Introduction: Stoicism and Retreating into the Woods

Because I consume a lot of media related to philosophy and history, I sometimes come across someone who practices or advocates an occasional retreat into solitude as a sort of Stoic practice. The idea goes something like this: By temporarily retreating into an isolated location (e.g., the woods) and separating myself from my friends, family, and material possessions, I can achieve some mental freedom or empowerment.^[1]The ethos reminds me of Henry David Thoreau. I believe that this technique often makes people feel better for all sorts of reasons, but one particular justification for this practice troubles me: the justification that this practice represents or is a physical manifestation of the Stoic practice of meditating on the worst that could happen.

Stoicism is an ancient western philosophy that endures in popularity to the present day, although everyday people rarely know enough detail to associate the beliefs and practices of Stoicism with the word itself.

One technique of Stoic philosophy is for the practitioner to image the worst possible things that could happen to them, the worst possible outcomes of their endeavors, and other personal disasters. The purpose of this is to understand and accept these bad possibilities in advance of their actually happening. By meditating on future dangers, the practitioner can protect against the dangers or at least emotionally accept the bad things that inevitably happen. The goal is not to anxiously dwell on your worries, but rather to dispassionately image the bad things that could happen (and even to think up new ones you hadn’t considered before) so that you become used to the possibility of bad experiences (instead of feeling anxious about them). I personally endorse this meditation technique, as I believe it is effective and fairly easy to do.

Occasionally, based on the technique I just described to you, I come across someone advocating or practicing a derivative technique of retreating into isolation as I described. I believe I have even read about ancient Stoics who did this every so often, somewhat ritualistically. The alleged purpose of this retreat is for the practitioner to get used to the experience of being friendless and without worldly possessions. In other words, by experiencing social isolation and abject poverty firsthand, the practitioner will have diminished anxiety about the need for social status and material wealth. I sort of doubt that this technique works as intended, but that’s not what bothers me per se.

A Preliminary Problem: Stoicism isn’t Fun

I think about Stoic philosophy every so often, and personally practice some of the techniques developed by the adherents.^[2]Writing a meditation like this is such a practice. Recently, I was thinking about whether I might gain something from isolating myself in the way I described. I wondered about what mental fortitude I might gain from temporarily giving up my constant socializing with friends and family, and from separating myself from my material wealth. Pretty quickly I realized that it would probably just be fun and not something Stoic at all.

First, I spend a lot of time around other people. My job keeps me in constant contact with others, and also I enjoy socializing and frequently visit with friends and family. Even though I like socializing, some “me” time, isolated from others, is also enjoyable. For example, for many years I have taken long road trips — by myself — for my job and for social visits. I find myself looking forward to these times when I’m by myself on the road for 5 hours or more. I enjoy my own company, talk to myself, sing songs, observe the landscape, and ponder the different locations that I pass by.  Some of my most interesting ideas come from these periods of isolation.

Furthermore, even if I imagine (in the truly Stoic sense) permanent separation from my family and friends, I do not feel terrified. Although I love so many people in my life, and although I cannot imagine separating myself from them on purpose, I think I would be able to carry on without them. I am confident in my ability to take care of myself and to make new friends. I grew up consuming so many true stories about people who fled from war or danger, or just had a sense of adventure, who permanently traveled somewhere and left behind every single person that they knew. Usually, the people in such stories turn out okay.^[3]Such as the story of my own grandfather, who slipped out from behind the iron curtain as a young man. Those stories give me confidence.

Second, I don’t particularly value material wealth. To be clear, I earn a decent living from my job, spend wisely, and invest prudently. But I am not referring to my personal finance skills or the fact that I (finally!) have a positive net worth. What I mean is that I do not worry about what will happen to my possessions or feel particularly attached to them. Physical possessions bring with them a lot of boring obligations that take up time.^[4]Just think about maintaining cars or homes! I am always looking for excuses to give away my unused things to local charities. I also prefer inexpensive food (e.g., McDonalds) and enjoy shopping at thrifts stores, antique stories, yard sales and flea markets.

