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by Erick Cloward
"Act on your principles, not your moods." A weekly meditation on how Stoic principles can help you be a better human.
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AI seems to be everywhere at the moment. You can’t go a single day without someone posting about how AI sped up their work and solved all their problems. But with every technology there are downsides that aren’t apparent when it first shows up. Today we’re going to talk about some of those downsides from a Stoic perspective and consider what Socrates might think of AI. “No man was ever wise by chance.” — Seneca The Problem Just like most of you, I've been using AI for different things. At first, it was pretty amazing. I could ask it questions and rather than having to wade through search results to find what I was looking for, it just served it up for me. I could use it to research topics or come up with ideas for my podcast. I've even written full applications in days that would have taken me weeks otherwise. It seemed like magic! But as I've used it over the past few years, I'm starting to see the dark side. And no, I'm not talking about AI destroying humanity, although that's always a possibility. What I'm talking about is the slow decline in cognitive abilities. For years, I've written out the episodes of my podcast. Rather than just winging it, I like to go deep into something to make sure I have it well thought out. The struggle while writing each week is what lets me actually understand a topic — and often what shows me the weak spots in my own thinking. With AI, that friction is removed. When I'm struggling to find points to support or contradict my thesis, it's all too easy to just ask Claude to give me those points. I could even ask it to write the episode for me. But in doing so, I'm doing myself a disservice. The best way to learn something is to struggle through it. When the mind has to puzzle through something and figure it out, it builds a mental model of how that thing works — and it's the reuse and reinforcement of that model that strengthens the skill. No struggle, no model. Software is a clear example of the same thing. When you build an app yourself, you think through how you want to construct it, using knowledge you've built up over years. You understand why you do things a certain way. You develop a deep intuition for the code, so when something breaks, you have a feel for where to look. When AI builds the code for you instead, you're approaching it like someone else's codebase. There’s no intuition because it’s unfamiliar terrain. And instead of building and expanding your coding skills, you’re just hunting bugs. And a skill you don't use atrophies. You become a worse developer, not a faster one. There's also the satisfaction that gets skipped. Part of what I love about coding, and about writing, is the struggle itself — puzzling through something, hitting the wall, and then having it click. Not just getting the code to work, but understanding why it works. When I write, that same process is how I learn to construct an argument, find the counterintuitive idea I wouldn't have reached if the answer had just been handed to me, and catch errors in my own thinking before anyone else does. Epictetus reminded us about the importance of struggle: "Difficulty shows what men are. Therefore when a difficulty falls upon you, remember that God, like a trainer of wrestlers, has matched you with a rough young man. Why? So that you may become an Olympic conqueror; but it is not accomplished without sweat." — Epictetus The more things get served up to us without having to think about them, the more our creativity and thinking muscles atrophy. The brain works the same way muscle does — it needs resistance to grow. The more rigorously we train our thinking, the stronger our thinking gets: we're able to puzzle things out, get to the root of them, understand them at an intuitive level. Seneca said it simply: "Excellence withers without an adversary." — Seneca We need resistance to be excellent. AI removes that resistance. Part of the problem is that we're confusing output with effectiveness, and knowledge with wisdom. Knowledge is good and helpful. But wisdom is a practice. It’s effortful, earned through trial and error, through trying something and seeing what works. It's the discernment of what's important, how things connect, and how to make a sound judgment. Skip the experience, and you never build that muscle, which means you won't have it when a real situation calls for it. Musonius Rufus pointed out the importance of practice in gaining wisdom: "Although understanding the theory behind the action enables one to speak, it is practice that enables one to act... Practice is more important than theory because it more effectively leads humans to actions than theory does." And here’s the irony: AI feels like magic because it gives you the answer instantly. But it gets there by predicting the most likely next word, averaged across everything it's seen
