On working with people who don’t value logic, and keeping your peace in the process.
There’s a line from Epictetus that I think about a lot: “Don’t demand that things happen as you wish, but wish that they happen as they do.”
It’s a bit daft and tautological; things can only ever happen as they do, regardless of our wishes. But it’s also a neat reminder that the world isn’t obliged to work the way we think it should. That applies to outcomes. But it also applies to people.
We all like to believe that rationality is the highest ground. That if we present a well-reasoned case, others will see the light. That arguments will be settled by facts rather than wishful thinking. Good luck with that.
At work, we deal with all kinds of people. Some are thoughtful and rigorous. Many aren’t. You’ll encounter people who make decisions based on mood, hunches, office gossip, or what worked once in 2009. You’ll be talked over, misunderstood, or outright ignored. And it’s easy, in those moments, to get frustrated.
“WHAT IS THE MOTHERFLIPPING POINT OF ALL THIS MOTHERFLIPPING WORK IF IT DOESN’T MOTHERFLIPPING WORK PROPERLY?!!!”
You’ll calmly enquire of the universe.
But Stoicism doesn’t ask you to give up on reason. Quite the opposite. It asks you to keep your head, without needing the world to follow suit.
We deal with reality as it is, not as we’d prefer it to be
The Stoic doesn’t fantasise about a workplace full of like-minded truth-seekers. They accept that human beings are emotional, inconsistent, tribal, insecure, and often illogical. And they work with that, not against it.
That doesn’t mean becoming manipulative. We’re not trying to trick people into doing what we want — there’s no virtue in that. But it does mean dropping the illusion that logic always wins, because it doesn’t.
You can present a clear argument and be met with deflection. You can ask a reasonable question and be accused of undermining someone. You can calmly explain your thinking and still be misunderstood. These aren’t signs that you’ve failed. They’re signs that you’re working in the real world.
Rationality, in Stoicism, isn’t a method of control; it’s a standard of conduct.
We follow the best process because it’s the right thing to do — not because it guarantees the best result.
The discipline of persistence
I’ve seen this play out countless times. A team member makes a suggestion based on careful analysis, only for it to be dismissed out of hand by someone staring at their phone. A sensible proposal gets blocked by someone who feels personally threatened. A perfectly logical improvement is ignored — until someone more senior presents it as their own idea six months later.
These things used to wind me up. And on bad days, they still do. But Stoicism reframes the question. It asks: What’s in your control? What isn’t?
You can’t control whether someone else listens. But you can make your point clearly. You can’t stop others from playing politics. But you can avoid retaliating in kind. You can’t fix the system in a day. But you can work skilfully within it, and keep your own standards high.
None of this means rolling over. It means understanding the terrain.
Because once you drop the expectation that everything should make sense, you can start focusing on what actually helps.
Work with what is, not what ought to be
When the process is irrational, you don’t waste energy wishing it were otherwise. You ask: How do I operate effectively within this? What’s the best path forward, given the limitations?
Sometimes that means letting go of your preferred method and working through the messy, flawed one in front of you. Sometimes it means navigating other people’s egos without resentment. Sometimes it means repeating yourself calmly — again — for the thousandth motherflipping time.
And no, that doesn’t always feel rewarding. But it’s still worth doing properly.
Because you’re not just trying to win. You’re trying to live with integrity. And that means choosing your principles even when they aren’t rewarded.
Rationality is still the path — even if it isn’t the outcome
In a perfect world, logic would always land. But the world isn’t perfect. It’s people. And if your peace depends on universal consistency and perfect reason, you’re going to spend your life angry.
So you keep your standards, and you keep your calm. You work with others as they are — not how you wish they were. And you remember that reason doesn’t always triumph, but it does always clarify.
That’s not resignation. It’s strength. The strength to stay rational in an irrational world. Not because it’s easy. But because it’s right.