Ancient Spiritual Exercises for Modern Times
“Vain is the word of a philosopher which does not heal any suffering of man. For just as there is no use in medicine if it does not expel the diseases of the body, so there is no use in Philosophy if it does not expel the suffering of the soul.”
At the heart of this journey were what Pierre Hadot called spiritual exercises. They were practical techniques—methods for training the mind, refining character, and learning to see the world differently. Learning to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.
I know the word spiritual exercises might sound unusual in a secular world. William B. Irvine, a contemporary Stoic thinker, prefers to call them psychological techniques. That works too. But I remain captivated by Hadot’s framing, so I’ll stay with his words.
These exercises were as vital to the philosopher as training was to the athlete. They strengthened the mind, disciplined the soul, and cultivated resilience, clarity, and deep connection to the world.
Different schools—Stoicism, Epicureanism, Neoplatonism—each had their own practices. Despite their differences, they shared a common aim: to transform perception, regulate emotion, and cultivate a state of inner tranquility (ataraxia) and self-sufficiency (autarkeia). To move toward arête—the highest form of human excellence.
“Each school… practices exercises designed to ensure spiritual progress toward the ideal state of wisdom, exercises of reason that will be, for the soul, analogous to the athlete’s training or to the application of a medical cure.” — Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life
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Hadot’s work speaks to me because it restores this original vision of Philosophy—a path that enriches the mind, nourishes the soul, and leads us closer to the eudaemonic life well lived. I explore several of these marvellous spiritual exercises in my book, and I’ve decided to dedicate this 3-part series to the three that speak most deeply to me. I really hope they give something to you.
Let’s begin with the first: Attention to the Present Moment — Prosoche.
To me, self-awareness is the foundation of inner transformation. And so I begin here—because prosoche is one of the most powerful tools we have to follow the timeless wisdom of Delphi’s inscription: “Know thyself.”
Prosoche, the practice of attentive presence, was central to Stoic philosophy. It meant staying awake to each moment, observing our thoughts and intentions with care, and aligning our actions with what is just, wise, and necessary. It was a form of inner vigilance. A way to guard the soul from distraction, confusion, and self-deception.
In our noisy, fragmented, fast-paced world, prosoche is an act of self-love. A reminder that the way we pay attention shapes the way we live, which then shapes the way we are.
Let us see it with the first example that comes to my mind as I am writing this article. When practicing prosoche, I ask myself: Am I writing with integrity? Am I truly trying to give something of real value to you, my dear reader? Or am I subtly seeking validation or trying to impress others? Am I chasing positive impact, or likes?
If the answer were the latter, I would be placing my happiness and sense of worth in things outside my control—in the opinions of others, rather than in my own virtue. And this, as my dear Epictetus taught me, is the root of much suffering. When we act not from our values but to impress others—to appear successful, attractive, intelligent—we betray ourselves. We stop being guided by reason and virtue, and start being led by fear, vanity, and insecurity.
For Epictetus, the only thing that truly belongs to us is ourprohairesis—our moral will. When we use that will to pursue appearances, we become slaves to others’ judgments. We are no longer free. And I definitely want to be free. Living with integrity—aligning our actions with our principles—is true freedom.
I hope I was able to convey how prosoche can support our inner self-examination, our inner progress, and our alignment between the values we cherish (freedom, for me) and how we act in life.
I love this ancient, luminous discipline of attention. To me, it is the most essential of the spiritual exercises. Without self-examination, Philosophy remains abstract. But with it, life becomes a conscious practice of virtue.
Presence as Path
By anchoring ourselves in the present moment, we return to what is within our control: our judgments, intentions, and actions. Worries about the future dissolve. Regrets about the past lose power. Because action is only possible in the now. And this practice does more than sharpen clarity. It heals disconnection. It brings us back—to ourselves, to others, to the living world around us.
What’s amazing: by slowing down and observing with honesty, we begin to hear the voice of the soul—the quiet place where values, meaning, and love reside. This inner anchoring deepens our presence in relationships. It fosters reverence for nature. And for live.
True attention leads to true connection.
Epictetus urged his students to “keep watch over themselves as if at guard,” examining every thought and impulse.
Seneca, too, believed in daily reflection. He described his nightly practice in De Ira:
“When the light has been removed and my wife… has fallen silent, I examine my entire day and go back over what I have done and said. I hide nothing from myself, I pass nothing by. For why should I be afraid of any shortcomings, when I can say: ‘Beware of doing that again, and this time I forgive you’?” —
I love this passage. Especially the words: “I forgive you.” Because that is what self-examination is truly about—not shame, but progress. Not perfection, but intention.
What We Track—and What We Don’t
We track everything—steps, calories, heartbeats, protein intake, hours slept. But do we ever stop to track our thoughts? Our emotions? Our reactions? Do we ask: Did I act with wisdom today? Was I patient? Did I speak with kindness? Did I respond with courage in the face of difficulty?
What kind of people might we become if we treated our character like our fitness? If we tracked patience as we do our steps? If we measured compassion like calories burned? If we reflected on kindness with the same rigour we apply to performance?
This is the quiet power of prosoche.
It is the art of living deliberately. It is a cornerstone of the philosophical life.
This is a concrete example of how Ancient Philosophy can bring real, measurable benefit to the world—personally, socially, and economically.
In business and finance, those of us engaged in pursuing sustainable development focus heavily on fixing external systems—through regulation, innovation, or policy. These efforts matter. Immensely. But they often treat symptoms, like inequality or climate change—not deeper causes. The deeper crisis lies within: The illusion of separation. The extreme individualism. The disconnection from our own soul, from one another, and from nature.
Finance and economics are made of people. And too many people—especially in my industry—are operating from a state of stress, anxiety, or emotional dysregulation.
How can we lead wisely if we are not well? If we don’t nurture wisdom? How can we think long-term if we’re reacting in survival mode?
How can we serve life if we don’t feel connected to it?
Philosophy as a way of life—as the ancients lived it—offers a path forward. A path toward presence, clarity, connection, and joy.
It is the most inclusive path I can envision—compatible with any faith or none. And among the most impactful. It can help us become calmer, wiser, and more grounded as leaders, entrepreneurs, investors, and human beings.
Isn’t it worth a try?
