Showing posts with label Stoicism and Emotion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stoicism and Emotion. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Stoicism and Emotion (Margaret R. Graver)
Well, I just finished reading Stoicism and Emotion by Margaret R. Graver, and I must say, I find it a truly magisterial treatment of the Stoic view of emotion. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in Stoicism!
Monday, March 10, 2014
Apatheia Revisited (from "Stoicism and Emotion")
From Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
Apatheia revisited
"The material we have seen here on remorse and shame gives rise to further reflections on the old ideal of apatheia or the disappearance of the pathē. Getting a more precise understanding of that ideal has been a major enterprise of this book. I have argued that while the pathē Stoics sought to eliminate are indeed cases of emotion in our sense, not everything we now call an `emotion' was considered by Stoics to be a pathos and subject to elimination. The pathē are affective responses toward externals, but there are other affect-laden responses that are not pathē. Such are the eupatheiai of the wise: their joy, their eagerness for what is good, their goodwill, friendship, and love. Thus Jerome is only half right when he complains against the Stoics that achieving apatheia would mean becoming "either god or a stone." Being wise and thus free of the pathē does mean that one is godlike, for knowledge is a harmonious condition that resembles the harmony of the god-infused cosmos as a whole. But it does not mean that one becomes like a stone, for there are genuine objects to which the wise may respond affectively. Indeed the Stoic understanding of human nature and of the causes of our feelings implies not only that such responses may occur in the normative person but even that they must.
We should remember that the attainment of apatheia is not in itself the goal of personal development. For the founding Stoics the endpoint of progress was simply that one should come to understand the world correctly. The disappearance of the pathē comes with that changed intellectual condition: one who is in a state of knowledge does not assent to anything false, and the evaluations upon which the pathē depend really are false. Thus it seems to me philosophically perverse to think of using Stoic arguments to rid oneself of undesired emotions merely because of the way they feel, without coming to grips with Stoic axiology. That approach may be justifiable on a temporary basis, because of the disruptive nature of emotional judgments. But it misses the central and indispensable point of the Stoics' contribution in ethics and psychology: that no rational being wants to believe what is false.
This chapter has added the observation that even those who are not wise will sometimes respond affectively to integral objects-that is, to features of our own character or conduct. When we do this, it certainly seems possible within Stoic theory that our responses are at least sometimes generated on the basis of true beliefs. These would then have the same status as our other actions have when premised on true beliefs about appropriateness; that is, the status of kathekonta, the ordinary person's 'appropriate actions,' as distinct from the `fully correct actions' (katorthomata) of the wise. Stoic reasons for believing that the pathē would be eliminated in a perfected mind would not apply to them."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 210-211). Kindle Edition.
Apatheia revisited
"The material we have seen here on remorse and shame gives rise to further reflections on the old ideal of apatheia or the disappearance of the pathē. Getting a more precise understanding of that ideal has been a major enterprise of this book. I have argued that while the pathē Stoics sought to eliminate are indeed cases of emotion in our sense, not everything we now call an `emotion' was considered by Stoics to be a pathos and subject to elimination. The pathē are affective responses toward externals, but there are other affect-laden responses that are not pathē. Such are the eupatheiai of the wise: their joy, their eagerness for what is good, their goodwill, friendship, and love. Thus Jerome is only half right when he complains against the Stoics that achieving apatheia would mean becoming "either god or a stone." Being wise and thus free of the pathē does mean that one is godlike, for knowledge is a harmonious condition that resembles the harmony of the god-infused cosmos as a whole. But it does not mean that one becomes like a stone, for there are genuine objects to which the wise may respond affectively. Indeed the Stoic understanding of human nature and of the causes of our feelings implies not only that such responses may occur in the normative person but even that they must.
We should remember that the attainment of apatheia is not in itself the goal of personal development. For the founding Stoics the endpoint of progress was simply that one should come to understand the world correctly. The disappearance of the pathē comes with that changed intellectual condition: one who is in a state of knowledge does not assent to anything false, and the evaluations upon which the pathē depend really are false. Thus it seems to me philosophically perverse to think of using Stoic arguments to rid oneself of undesired emotions merely because of the way they feel, without coming to grips with Stoic axiology. That approach may be justifiable on a temporary basis, because of the disruptive nature of emotional judgments. But it misses the central and indispensable point of the Stoics' contribution in ethics and psychology: that no rational being wants to believe what is false.
This chapter has added the observation that even those who are not wise will sometimes respond affectively to integral objects-that is, to features of our own character or conduct. When we do this, it certainly seems possible within Stoic theory that our responses are at least sometimes generated on the basis of true beliefs. These would then have the same status as our other actions have when premised on true beliefs about appropriateness; that is, the status of kathekonta, the ordinary person's 'appropriate actions,' as distinct from the `fully correct actions' (katorthomata) of the wise. Stoic reasons for believing that the pathē would be eliminated in a perfected mind would not apply to them."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 210-211). Kindle Edition.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
On Stoic Love (From "Stoicism and Emotion")
Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion tackles the difficult issue of the complex idea we call "love" in the context of Stoicism. As she writes, there is reason to wonder whether it counts as an affective response at all:
"Given that wise erōs is not a form of desire, there is some temptation to try to classify it with action tendencies of the calm `selective' type and to conclude that the wise person is devoted to erotic activities only as preferred indifferents, in about the same way as he might be devoted to studying literature or hunting with dogs. Against this it should be noted that the object toward which this love is directed-that is, the forming of a friendship-is an object the wise person recognizes as a good, albeit a good which is to be realized at some time in the future. This is the primary mark of a specifically affective response, as opposed to a merely `selective' impulse, that it depends on an evaluation of the unconditional sort. For this reason alone we should not hesitate to interpret Stoic erōs as having a place among the eupatheiai. As a future-directed eupatheia, it can be classified as a subspecies of wish (boulēsis), alongside the friendly responses of good intent, goodwill, welcoming, and cherishing."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 187-188). Kindle Edition.
In other words, love in its purest sense is not a passion, involving an incorrect judgment about another person or a situation. If it turns into an irrational over-valuing of another person or relationship, than it becomes a passion we suffer. But if it is a rational judgment followed by rational and friends responses of well-wishing, that is not a passion, and can be - nay, must be - indulged by the sage.
Some more thoughts on the positive purpose and outcomes of love follow. According to one analysis, the Stoics, especially Zeno, conceived of "eupathic love as having an educational purpose; that is, that the wise lover's wish is not only to form a friendship with a young person seen as potentially wise but also to supply whatever teaching is required to realize that potential. That eupathic love should foster educational endeavor is an attractive hypothesis, especially in view of the age difference between the lover and the beloveds' In view of the Platonic parallel-for Diotima in Symposium 2o6c-2o7a is similarly concerned with intellectual reproduction-we are probably justified in finding this thought in the remark in Stobaeus that erōs is "a protreptic toward virtuous matters." If Zeno thought that love relations between the wise and younger persons who are not yet wise would encourage the latter to study moral philosophy, then it is easy to see why he would have held that love "contributes to the security of the polis." The `security' would then mean sure continuance over time, as each wise person is moved to train one or more younger persons to replace him.
But we should be careful not to conclude that the educative dimension of the love relationship is what justifies wise erōs in the eyes of Stoics. Erōs does not require justification; it is a good thing in its own right, as are all the eupatheiai. The wise fall in love for no other reason than that it is their nature to want to be intimate with those whom they see as beautiful. A wish to impart wisdom might be part of their endeavor; how could they not want the beloved to acquire what they value for themselves? But it is the intimacy itself that is their object."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 188-189). Kindle Edition.
"Given that wise erōs is not a form of desire, there is some temptation to try to classify it with action tendencies of the calm `selective' type and to conclude that the wise person is devoted to erotic activities only as preferred indifferents, in about the same way as he might be devoted to studying literature or hunting with dogs. Against this it should be noted that the object toward which this love is directed-that is, the forming of a friendship-is an object the wise person recognizes as a good, albeit a good which is to be realized at some time in the future. This is the primary mark of a specifically affective response, as opposed to a merely `selective' impulse, that it depends on an evaluation of the unconditional sort. For this reason alone we should not hesitate to interpret Stoic erōs as having a place among the eupatheiai. As a future-directed eupatheia, it can be classified as a subspecies of wish (boulēsis), alongside the friendly responses of good intent, goodwill, welcoming, and cherishing."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 187-188). Kindle Edition.
In other words, love in its purest sense is not a passion, involving an incorrect judgment about another person or a situation. If it turns into an irrational over-valuing of another person or relationship, than it becomes a passion we suffer. But if it is a rational judgment followed by rational and friends responses of well-wishing, that is not a passion, and can be - nay, must be - indulged by the sage.
