Rafael Nadal and the Stoic Path to Success

From Taoist to Stoic Discipline: Contrasting Paths to Tennis Greatness

Image: Rafael Nadal, wallpapers.com

Part of the joy of sports is its theatricality. Who are the heroes, and who the villains? Who’s the underdog, who’s mounting an improbable comeback, and who are the great rivals? In this way, sport is not merely a physical and athletic endeavour, but a dramatic spectacle—one that reflects and magnifies aspects of human existence.

In the summer I wrote an article in tribute to Roger Federer, whose elegant and apparently effortless mastery of tennis reminds me of what Taoists call wu wei, or non-action. Wu wei doesn’t mean doing nothing, but rather acting without forceful striving. It means going with the flow of things, acting instinctively and naturally. Watching Federer play tennis in his prime was almost like watching a river running its course.

Not everyone can—or should—play tennis like Roger Federer, because the sport benefits from different styles, temperaments, and ethos’s. All lead in different ways to failure or success, which is part of how sport mirrors human life more broadly.

In this article I want to pay tribute to Federer’s greatest rival, Rafael Nadal. The way I would like to do it is by highlighting the philosophy that Nadal best embodies, which is quite different from Federer’s wu wei.

That philosophy is Stoicism.

The rational way

Stoicism was founded by Zeno of Citium around 300 BCE in Greece, and it would go on to enjoy prominence throughout the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Zeno was heavily influenced by the Socratic dialogues written by Plato and Xenophon a few generations earlier, and Stoicism—like Socrates’ own thought—places emphasis on both ethics and metaphysics (the nature of reality).

For the Stoics, metaphysics and ethics are not only of equal importance, but intertwined. The central dictum of Stoic ethics—attributed to Zeno’s student Cleanthes—is that human flourishing consists in “living in accordance with nature”. The gist is that to live well we must use reason to act in line with the workings of the universe and human nature, so that we are not at odds with either.

One way this can play out is the following. Consider how often we’re emotionally driven to think about things over which we actually have no control. This could be, for example, fretting over whether our train will arrive in time to catch the next bus. We know, rationally, that fretting about this makes no sense at all, as there is literally nothing we can do to make the train go faster or have the bus delayed. Our emotions, however, don’t see this—only our powers of reason do. And this rational realisation can help release us from the passion that’s driving us astray.

Central to the Stoics’ account of the good life, therefore, is rationally working out what is within our power to control and what is not—then focusing on the former, and simply accepting the latter.

It sounds reasonable—but what does it look like in practice? Here are three ways that Rafa Nadal put Stoic philosophy into practice.

Forget the past

One of the most obvious ways our emotions lead us astray is when we fret over what has already happened.

Why, rationally speaking, would we do this? Short of inventing a time machine, there is absolutely nothing to be gained by dwelling on what might have been. We can learn from the past and apply those lessons to the present, no doubt, but beyond that, regrets and imagined alternate histories rarely lead to anything of positive value.

Nadal once encapsulated this line of thinking brilliantly when asked whether his terrible start to the clay-court season would affect his performance at the upcoming Italian Open. His response, delivered with a brilliantly nonchalant shrug, was: “What happened in Monte Carlo happened, what happened in Barcelona happened, and what happened in Madrid happened, and here we are: we are in Rome.”

He went on to win the tournament.

Observe rituals

Image: Epictetus, luibat.com

The Stoics stressed the importance of rituals in order to maintain focus on what one has rationally decided. As Epictetus put it, do “not [be] satisfied with mere learning, but add practice and then training. For as time passes we forget what we learned and end up doing the opposite.”

Nadal was famous for a series of rituals he would carry out between points. During a changeover he would place his two bottles at his feet, to the left in front of his chair, with one neatly behind the other and both angled diagonally toward the court. Then, in anticipation of serving, he would adjust his shorts and sleeves, tuck his hair behind his ears, and wipe the sweat from his nose. Only after this would he be ready to serve.

Commenting on his tics, Nadal stressed that they weren’t mere superstition. “If it were superstition, why would I keep doing the same thing over and over whether I win or lose? [Instead] it’s a way of placing myself in a match, ordering my surroundings to match the order I seek in my head.”

Be disciplined

The Stoics argued that there are four cardinal virtues (the character traits that lead to a good life): wisdom, justice, courage, and temperance—the last of which is fleshed out as self-control, discipline, and modesty.

Few tennis players have demonstrated the levels of self-control and discipline that Nadal showed throughout his career. If his on-court demeanour could be summarised in a few words, it would be: never complain and never give up.

Regarding the latter half of this slogan, Nadal was explicit that he tried to give everything he could in any given moment—chasing down every ball that could conceivably be reached, fighting until the match was truly over. The most dramatic example was perhaps the 2022 Australian Open final, where Nadal rallied from two sets down and multiple break points to eventually win in five sets—an effort that took nearly five and a half hours.

Rafa was clear, though, that giving your all is not the same as giving 100% all the time. The latter is impossible, because there will inevitably be times when you face impediments over which you have no control, such as illness. In such instances you might only be able to give 50% of your best, but if you still focus on giving that 50%—and no less—then you build the habit of giving everything you can.

Regarding the first half of the slogan—never complain—Nadal was famous for rarely throwing a tantrum and for never once breaking a tennis racquet in anger. (Even Federer broke five, while Novak Djokovic has broken dozens in his career to date.) Why? Because, he said, “to break a racquet would be to lose control of my emotions”—whereas reason dictates that success or failure has nothing to do with the racquet and everything to do with the person wielding it.

Many paths, one destination

For all these reasons and more, Nadal made for a supremely exciting tennis player to watch, and a great contrast to his rival Federer. Whereas Federer was smooth and graceful, Nadal was relentlessly focused, fighting like a gladiator to win each point.

Whichever style you prefer says something, I suspect, about your inclination toward Taoist wu wei or Stoic discipline. Nadal and Federer embodied these philosophies, and their comparable successes showed how each was valuable both on the court and off.

What this shows, I think, is that while different ethoses represent different pathways, a good pathway can be judged as one that leads to the shared goal of human flourishing—a life well lived. By that metric, Nadal’s mindset and career show us what Stoicism has to offer.

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