Dichotomy (Trichotomy) of Control

"Stoics made a sharp (perhaps too sharp) distinction between things that are under our control and things that lay outside of it. The first category included mostly our own thoughts and attitudes, while the second category included pretty much everything else. ... The idea was that peace of mind comes from focusing on what we can actually control, rather than wasting emotional energy on what we cannot control. However, do not take this as a counsel for despair about affecting human affairs; remember, many prominent Stoics were politicians, generals, or emperors, and they certainly spent a significant amount of energy and resources attempting to change things for the better. But they also accepted that when things didn’t go their way that was it, and there was no sense in dwelling on it."

"...Epictetus's answer came, as it often does, by way of an analogy: "We act very much as if we were on a voyage. What can I do? I can choose out the helmsman, the sailers, the day, the moment. Then a storm arises, What do I care? I have fulfilled my task: another has now to act, the helmsman. If the weather is bad for sailing, we sit distracted and keep looking continually and ask, 'What wind is blowing?' 'The north wind.' What have we to do with that? 'When will the west wind blow?' When it so chooses, good sir."

As is clear from Epictetus's example, the so-called Stoic Dichotomy of control - some things are up to us, other things are not - is really a recognition of three levels of influence that we have over the world. To begin with, we make certain choices, selecting some goals (the sea voyage) and what appears to us to be the best means to abtain them (the experienced sailors). Next, we need to recognize that it does not follow from just having made a choice that we can implement a given course of action. Our preferred helmsman, for instrance, may be sick on that day, or his services may be too expensive for us. Finally, some factors are entirely out of our control and we cannot even begin to influence them, like the direction and intensity of the winds.

...

One of Epitetus's crucial points is that we have a strange tendency to worry about, and concentrate our energies on, precisely those things we cannot control. On the contrary, the Stoics say, we should pay attention to the parameters in life's equation that we do control or influence: making sure that we have embarked on a voyage we really want to make, and for good reasons; spending some time researching the best crew (airline) for our ship (plane); and making related preparations. One of the first lessons from Stoicism, then, is to focus our attention and efforts where we have the most power and then let the universe run as it will. This will save us both a lot of energy and a lot of worry.

Another Stoic metaphor, from Cicero, may help illustrate the point. Consider an archer trying to hit a target. Cicero explains that the archer has a number of things under his control: he has decided how much to train and how intensely, he has chosen a bow and an arrow as a function of the distance and type of target, he has aimed as best as he can, and he has chosen the exact moment when to let the arrow go. In other words, if he has been a conscientious archer, he has done his best up to the moment when the arrow leaves his bow. Now the question is: will the arrow hit the target? That, very clearly, is not up to him.

After all, a sudden gust of wind could alter the course of the arrow, which would then miss the target altogether. Or something else might unexpectedly interpose itself between the archer and the target, say, a carriage passing by. Finally, the target itself might move away to avoid the flying weapon - especially if the target is an enemy soldier. That is why Cicero concluded that "the actual hitting of the mark [is] to be chosen but not to be desired," a superficially cryptic statement whose meaning should by now be fairly clear: the Stoic archer has deliberately chosen to attempt to hit the mark, and he has done the best he can do within his power to acomplish the goal. But he is also ready to accept a possible negative outcome with equanimity, because the outcome was never entirely under his control. Other variables entered into it - just as happens in pretty much anything we decide to do.

It was at this point during our conversation that I realized that what Eqictetus was telling me had countless applications to my own life. Consider, for instance, the degree of "control" we have over our own bodies. Ever since I was little, I have struggled with my weight, I was a chubby kid and predictably the subject of much teasing at school. I later developed into a somewhat insecure teenager, particularly when it came to personal relationships, and especially with girls. I've gotten better over time, but the weight issue is still with me, and always will be. Yet a Stoic perspective is very helpful here. To begin with, I had no control over either my genetic makeup (the result of a random encounter of one of my father's sperm with on of my mother's eggs) or, just as crucially, my early developmental environment. I ate whatever my grandparants (with whom I grew up) gave me, in whatever quantites and at whatever frequencies they deemed appropriate. As a biologist specializing precisely in the study of nature versus nurture, I cannot stress enough just how much our habits are shaped by the early interaction between our genes and the environment of out infancy and childhood.

But this is no reason to give in to fatalism and helplessness. A critical part of growing up and maturing as an adult is asserting more control over one's life, including choices concerning what to eat and how much, whether to exercerise and how diligently, and so forth. Thus, probably later than would have been ideal but nonetheless with determination, I began exervising moderately more than fifteen years ago, to maintain muscle tone and aerobic capacity. At approximately the same time, I also starting reading about the basics of nutrition, paying attention to food labels, and generally trying to eat well and in moderation. I probably still slip in these habits more often than I'd like to admit, but their results have been clearly on the positive side: I am healthier and I look better, which in turn helps me feel psychologically better. But I still don't have - and will never have - the kind of slim and muscular body that for others is a natural gift, or that they are able to achieve through their own strenous efforts (failitated by their genetics and early development, of course). This used to be a nagging problem and source of frustration for me. No more. I now have internalized the Stoic attitude that I have control over some things (what I eat, whether to exercise), but not others (my genes, my early experiences, and a number of other external factors, including the efficacy of my exercise regime). So the outcome - the body that I have, the degree of health that I enjoy - is to be accepted with equanimity; it is "chosen, but not desired," as Cicero put it. I derive satisfaction from knowing that, quite irrespective of the actual outcome, I'm doing my best.

