4Rejoice in the Lord always! Again I will say, “Rejoice!” 5Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand. 6In nothing be anxious, but in everything, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. 7And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus. 8Finally, brothers, whatever things are true, whatever things are honorable, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report; if there is any virtue, and if there is any praise, think about these things. 9The things which you learned, received, heard, and saw in me: do these things, and the God of peace will be with you.
Paul writes this from confinement, which makes his advice about gentleness and refusing to be consumed by worry more striking. He doesn't deny that there are real pressures; he points to prayer, thankfulness, and deliberate attention as the way through them. The list of things worth dwelling on reads like a daily discipline: choose what gets your mind's energy, then act on what you've learned. Peace here is less a feeling to chase than a guard that settles in when habits of honesty and gratitude take root.
The mental visions, which the philosophers call φαντασίαι or 'phantasies,' ... are neither voluntary nor controlled by the will, but through a certain power of their own they force their recognition upon men; but the expressions of assent, which they call συγκαταθέσεις, ... are voluntary and subject to man's will. Therefore when some terrifying sound, either from heaven or from a falling building or as a sudden announcement of some danger, or anything else of that kind occurs, even the mind of a wise man must necessarily be disturbed, must shrink and feel alarm, not from a preconceived idea of any danger, but from certain swift and unexpected attacks which forestall the power of the mind and of reason. Presently, however, the wise man does not approve 'such phantasies,' that is to say, such terrifying mental visions (to quote the Greek, 'he does not consent to them nor confirm them'), but he rejects and scorns them, nor does he see in them anything that ought to excite fear.
John C. Rolfe, 1927
Aulus Gellius was a Roman writer of the second century AD. His Attic Nights is a twenty-book miscellany of notes on philosophy, grammar and history, and it preserves much that would otherwise be lost. In this chapter he describes a Stoic who turned pale in a storm at sea. He then explains the Stoic view by quoting a passage from a book of Epictetus's Discourses that no longer survives (it was the fifth book, which Gellius says he read). That makes this quotation one of the few traces of that book.
Gellius's Stoic is frightened in the storm and does not hide it. The lesson is that the jolt of fear, the racing heart and the drained face are not failures of character. They arrive before we have any say, like a flinch. What we do control is the next step, which is whether we agree that the thing is as terrible as it first looks. Most ordinary alarms work this way: the unexpected phone call, the sharp email, the late-night noise. The first shock is not our fault, but the second thought is ours to choose.
PracticeThe next time something startles or alarms you today, allow the first jolt without scolding yourself. Then pause for one breath and ask whether this thing really deserves the fear you first felt. Only after that decide whether to give your agreement to the alarm.
A 1983 thought experiment shows that you can't always make yourself want something just because wanting it would pay.
An eccentric billionaire sets a vial of toxin in front of you. If you drink it, you will be painfully sick for a day, with no lasting harm. He offers you one million dollars if, at midnight tonight, you truly intend to drink it tomorrow afternoon.
The terms matter. You don't have to drink it. The money lands in your account hours before the drinking time, and you may keep it and pour the toxin down the sink. No hypnotists are allowed, and neither are side bets or any other trick to force your own hand. All you have to do is intend, sincerely, at midnight.
Most people find they can't. Lying in bed, you know that by afternoon the money will be yours whatever you do, and that drinking will only make you sick. You know you won't drink it, so you can't sincerely intend to. Your reasons for wanting the intention are excellent, but they are the wrong kind of reasons to produce it.
The philosopher Gregory Kavka published the puzzle in the journal Analysis in 1983. It grew out of his work on nuclear deterrence, where a similar knot appears. A threat to retaliate works only if you really intend to retaliate. Yet once the attack has happened, retaliating may serve no purpose.
The puzzle is still argued over in the theory of rational choice. Some philosophers conclude that rationality sometimes tells you to act against your interests. Others say a rational person should be able to commit to a plan and keep it. A third group blames the puzzle's setup. They say we cannot form intentions on demand, any more than we can believe a claim because someone pays us to.
RememberYou can't switch an intention on because it would pay. Sincere intending answers to your reasons for the act itself, not to the reward for having the intention.
Read nextMichael Bratman, Intention, Plans, and Practical Reason