(A personal response to the misuse of Stoic philosophy in viral videos)
Do not be misled by videos like this one:
👉 https://youtu.be/y2C6Y7XAnuI?si=qoH9mWfWzkiVwGSo
They may appear thoughtful or empowering, offering advice based on Stoic philosophy on how to “identify evil people” and “outsmart manipulators.” But beneath that surface, such content can be deeply damaging. It distorts the beauty of human relationships, breeds suspicion, and promotes an unhealthy kind of ultra-individualism.
These messages create imagined enemies. They encourage us to project our fears and insecurities onto others—interpreting every action, every word, as a hidden attempt to deceive or exploit. The tragic irony is that these projections often reflect what lies within us. We create masks inside ourselves and then force them onto others—so that we don’t have to face our own shadow.
The Gift of Relationship
The truth is: people do not enter our lives to manipulate or harm us. Even when some do behave manipulatively, we are often part of that dynamic in subtle ways—through our silence, our expectations, or our inability to set healthy boundaries.
Let us not forget the simple beauty of human relationships. Every friend, relative, neighbor—even a stranger—is a gift. People come into our lives not to exploit us but to share life with us. Relationships are not merely about individual benefit; they are about collective joy and the building of a compassionate society.
Even when someone’s behavior feels exploitative, we must pause and ask: Why are they doing this? Perhaps they’re struggling with something they cannot openly share. A little empathy can go a long way—not just for their sake, but for our own growth. After all, what’s the point of being human if we lack the courage to understand others?
Solitude Is Not Exile
Choosing solitude as a spiritual discipline is very different from retreating into isolation out of fear or hurt. Solitude, when chosen with intention, becomes a sādhanā—a path of self-discovery and inner stillness. But isolation born from mistrust or pain can quietly destroy us.
We must learn the art of discernment. Not every situation needs our involvement. We cannot walk into every life uninvited. And yet, when the moment is right, we must be willing to step forward with empathy.
Knowing our own limits and respecting the boundaries of others is an essential wisdom. You cannot—and should not—carry the world on your shoulders.
From WhatsApp to the Wider World
Let me share a small example. I am a member of four messaging groups—two of which I was added to without even being asked. Still, I accepted it as a gesture of goodwill.
Every day, I receive dozens of videos, articles, and forwards. To thoughtfully respond to all of them, I’d need more than 72 hours in a day! So I remain selective. I value personal, one-on-one interactions far more than public group exchanges. If someone in a group tags me or asks a question, I encourage them to ask it publicly (so others can respond), or if it’s truly meant for me, I ask them to write to me directly.
We are not artificial intelligence, designed to mechanically reply to everything. We are human beings. And human responses demand presence, emotion, discernment, and investment. That investment must be selective—not out of selfishness, but out of sanity.
To try to be everything to everyone is like sowing seeds in the wind. Yes, a few seeds may fall on fertile soil by accident—but most will be lost. Let us learn to sow wisely.
Not Every Shadow Is a Threat
Not every relationship is manipulative. Not every shadow hides a demon. Life becomes more beautiful when we stop being suspicious of everyone and everything.
Wake up and watch the sunrise. Sip a cup of tea. Listen to the birds. Read something that nourishes your soul. Play some music. These small moments, when savored with peace, become forms of worship—a sacred rhythm of life.
The danger of constantly watching for manipulation is that you start seeing evil where none exists. You react rather than respond. You retreat from people who genuinely care. You begin to live in suspicion, and over time, you alienate yourself.
What follows is a subtle self-righteousness. You see yourself as always innocent, always honest, always used—while others appear cunning, exploitative, and corrupt. You stop engaging. You start judging. And slowly, you forget what it means to be in relationship at all.
Write Anyway, Love Anyway
I know reflections like these may not be read by many. Perhaps no one will read it. But still, I write—not to shout into the void, but as a small offering, a debt paid to the society and relationships that have shaped my life.
Maybe, one day, someone will stumble upon these words. Maybe they will pause, reflect, and see things differently. I don’t expect everyone to respond. I know their limitations—as I know mine.