The Stoic dichotomy of control applies throughout our lives. Let's say you are up for a promotion at your job. You think it is reasonable that you will get it, given how many years you have been with the company, the quality of your preformance reviews, and your good relationships with your coworkers and your boss. Suppose you are going to find out tomorrow whether you got the promotion or not. Adopting a Stoic approach will allow you to have a night of peaceful sleep beforehand and be ready in the morning to face whatever outcome comes your way, not with resignation but with confidence. Your confidence lies not in the outcome, however, for that is outside of your control. The outcome depends on too many variables, including the internal politics of your company, your boss's personal sympathy (or not) toward you, and how much competition you may have from colleagues. No, your confidence lies in knowing that you did whatever was in your power to do, because that, and only that, is under your control. The universe doesn't bow to your wishes, it does what it does; your boss, your coworkers, the shareholders of your company, your customers, and a number of other factors are part of the universe, so why would you expect them to do your bidding?

Or imagine you are a parent with a teenage daughter who has suddenly turned against you, despite a happy childhood and what you thought was a wonderful relationship. The normal reaction might be regret, for perhaps not having done eveything possible when your daughter was younger, despite the fact that you can't really think of what else you might have done. You also feel powerless to control the situation and frustrated by your previously happy child simply not responding to you anymore, even seeming (at least momentarily) to despise you. Epictetus tells us that regret is a waste of our emotional energy. We cannot change the past - it is outside of our control. We can, and should, learn from it, but the only situations we can do somthing about are those happening here and now. The right attitutde is to derive comfort from the knowledge that you did your best in raising your daughter - indeed, that you are still doing your best to help her through this difficult moment in her life. Whather you succeed or not, your levelheaded acceptance of the outcome will be best.

Notice that I am not counseling resignation. Stoicism is too often misinterpreted as a passive philosphy, yet resignation goes precisely against not just what the Stoics themselves said but also, more importantly, what they practiced. The Stoics we know of were teachers, politicans, generals, and emperors - hardly the sort of people who would have fallen into a fatalistic torpor. Rather, they were wise enough to make the distinction between their internal goals, over which they had control, and the external outcome, which they could influence but not control. As the Serenity Prayer says (Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.), it is the hallmark of a mature and wise person to realize the difference.

...the power of Stoicism: the internalization of the basic truth that we can control our behaviours but not their outcomes - let alone the outcomes of other people's behaviors - leads to the calm acceptance of whatever happens, secure in the knowledge that we have done our best given the circumstances. ... What is important is the basic idea of the dichotomy of control and its implications. If we take this notion seriously, it turns out that most things are not really under our control, from small and insignificant matters to really important ones. The logical consequences of this realization - which is also endorsed by Buddhism and other philosophical and religious traditions - should be to practice non-attachment to things and people. This is a tricky idea, and another source of common misconceptions about Stoicism. Here is how Epictetus rather bluntly explained it to me ... :

What then is the proper training for this? In the first place, the principal and most important thing, on the very threshold so to speak, is that when you are attached to a thing, not a thing which cannot be taken away but anything like a water jug, or a crystal cup, you should bear in mind what it is, that you may not be distrurbed when it is broken. So should it be with persons; if you kiss your child, or brother, or friend... you must remind yourself that you love a mortal, and that nothing that you love is your very own; it is given you for the moment, not for ever nor inseparably, but like a fig or a bunch of grapes at the appointed season of the year, and if you long for it in winter you are a fool. So too if you long for your son or your friend, when it is not given you to have him, know that you are longing for a fig in winter time.

Pause for a minute and rereard that passage before continuing. Like most people, I'm sure you can go along with what Epictetus says about attachment when he is talking about jugs and crystal cups - sure, of couse there is no need to get attached to objects (even though a lot of us actually are!). After all, it is just a cup (or an iPhone), and it's no big deal if it breaks, even if it is an expensive cup (there is no such thing as an inexpensive iPhone). But a good number of us recoil in horror when the philosopher shifts his discourse to our own child, brother, or friend. How inhumane, you might say, to advise people not to care about their loved ones! What sort of sociopath could possibly make an analogy between my brother and a fig, whether in or out of season?

And yet, once I had time to reflect on it for a moment, I saw that Epictetus was not counseling me not to care for my lived ones, and moreover, that he was saying something true, as hard as it may be to swallow. Stoicism originated and thrived in times of political instability; people's lives could be uptuned at a moment's notice, and death could befall anyone, at any age. Even Emperor Marcus Aurelius, who lived at the apogee of Roman power in the century following Epictetus and was strongly influenced by the Greek philosopher, had his share of misfortune. Of his thirteen children, only one son and four daughters outlived their father. And this was a family that had by far the most material comforts and best food, and the highest-quality medical care the age could afford...

More to the point, as we have already seen, Epictetus himself adopted a friend's son, saving the boy from what otherwise would have been certain death. So the philosopher clearly had compassion for other people and cared for them even some not realted to him by blood. What Epictetus was telling me, then, was that it best to look the reality of life straight in the face, with courage. And that reality includes the fact that no one is immortal, no one is "ours" in the sense that we are entitled to him or her. Understanding this is not just a way to maintain sanity when a loved one dies, or a dear friend leaves for another country. (Exile was common then, just as moving for economic reasons or to escape violence and turmoil is now). Facing this reality also reminds us to enjoy the company and love of our fellow humans as much as possibly while we can, trying hard not to take them for granted, because it is certain that one day we and they we be gone and the only right "season" for appreciating them will have passed. We always live hic et nunc - here and now."