The Socrates Express

The fire has dwindled to hot ash, the coffee grown cold, but no one notices. We’re knee-deep into Stoicism and ready to dive deeper. One by one, we read the crisp entries from Epictetus’s Handbook. Some merit lengthy discussion, others a simple nod. Then we come across this line: “What upsets people is not things themselves but their judgments about things.” We sit there in silence, absorbing this two-thousand-year-old nugget, as obvious as it is profound.

The Stoics believe our emotions are the product of rational thought, but it is flawed thought. We can change the way we feel by changing the way we think. The Stoic aims not to feel nothing but to feel correctly. I realize that sounds odd. We don’t think of our emotions as either correct or incorrect. They just are. We have no control over them.

Not true, say the Stoics. Emotions don’t wash over us like waves on the beach. They happen for a reason. As the classicist A. A. Long explains, “We don’t typically get angry or jealous for no reason, but precisely because we think that someone is treating us badly or someone is achieving success that we, rather than he, deserves.” We are as responsible for our emotions as we are for our thoughts and actions. They are the result of judgments we make, and these judgments are often faulty. They are not misguided, or muddled, the Stoics say, but empirically wrong.

Imagine a traffic jam. Two drivers sit bumper-to-bumper. One is frazzled and angry, banging on the steering wheel and cursing. The other sits calmly, listening to NPR and recalling a meal of lobster ravioli he enjoyed recently. Clearly, the Stoics say, both drivers can’t be “right.” And they aren’t. The frazzled driver is incorrect, as incorrect as if he had concluded that two plus two equals three. To wish life is otherwise represents an egregious failure of reason.

Let’s examine how a faulty emotion is born. It starts with a reflexive reaction (called “pre-emotions” or “proto-passions”) to an external event (an “impression” in Stoic-speak). We stub our toe, then scream. We get stuck in traffic, then curse. This is natural. We are human after all. That initial shock is not an emotion but a reflex, like blushing when you’re embarrassed. It becomes an emotion when you “assent” to it, the Stoics say. When you assent, you elevate its status from reflex to passion.

All of this happens quickly, in a flash, but none of it happens without our permission. Every time we choose to honor, and amplify, these negative proto-passions we are choosing unhappiness. Why in the world, ask the Stoics, would you want to do that?

We must sever the link between impression and assent. This is where the Socratic pause—the “Mighty Pause,” I call it—comes in handy. Says Epictetus: “Be not swept off your feet by the vividness of the impression, but say, ‘Impression, wait for me a little. Let me see what you are and what you represent. Let me try you.’ ” Only when we realize our reaction to hardship is not automatic but a choice can we begin to make better choices.

But doesn’t everyone get upset when they’re stuck in traffic or stub their toe? No, they don’t, and, besides, says Rob, “Just because lots of people get upset when they stub their toes doesn’t mean you should, too.” We are always free to withhold assent. That is fully up to us.

If you must assent to these proto-passions, assent in a different direction, suggests Epictetus. Relabel them. If you’re alone, relabel your solitude as tranquility. If you are stuck in a crowd, relabel it a festival, “and so accept all contentedly.” Another mind trick? Sure, but a helpful one. Your mind is always playing tricks with reality anyway. Why not put those tricks to good use?