Stoic Epistemology, Psychology, and our Peculiar Anxieties
S.R.,
Our conceptions of mental illness would doubtless be foreign to our spiritual and intellectual forefathers; we possess vastly more nuanced theories and methods of its diagnosis (we would have ourselves think) when compared to our predecessors – but I am no historian of psychiatry, though I am fond of stating what is obvious. The Hellenistics (and by this I mean in particular the Stoics and Peripatetics) developed their own theories of our particularly human pathologies – the passions, I mean. And while these are startlingly close to our modern conceptions (and I think that banal to say), they did not, to my knowledge, speak of our more peculiar conditions – OCD, for example.
It is a burdensome affliction – this voice, which, though silent, speaks much. There are moments when it is amusing – a set of double doors? Grab the door on the right and something bad is bound to happen. There are moments when it is less so, when the mind descends, as it were, into a labyrinth – reviewing memories, analyzing moments, perceptions, sensations into their components, searching for some solace in some brute fact. What is in a moment a solace, the next, insidious. Doubt creeps in, as it were, through a door left slightly ajar, in moments when the mind seems to have settled itself when some consensus as to the matter of uncertainty has been reached. And then the process begins again, the tumult, the descent.
Common in every instance of this nagging doubt, this search for consensus, is the desire to find some sort of proof (or lack thereof), to reach a kind of certainty on some topic, some moment. But, what if we accustomed ourselves to uncertainty (the Pyrrhonian Skeptics sought this), or, at the very least, a bit of distance from ourselves and our thoughts?
Cicero mentions in his _Academica_an analogy of Zeno of Citium’s, which was meant to convey the kind of knowledge which only the wise possess:
“And Zeno used to demonstrate it [sc. that only the wise man has knowledge] by a gesture: for, he would show one hand with the fingers outstretched in front of the other,
‘A cognitive impression [phantasia],’ he was wont to say, ‘is like this.’
Then, when he had closed his fingers a little, would say,
‘Assent, like this.’
Then, upon closing his hand and making a fist, called it ‘comprehension [katalepsis]’ (from which analogy he gave it its name, katalepsis, which it did not have before then).
When, however, he had moved his left hand and gripped his right fist with it, forcefully – such he said was knowledge, which no one save the wise man possessed.”
Cicero, Academica II, section 145 (my translation)
Our thoughts, feelings, perceptions, in a word, anything external to ourselves of which we are aware, is an impression. Impressions themselves have a degree of truth-aptitude, in so far as they produce commentary in us, i.e., when we add thought to the body of perception or sensation when we say that a particular thing appears to me in a certain way, not that it simply appears (Epictetus in the Encheiridion frequently uses the word epilegein, i.e., to attach a kind of internal commentary). Some are false, as when we perceive a straight stick submerged in water to be bent; the stick itself, obviously, is straight, but refraction makes it appear bent, and so the impression, with commentary, “The stick is bent.” is false, in so far as we mean that the stick is “really” bent. But these are simple perceptual puzzles, and if we set aside any unnecessary skepticism, problems emerge in much more complex situations.
The kataleptic impression (which is the object of kataleps_is_, above), then, is an impression which indubitably results from a real object (an external object which actually ex_is_ts), or from that real object in such a way that is indubitable (bear withe me here, as it is_n’t entirely clear what th_is means to say, other than, “A thing appears the way it is.”), and it is th_is_ self-evidence that d_is_tingu_is_hes it from a non-kataleptic impression.
The wise man possesses a kind of knowledge which is unshakable. He makes proper use (epistemologically speaking_,_ though this is also a point of ethics) of the cognitive impressions (phantasiai) impressed upon him_,_ by withholding his complete assent (sunkatathesis,_depending on context) from all those which are not entirely self-evident (i.e.,_ kataleptic_,_ though the Stoics were notorious for not having given an example of a kataleptic impression).
Assent is a complicated affair; it is the act of accepting the facticity of a cognitive impression. I may, for example, learn of the death of a loved one. The reaction that ensues is a multi-step process, whereby I receive the impression – the news , perhaps it is a phone call, or a chance encounter on the street— I accept that it is the case, that so-and-so has passed away – I assent to its reality, I register the words I am hearing, what I am being told – but I also assent, quickly, subtly, to the proposition “To die is a bad thing,” and it is this value-judgement that triggers my emotional response, hence my grief, the excitation of the soul in such away, the passion.
To withhold assent is a gradual process whereby we take a little distance from ourselves, restrain our impulses, our initial judgements, and turn the perception around a little in our hands. You might say that we might catch ourselves in the midst of a thought, a feeling (n.b., there is, however, an extent to which our assent cannot be fully withheld from impressions, and Zeno speaks of this in the case of the wise man, but that is for another time). Epictetus says,
“Immediately then take care to say of every disturbing cognitive impression, ‘You are an impression, and not at all the thing you appear to be,’ then examine it well and test it…”
Epictetus, Encheiridion 1.5 (my translation)
We, however, though not the sage, would make progress if we did but that – held off a little, tested our first impressions of things, prodded them a little. Our fears and anxieties are, in the context of our philosophy, predicated upon nothing more than boogeymen (so the Stoic might say), and when really examined, we find them baseless, nothing more than our imaginations, or unquestioned assumptions— though you don’t need to be a Stoic to reap the benefit of that realization (the Pyrrhonian Skeptics pursued prosoche, a quietude brought on by ceasing to pry into open questions such as those of perception and its contents, its truth or falsity, but that is for another time).
Farewell.
Sincerely,
George