to elevate rudeness and self-righteousness to the status of virtues. How can anyone think that it would be a virtue to be deliberately unpleasant, or a vice to be agreeable, particularly when there are no moral considerations involved? If someone has told me that my tie coordinates perfectly with my shirt and suit, why not express my appreciation for the comment and move on? What is the moral issue involved here? There is no reason to believe that every inter-personal action will have an ethical aspect. If it does in a particular circumstance that is one thing, but it usually won't.

What if the comment is not a compliment, but a criticism? The same rules would apply. If the criticism is well informed and correct, then accept it and move on. If it does not pertain to your moral principles, it isn't really important, at least certainly not central to your life. What if it really does touch on your commitment to the Stoic life? As I said above, that is a different matter. There are, I think, two types of comments or criticisms that could have a moral or principled content. The first would be a case when we are accused, rightly or wrongly, of failing to live or act in accordance with the principles we have espoused. The second would involve a criticism of the principles themselves. Dealing with the first situation, I would have to ask myself, “Is the criticism valid? Did I, in fact, actually fail to live up to, act in accordance with, some principle I have advocated?” After all, since none of us are perfect, it is quite possible that the criticism is valid. If that is true, then there are two actions I have to take. The first would be to admit, in all humility, the correctness of the criticism, because this not only establishes that I am being honest, but it reinforces, psychologically, the validity of the principle we are accused of violating. Perhaps I allowed myself to become emotionally upset at some event that was outside of my control. The best thing to do in such a case is to admit the failing, analyze my mistake, and try to resume the proper attitude towards externals.³

Yeah, well, what if the criticisms are false? Let's assume that they are, indeed, totally false, and that the claim that they are false is, itself, correct, and not some rationalization. If I know that my action was proper to the moment, why concern myself? It might be nice to be able to convince my critic, but I am the most important person I have to convince, not others. This type of situation is one where we must summon the moral courage to act in accordance with our convictions, is it not? And it is here that each one of us must decide what we value more, that which we consider to be right and true, or the good will of those whom we consider our friends. The same applies if the criticism is directed towards our principles themselves. We can take this “to the bank”: since most people base their moral beliefs on grounds other than rigorous logic, your principles themselves will be challenged and even derided. In America, the common source for most ethical beliefs is either religious faith, emotional sentiment, or, usually, a mixture of both. An intellectually rigorous ethical system will alienate many people, and their responses are just as likely to be as emotional as their beliefs.

Ir would be hard to underestimate the importance of this fact: opposition to the principles of the Stoic life are usually based on emotion, not rational analysis. Our ideals fly in the face of most “normal” feelings. True, on some rare occasions you might meet someone whose ethical principles, while different, are based upon rational, intellectual philosophy, but not very often.⁴ Because it is true that, for most people, morality is based upon religious expression, this usually means that it must not be questioned. When that faith is reinforced by social approval as well, it tends to be even more rigid. We often tend to associate such reinforcement as being conservative or traditional, but that is certainly not always the case. There is no such thing, anymore, as a monolithic “society,” and this means that there no longer exists any monolithic moral standards. To a large extent, we are members of whatever sub-culture we choose to be, and these sub-cultures have wide ranging variations in moral expectations. For example, I live in the northern exurbs of Atlanta, not far from authentically rural areas, and it is a very traditional society. Not that far away, I could have chosen to live in the academic environment of the University of Georgia, which is almost as liberal as any eastern university society, or the moved just a few miles south and lived in urban Atlanta, and each of these three embodies a different set of values. In each situation, the dominant values are quite different, and in each we can expect pressure to conform to the differing mores.

How do we learn to resist such pressure to conform to the mores of whatever society in which we live? In short, we do it the same way we do any new skill: one step at a time. If I were to expect, after my first reading of Epictetus' Discourses, to have the ability and the strength of will to totally disregard the values of my social circle, I would be a fool. As I have said before, that would be a ridiculous as deciding, after watch a track and field meet, to immediate exchange a sedentary life for an athletic one by buying a pair of running shoes and attempting to run a marathon on my first day of training! Assuming that I did not die of a stroke or a heart attack, I would at least feel horribly disappointed when I fell on my face and failed miserably. So, let's pick a possible scenario and review how it should play out. While at work, let's say that I go on my afternoon break into the break room and see that a group of my co-workers are sitting around a table where one of them seems visibly upset. It is clear from the conversation that he is upset because he was denied a promotion which he, and most everyone else, including me, thought that he deserved. “That's it,” he says. “I am through busting my ass for this company. From now on I'm not doing anything more than I have to in order to keep my job!” Everyone at the table agrees with him: the company is run by idiots, you deserved the promotion, why not slack off as much as you can, and so on. My natural response, once I hear the topic of the conversation—this is, after all, someone I would have known for years and with whom I am on good terms—would be to say that I was also sorry that he didn't get the promotion, but not to join in with the “pity party.”