Some more thoughts on the positive purpose and outcomes of love follow. According to one analysis, the Stoics, especially Zeno, conceived of "eupathic love as having an educational purpose; that is, that the wise lover's wish is not only to form a friendship with a young person seen as potentially wise but also to supply whatever teaching is required to realize that potential. That eupathic love should foster educational endeavor is an attractive hypothesis, especially in view of the age difference between the lover and the beloveds' In view of the Platonic parallel-for Diotima in Symposium 2o6c-2o7a is similarly concerned with intellectual reproduction-we are probably justified in finding this thought in the remark in Stobaeus that erōs is "a protreptic toward virtuous matters." If Zeno thought that love relations between the wise and younger persons who are not yet wise would encourage the latter to study moral philosophy, then it is easy to see why he would have held that love "contributes to the security of the polis." The `security' would then mean sure continuance over time, as each wise person is moved to train one or more younger persons to replace him.
But we should be careful not to conclude that the educative dimension of the love relationship is what justifies wise erōs in the eyes of Stoics. Erōs does not require justification; it is a good thing in its own right, as are all the eupatheiai. The wise fall in love for no other reason than that it is their nature to want to be intimate with those whom they see as beautiful. A wish to impart wisdom might be part of their endeavor; how could they not want the beloved to acquire what they value for themselves? But it is the intimacy itself that is their object."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 188-189). Kindle Edition.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
On Friendship and Self-Sufficiency (From Stoicism and Emotion)
To us, it seems that human relationships require emotional investment in another person. If you have a friend, or someone whom you love, you grow to feel you "need" them, and feel an acute sense of loss when you "lose" them in some way. The ancient Stoics, as Margaret R. Graver shows in Stoicism and Emotion, had a very different take on the issue:
"Perhaps the most radical element in the Stoic theory of friendship is the claim that relations among good people can be warm and genuine without also compromising the self-sufficiency of the individual. An important feature of the normative human in all ancient accounts is that he or she has the resources to live happily in any and all circumstances. Real happiness should be such as cannot be destroyed by any possible kind of loss. It follows that the wise person should be unalarmed by the mortal illness of a friend and should not grieve when friends die. While there might be some tears and a certain amount of pain-for these can come on involuntarily, as a `biting and small contraction'-there is no possibility that the wise will enter fully into grief.
The claim that friendship is compatible with self-sufficiency could be defended in two ways. One could argue, first, that the ability to rise above the loss of friends comes of the wise person's accurate understanding of what it is for a thing to be good. The value of the commonality between friends is in its harmonious nature, and this is not dependent on numbers or diminished by the removal of one person. Alternatively, one might argue that while the wise value friendship in general, they are unconcerned about the identity of any one particular friend. A wise friend of one who is gone will turn immediately to other friends or potential friends, finding in them the same source of satisfaction as existed before."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 182-183). Kindle Edition.
"Perhaps the most radical element in the Stoic theory of friendship is the claim that relations among good people can be warm and genuine without also compromising the self-sufficiency of the individual. An important feature of the normative human in all ancient accounts is that he or she has the resources to live happily in any and all circumstances. Real happiness should be such as cannot be destroyed by any possible kind of loss. It follows that the wise person should be unalarmed by the mortal illness of a friend and should not grieve when friends die. While there might be some tears and a certain amount of pain-for these can come on involuntarily, as a `biting and small contraction'-there is no possibility that the wise will enter fully into grief.
The claim that friendship is compatible with self-sufficiency could be defended in two ways. One could argue, first, that the ability to rise above the loss of friends comes of the wise person's accurate understanding of what it is for a thing to be good. The value of the commonality between friends is in its harmonious nature, and this is not dependent on numbers or diminished by the removal of one person. Alternatively, one might argue that while the wise value friendship in general, they are unconcerned about the identity of any one particular friend. A wise friend of one who is gone will turn immediately to other friends or potential friends, finding in them the same source of satisfaction as existed before."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 182-183). Kindle Edition.
Friday, January 3, 2014
On Stoic Friendship (from "Stoicism and Emotion")
The concept of friendship in Stoicism is explored in Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion. The ideal sort of friendship discussed in the philosophy does not necessarily reflect any real relationships that actually exist or have existed, as this is an ideal:
"One should keep in mind that this friendship claim, like all Stoic claims about the righteous or wise person, is made at a normative and theoretical level; it is not a description of historically instantiated relationships. If even the individual wise person is as rare as the phoenix, it is hardly to be expected that two such people would ever exist at the same moment in history. But the claim made here does not concern what has happened or might happen but only what ought to happen. Relationship entails plurality; in order to treat the idealized form of human relationship, Stoics must take plurality as a given and proceed from there."
What, then, would relationships among the wise be like if they were to come together, as in theory they might? The above passages sound several important themes: that there is a likeness or similarity among all wise persons; that wise friendship is in essence a `sharing' or commonality (koinōnia) which involves treating the other as oneself; and that there is concord (homonoia), defined as a recognition that goods are held in common. To these points may be added further statements made in the same context by the Stobaean witness. These indicate that wise friendship includes a level of affective engagement.
'The righteous person is companionable, tactful, encouraging, and in companionship is liable to seek after good intent and friendship.... And they also say that cherishing, welcoming, and being friends belong only to the righteous.'
Of significance here are the terms `good intent' (eunoein), `cherishing' (agapān), and `welcoming' (aspazesthai). For eunoia, agapēsis, and aspasmos are all terms known to us in the context of Stoic affective theory, where they are named as species of eupathic response, the type of affective response found in the wise; specifically, they are all species of the eupathic genus boulēsis or `wish.' Their occurrence here suggests that the ideal form of human relationship is conceived not only as a mutual disposition to act in one another's best interests but also as a disposition to respond affectively to one another. We are to imagine the wise interacting with one another in daily life and, in the context of those interactions, experiencing feelings of warmth and affection.
A very early Stoic claim was that all the wise are automatically friends to one another, even sight unseen. In the Stobaean account, however, that view is replaced by one which allows friendship to be more clearly a personal relationship. Proper civic relations between people who are not personally acquainted do not have to be considered friendships, although it is still true that all wise persons, wherever they happen to live, regard one another as fellow citizens and regulate their actions accordingly. Friendships arise when people who are wise also come into contact with one another and acquire knowledge of each other's character as individuals."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 178-180). Kindle Edition.
"One should keep in mind that this friendship claim, like all Stoic claims about the righteous or wise person, is made at a normative and theoretical level; it is not a description of historically instantiated relationships. If even the individual wise person is as rare as the phoenix, it is hardly to be expected that two such people would ever exist at the same moment in history. But the claim made here does not concern what has happened or might happen but only what ought to happen. Relationship entails plurality; in order to treat the idealized form of human relationship, Stoics must take plurality as a given and proceed from there."
What, then, would relationships among the wise be like if they were to come together, as in theory they might? The above passages sound several important themes: that there is a likeness or similarity among all wise persons; that wise friendship is in essence a `sharing' or commonality (koinōnia) which involves treating the other as oneself; and that there is concord (homonoia), defined as a recognition that goods are held in common. To these points may be added further statements made in the same context by the Stobaean witness. These indicate that wise friendship includes a level of affective engagement.
'The righteous person is companionable, tactful, encouraging, and in companionship is liable to seek after good intent and friendship.... And they also say that cherishing, welcoming, and being friends belong only to the righteous.'
Of significance here are the terms `good intent' (eunoein), `cherishing' (agapān), and `welcoming' (aspazesthai). For eunoia, agapēsis, and aspasmos are all terms known to us in the context of Stoic affective theory, where they are named as species of eupathic response, the type of affective response found in the wise; specifically, they are all species of the eupathic genus boulēsis or `wish.' Their occurrence here suggests that the ideal form of human relationship is conceived not only as a mutual disposition to act in one another's best interests but also as a disposition to respond affectively to one another. We are to imagine the wise interacting with one another in daily life and, in the context of those interactions, experiencing feelings of warmth and affection.
A very early Stoic claim was that all the wise are automatically friends to one another, even sight unseen. In the Stobaean account, however, that view is replaced by one which allows friendship to be more clearly a personal relationship. Proper civic relations between people who are not personally acquainted do not have to be considered friendships, although it is still true that all wise persons, wherever they happen to live, regard one another as fellow citizens and regulate their actions accordingly. Friendships arise when people who are wise also come into contact with one another and acquire knowledge of each other's character as individuals."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 178-180). Kindle Edition.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Stoicism's "Brotherhood of Man" (from "Stoicism and Emotion")
One of the concepts in Stoicism that receives less attention than perhaps it ought in modern times is the concept of the "brotherhood of man" - the essential obligation of all human beings to all other human beings, simply by virtue of being human. Yes, human beings, lacking perfect wisdom, will quarrel and even go to war with one another, yet we are all human, and all have a duty to treat one another as fellow human beings. Here is Margaret R. Graver's take on this from Stoicism and Emotion:
"[E]very person has an obligation to consider the interests of others in determining how to act. In theory, that obligation should extend not only to others in existing social systems (the polis within which one is born) but also to every human being, since all rational beings are in fact united in a single cosmic community under the rule of Zeus. Progress in ethical understanding is in large part a matter of increasing one's awareness of the extent of this obligation. "Every human being should regard every other as akin just because they are human," writes Cicero." Another fragment by Hierocles speaks of a sense of kinship (again, oikeiosis) as something that can be intensified by conscious effort. Hierocles thinks of the individual as surrounded by concentric circles representing successively the self, the nuclear family, the extended family, the neighborhood, city, country, and finally the whole human race. It is a mark of character, he says, "to somehow pull the circles toward the center in one's proper treatment of each person, deliberately transferring those in the outer circles to the inner ones. As one comes to think of the persons in the wider circle as truly belonging to oneself, one will be increasingly motivated to behave toward them in the way the wise person would do."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 176-177). Kindle Edition.
