The Ethics of Pursuing Material Wealth

Is material wealth relevant to the ability of the Stoic to cultivate a good life? I argue that while possessing material wealth does not per se preclude the realisation of a good life as defined by Stoicism, its pursuit and attainment can be a hindrance to this noble goal. More positively, adopting a voluntarily simple lifestyle facilitates the cultivation of the four virtues (courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom) towards oneself and the broader Cosmos. Voluntary simplicity thus enables the realisation of Hierocles’ vision of extended concern and the actualisation of a life of virtue, both towards oneself and others. 

First, let’s clarify key terms. In this essay, ‘materialism’ does not refer to philosophical materialism (the philosophical view that asserts that everything is or can be explained in relation to matter), but rather to “a value system that is preoccupied with possessions and the social image they project” (Philips, 2003). The other key term, voluntary simplicity, refers to “a way of life that rejects the high-consumption, materialistic lifestyles of consumer cultures and affirms what is often called ‘the simple life’”(The Simplicity Collective, n.d.)

So, let’s begin considering the implications of voluntary simplicity and its counterpart, the pursuit of material wealth, for the innermost part of Hierocles’ circle: the self. The ancient Stoics were clear that wealth is an indifferent, and thus has no moral value. This is because like all indifferents, our happiness in life does not depend on its possession. This insight goes all the way back to Socrates, who contrasted the pursuit of wealth with the pursuit of one’s spiritual well-being: “Most excellent man, are you…not ashamed to care for the acquisition of wealth and for reputation and honour, when you neither care nor take thought for wisdom and truth and the perfection of your soul?” (Plato, Apology, 29d).

For Socrates, the pursuit of wealth, reputation and honour displaces the pursuit of wisdom, truth, and the perfection of one’s soul; placing importance on wealth implies that material refinement counts for something. Holding this perspective is to lack the virtue of wisdom, which according to Diogenes Laertius (Lives, 7.1.92), refers to “knowledge of things good and evil and of what is neither good nor evil.” For the Stoic, the only form of refinement that should ultimately matters is that of one’s character. However, the ancient Stoics not only emphasised the indifferent quality of material wealth, but also its danger to one’s character. Posidonius, as cited by Seneca (Letters, 87.31), is unequivocal in asserting that“…riches are a cause of evil, not because they do evil themselves but because of the evil they goad men to do…Riches puff up the spirit and beget pride. They bring on envy and unsettle the mind to such an extent that a reputation for having money delights us, even when that reputation will do us harm.”

Posidonius is pointing out that material wealth can give one a false sense of accomplishment, when its possession is no indicator of a person’s character; one may possess a vicious character and yet be deluded into thinking the opposite because of one’s wealth. By “unsettling the mind”, Posidonius is asserting that we end up mistakenly judging money and wealth as more than indifferents; the individual that values wealth as a good fails to perceive, evaluate and ultimately desire things according to their nature. He or she values them according to ascribed value. This is a failure in the discipline of desire. Ultimately, the pursuit of material wealth places our mental equanimity in danger, and this is evidenced by the life of Seneca.  

Publius Suillius accused Seneca of forcefully imposing high-interest loans on certain populations and even “sucking the provinces dry” (a serious charge) in the pursuit of ever-greater wealth (Wilson, 2019, p. 131). Cassius Dio went so far as to claim Seneca’s usurious activities precipitated the British rebellion of 61 CE (ibid.), with devastating outcomes for many. While we cannot evaluate the veracity of such accusations, it is not difficult to find contemporary examples of wealth and power leading to unjust outcomes. The pursuit of wealth can therefore lead a person to damage their virtue, and in this case especially that of justice. It also places the virtue of moderation (concerned with the “stable condition of…impulses” [Schofield, 2003, p. 243]) in danger by promoting the fulfilment not only of natural needs, but also wants. And wants, unlike needs, have no limits.

One wonders whether it may have been the realisation of this danger to virtue that led to Seneca never having “a good word to say” about wealth in his writings (Wilson, 2019, p. 131). Perhaps Seneca came to realise the high moral cost of his pursuit of wealth, as illustrated from his advice to Lucilius (Letters, 17.5) that “if you wish to have leisure for your mind, either be a poor man, or resemble a poor man. Study cannot be helpful unless you take pains to live simply; and living simply is voluntary poverty.”

Seneca, immensely wealthy as he was, is advising Lucilius to adopt a simple life if he wants to be able to live philosophically. Seneca is not advising Lucilius to live a life defined by the absence of things (a negative definition of poverty), but to pursue what he considers more valuable resources: time and attention (prosoche). Seneca’s advice is that adopting a simple life characterised by the virtue of moderation prevents life becoming cluttered with distractions that steal one’s time and detract from our ability to devote ourselves to philosophy. 

