At our June meeting of Brisbane Stoics, we explored a question that appears simple but reaches into the heart of Stoic philosophy:
What is genuine joy, and where does it come from?
The discussion began with a series of thought experiments. We imagined a person whose life always unfolded according to their wishes. Such a person might naturally come to believe that happiness depends upon obtaining what they want and avoiding what they dislike. But what happens when fortune changes? What emotions emerge when the things we rely upon are threatened, lost, or withheld?
These questions led us into a discussion of Socrates’ argument in Plato’s Euthydemus. Socrates suggests that people act as they do because they believe their actions are in their own best interests. In other words, human beings are always reaching for what they take to be good. The difficulty is that we are often mistaken about what is genuinely good for us.
This insight was later adopted and developed by the Stoics. If wisdom is the only true good, and ignorance the only true evil, then external things such as wealth, status, possessions, health, and even relationships cannot be good in themselves. Their value depends entirely upon how they are used.
At first this can sound counterintuitive. Surely having more resources makes life better? Socrates responds by asking us to consider any powerful tool. In the hands of someone who lacks knowledge, greater resources often increase the capacity for error and harm. The issue is not possession, but wisdom in use.
From there we examined the Stoic theory of the passions. The Stoics argued that disturbing emotions arise when we mistakenly attribute genuine value to things that lie outside our control. If we believe an external thing is a good, then its presence produces delight and its anticipated acquisition produces longing. Likewise, if we believe an external thing is bad, then its presence produces distress and its anticipated arrival produces fear.
The emotional disturbance is not caused by the object itself, but by the value judgement we attach to it.
One particularly engaging discussion focused on romantic love. What happens when we elevate another person into a “good” object? The group observed that such a move can subtly undermine the very relationship we seek to protect. If another person becomes the source of our wellbeing, anxiety naturally follows. They may leave. They may change. They may disappoint us. They may die.
Moreover, the beloved risks being transformed from a person with their own rational dignity into an object that must fulfil our emotional needs. Expectations begin to replace appreciation. Dependence replaces freedom. The relationship becomes vulnerable to resentment when the other person inevitably fails to embody our idealised image of them.
In this way, what begins as love can become entangled with attachment, fear, and disappointment.
These themes provided a fitting introduction to Seneca’s Letter 23, On the True Joy Which Comes from Philosophy. In this letter, Seneca distinguishes between fleeting pleasures and what he calls genuine joy. Pleasure depends upon fortune and external conditions. Joy arises from within. It emerges from a good conscience, honourable intentions, right action, and a life guided by wisdom.
One line in particular captured the spirit of the evening:
“Learn how to feel joy.”
For Seneca, joy is not something that simply happens to us. It is something that must be cultivated through the development of character and understanding. It is the emotional expression of living wisely.
This does not mean becoming indifferent in the modern sense of being cold or detached. Rather, it means learning to appreciate external things without becoming dependent upon them. Relationships, possessions, success, health, and reputation can all be enjoyed, but they cannot safely serve as the foundation of our happiness.
The Stoics believed that only one thing can be desired without fear of disappointment: the cultivation of wisdom itself. Everything else remains subject to fortune.
The discussion continued long after the formal meeting concluded, with many members gathering afterwards for coffee and conversation. These informal discussions are often where philosophy comes most alive—not as an abstract subject, but as a shared attempt to understand how to live well.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons Stoicism continues to resonate today. It offers a provocative possibility: that genuine wellbeing does not depend upon getting everything we want, but upon learning how to use wisely whatever life places in our hands.
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