Stoicism: The Passions

How do emotions work according to Stoicism?

I think there’s a widespread misunderstanding about what it means to be stoic, and what Stoics aim to achieve in regards to their emotional state. This could be the case because in certain languages the world ‘stoic’ signifies someone who doesn’t complain or show their emotions. However, there’s a difference between a Stoic (with a capital letter ‘S’) and being stoic. The first one points to a practitioner of Stoicism. The second one points to an attitude or, more of an external presentation of oneself, a pose of being indifferent and non-emotional but also joyless to some extent in certain circumstances.

So, when thinking of a ‘Stoic,’ many people imagine a marble statue that just stands there cold in the face of adversity—non-reactive, non-responsive and emotionless. This view of a ‘Stoic’ isn’t entirely accurate.

The point is Stoicism isn’t about eradicating all emotions. When it comes to emotions, it’s about curbing what they call the ‘passions’ (pathê). These passions are subdivided in four main categories: distress (lupē), fear (phobos), lust (epithumia), and delight (hēdonē). We’ll explore these categories and subcategories later in this chapter.

But first, what’s the difference between emotions and passions? It’s slightly complicated. In her book, Stoicism and Emotion, Margaret Graver sticks with the term ‘emotion’ when talking about the Stoic passions, as the word better fits the actual substance of what the ancient Stoics called pathê. For example, the Stoics categorize grief and anger as ‘passions,’ but most English speakers will probably agree that we’d call them ‘emotions.’ Although I think Graver makes a strong argument for her choice, I’d prefer to keep using passions for the sake of consistency as I’ve used the term in other essays as well.

According to the Stoics, the passions are a consequence of our judgment of our circumstances, be it events that happened in the past, our current state of affairs or things that might happen in the future. These judgments occur in the ruling-faculty (hêgemonikon). Epictetus’ explained this mechanism effectively, by saying:

Men are disturbed not by things, but by the views which they take of things. Thus death is nothing terrible, else it would have appeared so to Socrates. But the terror consists in our notion of death, that it is terrible.

Epictetus, Enchiridion, 5 (translated by T.W. Higginson)

A wrong judgment about our circumstances generates a passion. The most basic way to explain what a ‘wrong’ judgment entails is to say that it’s any judgment that contradicts the course of the universe. The ‘universe’ in this context is the totality of things that aren’t within our control, as mentioned at the beginning in Epictetus’ Enchiridion: “body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word, whatever are not our own actions.” Death, for instance, is a completely natural event and, therefore, not bad or terrible. If our judgment contradicts the (correct) notion that there’s nothing wrong with death, then a passion arises. The same goes for people splashing water and being rude in the bathhouse, as it’s the ‘nature’ of bathing.

So, it’s not the circumstances in themselves that cause the passions, but the way we judge these circumstances. Logically, we curb the passions by correcting our judgments. Sounds familiar? In that case, you might have heard of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), which focuses on replacing irrational with rational thoughts.

The Passions explained

So do the Stoics consider the passions a consequence of irrational thinking. Behind every passion hides a thought process that doesn’t conform to the Stoic ideal that the external world is nothing of our concern. Then what is of our concern? Things within our control, like pursuit, opinions, desire, aversion, restraint—whatever our own choices are able to control. So it’s not the world that decides our mood, but our attitude towards it. If we let the world determine our mental state, we experience the passions: we concern ourselves with things outside our control; and so, we become their servants instead of our own master.

What are the Stoic passions and what are their possible destructive consequences? The Stoics distinguish four passions: distress, fear, lust, and delight.

Distress (lupē)

Distress is an irrational reaction to what’s happening in the present, coming from the opinion that what’s happening is terrible and shouldn’t be happening. The cause of distress is our belief that the present moment is, somehow, loathsome. But is it? According to the Stoics, whatever happens outside of us is neutral. It’s our thoughts about such outside circumstances that make them loathsome. That’s why people have different reactions to the same situation: for one person, it evokes distress, while it hardly moves another. An example of this is the philosopher Epicurus who died painfully because of a stone in the bladder, but remained cheerful.