Marcus Aurelius seems to have heeded this advice, realising that he needed to safeguard his virtue from his wealth and power. Pierre Hadot (2001, pp. 7–8) points out that Marcus considered it important to adopt the “Laconian way of life” (agoge) characterised by a Spartan education, frugality, and a prioritisation of philosophical practice. What’s more, a regular theme of Marcus’ Meditations (2003) is the need to safeguard himself against being fooled by his wealth and power, such as when he reminds himself that all those that attended the court of the first Emperor, Augustus, are long dead (8.31). 

Such reflections serve as reminders that wealth and power are ultimately indifferents and, if assented to uncritically, will lead to turmoil. Conversely, the adoption of the voluntarily simple life represented by the Laconian agoge represents a concrete effort to structure one’s life to create the inner focus required for consistent philosophical practice. It appears that Marcus was largely successful in resisting the lures that came with his position. Marcus’ attitude is an illustration of the virtue of courage: “knowledge of…what we ought to beware of” (DL, Lives, 7.1.92). While we might be reassured by Marcus’ example that we can possess extreme wealth and still live virtuously, Michael Sugrue points out how exceptional such an accomplishment is: “All Marcus wants to do is live a philosophical life, but he happens to have the misfortune to be…emperor of Rome. Imagine a man for whom all the restraints of law and custom and political order are taken away. He can have whatever he wants. If a man, under those circumstances, behaves well, you know something about the soul underneath” (Sugrue, 1992).

Maintaining one’s virtue considering circumstances of extreme wealth and power requires an uncommon level of effort. While the benefit of succeeding in this endeavour is a soul that can develop and safeguard a virtuous character, this is a big ask of any ordinary person. In the lives of Marcus and Seneca we thus have examples of both the dangers to one’s virtue posed by the pursuit of material wealth and power, and the potential benefit of avoiding it. These examples also indicate that it is the pursuit of wealth that is problematic, not its possession; one may (like Marcus) come to possess wealth through circumstances outside one’s control and still maintain a simple lifestyle. One may thus live a voluntarily simple life and still possess wealth. What matters is that one be indifferent towards material wealth, since what matters are those non-material goods (e.g., time and attention) that allow us to cultivate virtue. 

The choice of adopting a voluntarily simple life or to pursue material wealth also has implications for our relationship to other people and with the broader Cosmos. Seneca’s exploitation of the provinces illustrates how failing to live simply can lead one to treat others as little more than objects to be exploited to materially benefit oneself. Of course, that example is a rather extreme one; most of us will not do anything as callous in our lifetimes. Regardless, we are faced with daily situations where we can choose between goals that are materialistic or philosophical. The choices we make indicate whether we prioritise our possessions and the social image they project, or the quality of our character. They also shape how we relate to other people and the non-human world.

Before proceeding, it is important to note that while there are many ethical questions relating to the topic of this paper, I limit my discussion to the ethical implications of the exploitation and/or instrumentalisation of others (including both human and non-human life) that results from a pursuit of material wealth. Other ethical questions that arise from this topic are left to others to analyse. 

Starting broadly, using others as means to one’s enrichment jeopardises the virtue of justice. This virtue is arguably the one that is most relational; while one may practice moderation, courage and wisdom by oneself, the virtue of justice is one that implies fair treatment of someone or something other than ourselves. This idea of justice is evident in the cosmopolitanism of the ancient Stoics, who consistently argued that the rational nature of the Cosmos “implies [that we must be] ‘civic’” (Meditations, 10.2). 

The term ‘civic’ here does not mean to be ‘civil’ or polite. Instead, it refers to the Latin civitas (or polis in Greek), the cosmic city (the cosmopolis) of which all living beings are citizens. To be ‘civil’ means to live as one part of an inextricably interconnected cosmos. The Stoic cannot feign ignorance of the fact that she or he inhabits a relational universe. It is out of this relational perspective that Seneca argues that happiness is out of reach for anyone that treats others instrumentally: “Nor can anyone live happily who has only himself in view, who turns everything to his own advantage; you ought to live for the other fellow, if you want to live for yourself” (Letters, 48.2).

Our own happiness is intertwined with that of others. The flip side is that treating others (including other beings and entities, such as ecosystems) as mere instruments for our material enrichment harms both us and them. Epictetus agrees, implicating the pursuit of wealth with an erroneous perception of isolation: “If you look at yourself in isolation, it is natural to live to old age, to be rich, to be healthy” (Discourses, 2.5.25-26).