Furthermore, many of the things I enjoy most in life cost next to nothing. Some of my favorite activities include: talking, walking, singing, writing, teaching, drawing, and playing games. ^[5]When I was little, my dad taught me how to have fun by making up new games using little toys or even pieces of junk. My mom taught me how to pass the time entertaining myself and each other as we went about the boring business of everyday life. I even maintain this website for less than $50 a year. In fact, some of my most fun experiences in recent years have been achieved by spending time in isolated places (the hills, the mountains) with nothing in particular to do and nothing to spend money on. To be frank, because I have such cheap taste and because I am naturally hostile to owning a lot of possessions, I sometimes wonder if I work too hard and seek wealth for no particular reason.^[6]Maybe I’ll write about that in the future.

Maybe you already figured out where I’m going with this line of thinking: temporary separation from everyday life (and its attendant obligations and hassles) is called a vacation. Now, vacations are great and I completely endorse taking a vacation when possible. My criticism is of the vacuous self-deception of taking a vacation and acting like it’s asceticism.^[7]Asceticism, noun: severe self-discipline and avoidance of all forms of indulgence.

It is very easy for me to imagine how an over-worked parent would be offended at the idea that isolation is a sacrifice. It is similarly easy for me to imagine that a person who depends on income from 3 different jobs would be baffled at a rich person’s belief that going camping is an experience in poverty.

The truly awful experiences of unwanted social isolation and destitution are nothing like a temporary retreat into the woods.

What Really Bothers Me is Ableism

There’s yet another layer as to why this Stoic (or maybe quasi-Stoic?) practice bothers me: ableism. If I were able to travel back in time to observe the original sin of humanity, I would expect to find ableism.^[8]My second guess is speciesism. Whichever it is, I think one led to the other. If you don’t know, ableism is a prejudiced attitude in favor of able-bodied people and against people without able bodies. I describe ableism as a possible “original sin” of humanity because within almost every other insidious belief system (such as racism and sexism), I perceive ableism as either a precursor, foundation, or component.

Let’s go back to how I started thinking about this. So I was letting my mind wander on whether a retreat might be good for me for the purposes of attaining greater Stoicism. Because I do practice Stoic thinking sometimes, I realized what is actually most valuable to me, and what I am afraid most of losing: my able body.

In my life, I have never experienced a serious disability, not even temporarily. Although I have dealt with infrequent respiratory allergies, short illnesses, and wear corrective lenses, none of these problems meaningfully affects my life. I have always maintained my physical fitness (my parents supported all sorts of outdoor play and sports, and I have never stopped being active), never been seriously injured, and never come down with any serious illness. In fact, I have never even been to a hospital except as a visitor. Furthermore, I have experienced no prolonged issues of mental health or mental impairment. I am still a young man, probably at the peak of all my physical and mental powers.

In other words, I don’t need other people and I don’t need material possessions because I can pretty much take care of myself. Although it would be a hardship, I am pretty sure that if any human being were capable of totally independent living, it would be a young adult in peak physical and mental condition. Furthermore, even if I were separated from everyone I knew and lost all my material possessions, I feel confident that I could reproduce my quality of life by acquiring new friends, a new career, and so on. I have this confidence because I have my able body, by far my most valuable possession.

For someone with mobility issues, or who is dependent on life-saving medications, or suffers from a debilitating mental condition, or any number of the infinite issues that can afflict the human body, the prospect of trying to stay alive, alone, in the woods is not just terrifying, but verges on physically impossible.^[9]Simply being very young or very old makes independent life practically impossible. With this idea in my mind, the quasi-Stoic vacation in question seems to me like the opposite of a Stoic experience, because it celebrates one’s ability to live independently. That seems like a one-man parade of vanity.^[10]See “Walden” (1854)

What Really Bothers Me is My Ableism

Although I lack anxiety about keeping up with friends and keeping out of poverty, I do experience anxiety about what will happen to me as I grow old and sick. Like many youthful people, the thought is so disturbing that I usually do not allow it into my mind. Because I have not dealt with my own serious illness or injury (chronic or sudden), I don’t know how I will react when I finally, inevitably, experience these problems for myself. I’d like to think that I will handle my inevitable decline with maturity, poise, and as much cheer as I can muster…

…but I really don’t know.

