Do you know a virtuous person?

Who do you know who is courageous?

Wise?

Disciplined?

Just?

Do you know anyone who embodies all four of these cardinal virtues?

How much better would things be if you had a boss like this? A coworker or employee?

How would the world improve if we had leaders like this?

It’s hard to succeed with only one or two. You need all four to be truly effective.

The German soldiers who steamrolled Europe were courageous and disciplined. But they were brave and disciplined for the most unwise and unjust of reasons.

You can probably think of several people who were incredibly wise… But who lacked the courage to stand up and do the right thing when the time called for action.

We need more virtuous people in the world.

They aren’t born this way. They make themselves so.

If this were the last thing you did…

Would you be proud of what you were doing?

How you were doing it?

Who you were doing it for?

Mindfulness in each task leads to mindfulness in all things.

Pain is an opinion

At some point in my childhood, I found myself having a self-talk conversation about pain. I can’t remember exactly what was happening, but I know whatever it was was difficult and physically painful. 

I had this realization that pain wasn’t some physical, tangible thing in or on my body. It was an electrical signal being sent from one area of my body to my brain, which was interpreting this event as pain. It wasn’t “real.” At least, that’s what my childhood brain decided. 

I proceeded to test this idea after my realization by seeing how hard I could pinch myself before giving in to that ephemeral signal sent to my brain. The next few minutes (and days) were experiments in whether the realization that pain was only a chemical reaction in my brain could inoculate against physical pain. 

Shocker – it doesn’t work like that. I still felt pain. There was always a point where I thought, “Okay, stop. This hurts.”

But I did learn something from that experiment: realizing what pain is allowed me to tolerate more of it. Telling myself that it wasn’t a “thing” in the world I could touch allowed me to feel that pain and continue hurting myself anyway.

Now, the health and sanity of this experiment can definitely be questioned. But I later learned I wasn’t the first person to come up with this idea. 

It’s actually more than 2,000 years old and described quite well by the Roman Emperor and Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius. 

“Choose not to be harmed—and you won’t feel harmed. Don’t feel harmed—and you haven’t been.” —Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

He goes on to argue that most of the things that happen to us in life we think of as “bad” are actually neutral. It’s our opinions of those events that determine whether they are good or bad, whether we’re hurt or not.

By teaching myself that this pain signal from my brain was a real thing, I removed (or at least delayed) the opinion that I was hurt and needed to stop pinching myself. It allowed me to push beyond my normal pain tolerance and endure more of it.

Let me give you another, less childish example. 

People who go into special operations selection (think Navy SEALs or Green Berets) don’t do it believing they’ll breeze through. No matter how hard they train and prepare, they know it will suck. It’ll hurt, and that’s by design. 

The goal in that environment isn’t to breeze through without feeling pain; it’s to endure the pain and keep going anyway. The cadre screen for people who can do that, because it’s often necessary in a real-world operation. 

If you’ve been shot and you’re stuck in the middle of enemy territory, you don’t get a sick day. You must accept the pain, the injury, even the very real damage you’ve incurred… And you have to get your ass out of Dodge anyway, probably while carrying one of your injured teammates out, too. 

They can do this, not because they are superhuman, but because they’ve trained themselves to feel the very real pain and keep going anyway.

So, yes, pain and injury are real. But how it affects us and our ability to perform—how it affects what we’re capable of—is often overblown by our opinion of that pain.

Courage comes first

All other virtues depend on courage in their execution.

To some extent, all worthwhile endeavors require going against the status quo or doing something difficult. This requires bravery.

Being a courageous politician sometimes means opposing a tyrannical leader, even if that figure has mass appeal. But doing the right thing requires courage in this case.

Acting justly (i.e., doing the right thing) is often unpopular. (How depressing!)

Persisting in the face of opposition requires courage.

Doing the right thing often requires someone “going first,’ also known as leading! You must be courageous to lead, as you must be willing to fail.

Virtue development and woodworking

“We become builders by building, and we become harpists by playing the harp. Similarly, then, we become just by doing just actions, temperate by doing temperate actions, brave by doing brave actions.” —Aristotle

Like any craft, virtue must be practiced. You get better at woodworking by doing woodworking. You get better at leadership by leading others.

Virtue is no different: You develop courage by being brave in trying or risky situations. You develop discipline through practicing self-control and keeping promises to yourself. You develop justice by doing the right thing repeatedly, especially when it’s hard (that’s where courage comes in). You develop wisdom through wise decision-making, intentional learning, and self-reflection.