Beating yourself up doesn’t make you better person. Hating yourself doesn’t motivate you more. So what’s the difference between holding yourself high standards and punishing yourself for failure? In this episode we discuss the two warring voices in each of us — the inner critic and the inner coach. “If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid.” ― Epictetus The Problem When I was growing up, I used to be incredibly hard on myself. I had this belief that I had to be perfect. Much of this came from growing up Mormon. The standards that I was told that I had to follow were really, for me, unobtainable. I tried so hard to do everything right, be the perfect person, and beat myself up when I thought I had failed. You believe that if you just follow all these rules and act the way you’re supposed to, that you’ll finally be happy. My mom even told me that she was afraid to criticize me about anything because I was already so hard on myself she didn’t want to drag me down even further. But here’s the thing: you can’t hate yourself into being a better person. Hating yourself might give you some short term motivation and energy, but it doesn’t help you be a happier, thriving person. The standards that I had handed to me made me miserable. Because I judged myself so harshly, I also judged others really harshly too. I had this hardline view of how others were supposed to behave. When others made mistakes, rather than being compassionate and kind, I was often as judgmental towards them as I was towards myself. Another thing that happens when you’re that hard on yourself, is that when others give you feedback or criticism, it always feels like an attack. I felt like it was unfair. I was trying hard wasn’t I? I was doing my best! But it wasn’t their criticism that was the problem. Because I was already judging myself so harshly, it felt like I was being picked on. Rather than seeing it as correction and feedback, I saw as judgment being piled on what I was dishing out to myself. So where does that source of this come from? Shame. Shame that I wasn’t living up to those standards. Through that perfectionist lens, I saw my failures as a personal reflection of me. Not “I failed at something”, but “I am a failure as a person”. And because of that shame, I couldn’t look at my failures objectively. I looked at them as proof that I was as bad a person as I thought I was. Each mistake was just another item on my checklist as proof that I was not a good person. In her book, The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown, a well-regarded researcher on shame, puts it perfectly: “Perfectionism is a self destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: If I look perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment, and blame.” Those impossible standards that we hold for ourselves keep us stuck in a spiral because we can’t ever achieve them, then use them as proof that we’re a failure. She puts is simply: “We cannot grow when we are in shame, and we can't use shame to change ourselves or others.” The Philosophy So how do we move past this shaming and harsh self-criticism and become less judgmental about ourselves, without abandoning high standards? Some people think that Stoicism is about keeping unrealistic standards for ourselves, being unbending and unyielding. Even Marcus Aurelius said, “Be tolerant of others and strict with yourself.” But when he said that, what he meant was that you shouldn’t judge others by the standards you hold for yourself. They may have a different set of values and a different idea of what is important. You shouldn’t expect others to live the way you do. The Stoics, while they were strict with themselves and trying to live up to their principles, had a clear understanding that humans are fallible. We make mistakes. We screw things up. We’re not automatons. Therefore perfection is impossible. One of my favorite quotes from Epictetus is: “The ignorant blame others for their own misfortune. To blame oneself is proof of progress. But the wise see all blame as foolishness.” But I’ll admit, when I first read this, I didn’t truly understand it. How do you not blame anyone? If something goes wrong, isn’t there someone to blame? Over time, I started to understand: things happen. Life happens. Nothing will ever work out perfectly. Then I read a different translation of this quote and it fully clicked: “Small-minded people habitually reproach others for their own misfortunes. Average people reproach themselves. Those who are dedicated to a life of wisdom understand that the impulse to blame something or someone is foolishness, that there is nothing to be gained in blaming, whether it be others or oneself.” Whil
Jason Stacy is a performance coach and author of The Pressure Code. He works with high performers including world tennis champion Aryan Sabalenka. In this episode we talk about how coming from living on the streets to being a top performance coach. We also discuss his formula of energy, emotions, and environment, and how the right combination of those leads to reaching your highest potential. You can find out more about Jason and his work at thepressurecode.com The Build an Unbreakable Mind program for building mental discipline is now open for enrollment!My book Stoicism 101 is available! Order here!Find out more at https://stoic.coffeeWatch episodes on YouTube!Find me on linkedIn, instagram, or threads.Thanks again for listening! Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.
