Of Attribution Errors and Virtue: The Stoic Heart · Stoicism Today

Welcome to Stoicism Today! This week we are pleased to bring you a piece on practical Stoic advice for partnered relationships. Andi Sciacca, co-creator of The Stoic Heart®, offers a philosophically-grounded perspective on getting along at work and building strong relationships at home. Read on to learn more about The Three Stoic Shifts and other tools to help “find harmony even in the most challenging times.”

You could say that The Stoic Heart started with a good marriage and a bad boss — both of which required attention, effort, and a willingness to change.

First, the Marriage

For the past fifteen-plus years, my husband, Greg Sadler, and I have been doing the kind of work that puts philosophy into practice. Greg serves as a public philosopher and faculty member who has spent decades studying, teaching, speaking, and writing about what he’s learned, sharing his work in classrooms, in communities, and to countless people online. I’ve spent just as many years teaching, learning, and writing, but also serving in senior leadership roles, guiding people and projects in environments that were in the midst of change, often working with capable people who didn’t always understand the mission, or one another, particularly well.

You could say that both of us thrive in a challenge. And those roles partially defined our professional obligations from the earliest days of our relationship. However, given that we lived and worked together as not only husband and wife, but also as creative collaborators and as true intellectual partners, there were plenty of opportunities for crossover between the professional and the personal from day-to-day, and not always in ways that produced harmony!

From the very beginning, Greg and I knew we wanted to build our marriage as something we could value, protect, and care for as if it were a real, living thing. We made an active choice to make our relationship into something that sustained us and allowed us to experience the world in bigger, better ways. We talked about wanting to write the world together, and we could spend hours talking through anything we found interesting — no matter the topic.

This was (and is) an incredibly rewarding way of being with one another. The conversations are mutually inspiring, even when we bring different perspectives into focus and share the benefit of our differing experiences — but that doesn’t mean we always communicate beautifully.

Looking back, when we weren’t talking about emotional issues or issues on which we disagreed, it was certainly easier. But when heightened emotions entered the scene, especially when we would find ourselves in any kind of conflict, it was a different story.

We are both reasonably articulate people with strong opinions, and we feel deeply connected to language — which is a gracious way of saying that we could get occasionally get stuck on (and make a very thorough case for) our own point or position.

Something might start out small, but would grow to be difficult pretty quickly. I might think it was a non-thing, not even worth mentioning, and Greg might find it was a core relationship issue that needed to be addressed. As we both argued our own perspective and tended to debate the other, we could slip into focusing on our own judgements about the situation, and the argument would take root and grow. And the more we talked, the more we found those roots would deepen.

We learned, sometimes painfully, that we had to find ways to pause and listen for what the other person was actually saying — without inserting our own perspectives, interpretations, or judgements. And we found evidence that when two people care about one another, and are willing to invest time and energy into doing the required work, it can be exceptionally rewarding, even when difficult. We work at it every day, and our relationship is so much stronger for it. That’s what makes it a good marriage.

Enter, the Bad Boss

At the same time that we were building and rebuilding our habits as a couple, and while both of us were teaching in classrooms, we were also advancing in the ranks of academic administration. While Greg had no problem adding those role requirements, I simply could not tolerate the mandatory project-based group-work and required meetings (or meetings about meetings). I found that it was not a good fit for me pretty early on — but before I was able to take any kind of action, I ended up spending far too many months working for a boss whose conduct was genuinely difficult and, at times, quite harmful.

As I tried to navigate that situation, I needed to understand what belonged to me and how to preserve my own character while making practical decisions about boundaries that eventually led to me leaving that position. And, just as importantly, I needed to do so in a way that didn’t involve spending all of the time I spent away from work, at home, trying to figure out how to survive the following work day.

It took time and effort, but those experiences taught me that the same philosophical practices Greg and I were actively practicing in our marriage could actually help me navigate very different kinds and categories of relationships without pretending those relationships are equivalent.

A disagreement with a loving spouse and mistreatment by someone who holds professional power over us may both provoke the same quick movement from what happened to what we decide it means about the other person. And while the spouse is always going to be the more important party in our lives, the professional relationship might end up taking over and we could find ourselves feeling resentment, or distress, or assigning meaning and value that justifies how angry or upset we might feel based on the stories we tell ourselves about the other person.

The Stories We Invent: Attribution Errors and Stoic Impressions

Modern psychology views this disconnect between action, intent, and interpretation as a fundamental attribution error. When we commit such an error, we tend to explain other people’s behavior through their character while explaining our own behavior through circumstance.

For example, a colleague who misses a deadline is unreliable, but when we fall behind, we attribute the issue to an urgent phone call, a conflicting assignment, or the unexpected problem that consumed the afternoon. A spouse who forgets something important that we shared with them simply does not listen or care. But when we forget something they shared with us, we expect our own lapse in attention to be forgiven.

I remember one particular time where I had forgotten to look over something that Greg asked me to review. It was under deadline, and not only did I not do it and not apologize for forgetting, I actually blamed him for making the request when he “knew how busy I was.” That, my friends, is obviously not good…

These errors of attribution tend to pop up even more frequently when we are under stress. In the workplace, this can escalate quickly and the mind can be remarkably fast at turning an event into a complete account of another person.