"[E]very person has an obligation to consider the interests of others in determining how to act. In theory, that obligation should extend not only to others in existing social systems (the polis within which one is born) but also to every human being, since all rational beings are in fact united in a single cosmic community under the rule of Zeus. Progress in ethical understanding is in large part a matter of increasing one's awareness of the extent of this obligation. "Every human being should regard every other as akin just because they are human," writes Cicero." Another fragment by Hierocles speaks of a sense of kinship (again, oikeiosis) as something that can be intensified by conscious effort. Hierocles thinks of the individual as surrounded by concentric circles representing successively the self, the nuclear family, the extended family, the neighborhood, city, country, and finally the whole human race. It is a mark of character, he says, "to somehow pull the circles toward the center in one's proper treatment of each person, deliberately transferring those in the outer circles to the inner ones. As one comes to think of the persons in the wider circle as truly belonging to oneself, one will be increasingly motivated to behave toward them in the way the wise person would do."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 176-177). Kindle Edition.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
On Human Relationships (from "Stoicism and Emotion")
On dies Saturni (Saturday), a.d. XII Kalendas Ianuarias (the 21st of December), I, Gaius Tullius Valerianus Germanicus, shall be marrying Appia Gratia Avita, my dearest love, who is also a practicing Stoic. Many people, who labor under the misconception that Stoicism is somehow the repression of emotion, seem surprised about the idea of Stoics getting married. Can a Stoic be married? How can a Stoic fall in love? But social contracts, including marriage, were and are highly valued by Stoics. Here are some thoughts from Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"The fact that nearly all humans live together in organized groups is not just a result of our contingent need for mutual assistance. It is also an expression of a deep-seated preference which is characteristic of our species. The Stobaean source indicates that marriage and political action are in accordance with the nature of humans as creatures who are not only rational but also communal (koinonikos) and gregarious (philallelos). The treatise of Hierocles supports a similar assertion from the ease with which social ties are formed.
But we are the kind of animal that has a herd instinct and a need for one another. This is why we live in cities. For every person without exception is part of some polis. In addition, we form friendships easily. For by sharing a meal or sitting together in the theater. . .'
Unfortunately the papyrus tails off in mid-sentence, but it is clear enough what the argument must have been: if we can feel connected to another person from so slight an acquaintance as sitting next to one another at a performance, we must indeed be companionable beings."
Appia Gratia Avita and I are indeed "companionable beings," and are looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together in a companionable relationship. Feliciter!
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 176). Kindle Edition.
"The fact that nearly all humans live together in organized groups is not just a result of our contingent need for mutual assistance. It is also an expression of a deep-seated preference which is characteristic of our species. The Stobaean source indicates that marriage and political action are in accordance with the nature of humans as creatures who are not only rational but also communal (koinonikos) and gregarious (philallelos). The treatise of Hierocles supports a similar assertion from the ease with which social ties are formed.
But we are the kind of animal that has a herd instinct and a need for one another. This is why we live in cities. For every person without exception is part of some polis. In addition, we form friendships easily. For by sharing a meal or sitting together in the theater. . .'
Unfortunately the papyrus tails off in mid-sentence, but it is clear enough what the argument must have been: if we can feel connected to another person from so slight an acquaintance as sitting next to one another at a performance, we must indeed be companionable beings."
Appia Gratia Avita and I are indeed "companionable beings," and are looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together in a companionable relationship. Feliciter!
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 176). Kindle Edition.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Confusing Pain with Evil (Stoicism and Emotion)
On the matter of confusing pain with evil (from Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion):
This alternative (and philosophically preferable) explanation is expressed in the passage just quoted, in connection with the confusion between pain and the destruction of our nature. Pain, says Cicero, is thought to be an evil both because of its sharpness and because it is seen to accompany (videtur sequi) destructions of our nature; i.e., instances of harm to our natural constitution." Being injured is not at all the same thing as being in pain, yet because pain does regularly accompany injury, it is easy for the undeveloped mind to assume that it is the pain itself that is to be avoided. Hence the difficulty of persuading a child to accept some necessary but painful medical treatment. With greater experience of the world, the child may come to realize that there are two object types to be kept straight, those which cause pain and those which harm the body, and to regard these things in different ways. Until then, the frequency with which these co-occur will be misleading. Likewise pleasure comes to be understood as a distinct object type from that which promotes health, and good or bad reputation as distinct from reputable or disreputable conduct. Even life itself-that is, the mere continuance of one's existence as an animate organism-is to be distinguished from a proper object, the preservation of one's natural state or (as we might say it) of one's wholeness as a person. A mature person does not necessarily believe that death is to be avoided at all costs.
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 160-161). Kindle Edition.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Objects Mistakenly Regarded As Good or Evil (from "Stoicism and Emotion")
From Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion, in which the author explores Cicero's explanations of how we come to regard objects (mistakenly) as good or evil:
" Cicero names six objects which people mistakenly regard as goods and evils: pleasure and pain, death and life, honor and disrepute. Each of these is closely associated with an object for which we have some natural affinity or disaffinity: on the positive side health, the preservation of one's natural state, and moral excellence; on the negative side bodily harm, the dissolution of one's nature, and (by implication) moral turpitude. Our errors arise from our tendency to confuse objects in the first group with the corresponding objects in the second group. We fail to make distinctions between things that are in fact distinct.
But why should we make such mistakes? Cicero twice speaks of the confusion in terms of a resemblance between one thing and another. Pleasure, he says, 'has something similar' to what is good by nature and so is 'an imitator of the good.' Glory, also, is said to resemble moral excellence (honestas). However, the language of resemblance is not entirely transparent. Ordinarily we think of resemblance as a sharing of properties: to perceive a resemblance is to observe the same properties in two distinct objects, each of which is already fully conceptualized. That is not quite what is happening in this case, where the relevant concepts are still in the process of formation. Here as in Calcidius, the salient epistemic challenge must be that of sorting out experiences which regularly occur together. The difficulty that confronts the developing mind is that of recognizing that the objects in question are in fact different, making distinctions it has not previously made, so as to form the boundaries of its concepts correctly."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 160). Kindle Edition.
" Cicero names six objects which people mistakenly regard as goods and evils: pleasure and pain, death and life, honor and disrepute. Each of these is closely associated with an object for which we have some natural affinity or disaffinity: on the positive side health, the preservation of one's natural state, and moral excellence; on the negative side bodily harm, the dissolution of one's nature, and (by implication) moral turpitude. Our errors arise from our tendency to confuse objects in the first group with the corresponding objects in the second group. We fail to make distinctions between things that are in fact distinct.
But why should we make such mistakes? Cicero twice speaks of the confusion in terms of a resemblance between one thing and another. Pleasure, he says, 'has something similar' to what is good by nature and so is 'an imitator of the good.' Glory, also, is said to resemble moral excellence (honestas). However, the language of resemblance is not entirely transparent. Ordinarily we think of resemblance as a sharing of properties: to perceive a resemblance is to observe the same properties in two distinct objects, each of which is already fully conceptualized. That is not quite what is happening in this case, where the relevant concepts are still in the process of formation. Here as in Calcidius, the salient epistemic challenge must be that of sorting out experiences which regularly occur together. The difficulty that confronts the developing mind is that of recognizing that the objects in question are in fact different, making distinctions it has not previously made, so as to form the boundaries of its concepts correctly."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 160). Kindle Edition.
Monday, December 9, 2013
"Habitudes of the Wise" (from Stoicism and Emotion)
From Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
Habitudes of the wise
"Finally we return to the attributes belonging to the normative human life and to the group of conditions called epitedeumata, that is, `habitudes' or `pursuits.' Examples of these appear in another portion of the Stobaean account: Fondness for music (philomousia), fondness for literature (philogrammatia), fondness for horses (philippia), fondness for hunting with dogs (philokunegia), and, in general, the things that are said to be encyclical skills are called by Stoics `habitudes' but are not said to be forms of knowledge; rather, they are classed among the worthwhile conditions. Accordingly, they say that only the wise person is fond of music and fond of literature, and analogously with the others. And they give an outline account of the `habitude' as follows: `a road that leads toward what is in accordance with virtue through a skill or through part of a skill.'
What strikes the eye immediately is the similarity of nomenclature between the examples of `habitudes' philomousia, philogrammatia, philippia, philokunegia-and the `sicknesses' considered earlier: philarguria, philogu- nia, and so on. Why should `fondness for horses' have a different moral standing from `fondness for birds'? There would be no reason at all, if it were not that the habitudes are defined quite differently from the sicknesses. Sicknesses and infirmities have as part of their definition a mistake about the value of externals: they take some object to be choiceworthy that is in fact not choiceworthy. A habitude does not involve any such mistake; nor could it, since habitudes belong to the inerrant wise. Thus while a nonwise person might well be fond of dogs or literature in an ordinary way, thinking of a day of hunting, or of reading Euripides, as a genuine good, that would not be the sort of fondness that counts as a habitude.29 To be a habitude, one's engagement with the preferred object must be `a road that leads toward what is in accordance with virtue through a skill or through part of a skill.'