Human relationships are not to be explained by a single philosophy. Stoicism, in its authentic form, offers wisdom about inner discipline and calm. But when misused—especially in modern pop-psychology videos—it can become a lens that distorts rather than clarifies.
Let it not become the sole frame through which you view life. Let your heart remain open. Let your eyes be soft. As Carl Jung said, those who enter our lives may be nothing but the shadows of our own selves—sent to reflect back to us what we most need to see.
Part Two
Not Everything Is Manipulation: Two Case Studies in Trust and Relationship
Recently, I watched a video on Stoic philosophy. It offered guidance on how to outsmart manipulators and protect oneself from those with hidden agendas. It was presented as practical wisdom. But something about it felt off. It seemed to assume the worst in people—turning every human interaction into a strategic calculation. That video kept echoing in my mind, especially as I recalled two recent conversations I had—conversations that seemed to offer a very different kind of wisdom.
Case Study 1: A Call with a Purpose
A young man I’ve known for many years called me. His real purpose was to seek some urgent financial help. But he didn’t ask directly. Instead, he brought up something he knew I deeply cared about—writing and publishing books. We had already discussed publishing one of my books in Hindi. He reminded me of that, saying he would handle the translation and get it published through a friend in Chennai, asking me for a permission letter to proceed.
Now, knowing his situation well, I was aware that he lacked both the time and the resources to actually do this. But I sensed that this conversation was preparing the way for something else. I smiled within myself and let him continue.
I agreed to the proposal. When he asked for the permission letter, I told him, “You draft it, I’ll sign it.” He promised to do that. Then, the real issue surfaced: his financial struggles. After narrating his situation in detail, I asked him directly, “Do you want financial help?” I clarified gently, “If you need help, I can give a little. If you want to borrow, I can offer a little more.” He understood, said he only wanted to borrow, and promised to return the money within two to three months. I agreed and sent it.
Was this manipulation? Did he use my interest in publishing to soften the way to his request? Or was this simply a thoughtful way of not placing a direct burden on someone he respected?
To me, it was neither manipulation nor just cleverness—it was confidence. It was the quiet trust of a relationship nurtured over time. Despite knowing many others in our group, he reached out to me. He knew I was a sannyasi, and that might make such a request awkward. But we had built something more—a bond that allowed him to come to me, just as a son might come to his father. What I saw was relational intelligence, not calculated manipulation.
Case Study 2: A Gentle Inquiry
Another person called me—not to ask for help, but to know more about someone in our group who shares a lot of messages. He was curious because he didn’t know much about this person. But that wasn’t all. He also seemed to want to understand why I had stopped responding to or engaging with the group at all.
Instead of confronting the topic directly, he started with something else: my health. Just a few days earlier, we had spoken about my back pain, sleep, and other health matters. Yet he began again with the same questions: “Are you sleeping well?” “How is your knee pain?” It was clear to me that this was not about health. This was a way of preparing the ground.
Eventually, he brought up the real issue—his questions about that person and about my silence in the group.
Again, I asked myself: Was this manipulation? Or was this simply his way of navigating a delicate topic respectfully?
What These Conversations Taught Me
Both conversations reminded me that human relationships are not games of power, nor contests in strategy. They are built on something deeper: mutual trust, history, affection, and sometimes even unspoken understanding.
What others might label as “manipulation” or “indirectness,” I saw as a thoughtful, respectful way of relating. These were people who cared not only about getting their message across—but also about how it landed. They weren’t trying to control me; they were trying not to hurt me.
This stands in contrast to what that Stoic video preached—where the emphasis was on defense, distance, and suspicion. Certainly, wisdom calls us to be discerning. But always assuming the worst—labeling people as “manipulators” the moment they approach us with complexity—can blind us to the beauty of relationship.
These two case studies show how trust is earned, not demanded. They help us rethink how we approach our interactions with others. Not every indirect approach is a tactic. Sometimes, it’s just relational intelligence—an act of care, a form of grace.
Yes, there are people who manipulate. But there are also people who relate—with depth, with dignity, and with genuine human warmth.
And that is worth honoring.
Ashram
July 20, 2025
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