So much of our lives are governed by rules that we aren’t even really aware of. Many of them we never even really question because we just assume that’s the way things are. But what if by questioning those rules, we can live with more agency, leading to a life we choose? “The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. “ — Marcus Aurelius The Problem I grew up in Salt Lake City, in the Mormon Church. And when I say my life was prescribed, I mean prescribed. Mission. Marriage. Career. Family. In that order, on that schedule. It wasn't a suggestion — it was presented to me as the truth. Not "this is one way to live." This is the way. This is reality. I followed the path that I thought I as supposed to. I played the part as best I could but always felt like I was just repeating the lines someone else wrote for me. I didn’t feel like I was being authentically me, just the me that everyone else expected I should be. When I would question things or have experiences that contradicted what I was taught, I was told that I just needed to have more faith. That it was my fault that my belief wasn’t strong enough. So I doubled down, trying to fit myself into a system that didn’t work for me. I tightened the mask, hoping that this time it might finally fit. What’s interesting in looking back on my time in the church was that tended I gravitated to others that didn’t wear the mask. I envied those that bucked the system and followed their own path. Being around them I found that I could be more of my authentic self. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone that I wasn’t. And here's the thing about growing up inside something that total — you don't experience it as a rule. You experience it as just how things are. You don't question the water you're swimming in. The last few years I was in the church, I would attend church infrequently. It was exhausting trying to fit myself into a way of living that was so ill-fitting. I was at odds with the doctrine. Told that obedience to the leadership was more important than anything else. I got tried of “you just have to have more faith” as the answer to questions they couldn’t answer. I finally reached the point where I asked: is this actually true, or is this just what I was taught? The day I finally left, I didn't just leave a church. I left a rulebook I'd mistaken for reality itself. It literally felt like a giant weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt free. Once I left, I still had a long journey. Leaving the church, I lost a big part of my identity. I lost a community. I lost a certainty in how I was supposed to be in the world. It took years for me to find my footing and create a life by my choice, not the script that was handed to me. But here’s something important that I learned, and it’s something that most people will never understand. You are allowed to do exactly what you want in life and be the person you want to be. But it also comes with some caveats: 1. Everyone else is allowed to do the same. 2. You are responsible for your choices and actions. 3. You don’t get to choose the consequences of your actions. Maybe you didn't grow up Mormon. Maybe you didn't grow up religious at all. But I'd bet you're living inside a version of the same thing right now. A career path you never chose so much as inherited. A way of dressing, or dating, or succeeding, or how you’re supposed to act as a man or a woman, a way of being that you copied because everyone around you was doing it and it looked like law. Here's the uncomfortable question: how much of what you're doing right now is because it's true — or because it's expected? We treat these two very different things like they're the same. There's what's actually true — gravity, death, the fact that actions have consequences you don't control. And there's what's agreed upon — how a man is supposed to act, what a "respectable" life looks like, how long you're allowed to be sad before people get uncomfortable. One of those doesn't care what you think. The other is just a bunch of people's habits, dressed up to look like law. But here’s the thing: when you’re younger you think that adults have it all figured out and that when you grow up, you’ll have it figured out too. But the real truth is this: we’re all just making it up. Most of the “rules” are just conventions. They’re habits that we’ve agreed to as a society. It’s just a game that we’re all playing. That's the trap. Not that the game exists — because it always will. The trap is forgetting you're allowed to notice you're playing it. The Philosophy Epictetus has a way of putting this that cuts through the noise: "Remember that you are an actor in a play, the character of whi
