If Marcus Aurelius had a LinkedIn, his bio might read: Emperor of Rome, amateur philosopher, reluctant workaholic. But instead of churning out TED Talks or productivity hacks, he spent his quiet hours scribbling in a leather-bound notebook what would eventually become Meditations—a work of Stoic philosophy that has found unexpected resonance with the overcaffeinated, overcommitted workers of today. At first glance, ancient Stoicism and modern burnout seem like odd bedfellows. One conjures images of toga-clad thinkers staring contemplatively into the middle distance; the other, a Slack notification at 11:43 p.m. But dig deeper and you’ll find a dialogue worth revisiting.
Burnout, according to the World Health Organization, stems from chronic workplace stress that hasn’t been successfully managed. It manifests as exhaustion, cynicism, and reduced efficacy. Yet in the 1st century CE, Seneca the Younger—Rome’s most overqualified life coach—was already onto something. “It is not that we have a short time to live,” he wrote, “but that we waste much of it.” His solution? Cultivate ataraxia, a kind of unshakable tranquility that doesn't require a sabbatical in Bali but rather a reordering of what we consider urgent. Email, he might say, is rarely urgent.
The Stoics weren’t telling people to do less; they were telling people to want less. That’s a distinction that cuts to the core of our burnout crisis. We’re not just tired because we work hard. We’re tired because we chase every opportunity, accolade, and Instagrammable milestone as if we were being chased by Cerberus. Epictetus, the enslaved philosopher who became one of Stoicism’s greatest voices, advised: “It is not events that disturb people, it is their judgments concerning them.” He’d probably raise an eyebrow at our fixation on hustle culture, influencer envy, and inbox-zero as moral achievement.
What makes Stoicism appealing now isn’t its austerity but its clarity. In a world bloated with motivational fluff and self-help slogans, Stoicism is refreshingly blunt. Control what you can. Let go of what you can’t. Don’t hinge your self-worth on your calendar or your KPIs. These principles were literally survival tools for men who faced exile, torture, and the occasional gladiatorial riot. If they could find peace under those conditions, maybe we can, too—though we might have to close a few browser tabs first.
Interestingly, the Stoics would not have told us to quit our jobs and go off-grid. They believed in duty, service, and participation in the social order. Aurelius, who ruled during plagues and wars, didn’t resign—he showed up daily, because he believed in acting with integrity regardless of reward. Today, showing up might mean resisting the compulsion to be “always on.” It could mean setting a boundary and defending it not with defensiveness but with Stoic resolve: I am not available after 6 p.m., and no, this doesn’t make me lazy.
Of course, there’s a limit to what ancient scrolls can do for contemporary suffering. The Stoics didn’t have to contend with algorithmic capitalism or toxic positivity disguised as #wellness. But their insistence on inward discipline over outward success remains a powerful antidote to the spiritual erosion of burnout. They urge us to examine our relationship to time, to prestige, and to what we owe ourselves versus what we owe others. In short, they ask us to live deliberately, not reactively.
Perhaps the most subversive lesson of Stoicism today is this: You don’t need to escape your life to find peace. You need only to reframe it. You’re not a productivity machine. You are a rational, social being capable of reflection, intention, and pause. So if you're feeling burned out, don't reach for another app or planner. Reach for a scroll—or a digital copy of Meditations. Sometimes, salvation comes not in the form of a spa day, but in the quiet conviction that you can endure more than you think, but you don't always have to.