Epictetus characterises a life of indulgence as one grounded in the misperception that any one of us, to quote John Donne’s (2022) 17^th Century poem, “is an island”; he contrasts the island mentality with one that comprehends that we are part of a bigger, complex whole. This holistic perspective must lead us to consider not only what we can gain from another for our individual enrichment, but what we must give (and arguably also not take) for the well-being of the whole: “But if you look at yourself as one person and as part of a given whole, for the sake of the whole your turn may come to be sick, or to run risks on a sea voyage, or to be in need, perhaps to be put to death” (Discourses, 2.5.25-26).

Our attention is being drawn here to what A.A. Long (2018) terms our “cosmic connectedness”. This, he asserts, requires us to act with courage, the virtue which Cicero explains comprises two characteristics: 1) “indifference to outward circumstances”, and 2) a willingness to pay a price to do the right thing (De Officiis I.XX. 66 XX). To pursue indifferents such as a long life, wealth, health, and fame based on an erroneous perception of our isolation is to act without courage, as well as without justice or moderation. 

One may object that there are individuals and institutions that pursue and attain wealth without excessively exploiting others. For example, the clothing brand Patagonia now devotes its profits to fighting the negative impacts of climate change and has adopted high ethical standards of extraction, production, and reuse throughout its supply chain. And it has done so while also making its owner Yvon Chouinard and his family wealthy (Wolfe, 2023). Such examples seem heartening in the broader landscape of consumerist cultures. They are also rare, much like Marcus Aurelius’ achievement of maintaining a focus on philosophy regardless of his wealth and power. 

One may even go as far as to argue that possessing (or more accurately, holding onto) wealth beyond what is required to live healthy, secure, and satisfying lives is unethical, since doing so is taking scarce resources away from someone else. As Gandhi (1997) said simply, we ought to “live simply so that others may simply live.” 

It should be clear by now that being preoccupied with possessions and the social image they project is an attitude that damages our virtue and gives us the false impression of being isolated and self-sufficient. This attitude also makes it easier to exploit others for our material enrichment. While we can avoid these outcomes through willpower like Marcus, a simple lifestyle that prioritises non-material goals does not require such gargantuan effort.

So far, I have discussed some of the implications of materialism and voluntary simplicity for oneself and other people. In its original form, Hierocles’ circles end at this point. Is there any reason why our concern should not extend beyond humanity to the broader planet and its non-human entities? The written material that has come down to us from the ancient Stoics has little to say about the practising Stoic’s relationship with the non-human world. This should come as no surprise; its inhabitants did not possess the same depth of knowledge about the complex systems (e.g., the climate, waterways, biotic communities etc.) that regulate life on Earth that we do. Nevertheless, the seeds of a planet-encompassing ethic were evident in some of the ancient sources, including in Marcus Aurelius, who reminded himself that “what injures the hive, injures the bee” (Meditations, 6.54).

The multiple environmental crises enveloping the world indicate that we are mostly choosing to harm the hive so that we can satisfy the bees’ ever-growing desires for material goods. When choosing materialism over voluntary simplicity, one justifies injuring the hive to satisfy the bee’s greed. From the Stoic perspective this is inconsistent with the connectedness that characterises our Cosmos. It also prioritises indifferents over the only good: a virtuous character.

So, what might an appropriate Stoic ethic towards the non-human world entail? Some, such as Whiting and Konstantakos (2021) argue for the adoption of practices such as vegetarianism as part of a broader commitment to a simple life. Such advice is well-intentioned, though excessively prescriptive; it is up to each person to determine, based on an understanding that one’s interests are intertwined with those of other beings and entities, and the exercise of one’s reasoning faculty, whether a specific lifestyle choice is the ethical one. More important than committing to specific lifestyles is a commitment to living simply. 

This essay set out to explore whether material wealth is relevant to the ability of the Stoic to cultivate a good life. While material wealth is not inherently a hindrance to the realisation of a virtuous character, its pursuit can place one’s virtue in danger by eroding the four virtues. First, the pursuit of wealth erodes the virtue of moderation and fails in the disciplines of impulse and desire because it is based on a pursuit of much more than what a human being requires to secure their well-being.  Second, it damages our courage, which includes knowledge of what we ought to beware of and indifference to external conditions. Third, it betrays a lack of wisdom and fails in the discipline of assent, since it erroneously classifies material wealth as a good to be pursued, even when the evidence indicates otherwise. Last, it is an abdication of justice and thus fails in the discipline of action, since it consistently leads to the exploitation of other people and the broader planet. In conclusion, the pursuit of material wealth is not coherent with the practicing Stoic’s intention of perfecting one’s character. Conversely, the ethic of voluntary simplicity, with its prioritisation of non-material goals, is a natural ally of the person that wants to prioritise philosophical practice and the fulfilment of our human potential for excellence.