Certainty and hubris have always been part of being human. It feels good to be certain, to believe that your opinion is the right one. We like leaders who sound certain and shun those that don’t. But sounding right isn’t the same thing as having the truth. What if the actual way to truth is not through being certain, but by embracing uncertainty? “It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows.” ― Epictetus The Problem We live in an age of certainty. Open any social media app and within seconds you’ll be hit with confident declarations on politics, relationships, health, ethics, all delivered with the kind of conviction that leaves no room for doubt. Hot takes are presented and settled truth. The more confident the claim, the more it spread. Certainty is the currency of attention. But here’s the problem: certainty is is a trap. It’s one of the more dangerous traps that we can fall into. Not just personally, but as a society. When we’re certain, we stop questioning. We stop listening. We lose our ability to sit with complexity and nuance. To consider that we may not be seeing the whole picture. We trade wisdom for the comfort of feeling right. That comfort is seductive. We like certainty because it feels safe. Ambiguity triggers the same neurological response as physical danger. Your brain would rather have a wrong answer than no answer at all. Uncertainty feels like we’re in the dark. Certainty feels like turning the light on, even if what we see is distorted. But the cost is enormous. Certainty damages relationships because if you already believe you have the truth, you can’t hear anyone who sees things differently. It damages communities because it turns disagreements into threats. And it damages your own capacity for growth. As Benjamin Franklin reminds us: “The doorstep to the temple of wisdom is a knowledge of our own ignorance.” — Benjamin Franklin Being able to sit in uncertainty, to acknowledge your ignorance, is where wisdom starts. Wisdom only comes to someone who is willing to be wrong. We don’t live in a black and white world, but certainty insists that we do. This isn’t a new problem. The ancient world wrestled with it too, and in one of Athens most cautionary tales, certainty brought down one of the world’s greatest civilizations. The Philosophy To understand the danger of certainty, we need to got back to 5th century BCE Athens. What happened there maps almost perfectly to what we’re going through right now. Like us, Athens was a democracy, which meant that political power belonged to whoever could best persuade the crowd. In this environment were a group of professional teachers called the Sophist. The Sophists were the original political spin doctors. They traveled from city to city teach rhetoric, the art of persuasion. But here’s the critical distinction: the didn’t teach people to discover the truth. They taught how to win arguments. How to make the weaker case appear stronger. How to use language to emotionally manipulate people, regardless if what was being spoken was true. In one of Plato’s dialogues, Socrates confronts the Sophist Grogias. Gorgias claims rhetoric is the greatest of all arts because it can convince anyone of anything. Socrates’ response is brutal: rhetoric without truth is flattery. It’s the difference between a doctor and pastry chef. One tells you what you need to hear. The other tells you what you want to hear. One of the more famous Sophist, Protagoras, said, “man is the measure of all things.” In other words, the truth is relative. There is no objective truth. Only what you can convince others to believe. That idea, weaponized by skilled rhetoricians and handed to skilled politicians, was extremely dangerous. And the politicians lined up to learn it. This was the environment that Socrates lived in, and he found it repugnant. Socrates had an entirely different starting point. When the Oracle at Delphi declared him the wisest man in Athens, he was genuinely baffled. So he went out to test it. He spoke with politicians, poets, craftsmen — anyone with a reputation for wisdom. And what he found was consistent: they all believed they knew things they didn't. They had mistaken confidence for knowledge. His conclusion was humble: his advantage was knowing that he didn't know. To Socrates, that awareness, that gap between what we think we know and what we actually know, is the beginning of all genuine wisdom. He even stated: “I know that I am wise because I know that I know nothing.” This is the practice we now call the Socratic method. Not debate. Not rhetoric. Disciplined questioning, that is designed to expose false certainty, including his own. The Sophists hated it. Because Socrates wasn't playing the same game. He didn't care about winning. He cared a
Michael has built a career at the intersection of data, teaching, and strategy. Always circling the same question: “How do we make better decisions amid a complex reality?” Throughout his career, he has helped people uncover the deeper structures beneath their most pressing challenges. Michael’s perspective draws from an uncommon combination of experience. Over twenty years in consulting, data, and technology taught him to think in systems. Five years as an adjunct professor sharpened his ability to make complex ideas accessible to anyone willing to learn. Nearly twenty-five years as a poker player gave him a visceral understanding of variance, probability, and the limits of control. Those lessons echo throughout these pages. He is the creator of The Stoic Systems Thinker, a newsletter where ancient Stoic philosophy meets modern systems thinking, and new book by the same title. At the core of his work is a belief he keeps testing: wisdom isn’t a mystical gift reserved for the few, but an emergent property of a well-designed life system. The ideas in this book have been tested in conference rooms, classrooms, and at the poker table, and they’ve shaped the way he lives his own life. The Build an Unbreakable Mind program for building mental discipline is now open for enrollment!My book Stoicism 101 is available! Order here!Find out more at https://stoic.coffeeWatch episodes on YouTube!Find me on linkedIn, instagram, or threads.Thanks again for listening! Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.