` To understand this definition, it is helpful to know that the word hodos, `road,' also means method': a sensible means of achieving some end. Also, we have a definition of `skill' as `a system of accurate cognitions trained together toward some good end.' Accurate cognitions, also called katalepseis or `grasps,' are instances of reliable judgment. Thus we are again dealing with the area of belief, though these beliefs are not the precipitate and unstable opinions (doxai) of the nonwise but the wise person's fully justified beliefs, also describable as items of knowledge. A habitude should therefore be the kind of item that can work together with a set of interrelated beliefs to guide one's actions in one direction rather than another. I suggest, then, that a habitude must itself take the form of a belief (in this case a reliable `grasp') with specific content. Logically it should be related in content to the katalepseis comprised by the skill, without being one of them. That is, it should not just register some reliable bit of information concerning, for instance, horses but should direct a person's actions in that direction. This would be the case if the content grasped included something about the appropriateness in one's own case of preferring activities related to horses where circumstances permit and where no other more pressing obligation stands in the way.
Thus a habitude is indeed a road or method, in that it guides a person toward actions in accordance with virtue. It should be remembered, though, that in the Stoic system all the actions of a wise agent are necessarily in accordance with virtue. We cannot think, then, that the habitude leads toward what is in accordance with virtue by directing one away from what is in accordance with vice: the wise person would not need such direction. Rather a habitude must offer a principle of selection among a number of possibilities for virtuous action. It must give the justification for devoting one's time to literature rather than public service, or sports rather than music.
We are told that a habitude is not a form of knowledge but rather a worthwhile condition.' The significance of this assertion is that as worthwhile conditions, the habitudes do not have to characterize all wise persons equally. Knowledge in Stoicism is a property of a person's overall epistemic makeup, and it is a diathesis: it is present whenever someone holds all beliefs in a fully systematic way, as all the wise do. The virtues are forms of knowledge, and as such they interentail, so that every wise person possesses all the same virtues. However, the Stoics did not assert that every wise person has the same experience or knows exactly the same things. There is room for individuality in the account of skills, for while the virtues (in the sense that applies here) are also skills, not every skill is also a virtue. Skills are concerned with particular areas of experience: they are defined by specific good aims rather than by more general epistemic characteristics such as internal consistency or stability. It is quite possible, then, that each wise person may differ from all others in the specific skills that he or she possesses. Likewise, each may have his or her own habitudes.
The habitude, then, is a characteristic of the wise person as an individual different from others who are also wise. Related in content to her individual skills, it gives her activities a specific focus which is no more virtuous than many alternative possibilities, but which is nonetheless legitimately favored by her. For instance, being `fond of music' would mean that she believes-with full justification-that it is appropriate for her to spend many hours a day practicing, studying, or listening to music. Such an appreciation is not in itself a virtue, and it is not by any means necessary for virtue that a person have either that appreciation or any specific appreciation at all. One wise person may be fond of music but not of dogs, while another, equally wise, devotes herself to horses, or to a variety of pursuits. Such preferences are not what it is to be wise; rather, they are personality traits of the wise, products of their varied experience."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 145-147). Kindle Edition.
Habitudes of the wise
"Finally we return to the attributes belonging to the normative human life and to the group of conditions called epitedeumata, that is, `habitudes' or `pursuits.' Examples of these appear in another portion of the Stobaean account: Fondness for music (philomousia), fondness for literature (philogrammatia), fondness for horses (philippia), fondness for hunting with dogs (philokunegia), and, in general, the things that are said to be encyclical skills are called by Stoics `habitudes' but are not said to be forms of knowledge; rather, they are classed among the worthwhile conditions. Accordingly, they say that only the wise person is fond of music and fond of literature, and analogously with the others. And they give an outline account of the `habitude' as follows: `a road that leads toward what is in accordance with virtue through a skill or through part of a skill.'
What strikes the eye immediately is the similarity of nomenclature between the examples of `habitudes' philomousia, philogrammatia, philippia, philokunegia-and the `sicknesses' considered earlier: philarguria, philogu- nia, and so on. Why should `fondness for horses' have a different moral standing from `fondness for birds'? There would be no reason at all, if it were not that the habitudes are defined quite differently from the sicknesses. Sicknesses and infirmities have as part of their definition a mistake about the value of externals: they take some object to be choiceworthy that is in fact not choiceworthy. A habitude does not involve any such mistake; nor could it, since habitudes belong to the inerrant wise. Thus while a nonwise person might well be fond of dogs or literature in an ordinary way, thinking of a day of hunting, or of reading Euripides, as a genuine good, that would not be the sort of fondness that counts as a habitude.29 To be a habitude, one's engagement with the preferred object must be `a road that leads toward what is in accordance with virtue through a skill or through part of a skill.'
` To understand this definition, it is helpful to know that the word hodos, `road,' also means method': a sensible means of achieving some end. Also, we have a definition of `skill' as `a system of accurate cognitions trained together toward some good end.' Accurate cognitions, also called katalepseis or `grasps,' are instances of reliable judgment. Thus we are again dealing with the area of belief, though these beliefs are not the precipitate and unstable opinions (doxai) of the nonwise but the wise person's fully justified beliefs, also describable as items of knowledge. A habitude should therefore be the kind of item that can work together with a set of interrelated beliefs to guide one's actions in one direction rather than another. I suggest, then, that a habitude must itself take the form of a belief (in this case a reliable `grasp') with specific content. Logically it should be related in content to the katalepseis comprised by the skill, without being one of them. That is, it should not just register some reliable bit of information concerning, for instance, horses but should direct a person's actions in that direction. This would be the case if the content grasped included something about the appropriateness in one's own case of preferring activities related to horses where circumstances permit and where no other more pressing obligation stands in the way.
Thus a habitude is indeed a road or method, in that it guides a person toward actions in accordance with virtue. It should be remembered, though, that in the Stoic system all the actions of a wise agent are necessarily in accordance with virtue. We cannot think, then, that the habitude leads toward what is in accordance with virtue by directing one away from what is in accordance with vice: the wise person would not need such direction. Rather a habitude must offer a principle of selection among a number of possibilities for virtuous action. It must give the justification for devoting one's time to literature rather than public service, or sports rather than music.
We are told that a habitude is not a form of knowledge but rather a worthwhile condition.' The significance of this assertion is that as worthwhile conditions, the habitudes do not have to characterize all wise persons equally. Knowledge in Stoicism is a property of a person's overall epistemic makeup, and it is a diathesis: it is present whenever someone holds all beliefs in a fully systematic way, as all the wise do. The virtues are forms of knowledge, and as such they interentail, so that every wise person possesses all the same virtues. However, the Stoics did not assert that every wise person has the same experience or knows exactly the same things. There is room for individuality in the account of skills, for while the virtues (in the sense that applies here) are also skills, not every skill is also a virtue. Skills are concerned with particular areas of experience: they are defined by specific good aims rather than by more general epistemic characteristics such as internal consistency or stability. It is quite possible, then, that each wise person may differ from all others in the specific skills that he or she possesses. Likewise, each may have his or her own habitudes.
The habitude, then, is a characteristic of the wise person as an individual different from others who are also wise. Related in content to her individual skills, it gives her activities a specific focus which is no more virtuous than many alternative possibilities, but which is nonetheless legitimately favored by her. For instance, being `fond of music' would mean that she believes-with full justification-that it is appropriate for her to spend many hours a day practicing, studying, or listening to music. Such an appreciation is not in itself a virtue, and it is not by any means necessary for virtue that a person have either that appreciation or any specific appreciation at all. One wise person may be fond of music but not of dogs, while another, equally wise, devotes herself to horses, or to a variety of pursuits. Such preferences are not what it is to be wise; rather, they are personality traits of the wise, products of their varied experience."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 145-147). Kindle Edition.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Involuntary Emotions? (from Stoicism and Emotion)
We find in Seneca the notion that there might be involuntary pre-emotional reactions that are somewhat extended in time, yet still not considered true emotions or passions by Seneca. How does this square with the teachings of Stoicism as a whole? Is Seneca on his own here? I find it somewhat difficult to reconcile. This is the description from Margaret Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"Pursuing this theme, Seneca gives considerable scope and elaboration to `natural' affect. In the Consolation to Marcia, for instance, he admits that missing a family member is natural not only in bereavement but even in separation and says that it is "necessary" that there be "a biting and a contraction of even the firmest minds." Animals utter loud cries for a day or two over their missing young and search about, but only human beings grieve consciously, willfully, and at length. This suggests that in humans, too, noisy weeping and other such reactions might continue for a period of days and still be excused as mere preliminaries to emotion. Even more remarkable is a discussion of the wise person's tears in Moral Epistle 99. The wise person weeps both involuntarily, as at a funeral with sobs shaking his whole body, and voluntarily, when remembering the loved one's kind deeds and cheerful companionship. The involuntary tears are forced out by a certain `requirement of nature' (naturalis necessitas) and are an indication of `humanness' (humanitas). The other, voluntary tears can only be eupathic; they have some admixture of joy and are not uncontrollable. This is the only text known to me in which a eupathic response gives rise to weeping."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 101). Kindle Edition.