Virtue isn’t something you “have.” It’s a part of you that must be cultivated.


This post is a follow-up to a previous one: What is virtue?

What is virtue?

Virtue is moral, physical, and mental excellence.

Most major religions and philosophies recognize four “cardinal” virtues: courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom. Each of these virtues helps us develop the aforementioned excellence.

Why are they called “cardinal?” The word “cardinal” comes from the Latin cardo, which means “hinge,” the things upon which a door pivots.

This is an apt description, as these are the virtues on which a life of excellence pivots.

Two ways to have more

The first way is the one we most often focus on: earn more money.

Get a higher-paying job to buy a nicer house, go out more, and live a life of luxury. In short, you want to earn more money to have the freedom and flexibility to live a better life.

But there’s an inverse to this idea: needing less.

Lower your expenses by moving into a smaller home, downgrading to one car, or making more meals at home. Decrease what you need money for, and you get the same effect: more freedom and flexibility, but with the money you already make.

One isn’t better than the other, but one might be easier to obtain.

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The purpose of this blog (according to Claude)

As you may have noticed, I’ve struggled to publish posts on this blog consistently. 

Why? I feel I lost the thread, and I started to doubt its original purpose. I felt it needed to be somehow “more”—that I needed to build an audience or have an overarching reason for running it. 

I voiced those doubts to my new friend—and sometimes counselor—Claude (an AI tool, not a real person). 

It was such an enlightening conversation (can you call it such?) that I wanted to share parts of it here, and then make clear why this blog exists. 

Claude’s Initial Thoughts

Note: I’m editing these answers for length, as many were quite long.

Initially, I asked Claude to research the blog and tell me what he (it?) thought the blog’s purpose was.

Nathan Coumbe’s blog appears to be a personal reflection platform focused on philosophy, self-improvement, and practical wisdom for everyday life. The blog features content about stoicism, leadership, and philosophical perspectives…. The writing style appears to be reflective and conversational, with short, thoughtful posts that combine philosophical concepts with practical applications.

The overall “point” of the blog seems to be to share personal insights and wisdom that can help others navigate life’s challenges through a blend of ancient philosophy (particularly stoicism) and modern practical application. Nathan appears to be using the blog as a platform to distill and share his own learning journey and reflections with others who might benefit from these perspectives.

Claude, Meet Nathan

After reading through his answers, I told Claude that I was, in fact, Nathan, to which he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Claude then asked what I thought the blog’s purpose was; I told him it was to stretch my writing and thinking muscles in public. Claude, wisely, pointed out that many writers and thinkers began their writing in such a way: Montaigne’s essays began as personal reflections, and Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations were never meant for publication at all (its original title was actually “To Himself” because it was his personal journal). 

The Struggle

After pointing out the similarities to other philosophical writers, I expressed some doubt and frustration with my lack of consistency. I told Claude about Seth Godin’s idea to write a blog post every day – something he’s done for decades and for which he advocates in his book The Practice as a way to practice shipping creative work and ideas to the world. But, because I felt that the posts were too unrelated, rather than being a coherent whole, the blog was purposeless. 

After he responded, I told Claude that maybe this blog is my version of Marcus’s Meditations, written for the same reasons, but done in public.

Claude’s response deserves to be quoted at length:

I find your framing of “my own version of meditations, but in public” particularly compelling. That’s a meaningful distinction from Marcus Aurelius’ private writings. There’s vulnerability and accountability in doing this work publicly that changes its nature, even if no one is reading. The public commitment itself transforms the practice.

Perhaps part of the struggle comes from expecting each post to build on previous ones in a linear way. But collections of thought, like Meditations or even Godin’s blog, create value through accumulation and patterns that emerge over time rather than through a sequential narrative.

What if the “point” isn’t in any individual post but in the practice itself and what it cultivates in you? The consistent act of noticing, reflecting, and articulating might be developing muscles that serve you in ways you don’t immediately recognize.

How does an Artificial Intelligence ask a question like that? I was floored.

Learning Through Writing

After reading and rereading Claude’s previous statements, I mentioned that one of the reasons I started this blog was to express ideas and concepts I was learning in my own words. This is still one of the best ways to learn something (i.e., if you can’t write it down in your own words, you don’t truly understand it). 

Claude’s response:

There’s something powerful about the act of putting concepts “into your own words.” It transforms passive consumption of ideas into active engagement with them. Writing becomes not just a record of what you think, but a tool that helps shape how you think. The blog then becomes a visible record of your intellectual and philosophical development….