There is certainly no need for me to be some kind of jerk, to come across as a sanctimonious prig, so I leave it at that. Wallowing in that kind of misery is hardly conduct in keeping with the Stoic ideal. If I analyze the situation, if I “turn the mask,” I will see that clearly see that getting a promotion is not within any employee's power, but how he or she reacts to the event is. I do not mean to imply that it is my place to start preaching, to lecture my associates on the uselessness of complaining about his situation. In the first place, I doubt that he or any of his friends would care about my opinion. In the second place, I doubt he would be in the mood to listen to a lecture on the Stoic attitude towards life's circumstances. Later he might, perhaps, but not at this time, so it would be best to let it go. If I were to be asked my opinion, that would be a whole different matter. “Why didn't you sit down with us? Don't you think he deserved the promotion?” Here I could honestly say, “Yes, I do think he should have been promoted, and I said so quite clearly.” “Ok, but why did you walk off?” Having been asked that question, it is my duty to reply, “What good would it have done? All of you were sitting around complaining about things that were outside of your control, making yourselves bitter and accomplishing nothing. If you are denied a promotion, would you want to start doing only the bare minimum and guarantee that you will never get promoted in the future? And, on top of that, just end up making yourself feel miserable in the process?”

Here my friends or associates may agree with me, or they may disagree. In fact, whether or not I am right or wrong on this specific issue is not much to the point. What does matter is that we have disagree on a point, and I have to make a choice: do I follow the principles that I believe to be true, or do I fall in with my friends? This particular example may not seem very earthshaking, but that makes no difference. We have all seen friendships end over very trivial matters, and have also seen them survive disagreements about core values. Like with any other activity, we analyze the situation, see what it really entails, and act on that knowledge. Forgetting the irrelevant specifics, I saw a friend upset by a situation that is outside of his control, in this case being passed over for a promotion. I offered my sympathy—nothing wrong with that—but I do not, by my own actions or comments, validate his emotions. I refrain, because to do so would violate the basic principle of the Stoic life: learn to desire only that which is within your own control.

If this attitude, this response, offers no quick or easy solution, so be it. My friend may accept my offer of sympathy and move on, or he may become offended that I did not seem to agree with his attitude. Isn't his reaction also outside of my control? It is, and all I can do is manage my own reaction to his emotions, and this could end up in a fractured relationship. It was not for nothing that the Stoic teachers emphasized the importance of moral courage. For those of us embracing a rationalist rather than mystical Stoicism, this virtue is central. We have no Divine Providence assuring us that Pangloss was right, that this is the best of all possible worlds. We must accept what comes, having learned to desire only that we act accordingly.

1Anyone who doubts the temptation to grant apparent approval, even when our “better natures” tell us we should not, should just look with brutal honesty over the last time one of our friends did something that did not meet with our approval, particularly if the action only transgressed our own beliefs in a minor way. Did you never overlook a less than sterling action simply in order to be accepted as part of the group?

2 As I was writing these lines it struck me that this whole arrangement could seem, from a 21^st Century perspective, as frighteningly similar to the practices of modern religious cults. They, too, often try to isolate their followers in order to maximize the influence of the cult leader, saying that they want to protect the student from the “contagion” of his or her former life. This might have a superficially familiar tone, but the motivation is quite different. True enough, Nicopolis, where Epictetus taught, may have been a great distance from Rome, or even Athens. However, by the time Epictetus was teaching it had become a reasonably large city in its own right, and his students were not cut off from contact with family and friends, except for the constraints of distance. Furthermore the Stoics, unlike the Cynics, did not constitute some Hellenistic, quasi-monastic order. These young men were being trained simply to improve their character in preparation for the time when they would return to public life. By the time they finished their training, hopefully they would be capable, productive citizens of the Empire, as well as grounded in the principles that would help them live satisfying lives. They were not being trained to live in barrels and avoid the world, as were the Cynics, but to engage it.

3I think this is important, considering humanity's tendencies to engage in some form of cognitive dissonance, wherein we change our beliefs in order to match our behavior. Admitting that the criticism is genuine helps forestall, I think, such patterns of thinking.

4I certainly do not mean to imply, by any means, that the Stoic approach is the only rational one. There have certainly been others, such as Epicureanism in the ancient world. However, it is still true that most objections to our path will be emotional in nature, not rational.