"Pursuing this theme, Seneca gives considerable scope and elaboration to `natural' affect. In the Consolation to Marcia, for instance, he admits that missing a family member is natural not only in bereavement but even in separation and says that it is "necessary" that there be "a biting and a contraction of even the firmest minds." Animals utter loud cries for a day or two over their missing young and search about, but only human beings grieve consciously, willfully, and at length. This suggests that in humans, too, noisy weeping and other such reactions might continue for a period of days and still be excused as mere preliminaries to emotion. Even more remarkable is a discussion of the wise person's tears in Moral Epistle 99. The wise person weeps both involuntarily, as at a funeral with sobs shaking his whole body, and voluntarily, when remembering the loved one's kind deeds and cheerful companionship. The involuntary tears are forced out by a certain `requirement of nature' (naturalis necessitas) and are an indication of `humanness' (humanitas). The other, voluntary tears can only be eupathic; they have some admixture of joy and are not uncontrollable. This is the only text known to me in which a eupathic response gives rise to weeping."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 101). Kindle Edition.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
On the Origins of Emotional Responses
On the Origins of Emotional Responses
One of the hardest concepts in Stoic thought with which we may grapple is, I think, the origins of what feel like "reflexive" emotions. An impression appears to our senses, and it seems to provoke an immediate response. Stoics say that this "pre-emotion" is natural - our minds are being offered the option of agreeing to admit an emotion. If we assent to it, we "let the emotion in," so to speak, and the emotion takes hold of us. But if we do not give it our assent, then it cannot affect us. The "pre-emotion" is all there is - a gentle nudge in the direction of an emotion, not strong enough to actually move us in that direction unless we allow it to do so.
Here are some thoughts from Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion on the subject:
"Considering the kinds of phenomena mentioned as examples, one may find it slightly odd that Seneca chooses the expression `beginnings preliminary to emotion' (principia proludentia adfectibus). Most of the examples given are not in fact preliminaries to anything. One does not go on from a conditioned reflex, a sympathy response, or an aesthetic response to experience emotion for real: in these cases, the `beginning' is the entirety of what occurs. Again, though, the choice of expressions is comprehensible if one bears in mind that the purpose of the entire discussion is to give the closest possible analysis of the process by which anger, real anger, is generated. Foremost in Seneca's mind is the distinction between two events: first, the feeling which may accompany a fully conceptualized impression that taking revenge is now appropriate; and second, the endorsing of that impression, in which, consequent upon opportunity, revenge taking actually begins. Since the endorsing, if it takes place at all, must have been preceded by the impression, it is reasonable to describe the feeling connected with the impression alone as `preliminary,' even though there will be cases in which no assent is ever given. We do not have to assume that Seneca was familiar with the term `pre-emotion' (propatheia), which we know to have been used at Alexandria. More important is that he has in mind the same notion as must have suggested that term: that whether or not the unassented feeling will ever become an emotion, it certainly is not one yet."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 98). Kindle Edition.
One of the hardest concepts in Stoic thought with which we may grapple is, I think, the origins of what feel like "reflexive" emotions. An impression appears to our senses, and it seems to provoke an immediate response. Stoics say that this "pre-emotion" is natural - our minds are being offered the option of agreeing to admit an emotion. If we assent to it, we "let the emotion in," so to speak, and the emotion takes hold of us. But if we do not give it our assent, then it cannot affect us. The "pre-emotion" is all there is - a gentle nudge in the direction of an emotion, not strong enough to actually move us in that direction unless we allow it to do so.
Here are some thoughts from Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion on the subject:
"Considering the kinds of phenomena mentioned as examples, one may find it slightly odd that Seneca chooses the expression `beginnings preliminary to emotion' (principia proludentia adfectibus). Most of the examples given are not in fact preliminaries to anything. One does not go on from a conditioned reflex, a sympathy response, or an aesthetic response to experience emotion for real: in these cases, the `beginning' is the entirety of what occurs. Again, though, the choice of expressions is comprehensible if one bears in mind that the purpose of the entire discussion is to give the closest possible analysis of the process by which anger, real anger, is generated. Foremost in Seneca's mind is the distinction between two events: first, the feeling which may accompany a fully conceptualized impression that taking revenge is now appropriate; and second, the endorsing of that impression, in which, consequent upon opportunity, revenge taking actually begins. Since the endorsing, if it takes place at all, must have been preceded by the impression, it is reasonable to describe the feeling connected with the impression alone as `preliminary,' even though there will be cases in which no assent is ever given. We do not have to assume that Seneca was familiar with the term `pre-emotion' (propatheia), which we know to have been used at Alexandria. More important is that he has in mind the same notion as must have suggested that term: that whether or not the unassented feeling will ever become an emotion, it certainly is not one yet."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 98). Kindle Edition.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
On Feelings Without Assent (From "Stoicism and Emotion")
One of the hardest things for Stoics to explain is, and always has been, the fact that most of us seem to experience emotions to which we do NOT assent. Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion addresses this issue in a famous story from Aulus Gellius:
"The anthologist Aulus Gellius tells a story purporting to be from his own experience aboard a ship at sea. A storm arises; the passengers on deck are facing imminent destruction. One passenger, however, is known to be a Stoic philosopher, and the inquisitive Gellius finds himself watching this man in spite of his own extremity. The philosopher does not scream or cry out as others are doing, yet his appearance is hardly unmoved: his complexion is pale, his hands tremble, and his expression is one of alarm. After the storm passes, Gellius seeks an explanation. Should not philosophy have guarded against such feelings?
The philosopher is not the least bit embarrassed. "Since you wish to know," he replies, "hear what our forebears, the founders of the Stoic sect, believed concerning that alarm which is brief, but necessary and natural. Better yet, read it, for reading will make it easier to believe and also to remember." He then produces from his satchel a volume of Epictetus's Discourses and points out the following words:
'Mental `impressions,' through which a person's mind is struck by the initial aspect of some circumstance impinging on the mind, are not voluntary or a matter of choice, but force themselves upon one's awareness by a kind of power of their own. But the `assents' through which those same impressions are cognized are voluntary and happen by one's own choice. That is why, when some terrifying sound occurs, either from the sky or from the collapse of a building or as the sudden herald of some danger, even the wise person's mind necessarily responds and is contracted and grows pale for a little while, not because he opines that something evil is at hand, but by certain rapid and unplanned movements antecedent to the office of intellect and reason. Shortly, however, the wise person in that situation `withholds assent' from those terrifying mental impressions; he spurns and rejects them and does not think that there is anything in them which he should fear.
And they say that between the mind of the wise person and that of the nonwise there is this difference, that the nonwise person thinks that the kinds of things which when they first struck his mind impressed him as scary or harsh really are that way, and `adds belief,' endorsing those same beginnings as things rightly to be feared; but the wise person, although he experiences a brief and superficial response in color and expression, does not `assent,' but maintains the state and strength of his opinion which he has always had about impressions of that kind, namely, that they are not at all to be feared but alarm us by false appearance and empty fright.'
Gellius declares himself satisfied that the passage he has thus translated accords fully with the writings of Zeno and Chrysippus. In his judgment, then, the philosopher's excuse is textbook Stoicism. Fear, like every emotion, is to be eliminated-but what the pale and trembling passenger experienced was not an instance of fear.
In the passage thus recorded, Epictetus examines the process by which emotions are generated, using as his paradigm the emotion of fear. That process begins involuntarily, with a mental impression (phantasia) in which some circumstance-say, the rumble of a building which is about to collapse-strikes the mind as an impending evil meriting fear. When such impressions occur, says Epictetus, one necessarily experiences certain sensations, even if one is wise. The terms used to refer to these sensations alternate between inner experience and visible physiological changes: the mind itself "is contracted and grows pale," and there is also a change in "color and expression." However, the morally significant question is not what these sensations are, but whether one assents to the view that has presented itself, that the thing that seems about to happen really is "scary or harsh." One who is wise will not assent and thus remains free of fear; in his case, there is only a "brief and superficial response."
The concession Epictetus makes here has two far-reaching implications for his presentation of Stoic views on emotion. First, it implies that the concept of `emotion' (pathos), as understood by Stoics, is delimited by something other than changes of color, expression, and other observable signs of arousal. A person could undergo some verifiable physiological alteration, in the presence of the kinds of stimuli that frequently trigger emotion, and yet not have the emotion, if he or she does not also believe certain things. The Stoic claims about the voluntariness of the pathē would then not apply to all phenomena that might loosely be called affective, but only to a subset of them. This clarification can make a great difference in how the school's position on the pathē is mapped onto lived experience. I feel a flash of irritation at my spouse who has eaten the last plum: is this anger? According to this fragment of Epictetus, a Stoic can say that unless further conditions are met, what I feel is not anger at all. It is not even a trivial case of emotion, and the claims made about emotion do not apply to it.