Fear (phobos)

The second one is fear. Fear is another irrational aversion or avoidance regarding things that we believe could or will happen in the future. Like distress, the passion of fear arises when we believe that the thing we might encounter is, somehow, terrible. But it’s our thoughts that make it terrible, not the thing itself. Where fear differs from distress is that, when we’re fearful, we oppose something that lies in the future. We experience ‘anticipatory anxiety,’ as the thing we fear hasn’t even arrived yet. By so doing, we avoid many situations which could lead to missed opportunities and failing in our duties.

Seneca wrote beautifully in a letter to his friend:

There are more things, Lucilius, likely to frighten us than there are to crush us; we suffer more often in imagination than in reality.

Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Moral Letters to Lucilius, 13.4 (translated by Richard M. Gummere)

Lust (epithumia)

The third passion is lust. The ancient Stoics saw lust as the irrational desire for things we want and could obtain in the future. Lust signifies a preoccupation with something not in our control. When we’re lustful, we burden ourselves with a strong desire that seeks fulfillment. And when we fail to encounter what we lust after, we’re disappointed. The world pulls the lustful person in all directions like a donkey following a carrot on a stick, sometimes with terrible consequences. Seneca stated:

But among the worst cases I count also those who give their time to nothing but drink and lust; for these are the most shameful preoccupations of all.

Seneca, On the Shortness of Life, chapter VII (translated by John W. Basore)

Delight (hēdonē)

The fourth one is delight or pleasure. Delight is the irrational enjoyment of something in the present, coming from the opinion that what’s happening is good and enjoyable. Like the way distress corresponds with fear, delight corresponds with lust. If we delight in something, we will likely lust after it when the thing or situation we delight in is absent. This absence can lead to cravings and addiction, which are antithetical to equanimity. Also, after we delight in something, we always need more to achieve the same level of pleasure, so we risk falling into a bottomless pit.

In the table below you’ll see how the passions relate to either ‘good’ or ‘bad’ prospects in the present and the future. The ‘good’ and ‘bad’ in the context of this table refers to the experiential value and not the moral value of the passions.

Non-problematic emotions

But curbing the passions doesn’t mean being without emotion. There are other types of emotion that the Stoics don’t count as passions.

Firstly, there are emotions as a consequence of mental illness which the one who experiences them cannot influence with reason. Secondly, there are so-called ‘proto-emotions’ which the Stoics considered emotions that aren’t fully formed, and involuntarily arise in the body in certain situations. For example, an explosion will usually startle you initially, before you can put your ruling-faculty to work. We earlier saw how the Roman author Aulus Gellius mentioned a philosopher on a sailing ship, who panicked and paled when a storm occurred. When people asked him to explain his reaction, he grabbed the fifth volume of Epictetus’ Discourses out of his bag and said:

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.

Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae (Attic Nights), 19.1.14

The fifth volume of Epictetus’ Discourses is lost, unfortunately. But from this passage, Epictetus’ distinction between passions and proto-emotions becomes clear. Proto-emotions appear instantly and randomly as a reaction to a first impression. Thus, they aren’t the problem. However, how we deal with them could be problematic. In his book Of Anger, Seneca explains the subtle difference between proto-emotions and passions as well:

None of these things which casually influence the mind deserve to be called passions: the mind, if I may so express it, rather suffers passions to act upon itself than forms them. A passion, therefore, consists not in being affected by the sights which are presented to us, but in giving way to our feelings and following up these chance promptings.

Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Of Anger, 2.3 (translated by Aubrey Stewart)

Aside from the proto-emotions, the Stoics recognized ‘good-feelings’ (eupatheia) as non-problematic emotions. We could see these ‘good-feelings’ as alternatives for the passions. For lust, there’s wish, for delight, joy, and for fear, caution. For distress, however, there is no replacement. These emotions are reasonable and of moderate quality, as they generally don’t overwhelm a person. For example, we can wish ourselves a healthy life. But we also can be accepting when illness strikes us, instead of lusting after “health” and being devastated with a different outcome. Or even better: instead of wishing a healthy life, we could wish to have the strength to deal with illness when it occurs. Below you can see how the good-feelings relate either ‘good’ or ‘bad’ prospects in the present and future.

