LXXII. March Stoic Spiritual Exercise: How the Stoics Handled Insults
Today’s essay is the March Spiritual exercise focusing on How a Stoic Handles Insults.
Welcome! Click Here to Read February’s Spiritual Exercise.
how I leaned into stoicism
Back in medical school, I read Schopenhauer’s Essays and Aphorisms, and it was one of the saddest books I’d ever come across. Here’s a small dose:
“That human life must be some kind of mistake is sufficiently proved by the simple observation that man is a compound of needs which are hard to satisfy; that their satisfaction achieves nothing but a painless condition in which he is only given over to boredom; and that boredom is a direct proof that existence is in itself valueless, for boredom is nothing other than the sensation of the emptiness of existence.” — Arthur Schopenhauer
It had never occurred to me that the world might be defined by suffering—and that everything we do is merely an attempt to reduce it. Even joy, I realized, could be an illusion: a brief relief from the default of suffering.
“Pleasure is never as pleasant as we expected it to be, and pain is always more painful.” — Arthur Schopenhauer
Aside from becoming pessimistic for a few weeks, the book woke me up to a higher level of consciousness. I found free will—I recall making myself fall off a chair just to experience this agency. I found consolation in the clarity he offered about the human condition. I found a spring of empathy for the tragic experience we all share. I learned I could transcend suffering through art—and fine-tune my desires so I wouldn’t suffer because of them.
But even though I appreciated the book, Schopenhauer’s world was bleak. Living with a dark cloud hanging over me wasn’t sustainable. But denying the truth of what I’d read wasn’t an option either. I needed an idea to ground me—something to help me find meaning in what I do. Because beauty, creative work, the people I love, and the impact my medical career would have were pretty cool experiences. And I couldn’t summon the strength to nurture any of it, or connect with others deeply, if I stayed pessimistic.
Being logical, I knew I needed a set of principles that could balance the reality of the world, my nature as a human and what I wanted. I needed resources that could help me navigate—and even thrive—in a sometimes cruel world. I wanted something rooted in Schopenhauer’s brutal clarity, but with rational optimism. Something that could help me stay disciplined and strategic when I didn’t see a reason to be so. Endure chaos without losing hope. Tolerate dumb people. And keep reaching for the fulfillment Nietzsche spoke of.
But once I’d tasted realness, I couldn’t stomach anything that sugarcoated life. And that’s how I perched upon Stoicism.
At first, it seemed too good to be true. A practical philosophy that dealt with real life situations, from minor yet crucial matters like getting out of bed, to major issues like how to be happy, how to handle rudeness, how to wrestle with lust, anger, stress and laziness. It was mind-blowing.
Yet I didn’t let myself get swept away by its beauty and depth. I explored other ideas. Even stopped practicing Stoicism for a while. But the funny thing is—I always came back to it. It was the stepmother Marcus Aurelius talked about:
“If you had a stepmother and a real mother, you would pay your respects to your stepmother, yes… but it’s your real mother you’d go home to.
The court…and philosophy: keep returning to it, to rest in its embrace. It’s all that makes the court, and you, endurable.”
And this other banger encompassing the crucial lessons in the philosophy,
“Indeed, if you find anything in human life better than justice, truth, self-control, courage—in short, anything better than the sufficiency of your own mind, which keeps you acting according to the demands of true reason and accepting what fate gives you outside of your own power of choice…I tell you, if you can see anything better than this, turn to it heart and soul and take full advantage of this greater good you’ve found.” —Marcus Aurelius
Stoicism isn’t some reductionist version of a cult, religion or dogma. It’s a way of life—a guide for living well in an active, engaged, often disorderly world.