A second, and related, implication concerns the Stoics' normative conception of a life in which emotions, properly so called, have ceased to occur. We have seen that the apatheia or `impassivity' which comes with wisdom does not exclude what the Stoics called eupatheiai, `well-reasoned' upliftings, reachings, or withdrawings of the psyche in relation to perceived goods and evils. But eupathic response, in that it is well reasoned, is concerned always with integral goods and evils; that is, with a person's own character and actions. For external objects the normative human being does not have any affective response at all, since he or she does not recognize these as either good or evil. We now learn, however, that the wise person does still feel something in connection with kinds of things that are the usual objects of the pat he. The normative human condition does not preclude having an impression that the crash of thunder or the crumbling plaster indicates an evil in prospect. That the wise person still has such impressions, and with them some trembling, pallor, or `contraction,' implies that he or she still has the capacity to respond to external objects just as the ordinary person does. It is just that that capacity is no longer exercised."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 85-87). Kindle Edition.
"The anthologist Aulus Gellius tells a story purporting to be from his own experience aboard a ship at sea. A storm arises; the passengers on deck are facing imminent destruction. One passenger, however, is known to be a Stoic philosopher, and the inquisitive Gellius finds himself watching this man in spite of his own extremity. The philosopher does not scream or cry out as others are doing, yet his appearance is hardly unmoved: his complexion is pale, his hands tremble, and his expression is one of alarm. After the storm passes, Gellius seeks an explanation. Should not philosophy have guarded against such feelings?
The philosopher is not the least bit embarrassed. "Since you wish to know," he replies, "hear what our forebears, the founders of the Stoic sect, believed concerning that alarm which is brief, but necessary and natural. Better yet, read it, for reading will make it easier to believe and also to remember." He then produces from his satchel a volume of Epictetus's Discourses and points out the following words:
'Mental `impressions,' through which a person's mind is struck by the initial aspect of some circumstance impinging on the mind, are not voluntary or a matter of choice, but force themselves upon one's awareness by a kind of power of their own. But the `assents' through which those same impressions are cognized are voluntary and happen by one's own choice. That is why, when some terrifying sound occurs, either from the sky or from the collapse of a building or as the sudden herald of some danger, even the wise person's mind necessarily responds and is contracted and grows pale for a little while, not because he opines that something evil is at hand, but by certain rapid and unplanned movements antecedent to the office of intellect and reason. Shortly, however, the wise person in that situation `withholds assent' from those terrifying mental impressions; he spurns and rejects them and does not think that there is anything in them which he should fear.
And they say that between the mind of the wise person and that of the nonwise there is this difference, that the nonwise person thinks that the kinds of things which when they first struck his mind impressed him as scary or harsh really are that way, and `adds belief,' endorsing those same beginnings as things rightly to be feared; but the wise person, although he experiences a brief and superficial response in color and expression, does not `assent,' but maintains the state and strength of his opinion which he has always had about impressions of that kind, namely, that they are not at all to be feared but alarm us by false appearance and empty fright.'
Gellius declares himself satisfied that the passage he has thus translated accords fully with the writings of Zeno and Chrysippus. In his judgment, then, the philosopher's excuse is textbook Stoicism. Fear, like every emotion, is to be eliminated-but what the pale and trembling passenger experienced was not an instance of fear.
In the passage thus recorded, Epictetus examines the process by which emotions are generated, using as his paradigm the emotion of fear. That process begins involuntarily, with a mental impression (phantasia) in which some circumstance-say, the rumble of a building which is about to collapse-strikes the mind as an impending evil meriting fear. When such impressions occur, says Epictetus, one necessarily experiences certain sensations, even if one is wise. The terms used to refer to these sensations alternate between inner experience and visible physiological changes: the mind itself "is contracted and grows pale," and there is also a change in "color and expression." However, the morally significant question is not what these sensations are, but whether one assents to the view that has presented itself, that the thing that seems about to happen really is "scary or harsh." One who is wise will not assent and thus remains free of fear; in his case, there is only a "brief and superficial response."
The concession Epictetus makes here has two far-reaching implications for his presentation of Stoic views on emotion. First, it implies that the concept of `emotion' (pathos), as understood by Stoics, is delimited by something other than changes of color, expression, and other observable signs of arousal. A person could undergo some verifiable physiological alteration, in the presence of the kinds of stimuli that frequently trigger emotion, and yet not have the emotion, if he or she does not also believe certain things. The Stoic claims about the voluntariness of the pathē would then not apply to all phenomena that might loosely be called affective, but only to a subset of them. This clarification can make a great difference in how the school's position on the pathē is mapped onto lived experience. I feel a flash of irritation at my spouse who has eaten the last plum: is this anger? According to this fragment of Epictetus, a Stoic can say that unless further conditions are met, what I feel is not anger at all. It is not even a trivial case of emotion, and the claims made about emotion do not apply to it.
A second, and related, implication concerns the Stoics' normative conception of a life in which emotions, properly so called, have ceased to occur. We have seen that the apatheia or `impassivity' which comes with wisdom does not exclude what the Stoics called eupatheiai, `well-reasoned' upliftings, reachings, or withdrawings of the psyche in relation to perceived goods and evils. But eupathic response, in that it is well reasoned, is concerned always with integral goods and evils; that is, with a person's own character and actions. For external objects the normative human being does not have any affective response at all, since he or she does not recognize these as either good or evil. We now learn, however, that the wise person does still feel something in connection with kinds of things that are the usual objects of the pat he. The normative human condition does not preclude having an impression that the crash of thunder or the crumbling plaster indicates an evil in prospect. That the wise person still has such impressions, and with them some trembling, pallor, or `contraction,' implies that he or she still has the capacity to respond to external objects just as the ordinary person does. It is just that that capacity is no longer exercised."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 85-87). Kindle Edition.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Freedom in Stoic Thought
Concerning "Freedom" in Stoic thought, from Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"The principle that is at stake can also be expressed in terms of human freedom. The word `freedom' is used in modern and some ancient discussions in conjunction with will or choice, to assert that our actions are self-determined. Stoic usage is different: while autonomy or self-determination is certainly a characteristic of human action, the word `free' (eleutheros) does not occur in this context.53 When Stoics speak of freedom it is on analogy with the social stratification that was a familiar part of life in the ancient Mediterranean. Being free means not being a slave; that is, doing what you want, and not having to do what you do not want. Among the paradoxes or counterintuitive teachings characteristic of the school is a claim that "only the wise person is free." As Susanne Bobzien observes, the Stoics certainly did not mean by this that the actions of the wise are autonomous while those of ordinary persons are not! The point is rather that the person of perfect understanding does exactly what he or she wishes to do. The ordinary person has not yet achieved such self-command but can and should aspire to it.
. . . [W]e have seen one important way the ordinary person is not free: we are liable to be carried away by our own affective responses, so that we sometimes act contrary to what we otherwise mean to do. The assertion that the ideal human life is a life of freedom therefore raises a question about the nature of those `eupathic' responses that constitute the Stoic ideal for human affectivity. Are these responses, too, of such a vigorous nature that they override other judgments the wise person might form? Is being "carried away" a feature of the normative experience of affect, or only of the perversion of affect?
The uncompromising nature of emotional impulses must be directly related to their being caused by ascriptions of genuine value. This feature is shared by the eupatheiai. The wise do not believe that externals have genuine value, but they do believe that human conditions and activities have that sort of value, and it is toward these that normative affect is directed. Thus we have every reason to think that the Stoics' wise person can experience very powerful feelings when the occasion calls for them. An awareness of having done the right thing should evoke not just a mild satisfaction but real, deep joy. The thought of abusing a child should be met with more than unwillingness: aversion should go off like an air-raid siren that arrests one's very being. The principle is recognized by Lawrence Becker, writing as a modern-day Stoic in response to yet another point raised by Posidonius. Posidonius inquired why it is that the wise, who recognize `all things honorable' as unsurpassable goods, do not also find themselves deeply moved by those things. The Stoic response, argues Becker, is that they do. Those who perceive virtue to be surpassingly valuable should in fact be surpassingly passionate about it."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 81-82). Kindle Edition.
"The principle that is at stake can also be expressed in terms of human freedom. The word `freedom' is used in modern and some ancient discussions in conjunction with will or choice, to assert that our actions are self-determined. Stoic usage is different: while autonomy or self-determination is certainly a characteristic of human action, the word `free' (eleutheros) does not occur in this context.53 When Stoics speak of freedom it is on analogy with the social stratification that was a familiar part of life in the ancient Mediterranean. Being free means not being a slave; that is, doing what you want, and not having to do what you do not want. Among the paradoxes or counterintuitive teachings characteristic of the school is a claim that "only the wise person is free." As Susanne Bobzien observes, the Stoics certainly did not mean by this that the actions of the wise are autonomous while those of ordinary persons are not! The point is rather that the person of perfect understanding does exactly what he or she wishes to do. The ordinary person has not yet achieved such self-command but can and should aspire to it.