Habits are a key part of our lives. We have helpful habits that help us accomplish what we set out to do. We also have some that we’d like to get rid of. But what if I told you that sometimes one good habit is all it takes to reorient our lives and make lasting changes? In this week’s episode we’ll discuss the importance of keystone habits and how you can find yours. "All our life, so far as it has definite form, is but a mass of habits." — William James I love to cycle. Ever since I watched the Kona Ironman competition on TV on 2003, and decided that I wanted to be that hardcore, cycling has become become a key part of not just my weekly workout routine, but a core part of my identity. While for some it may sound like torture, a 35 mile ride on a warm Saturday is my idea of an afternoon well spent. But what this one habit brings to my life is far more than just fresh air and great legs. It influences other areas of my life in profound ways. You see, when I started training for triathlons, I was not what a triathlete should look like. I was out of shape. At 195 pounds (about 88 kilograms for you non-Americans) and only 5’7” (170 cm) tall, I was carrying a lot of extra weight. I had bad eating habits, preferring Mt. Dew over water. I could barely run a 5k in under 35 minutes. In high school I could do it in half that time. But once I started down that path, it became the centering principle of my life. I would ride my bike to work, often taking the long way home. I changed my diet to healthier food and smaller portions. When I would go out to eat, I would divide my meals in half, setting aside the second half for home, so I wouldn’t overeat. Because I was working out more, I slept better. And while I only competed in a single short course triathlon before focusing on just cycling, it changed the direction of my life. My gym routine, my diet, my alcohol consumption, and my sleep are all in service to helping me maintain my fitness for the bike. This in turn keeps me healthy, functional, and feeling better mentally. This is what Charles Duhigg, the author of The Power of Habits, calls a “keystone habit”. In short, it’s a core habit that influences other behaviors. It reenforces other habits making them easier to follow. Once you find that habit, it orients the rest of your life around it. The Philosophy A keystone habit isn’t necessarily the most important habit from a moral sense. Cycling doesn’t make me a more virtuous person in itself. A keystone habit is the habit with the highest leverage. It creates an identity shift that makes virtuous choices easier by default, not through willpower. In my case because I consider myself a cyclist, my other choices are filtered through the question: “what would a cyclist do?” In my case: eat less dessert, skip the beer, and get a good nights sleep. A keystone habit doesn’t have to be physical one. It can also be a cognitive one as well. Marcus Aurelius had a keystone habit of writing in his journal. That habit grounded him in way that had an influence on everything else in his life. How he ruled, the books he read, the people he spent time with, how he treated other people. It was a high leverage habit that helped him be the kind of person he wanted to be. Seneca had a habit each night of reflecting on his day. He would take stock of what he did well that day and what he could improve. This simple habit of taking time each day became an anchor for finding his weak spots and resolving to do better tomorrow. Creatures of Habit So why are good habits such an in important part of of lives? Because we are creatures of habits. Literally. Humans develop habits so that we don’t have to think through how to do something every time we do it. Think about if you had to consciously manage each step in getting dressed? If we had to give our full attention to each button or zipper, or each time we had to tie our shoes? It would be tiring. Habits save us time and energy. Think about the first time you learned how to tie your shoes. How much time and effort did that take? It wasn’t easy. But once you got it down, then you could do it without having to really think about it. Bad habits come about the same way. We often pick them up without thinking about them, only to find that they are much harder to put down. I’ve had plenty of friends who picked up smoking because they hung around friends that were smokers. It was easier just to go along to get along. But years later, when trying to quit, they routinely complained about how hard it was, wishing they have never started. Your eating habits were probably shaped by the household you grew up in. As a child you really didn’t have a choice in what food was available in your house. But those choices influenced you and created habits that you probably carried into adulthood. Until w