An email goes unanswered, a tone sounds sharper than expected, or a familiar disagreement begins again. Within seconds, we may feel that we know why it happened and what it reveals about the person’s “real” opinion of us. We take note, we hold a grudge, and then each new opportunity to find evidence of what we’ve told ourselves about their feelings toward us only becomes part of that fantastical story.

To be fair, our interpretation of what is happening may prove accurate over time. After all, that supervisor once said, in a meeting and in front of other colleagues, “Other people seem to like you, I must be missing something.” I don’t think I needed to dig too far on that one to know what he meant. But even when the message is that direct, or that obvious, the more useful question is whether we know as much as we think we know when the reaction first takes hold. Our opinion or reaction could be an honest assessment of that person’s opinion. But it often isn’t — and, perhaps more importantly, we typically don’t need to care.

As Marcus Aurelius reminds us in Book 2 of the Meditations: “When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly.“ And sure, we can plan ahead for these disappointments and try to take them far less to heart. But at the same time, we should try to avoid being tempted to read the passage as a simple warning about other people. Marcus isn’t excusing whatever “they” might do. He is simply preparing himself not to be shocked by ordinary human failings or to allow someone else’s conduct to determine his own.

And this is important because we know that surprise adds force to our conflicts. Even when we know people become defensive or careless under pressure, we can still forget that in the moment and respond carelessly ourselves, or act as though such behavior from another is an astonishing personal betrayal.

And Marcus isn’t the only Stoic to share such good reminders about human interactions. Epictetus offers another useful correction in Enchiridion 5: “It is not the things themselves that disturb people, but their judgments about these things.” At the same time, whether in the workplace or at home, events still have consequences, and relationships can be damaged by the things that are done or said. What Epictetus gives us is a reason to inspect the judgment arriving alongside the words or during the event — but it doesn’t change the reality of things, only our judgements about them.

If someone objects to my proposal, that objection is real. However, my immediate conclusion that the person wants to undermine me is an interpretation. If Greg forgets something we discussed, the forgetting is real. The thought that he must not have cared about the conversation is something I have added on my own.

I may later find evidence that confirms my first impression, or evidence that proves me wrong, but I will always manage to respond more wisely if I can keep the event and my explanation of it separate long enough to find out.

The Stoic Heart and Three Stoic Shifts

These early challenges and the overcoming of them eventually become central to the way Greg and I developed materials for The Stoic Heart. What started off as one-off workshops, lectures, or guest appearances based on using these tools in marriage and in life has become a formalized practice and a way for us to interact with others while deepening our own relationship and our understanding of the world around us.

This focus on the practical and real things we experience and encounter allows us to position our work in ways that explore ideas but also make good sense as an applied practice. When we discuss a new post for our Substack, or the topic for a new podcast, or a workshop we’re going to host, our conversations usually begin with an actual difficulty rather than a theme we think people ought to study.

We have time blocked in the calendar every week to record and write together, and we often find the best conversations are unscripted and based on the real experiences of our real lives. We really do just press record and see what happens — and in the process of sharing what we’ve learned, we continue to grow our relationship in ways that matter.

Greg brings his perspective and experience — and I bring mine — and then we ask ourselves what a person could actually do with philosophy, not just as something read or studied, but as a way of being and as a way of life. We’re not claiming that this is new or that others aren’t doing this as well. In fact, many of our colleagues in the Modern Stoicism community are doing exactly that. But what makes our way of doing this unique, we think, is that we are completely transparent about what this means when you have two people, practicing and teaching in tandem, sharing what works (and what doesn’t), however unfiltered as that may be.

As an example, our recent workshop on reducing reactive conflict and building connection was based on that exact process. It was designed for couples and other close relationships, where the desire to be understood can quickly become an attempt to control how another person receives what we are saying. A disagreement about one event may gather up years of remembered frustration before either person realizes that the conversation is no longer about what happened that afternoon.

We organized that workshop around Three Stoic Shifts:

The first is the Stoic Pause. This is the space between an emotional stimulus and the response that follows. The pause does not need to be dramatic. In fact, it’s better if it’s not. It may be the decision to take one breath before answering or to say that we need a few minutes before continuing. Its purpose is to interrupt the feeling that whatever has formed in the mind must be said immediately.

The second is the Clarity Filter. We ask whether what we are preparing to say is true, necessary, and helpful. In practice, this often means removing the accusation or exaggeration that has attached itself to a legitimate concern. “You never listen to me” may contain real hurt, but it is unlikely to help the other person understand what was missed in this particular conversation. Clarity asks us to say what we mean with enough care that the other person has a reasonable chance of hearing it.

The third is the Control Shift. The shift returns attention to our own judgments, choices, tone, and conduct. We can’t control whether another person agrees, apologizes, changes, or responds as generously as we hope. We can decide what we are willing to say, how we will say it, and whether continuing the conversation at that moment is likely to serve the relationship.