. . . [W]e have seen one important way the ordinary person is not free: we are liable to be carried away by our own affective responses, so that we sometimes act contrary to what we otherwise mean to do. The assertion that the ideal human life is a life of freedom therefore raises a question about the nature of those `eupathic' responses that constitute the Stoic ideal for human affectivity. Are these responses, too, of such a vigorous nature that they override other judgments the wise person might form? Is being "carried away" a feature of the normative experience of affect, or only of the perversion of affect?
The uncompromising nature of emotional impulses must be directly related to their being caused by ascriptions of genuine value. This feature is shared by the eupatheiai. The wise do not believe that externals have genuine value, but they do believe that human conditions and activities have that sort of value, and it is toward these that normative affect is directed. Thus we have every reason to think that the Stoics' wise person can experience very powerful feelings when the occasion calls for them. An awareness of having done the right thing should evoke not just a mild satisfaction but real, deep joy. The thought of abusing a child should be met with more than unwillingness: aversion should go off like an air-raid siren that arrests one's very being. The principle is recognized by Lawrence Becker, writing as a modern-day Stoic in response to yet another point raised by Posidonius. Posidonius inquired why it is that the wise, who recognize `all things honorable' as unsurpassable goods, do not also find themselves deeply moved by those things. The Stoic response, argues Becker, is that they do. Those who perceive virtue to be surpassingly valuable should in fact be surpassingly passionate about it."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 81-82). Kindle Edition.
Monday, November 18, 2013
On Overriding Our Impulses
From Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"The causes of emotion, then, are exactly like the causes of other sorts of impulse. But one does not therefore have to say that all impulses are alike. Introspection insists that anger, fear, grief, and desire have a "hot" or vehement quality to them that sets them apart from run-of-the-mill actions like walking or brushing one's teeth. It is in this that emotions seem to run roughshod over our better judgment, compromising our sense of agency and self-management. That special feature is picked out by the early Stoic terminology of pleonasmos or `excessiveness.' Already in the writings of Zeno of Citium, an emotion is defined as an excessive impulse, a hormē pleonazousa. Or it maybe characterized as `disobedient to reason' or `turned away from reason'; these expressions, too, are probably Zenonian in origin.
Our word "excessive" is not an entirely satisfactory translation for Zeno's term pleonazousa. Built on a root meaning `more' (pleon), the Greek word is in its grammatical form a present participle of the verb pleonazō, meaning `be more' or `exceed' or `go beyond bounds.' Hence it is `exceeding' rather than `excessive.' The difference of inflection could easily be felt by a Greek speaker. The unnamed Stoic source quoted by Stobaeus comments on Zeno's preference for the verb over the related adjective pleonastikē.
'He [Zeno] does not say an impulse whose nature it is to exceed,' but `one that is in fact exceeding.' For it is not a matter of the capacity but of the activity. '
This interprets Zeno to have said that the excessiveness which characterizes emotional impulses is not some inherent attribute belonging to them by nature. It is just what such impulses regularly do in human beings as we know them: they exceed something. What they exceed, and how, is not stated here, but an answer is ready to hand: they exceed other impulses which the same agents might form, and sometimes do form, in accordance with correct reason."
I find this image of emotion as an excessive overflow of impulse to be a compelling one. The idea that it wells up like overflowing water and drowns out reason unless reason is exercised to stop its flow seems accurate in many ways - assenting to a proposition that an emotion should affect us is equivalent to opening a valve and allowing the water to flow. Reason can be exercised to withdraw assent and shut of the valve.
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 66-67). Kindle Edition.
"The causes of emotion, then, are exactly like the causes of other sorts of impulse. But one does not therefore have to say that all impulses are alike. Introspection insists that anger, fear, grief, and desire have a "hot" or vehement quality to them that sets them apart from run-of-the-mill actions like walking or brushing one's teeth. It is in this that emotions seem to run roughshod over our better judgment, compromising our sense of agency and self-management. That special feature is picked out by the early Stoic terminology of pleonasmos or `excessiveness.' Already in the writings of Zeno of Citium, an emotion is defined as an excessive impulse, a hormē pleonazousa. Or it maybe characterized as `disobedient to reason' or `turned away from reason'; these expressions, too, are probably Zenonian in origin.
Our word "excessive" is not an entirely satisfactory translation for Zeno's term pleonazousa. Built on a root meaning `more' (pleon), the Greek word is in its grammatical form a present participle of the verb pleonazō, meaning `be more' or `exceed' or `go beyond bounds.' Hence it is `exceeding' rather than `excessive.' The difference of inflection could easily be felt by a Greek speaker. The unnamed Stoic source quoted by Stobaeus comments on Zeno's preference for the verb over the related adjective pleonastikē.
'He [Zeno] does not say an impulse whose nature it is to exceed,' but `one that is in fact exceeding.' For it is not a matter of the capacity but of the activity. '
This interprets Zeno to have said that the excessiveness which characterizes emotional impulses is not some inherent attribute belonging to them by nature. It is just what such impulses regularly do in human beings as we know them: they exceed something. What they exceed, and how, is not stated here, but an answer is ready to hand: they exceed other impulses which the same agents might form, and sometimes do form, in accordance with correct reason."
I find this image of emotion as an excessive overflow of impulse to be a compelling one. The idea that it wells up like overflowing water and drowns out reason unless reason is exercised to stop its flow seems accurate in many ways - assenting to a proposition that an emotion should affect us is equivalent to opening a valve and allowing the water to flow. Reason can be exercised to withdraw assent and shut of the valve.
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 66-67). Kindle Edition.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
"Our Emotions Are Under Our Control"
On the Stoic idea that our emotions are under our control, from Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"We can see, then, what it has to mean for a Stoic to assert that emotions, like other hormai, are volitional or in our power. The assertion of Zeno, reported by Cicero in Latin translation, that emotions are voluntary (perturbationes voluntarias esse) is equivalent to saying that emotion events are in our power precisely because they are also assents, judgments with a certain content. As Zeno also says, they are `experienced through a judgment of opinion' (opinionis iudicio suscipi). For assent is regulated by characteristics of persons, above all by prior beliefs a person holds. The Zenonian expression is repeated many times in later sources, often paired with `through judgment' or `through opinion.'
A not uninteresting question for the history of volitionalism concerns the Greek expression Cicero is rendering by the Latin word voluntarias. The early Stoics knew and used the `up to us' formula favored by Aristotle (eph' hēmin), and Latin voluntarius could be used in an equivalent sense. I am inclined to think, though, that voluntarius here and in similar contexts in both Cicero and Seneca actually represents prohairetikos in early Stoic texts, just as it does in Cicero's translations from Aristotle. It has often been claimed that prohairetikos is not attested in the early Stoa, though it is used frequently by Epictetus in the later period." But there are traces of a Stoic usage both in the Herculaneum papyri and in verbatim reports by Origen.' In attaching this term to the pathē, the Stoics were making the most explicit claim they could make about responsibility for emotional experience."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 65-66). Kindle Edition.
"We can see, then, what it has to mean for a Stoic to assert that emotions, like other hormai, are volitional or in our power. The assertion of Zeno, reported by Cicero in Latin translation, that emotions are voluntary (perturbationes voluntarias esse) is equivalent to saying that emotion events are in our power precisely because they are also assents, judgments with a certain content. As Zeno also says, they are `experienced through a judgment of opinion' (opinionis iudicio suscipi). For assent is regulated by characteristics of persons, above all by prior beliefs a person holds. The Zenonian expression is repeated many times in later sources, often paired with `through judgment' or `through opinion.'
A not uninteresting question for the history of volitionalism concerns the Greek expression Cicero is rendering by the Latin word voluntarias. The early Stoics knew and used the `up to us' formula favored by Aristotle (eph' hēmin), and Latin voluntarius could be used in an equivalent sense. I am inclined to think, though, that voluntarius here and in similar contexts in both Cicero and Seneca actually represents prohairetikos in early Stoic texts, just as it does in Cicero's translations from Aristotle. It has often been claimed that prohairetikos is not attested in the early Stoa, though it is used frequently by Epictetus in the later period." But there are traces of a Stoic usage both in the Herculaneum papyri and in verbatim reports by Origen.' In attaching this term to the pathē, the Stoics were making the most explicit claim they could make about responsibility for emotional experience."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 65-66). Kindle Edition.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Chryssipus on Handling Emotions
From Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"For emotions are `irrational': while they are going on, we find ourselves `blinded,' unable to prevent ourselves from doing things our calmer selves would not approve. It is, he says, "as if we had become different people from those who were previously conversing."
At the same time, in what seems a startling contradiction, Chrysippus also holds that emotions are in our power. His view of the causes of emotion is that of Zeno as reported by Cicero in the Posterior Academics; it is the standard Stoic position:
Whereas the ancients held that these emotions are natural and devoid of reason and placed desire in one part of the mind, reason in another, Zeno ... did not agree; he thought that the emotions are volitional and are experienced through a judgment of opinion.'
The language is that of moral responsibility: emotions are voluntarii or volitional; they are, as other sources put it, `up to us.' This language is not offered out of perversity or in ignorance of the recalcitrant nature of emotional experience. Chrysippus is actually quite pessimistic about the possibility of simply restraining oneself, for he holds that emotions tend to be unstoppable once they have begun. Nonetheless, he is prepared to assert that the recalcitrance of emotions can be explained satisfactorily within a moral psychology that counts affective responses as instances of voluntary action.