When was the last time that you read a book. A serious book. Something stretched your mind? Something that you had to stop and go back and reread a sentence or paragraph to make sure you understood it? Maybe even learned some new words? New ideas? In this episode, let’s talk about why you should read deeper — not just so you can check another book off your list, but as a tool to help you deal with the complexities of life. “Friends, the school of a philosopher is a hospital. When you leave, you should have suffered, not enjoyed yourself.” — Epictetus The Problem Last year, only 60% of Americans read at least one book. Almost 57% of Americans placed a bet. That's not a statistic I'm making up to be dramatic. It's from a piece in The Atlantic by Rose Horowitch called "The End of Reading Is Here." She's not calling us illiterate. She's calling us something worse, in a way — post-literate. Still surrounded by words. Words everywhere. Just losing the capacity, and the appetite, to sit with the hard ones. The top selling books today are simpler and less complex, with young adult novels taking the lead, even among adults. Libraries are following this trend getting easier to read books for patrons. In 1958 the English translation of Doctor Zhivago was the best selling book. Boris Pastenak wrote in long complex sentences, demanding your attention. Last years top novel? Sunrise on the Reaping, the latest in the Hunger Games series. Nothing wrong with that book, but nobody's calling it a wrestling match. I want to be clear about something before I go further: this isn't me being a snob about it. This isn't "kids these days" or "nobody reads anymore, sad." This is me pointing out something specific — we are choosing, at scale, to stop training the one muscle that everything else in a thinking life depends on. And I don't think that's a coincidence that it's happening at the exact moment we need that muscle most. Difficult reading, as Maryanne Wolf, a cognitive neuroscientist at UCLA points out, strengthens the cognitive abilities of comprehension and synthesis—the ability to read something and integrate it into real life situations. And here's why it matters. When you stop reading hard things, you don't just read less. You lose practice at friction. At hitting a sentence you don't understand and going back over it instead of scrolling past it. At holding two conflicting ideas in your head at once instead of picking a side in the first four words. You start expecting to be handed the conclusion. Told what to feel. And when real life doesn't hand you the conclusion, when it just hands you the mess and expects you to work it out, you're out of practice for the one skill that job requires. Why is Reading Hard? Reading and writing is not something that comes naturally to us as humans. Our brains don’t naturally have a space set aside for processing the written word. This is a skill that we have developed as humans. Writing allowed us to preserve ideas that otherwise would have been handed down orally, and changed in each telling. But in that development we’ve also developed logic, grammar, rationality, mathematics, emotional complexity. In order to put something down on paper, the author has to think through their arguments and clearly articulate what they are actually trying to say, so they can best communicate their ideas to the reader. On the reader’s side, it means that the arguments and ideas don’t disappear as they do when a conversation or video ends. It’s still there on the page, allowing you to go back and dive deeper, consider other possibilities, find rebuttals, and poke holes the flaws you might find. Reading doesn’t just give you information. The act of reading literally changes the way that you think. Reading helps you construct mental models in a way that no other medium can. Reading also places you in the mind of other people. It’s like you experience the world as another person. You read their thoughts and observations. You understand a completely different perspective on that world that you otherwise couldn’t. If you only stick to books that are easy, or ones that speak to your worldview, then you never understand how others experience the world. As we become a more oral and visual world, thanks to social media, we lose something. Social media, while at times can be instructional, is meant to be entertaining and hook your attention, not to deeply educate you. It’s too short for the reader (or watcher) to really engage in the material, to challenge their own thinking. It’s simplified down to soundbites and that’s not a way to educate yourself. If it doesn’t catch your attention, you skim past it looking for something to amuse rather than inform. Vid
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"Act on your principles, not your moods." A weekly meditation on how Stoic principles can help you be a better human.
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