I’m going to be honest in a way I think very few people are: I am sometimes disturbed, disgusted, frustrated, and annoyed by persons with disabilities, disfigurement, illnesses, and so on. Accommodating others inconveniences me. Meeting people with serious health problems upsets me (often precisely because I have powers of empathy; I don’t want to imagine myself in the situation). My upbringing^[11]I’m referring to American society in general and not specifically my parents, although they are a part of American society. has instilled all sorts of ableism into my psyche, and for the rest of my life I will probably never be rid of it.^[12]I know plenty of disabled, elderly people who have all sorts of contempt for persons with disabilities, which manifests in their flat denial of the fact that they are disabled (e.g., the elderly person who refuses to admit that they need glasses or a hearing aid).

The extent of the ableism present in my mind horrifies me, not only because I know it is wrong, but also because I know I will become a victim of ableism (including my own) sooner or later. I will not be young and healthy forever, or maybe even for that much longer. After meditating on this subject, I have heightened my self-understanding of how much I take my able body for granted.^[13]For me, this realization is humbling because I think about the evils of ableism very often. I suppose I haven’t scrutinized myself hard enough. Recognizing my error, I realize that I must improve myself.

Conclusion: My Way to Become a Better (and more Stoic) Person

So that got me thinking: if the thing most valuable to me in the whole world is my able body, what could I do to actually practice some Stoic thinking about my situation? Of course, I could simply imagine myself as disabled somehow, but I’ve done that before and apparently without a good result. What would be something I could actually, physically, literally do that would improve myself?

The answer came to me quite easily: I should spend more time with disabled, elderly, and infirm people. I’m talking about quality time, where their disability is part of our experience — like actually helping other people with their needs, going about the day with them, helping to treat their conditions, talk them through their pains, and ease their lives. By doing the practical work needed to accommodate the disability myself, I would of course be doing the simple good act of voluntarily helping a person in need. But for my own well-being, I predicted that exposing myself in this way would elevate my mere empathy for disability to greater acceptance of disability as a fact of life.

I already know, visit, and work with people with disabilities. Almost everyone does. So getting to know new people isn’t necessary.^[14]Meeting new people in order to creepily use them for my project of self-improvement seems like a terrible idea. What I have to do is spend more time getting to know how disability affects the lives of the people I already know, show more understanding of disability in general and their particular situations, and more frequently offer my assistance or at least an accommodation.

I have been meditating on these ideas for weeks, and already put them into practice before sitting down to write this piece. I do not think it is too early to tell; the effect on the people around me and my mind has been tremendously beneficial. When I make a deliberate effort to meet people with disabilities as they are, and to treat them courteously according to their circumstances, I can sense their positive emotions like relief and comfort. Indeed, several people have complimented me in plain words for inquiring about their special needs and how I might accommodate those needs. Some of my recent experiences have been a little stressful,^[15]An elderly woman fell off of my arm onto the curb as I tried to help her cross the street. She was not seriously hurt, but sometimes elderly people die from falling. but the experiences are by no means unbearable. My goal is to become accepting of disability and illness by thinking and acting better towards the people I know, and I think I will achieve this goal.

People with disabilities live all over the world, in every community, and come from every background. People with disabilities live rich, varied lives of value and interest to themselves and humanity in general. If I live a long life as I hope to do, I will join the ranks of persons with disabilities myself one day. Because I have changed my habits, I believe my attitude will change too. I think I will be well-prepared, emotionally, for when my turn comes.