The position is in fact a coherent one. Chrysippus is able to make these bold claims because he has a clearly defined notion of what is required for something to be `up to us' or voluntary and a strong case for why the core instances of emotion satisfy that requirement. His explanation of moral responsibility is developed in the first instance without reference to those special or "hot" impulses which count as pathe: it is a matter of very broad philosophical significance, meant to supply a basis for praise and blame which does not violate the principle of universal causal determinism. But Chrysippus and other Stoics were also prepared to apply that explanation to emotional outbursts and their moral significance, taking due note of those features of emotional impulses which differentiate them from one's other conscious actions. The result is a sophisticated affective volitionalism which manages to combine intellectual seriousness, devoid of magical or mysterious elements, with sensitivity to the phenomena of our mental life. There are, to be sure, certain fairly obvious objections, based, as in similar modern discussions, on the nonsufficiency and/or nonnecessity of belief causes. But the Chrysippan analysis is able to resolve these objections without major modification.
The admission that morally significant responses can evade our control leaves us, as agents, in a difficult spot. We cannot prevent ourselves from doing certain things when we become upset, but all the same we cannot allege the strength of our emotions in order to excuse ourselves. This is a hard doctrine, yet if I read the evidence correctly, the Stoic founders were not inclined to soften it; rather, they issued it as a challenge. For helplessness is not the inevitable human condition, nor is it our natural condition; it is only the condition of persons who are not yet fully mature. To assume the full stature of our humanity would also be to enter a different realm of affective experience, one where strength of feeling does not have to mean loss of control. Although emotions as we presently experience them are not tame or easily managed, the affects of the wise carry them exactly where they wish to go. This is one reason why the attainment of wisdom is felt as liberation."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 62). Kindle Edition.
"For emotions are `irrational': while they are going on, we find ourselves `blinded,' unable to prevent ourselves from doing things our calmer selves would not approve. It is, he says, "as if we had become different people from those who were previously conversing."
At the same time, in what seems a startling contradiction, Chrysippus also holds that emotions are in our power. His view of the causes of emotion is that of Zeno as reported by Cicero in the Posterior Academics; it is the standard Stoic position:
Whereas the ancients held that these emotions are natural and devoid of reason and placed desire in one part of the mind, reason in another, Zeno ... did not agree; he thought that the emotions are volitional and are experienced through a judgment of opinion.'
The language is that of moral responsibility: emotions are voluntarii or volitional; they are, as other sources put it, `up to us.' This language is not offered out of perversity or in ignorance of the recalcitrant nature of emotional experience. Chrysippus is actually quite pessimistic about the possibility of simply restraining oneself, for he holds that emotions tend to be unstoppable once they have begun. Nonetheless, he is prepared to assert that the recalcitrance of emotions can be explained satisfactorily within a moral psychology that counts affective responses as instances of voluntary action.
The position is in fact a coherent one. Chrysippus is able to make these bold claims because he has a clearly defined notion of what is required for something to be `up to us' or voluntary and a strong case for why the core instances of emotion satisfy that requirement. His explanation of moral responsibility is developed in the first instance without reference to those special or "hot" impulses which count as pathe: it is a matter of very broad philosophical significance, meant to supply a basis for praise and blame which does not violate the principle of universal causal determinism. But Chrysippus and other Stoics were also prepared to apply that explanation to emotional outbursts and their moral significance, taking due note of those features of emotional impulses which differentiate them from one's other conscious actions. The result is a sophisticated affective volitionalism which manages to combine intellectual seriousness, devoid of magical or mysterious elements, with sensitivity to the phenomena of our mental life. There are, to be sure, certain fairly obvious objections, based, as in similar modern discussions, on the nonsufficiency and/or nonnecessity of belief causes. But the Chrysippan analysis is able to resolve these objections without major modification.
The admission that morally significant responses can evade our control leaves us, as agents, in a difficult spot. We cannot prevent ourselves from doing certain things when we become upset, but all the same we cannot allege the strength of our emotions in order to excuse ourselves. This is a hard doctrine, yet if I read the evidence correctly, the Stoic founders were not inclined to soften it; rather, they issued it as a challenge. For helplessness is not the inevitable human condition, nor is it our natural condition; it is only the condition of persons who are not yet fully mature. To assume the full stature of our humanity would also be to enter a different realm of affective experience, one where strength of feeling does not have to mean loss of control. Although emotions as we presently experience them are not tame or easily managed, the affects of the wise carry them exactly where they wish to go. This is one reason why the attainment of wisdom is felt as liberation."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 62). Kindle Edition.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Emotional Control (from "Stoicism and Emotion")
Today's reading is on the concept of controlling one's emotions, from Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion. Stoicism purports to offer control over one's emotions, but we often feel that emotions "hit" us out of nowhere, and can be impossible to control because you do not know they are coming. I would agree that while it is possible to surprise and startle even a very accomplished Stoic, nevertheless Stoicism has value in such situations, since after the initial impact the emotions just slide away, like a cloth that washes clean without letting a stain set in . . .
"There is a sense in which emotions have us under their control. Aristotle says-and it is hard not to agree with him-that a good person is one who not only acts rightly but feels rightly. Yet for ourselves it often seems as if we have no choice how to feel. A sense of passivity is expressed in the very word that became standard for emotion in Greek usage, for pathos is simply the noun form of paschein, to suffer or undergo. Nor is it only the reflex-like `startle' and `fight-or-flight' responses that seem to occur without our consent. It is, much more crucially, the core instances of emotion, responses that we not only feel but also express in our behavior. And emotional behavior is sometimes terrifying in its extremity. A mother finds herself driven to destroy the life of her innocent child, a child whom she loves and in calmer moments would not wish to harm. One does not have to condone her action to recognize that she was at that moment helpless in the grip of some very powerful feeling. Even our legal system admits emotion as a mitigating factor in some cases."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 61). Kindle Edition.
"There is a sense in which emotions have us under their control. Aristotle says-and it is hard not to agree with him-that a good person is one who not only acts rightly but feels rightly. Yet for ourselves it often seems as if we have no choice how to feel. A sense of passivity is expressed in the very word that became standard for emotion in Greek usage, for pathos is simply the noun form of paschein, to suffer or undergo. Nor is it only the reflex-like `startle' and `fight-or-flight' responses that seem to occur without our consent. It is, much more crucially, the core instances of emotion, responses that we not only feel but also express in our behavior. And emotional behavior is sometimes terrifying in its extremity. A mother finds herself driven to destroy the life of her innocent child, a child whom she loves and in calmer moments would not wish to harm. One does not have to condone her action to recognize that she was at that moment helpless in the grip of some very powerful feeling. Even our legal system admits emotion as a mitigating factor in some cases."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (p. 61). Kindle Edition.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
A Note on Stoic Joy
I apologize for the long absence since my last post to this blog; let it suffice to say that several conditions and events conspired to keep me from my usual schedule, and I did not sufficiently strive to prevent this from happening. Anyway, today's thought is from Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"Joy is `well-reasoned elevation,' corresponding on a feeling level to the happy excitement the ordinary person experiences on winning a raffle or leaving on vacation. But joy differs from those feelings in being directed at genuine goods: a generous action, for instance, would be an occasion for joy, and the proper object of the feeling would be the generosity itself, as exercised on that occasion. Hence the person of perfect understanding, whose every action is an exercise of virtue, has reason to be joyful at every moment of the day. And this is a condition to which anyone may aspire."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 52-53). Kindle Edition.
"Joy is `well-reasoned elevation,' corresponding on a feeling level to the happy excitement the ordinary person experiences on winning a raffle or leaving on vacation. But joy differs from those feelings in being directed at genuine goods: a generous action, for instance, would be an occasion for joy, and the proper object of the feeling would be the generosity itself, as exercised on that occasion. Hence the person of perfect understanding, whose every action is an exercise of virtue, has reason to be joyful at every moment of the day. And this is a condition to which anyone may aspire."
Margaret R. Graver. Stoicism and Emotion (pp. 52-53). Kindle Edition.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Eupathic Responses, continued
Eupathic Responses
From Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"As a normative response can hardly be dependent on any false belief, the evaluations that give rise to eupatheiai will necessarily be true. The objects at which they are directed must therefore be such objects as the person of perfect understanding can consider to be goods or evils. They may be bound up with externals in that actions and decisions have to be about something, but the external aspects of action would not be the real objects of the feeling. The real objects must be those integral goods and evils which are, as Seneca says, 'real and the mind's own'."
From Margaret R. Graver's Stoicism and Emotion:
"As a normative response can hardly be dependent on any false belief, the evaluations that give rise to eupatheiai will necessarily be true. The objects at which they are directed must therefore be such objects as the person of perfect understanding can consider to be goods or evils. They may be bound up with externals in that actions and decisions have to be about something, but the external aspects of action would not be the real objects of the feeling. The real objects must be those integral goods and evils which are, as Seneca says, 'real and the mind's own'."
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