Evoking the passions

Imagine a husband cheating on his wife (who happens to be a Stoic sage), and the wife catches him in the act. Her initial reaction could be full fright, perhaps even tears; these are the previously explored proto-emotions at work. But her well-trained mind quickly puts the situation in its right perspective. Judging from a place of reason, it reminds her that there’s no reasonable ground to be upset.

But what if she doesn’t judge from a place of reason? In that case, she might think: “This shouldn’t have happened to me! I don’t deserve this! This is so unjust!” Even though we could sympathize with such emotions, they are fundamentally at odds with the nature of existence, which shows that these things do happen. Existence includes all kinds of adversities like death, illness and betrayal, and no one comes into this world with some divine lawful exemption from these things. Even Jesus Christ, Son of God, suffered immensely. When we look at reality we see that cheating and betrayal happen all the time. And often, it happens to the best of us.

From a Stoic viewpoint, we could therefore ask: Why would we be upset at something natural and all too common? Is such a triviality worth affecting our equanimity, especially in the long term?

But, clearly, most people don’t think this way. Our default position seems to be one of well-defined desires and aversions and corresponding reactions. We believe that our sadness and anger are appropriate when we encounter something we’re averse to, and that delight and craving are the proper reactions to something we desire. Moreover, many believe that some things should happen and others shouldn’t, implying entitlement. “I shouldn’t be sick,” we might think. Or, “I deserve only the best.” Of course, no one is entitled to a ‘desired outcome,’ over just an ‘outcome.’ Yet, we do get emotional when we don’t get what we think we deserve, and encounter what we think we don’t deserve.

Now, the deeper we fall into the endless void of desire and aversion, chasing and avoiding, clinging and repelling, the more we evoke the passions.

Curbing the passions

How then can we prevent the passions from overwhelming us? The works of the ancient Stoics are a goldmine of wisdom on how to reach and maintain an equanimous state.

One of the central themes within Stoicism is the acceptance of Fate. Hence, Epictetus tells us not to demand that things happen as we wish but as they happen. By doing so, we’ll be content with what comes our way; we won’t desire anything other than what Fate provides us, nor will we be averse to anything. With such an attitude, passions have no ground to stand on.

What reason is there to desire or fear anything if we’re already guaranteed to get what we want? What reason is there for distress when we don’t wish circumstances to be different regardless of these circumstances? And what’s the reason for delight in something particular, if everything else is okay too (even though not preferred)? Thus, simply put, we neutralize our passions by neither wanting so much from the world nor avoiding or opposing anything. Epictetus had a simple solution that fortifies us against desire and aversion: treat the world with moderation and restraint.

It’s like a banquet, with dishes going around. If something tasty stops in front of you, take some if you want. If it hasn’t reached you yet, don’t grab for it. If it misses you entirely, don’t make a fuss. Take the same attitude toward family, money and position. Partake of them as they come to you and there’s no blame.

Epictetus, Enchiridion, 15 (translated by Stephen Watson)

But, of course, to abstain from grabbing for all these goodies isn’t easy, especially in a world that constantly bombards us with opportunities for delight. The key is practice, meaning that we have to train our attitudes to strengthen them. For every desire and aversion that we wish to conquer, there’s an inner quality that we can develop, so we’ll eventually get a firmer grip on our passions. For temptations that arouse lust and desire, we have self-control. For adversity, we have optimism, or ‘seeing the silver lining;’ we also have endurance. For fear and avoidance, there’s courage. For unfriendly, ignorant, and disrespectful people, there’s compassion and patience.

Originally published in the book ‘Stoicism for Inner Strength’