We are always "becoming"

None of us is perfect. A defining trait of Stoic practitioners — of people — is that we are always becoming. Sometimes, we’re becoming smarter, kinder, more patient. Other times, we’re becoming fearful, cynical, selfish. There is no straight path to growing wise or virtuous. The calm a wise man exudes comes not from years of quiet contemplation, but decades in the arena of life, scoring small victories and surviving major mistakes.

And that’s why the Stoics always preached patience and empathy for each other. They knew that the failings of another person don’t come from the choice of malice. They come from learned habits and misguided narratives rationalizing inappropriate behaviour. The wisest among us learn that the hard way, because wisdom is born from learning and growing.

Compassion as the awareness of others' suffering

Compassion, broken down to its roots, means to suffer together. Taken literally, the Stoics would advise against such a thing. To suffer is to forgo reason. The word has in many ways evolved since then, such that we understand compassion to mean an awareness of the suffering of others and a wish to help alleviate it.

In this context, the Stoics would rejoice at such a practice. As an aside, the Stoics advised their pupils to exercise mercy and pity toward those who err or suffer. And now of course, we would find such a position haughty — even egotistical. As terms change, we should not be too wrapped up in tradition to recognize we can get to the real meaning and find truth no matter how things change.

Limits of compassion

Exercising compassion, though, has its limits for those of us who are still yet becoming. The Stoics knew this. They cautioned that becoming too invested in righting wrongs, too wrapped up in the suffering, would make us suffer ourselves. And therein lies the conundrum. We go from wanting to help alleviate suffering, to suffering together. Compassion in the modern sense risks compassion in the literal sense, if we do not keep our wits about us.

Epictetus reminded his pupils about this in his lectures:

When you see someone weeping in sorrow… be careful that the appearance does not carry you away with it… So far as words go, do not hesitate to sympathize with him, and even, if it happens so, to weep with him. But take care that you do not weep inwardly as well. – Epictetus, Enchiridion, 16

Grief is something we can all relate to because at some point or another, we all experience it. In a way, that universal experience helps us to better appreciate and exercise compassion toward those who feel it too. But doing so can dredge up memories of the grief we once had. It can cause us to backslide. And in so doing, we don’t just suffer — we fail to alleviate the suffering of whom we wished to console. It’s a vicious cycle that only ends when we can accept it and move on. But the path to wisdom is not straight. It is circuitous. It takes us backward at times. And so, the Stoics aimed to smooth out those jagged edges and cuts along the way by staying cognizant of how others’ suffering can lead us astray.

But that isn’t a reason to avoid compassion. It’s not a reason to coldly disregard the suffering of others. So what if, once in a while, we get wrapped up in the throes of passions? We are not doomed to that fate forever. We went into it with good intention — to help others. And when we come out the other side, we will have learned a valuable lesson in the practice of detachment and care. The two are not in opposition. They are necessary components of being useful to others and exercising virtue in our lives.

Seneca, ever the wordsmith, said it similarly:

No school has more goodness and gentleness; none has more love for human beings, nor more attention to the common good. Its goal is to be useful, to help others, and to take care not only of ourselves but of everyone in general and of each one in particular. - Seneca, On Clemency, 2.3.3.

To err is human. But to care is human, too. And insofar as the Stoics believed in capturing the very best of human nature in their practice, they certainly believed we ought to care for one another.

John Kuna is a Stoic prokopton, writer, and dog lover. He likes digging deep into Stoic theory, but also writing accessible and inspiring Stoic content.

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