These practices are particularly important in a good relationship because a good relationship can tempt us to assume that good intentions will compensate for careless reactions. Love may make repair possible, but it doesn’t make every word, action, or intention harmless.

Greg and I are humans. We still disagree, and we still occasionally discover that one of us has been arguing with an interpretation rather than responding to what the other said or did. The difference is that we have become better at noticing what is happening and returning to the conversation we actually want to have.

Facts Over Motives and Stoicism in the Workplace

If the work of The Stoic Heart as applied to interpersonal / partnered relationships was a direct application of what we wanted our marriage to be, the workplace materials were a response to what I didn’t want my professional life (or Greg’s) to hold. Ultimately, we found ways to connect these practices as opportunities to serve both areas of our lives.

The framework we used in our personal relationship also served us when we began developing our workshop on reducing friction and frustration in the workplace, in part because I had ample (even if unwanted) opportunities to notice how readily these practices traveled. And, in part, because people kept asking us questions about how to apply Stoic thinking in challenging situations when dealing with others.

And yes, a disagreement with a spouse and a difficult response from a colleague are very different experiences — but both can produce the same swift movement from an impression to a story about another person’s motives. The workplace needs to account for professional responsibilities, institutional constraints, and unequal power. But the underlying practice of slowing the movement from event to judgment remained useful.

In our workshop for reducing friction and frustration in the workplace, we provide specific tools to help participants better understand their own motivations through a series of Diagnostic Audits.

We begin with highlighting the Stoic distinction between what is up to us and what isn’t. In a difficult professional situation, I can control the care with which I prepare, the accuracy of my account, the tone of my response, and the boundaries I set. I can’t control whether another person reads attentively, behaves fairly, or approves what I have proposed. Seeing those things separated on paper can reveal how much attention has been consumed by trying to manage the other side.

The audit also asks people to track a reaction and temporarily remove the story attached to it. A workplace version might mean changing “They left me out because they are trying to weaken my authority” to “I was not copied on the message sent Tuesday.” The first sentence may express a legitimate fear; the second records what can be established. With the facts clear, we can look for a pattern or document the omission without building our response around an unconfirmed motive.

Finally, the audit asks us to notice where our attention has gone. Workplace friction expands when a difficult exchange continues internally for hours after it ends. We reread the message, rehearse the argument, and monitor the other person’s mood. At the end of the day, the conflict may have received our best concentration while the work we value received what was left.

Again, this is where my earlier experiences with the “bad boss” were important. Stoicism didn’t require me to call that situation harmless, and it didn’t teach me to accommodate it indefinitely. It helped me become more exact. I couldn’t compel another person to be fair or make a troubled institution behave coherently. But I could decide what aspects of my character I wouldn’t surrender in response.

In work, as in our personal lives, or when living in community and trying to be of service to others, there are times to challenge a decision, report misconduct, or leave an environment that has become harmful. In many cases, as it was for me, the stakes are not typically that high. In fact, looking back on my work experiences, going deeper into my own Stoic practice addressed the temptation to let someone else’s behavior establish the terms of my own. Initial feelings of anger or even the acknowledgment of an injustice could provide information without taking permanent control. I could recognize a pattern without allowing that pattern to turn every future relationship into a reason for suspicion.

Different Rooms, Same Discipline

Preserving connection doesn’t require avoiding conflict but it does require learning how to fairly navigate it. A good resolution requires us to take responsibility for the part of conflict that is ours and to remain interested in the person beyond the argument. In a close relationship, the purpose of the pause is often to make reconnection possible. In a difficult workplace, that first audit may help us gather facts and choose a boundary. The exercise is similar, but the relationship tells us what the practice is for.

That distinction matters whenever we try to develop philosophical ideas into practical materials. A useful exercise shouldn’t tell people that every relationship can be repaired through better communication, or that every professional conflict can be solved by becoming more calm. That’s marketing, not real life.

A good exercise or practice should help people see more clearly what is happening, what belongs to them, and what kind of response the situation deserves.

More than ten years into the work of The Stoic Heart, and more than fifteen years into our marriage, I still react. I still form quick impressions, sometimes uncharitable ones, and I still have to return to the space between what happened and what I have made of it. Stoic practice hasn’t removed that tendency completely. But it has made it easier to notice before I build an argument, a grievance, or a decision around it.

The Stoic Heart may have started with a need to address our own personal and professional lives, but it has continued because those experiences are not unusual. Most of us care for relationships that matter while navigating others we didn’t choose. Sometimes we misunderstand people; sometimes we understand them correctly and still have to decide what to do.

We can leave those bad bosses and we can make our good marriages even better ones. After all, philosophy becomes most useful when it helps us live better, more meaningful lives, and when it encourages us to make those difficult decisions we may face without giving away the character we hoped to bring with us or assigning everything to circumstance. We can love our fate without making our lives more difficult, and we can find harmony even in the most challenging times.

Resources

Worksheets, Workbooks, Coaching, and Workshops can be found here and here.

About the Author

Andi Sciacca is a writer, educator, and co-founder of The Stoic Heart®. You can follow her work at stoicheart.org and on social media @stoicheartlife.

Photo credit: Kristina Litvjak