English speakers often use the term “pathetic” in a derogatory manner, which characterizes
weakness and helplessness in other people.
Hence, most people don’t want to be pathetic, and we generally don’t like pathetic people.
But what makes a person pathetic, and how do we avoid being so?
The ancient Stoics might have the answers.
The Stoics pursued a mental state called ‘apatheia’ (from which the English word ‘apathy’
derived).
They saw this mental state as a condition for living according to nature; the latter
is a Stoic’s ultimate goal and virtue.
However, the word ‘apathy’ in contemporary language has a different meaning than the
Greek ‘apatheia,’ as ‘apathy’ has a pretty negative charge, pointing to a state
of emotional numbness.
The Stoic meaning of ‘apatheia’ is different, as it refers to a mind that isn’t disturbed
by the passions (or “patheia”), not the absence of emotions altogether.
So, being ‘apathetic’ in the Stoic sense means ‘being undisturbed by the passions’
or ‘equanimity,’ a pleasurable state in which we feel emotionally calm and content.
But what about the opposite, namely, being ‘pathetic?’
This video explores the roots of patheticness, the harmful consequences, and how we can avoid
being pathetic through the lens of Stoic philosophy.
Unfortunately, there’s a great misconception about the Stoic view on emotion, namely, that
we should banish all emotion from our lives and become “apathetic,” or without emotion,
interest, and enthusiasm.
Emotions are part of being human, as most people inevitably experience a wide range
of emotions during their lifetimes.
Totally suppressing emotions would be akin to repressing our humanity, which probably
isn’t a good idea.
But even though the ancient Stoics were highly interested in emotions and acknowledged the
destructiveness that some emotions can have (like Seneca did in his essay ‘Of Anger’),
they didn’t teach us to cut them out altogether.
In his work The Attic Nights, 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.
End quote.
The fifth volume of Epictetus’ discourses is lost, unfortunately.
But from this passage, it seems that Epictetus distinguished between passions and proto-emotions.
The latter appear instantly and randomly as a reaction to a first impression.
Thus, the proto-emotions aren’t the problem.
However, how we deal with them could be problematic.
For example, a man cheats on his wife (who happens to be a Stoic sage), and she catches
him in the act.
Her initial reaction could be full fright, perhaps even tears.
But her well-trained mind quickly puts the situation in perspective.
Judging from a place of reason, it reminds her that there’s no reasonable ground to
be upset.
In his book Of Anger, Seneca explains the subtle difference between ‘emotions’ and
‘passions’ which clarifies what we’ve previously explored.
I quote:
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.
End quote.
But what if we do follow up on what Seneca called “chance promptings” or these initial
emotions that appear when we encounter something that triggers us?
In that case, we’re engaging in irrational thinking.
Or, as the Stoics would say: we go beyond reason.
If we expect things to happen as we wish instead of as they happen, we’re fundamentally in
denial about the nature of existence.
For example, the woman betrayed by her husband could think: “This shouldn’t have happened
to me!
Why me?”
But when we look at reality, we see that cheating happens all the time.
And often, it happens to the best of us.
So, if we accept this reality, we realize that there’s actually nothing to be upset
about, as we would be upset at something natural and all too common.
Is such a triviality worth affecting our equanimity, especially in the long term?
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, we’re not entitled to a ‘desired outcome,’ just to an ‘outcome.’
Yet, we get emotional when we don’t get what we think we deserve and encounter what
we think we don’t deserve.
And the deeper we fall into the endless void of desire and aversion, chasing and avoiding,
clinging and repelling, the more life becomes an emotional rollercoaster.
We could say that such a way of positioning ourselves to the world, so dependent on the
whims of Fortune, makes us pathetic.
The Stoics consider the passions a consequence of irrational thinking.
Behind every passion hides a thought process that doesn’t conform to the Stoic idea that
the external world is not of our concern.
What is of our concern?
Things within our control, like pursuit, opinions, desire, aversion, restraint: whatever our
own choices are.
It’s not the world that decides our mood, but our position towards it.
If we let the world determine our mental state, we experience the passions, which also means
we concern ourselves with things outside our control; and so, we become their servants
instead of our own master.
So, what are the Stoic passions?
What are their possible destructive consequences?
The Stoics distinguish four passions: distress, fear, lust, and delight.
Let’s start with the first one.
The first one is distress.
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 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 bladder stone
but remained cheerful.
The second one is fear.
Fear is another irrational aversion or avoidance regarding things that we believe could or
will happen in the future.
Same as with distress, the passion of fear arises when we believe that the thing we might
encounter is, somehow, terrible.
It’s our thoughts that make it terrible, not the thing itself.
But 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.
And so, we avoid many situations which could lead to missed opportunities and failing our
duties.
Seneca wrote beautifully in a letter to his friend, and I quote:
“There are more things, Lucilius, likely to frighten us than there are to crush us;
we suffer more often in imagination than in reality.”
The third one 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, and I quote:
“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.”
End quote.
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 distress with fear, delight corresponds with lust.
If we delight in something, we will 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.
The Stoics recognized good emotions as replacements for the passions.
For lust, there’s wish, for delight, joy, and for fear, caution.
For distress, 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 be accepting when illness strikes
us, instead of lusting after “health” and being devasted with a different outcome.
Or even better: instead of wishing a healthy life, we wish to have the strength to deal
with illness when it occurs.
How can we prevent the passions from arising?
The works of the ancient Stoics are a goldmine of advice 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 fate provides us, nor will we be aversed 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?
Thus, simply put, we neutralize our passions by not 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.
I quote:
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.
End quote.
But of course, to abstain from grabbing for all these temptations 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, ‘seeing the silver lining,’ and endurance.
For fear and avoidance, there’s courage.
For unfriendly, ignorant, and disrespectful people, there’s compassion.
Thank you for watching.