And today, we’ll apply it to something simple but that bothers us a lot,
How to handle insults.
i. the stoic standard
“Remember, it is not enough to be hit or insulted to be harmed, you must believe that you are being harmed. If someone succeeds in provoking you, realize that your mind is complicit in the provocation. Which is why it is essential that we not respond impulsively to impressions; take a moment before reacting, and you will find it is easier to maintain control.” — Epictetus
Before we can respond to insult with grace, we must first ask a deeper question: what does it mean to be harmed? Most people never pause here. They react as if the answer is obvious: when someone offends, embarrasses, or disrespects us, we’re harmed. But have we?
The Stoics argue otherwise. Nearly everything we label “harm” is misnamed. For them, true harm isn't feeling pain or offense—it's moral compromise. To be harmed is to lose rational footing, abandon virtue, or act unjustly or fearfully. If we’re insulted and respond with bitterness or vengeance, we've harmed ourselves—not by the insult, but by our reaction.
Seneca clarifies,
“Let this once be clear: there is nothing good except that which is honourable.”
Honourable means virtuous—conduct ruled by wisdom, discipline, integrity, courage, and justice. If that's true, its counterpart is equally true: only dishonourable actions are truly harmful. Insults themselves are neither good nor bad. They are merely events, like weather or fire being hot. It's only when we respond with vice that an insult becomes a true injury.
This opposes modern thinking, which treats emotions as accurate indicators of reality. If we feel hurt, we assume we've been harmed. Stoicism demands more rigor. It asks us to distinguish feelings from facts and impressions from judgments. Epictetus, ever blunt, insists that even physical pain isn't inherently harmful unless we believe it is. Insults are real and disrespectful yes, but the meaning we ascribe them is up to us. And if we’re to do anything about insults and the people who spew them, it must stem from that understanding.
Seneca refines this point by emphasizing clarity about our chief aim. If our goal is comfort or status, insults will always wound us. If our aim is virtue, insults become irrelevant. They touch nothing of value. Seneca writes,
“The artist may have his colours prepared, but cannot produce a likeness unless he knows what he wishes to paint.”
We must know our aim well to interpret our experiences with equanimity.
Thus, Stoicism draws a clear proposition: you're harmed only when your virtue is compromised. Insults can't cross this line unless we carry them across ourselves. If we respond with restraint, humour, or unwavering principle, the insult fails. It’s Epictetus telling us,
“If anyone tells you that such a person speaks ill of you, don't make excuses about what is said of you, but answer: “He does not know my other faults, else he would not have mentioned only these.”
This idea contradicts our prideful instincts, yet it's liberating. If only indulging in vice harms us, insults lose their threat. We might face ridicule or unfair criticism, but by remaining dignified and reasonable, our soul stays intact.
This is disciplined freedom—not cold indifference. Virtue, like a straight edge, can't be bent externally. If we anchor our concept of harm here, we won’t panic when struck. We'll acknowledge the blow but deny it undeserved power.
Seneca puts it like this,
"What element of evil is there in torture and in the other things which we call hardships? It seems to me that there is this evil—that the mind sags, and bends, and collapses."
The problem is not that we feel. It's that we let feelings conquer judgment. That we let external blows deform the inner form. But the Stoic ideal is something else. It’s a person who can feel pain, anger, disappointment, grief—and still act with justice, still speak with grace, still carry themselves with composure. It’s someone who trains their soul to stand upright, even when the world collapses around them.
So, before responding to insults, ask yourself clearly: what am I protecting when I feel insulted? Pride, ego, or something deeper?
If virtue alone is guarded, no insult can ever touch what truly belongs to us.
ii. emotional reactions are optional
“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.” — Marcus Aurelius
I understand emotional reactions don't always feel optional. When we’re insulted, we flush, bristle, and rehearse comebacks. It seems insults are a direct cause of suffering. Yet Epictetus insists otherwise. He delivers a bracing truth: “If someone provokes you successfully, recognize your mind is complicit.”
It’s normal to resist this idea, to feel defensive. Why blame ourselves when we’re distressed for being insulted by some asshole? Let’s understand what Epictetus is saying…
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