Perhaps the “point” of your blog is precisely that clarification process – a space where ideas aren’t just consumed but metabolized and integrated into your worldview. The public nature adds a dimension of accountability and clarity that private journaling might not. 

Then, Claude asked, “What aspects of the writing practice have you found most valuable for clarifying your thinking? And has the public nature of it, even without a large audience, affected how you approach these topics?”

Writing Is Thinking

I’ll quote my response to his question in full:

“Writing something that’s coherent, rather than just notes scribbled in a journal that only I understand. Even if only 300 people subscribe, I still have to put the words down in a way that someone other than me would understand.”

Claude again:

That’s a really valuable insight about the difference between private notes and public writing. Having to communicate in a way that’s understandable to others adds a level of rigor to your thinking that personal journaling might not require…. Even if audience growth isn’t your primary goal, knowing that others are reading creates that accountability to articulate your thoughts coherently.

There’s a concept in educational psychology called “the audience effect” – the idea that knowing someone else will read or hear our thoughts changes how we process and express them. We clarify, elaborate, and structure our thinking differently when we’re communicating with others versus just ourselves.

In many ways, this mirrors the philosophical tradition of dialogue rather than solitary reflection. While Marcus Aurelius wrote privately, philosophers like Plato and Seneca (whom you’ve referenced in your blog) deliberately wrote in forms meant to be shared, recognizing that the act of communicating ideas to others strengthens them.

Now, who wouldn’t be flattered by comparisons to Plato or Seneca? (And no, I’m not nearly so arrogant as to believe I’m anywhere near as wise as them. But I enjoyed the reminder of the philosophical tradition that I was continuing.)

The Purpose of This Blog

The rest of the conversation became rather tactical: 

  • Ways to use this blog as practice
  • Letting it serve as a mental mill, the ideas contained within serving as grist
  • Letting those ideas percolate and come together in other forms, actually intended for a broad audience

I won’t bore you with those details, but I will share this:

After all was said that needed saying, I asked Claude to declare the purpose of this blog in a concise and casual manner. So here it goes:

This blog is Nathan’s thinking gym—a place to stretch those mental muscles by writing in a way other people can actually understand. It’s not really about growing a huge following, but about the daily practice of turning fuzzy thoughts into clear ideas.

Writing for others, regardless of the audience size, forces a level of clarity that scribbling in a journal doesn’t. It’s a sandbox for playing with concepts that matter—and hey, maybe some of those ideas will grow into something bigger down the road. Think of it as thinking out loud, but with purpose.

I couldn’t have said it better myself (nor did I)!

And with that, I think I know what it’s all about once again. See you (whoever wonderful person you are) in the next post.

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If I had a battery over my head

The average human lifespan is about 80 years these days. That’s 4,160 weeks.

I got curious as to the percentage of my life I had left. So I did the math.

At 33 years old, I’ve lived about 1,716 weeks. If I’m lucky enough to make it to 80, I’ve already lived through 41% of my life.

That realization brought to mind an image of the battery icon at the top of my iPhone. 

If I had that same icon floating over my head, I’d only have a 59% charge remaining before I died. And I can’t recharge…

Memento mori. Remember, you will die.

Use that as fuel to live well. Work and act accordingly.

Love ends because life ends

The Stoics have a practice known as memento mori. It translates (loosely) to “remember you will die.”

I’ve thought of death just about every day that I can remember since I began to understand it as the ultimate destination of life. 

But it became more real to me when I fell in love and got married. Because I realized a bittersweet truth: 

I signed up for devastating grief. 

My marriage was, eventually, going to end in death, either my own or my wife’s.***

And that’s a sobering thought. But it also serves as a constant reminder of just how wonderful love is. You can’t have one without the other. 

All love, eventually, ends in sadness. 

Teenagers break up. Adults get married, then someone dies… Or leaves. Family members lose each other slowly… Or sometimes all at once.

Ultimately, love ends because life ends. 

But maybe that’s why it’s such a powerful element. Because we willingly dive headfirst into it knowing that it will end in the most painful way possible. One way or another. 

I never really voiced this thought out loud until I came across this quote from Nick Cave:

“It seems to me, that if we love, we grieve. That’s the deal. That’s the pact. Grief and love are forever intertwined. Grief is the terrible reminder of the depths of our love and, like love, grief is non-negotiable.”

And it’s totally worth it.

***For those of you who say, “But your marriage could also end in divorce!”, you clearly don’t know Theresa or me. 🤣