M. You may inquire, perhaps, how? And such an inquiry is not amiss, for philosophy is ready with her assistance.
Epicurus offers himself to you, a man far from a bad—or, I should rather say, a very good man: he advises no more than he knows. “Despise pain,” says he. Who is it says this? Is it the same man who calls pain the greatest of all evils? It is not, indeed, very consistent in him. Let us hear what he says: “If the pain is excessive, it must needs be short.”
I must have that over again, for I do not apprehend what you mean exactly by “excessive” or “short.” That is excessive than which nothing can be greater; that is short than which nothing is shorter. I do not regard the greatness of any pain from which, by reason of the shortness of its continuance, I shall be delivered almost before it reaches me.
But if the pain be as great as that of Philoctetes, it will appear great indeed to me, but yet not the greatest that I am capable of bearing; for the pain is confined to my foot. But my eye may pain me, I may have a pain in the head, or sides, or lungs, or in every part of me. It is far, then, from being excessive. Therefore, says he, pain of a long continuance has more pleasure in it than uneasiness.
Now, I cannot bring myself to say so great a man talks nonsense; but I imagine he is laughing at us. My opinion is that the greatest pain (I say the greatest, though it may be ten atoms less than another) is not therefore short, because it is acute. I could name to you a great many good men who have been tormented many years with the acutest pains of the gout.
But this cautious man does not determine the measure of that greatness or of duration, so as to enable us to know what he calls excessive with regard to pain, or short with respect to its continuance.
Let us pass him by, then, as one who says just nothing at all; and let us force him to acknowledge, notwithstanding he might behave himself somewhat boldly under his colic and his strangury, that no remedy against pain can be had from him who looks on pain as the greatest of all evils.
We must apply, then, for relief elsewhere, and nowhere better (if we seek for what is most consistent with itself) than to those who place the chief good in honesty, and the greatest evil in infamy. You dare not so much as groan, or discover the least uneasiness in their company, for virtue itself speaks to you through them.
Epicurus offers himself to you, a man far from a bad—or, I should rather say, a very good man: he advises no more than he knows. “Despise pain,” says he. Who is it says this? Is it the same man who calls pain the greatest of all evils? It is not, indeed, very consistent in him. Let us hear what he says: “If the pain is excessive, it must needs be short.”
I must have that over again, for I do not apprehend what you mean exactly by “excessive” or “short.” That is excessive than which nothing can be greater; that is short than which nothing is shorter. I do not regard the greatness of any pain from which, by reason of the shortness of its continuance, I shall be delivered almost before it reaches me.
But if the pain be as great as that of Philoctetes, it will appear great indeed to me, but yet not the greatest that I am capable of bearing; for the pain is confined to my foot. But my eye may pain me, I may have a pain in the head, or sides, or lungs, or in every part of me. It is far, then, from being excessive. Therefore, says he, pain of a long continuance has more pleasure in it than uneasiness.
Now, I cannot bring myself to say so great a man talks nonsense; but I imagine he is laughing at us. My opinion is that the greatest pain (I say the greatest, though it may be ten atoms less than another) is not therefore short, because it is acute. I could name to you a great many good men who have been tormented many years with the acutest pains of the gout.
But this cautious man does not determine the measure of that greatness or of duration, so as to enable us to know what he calls excessive with regard to pain, or short with respect to its continuance.
Let us pass him by, then, as one who says just nothing at all; and let us force him to acknowledge, notwithstanding he might behave himself somewhat boldly under his colic and his strangury, that no remedy against pain can be had from him who looks on pain as the greatest of all evils.
We must apply, then, for relief elsewhere, and nowhere better (if we seek for what is most consistent with itself) than to those who place the chief good in honesty, and the greatest evil in infamy. You dare not so much as groan, or discover the least uneasiness in their company, for virtue itself speaks to you through them.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.19
To despise death and pain in favor of the exercise of the virtues? I will not scoff if you say it is easier said than done, because many will talk the talk, in the hope of winning fame, while few will walk the walk, in the hope of forming character.
Yet I do believe that every one of us, peculiar to our own circumstances and abilities, is gifted with this capacity, for the power to choose what is right, especially when it faces the tendency to defer to what is convenient, is at the core of our human identity. As overwhelming it at first appears, living with a conscience is the very fulfillment of our nature, and therefore the only road to happiness.
The values I begin with point the way to where I will end up. If I assume that pleasure alone is the goal, and pain to be avoided at any cost, I have bound myself to slavery. If I look to the merits of my actions, however, I have the chance to stand on conviction, and there is absolutely no one able to stop me from doing so.
I remain intrigued by the way Cicero places himself between the Epicurean and the Stoic, even as I sense him having far more in common with the latter than with the former. Regardless of his own position, Cicero proves the priority of virtue by recognizing and praising the decency of those he happens to disagree with.
I know some who would condemn the Epicurean as a hedonist, though I suspect they have never bothered to read from the school with any care. I know others who would condemn the Stoic as cold and heartless, though I suspect they are not inclined to thinking in subtleties. Find what is good, and leave the rest, without casting aspersion.
And so with all due respect, the bit from Epicurus that Cicero, as well as I, must pass over is the insistence upon the appetites as the ultimate standards. As Cicero points out, once I make pleasure the greatest good, and pain the greatest evil, it is impossible to then claim that I should take no heed of pain, or to claim that the worst pains are bearable, simply on account of being temporary.
No, I would prefer to whitewash it that way, but I have found the most agonizing pains to be precisely those that go one and on, with no seeming end in sight. And at the same time, those were the pains that did the best for me, by calling me to be something better—to a change of attitude, not to a pursuit of some opposing gratification.
“I don’t think she satisfies me enough, so I’ll try somewhere else.” My friend, you have just dug your own grave.
I have now spent a number of years in the company of the Black Dog, and I know, in the most practical way possible, that I cannot live the lie of hoping it will “feel better tomorrow”. Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t. It always comes back. And drugs, prescribed or otherwise, don’t help.
Can’t I at least expect it to kill me soon, and put me out of my misery? Not at all; observe, once again, the intense suffering of Philoctetes, who in body struggled with a festering wound that would not heal, and in mind struggled with being rejected by all his companions, for a whole decade. His bitterness was understandable, while beyond that his integrity was extraordinary.
When, like the Epicurean, I start and stop with the passions, literally feelings that come to me, I am at the mercy of what everyone else happens to do. Emotion expresses the reality, yet it does not determine the significance of the reality—it’s my own judgments that will do that.
The relief from hardship is in the direction offered by awareness, and there can be no peace in fleeing to illusions. Feelings, without first committing to principles, simply won’t cut it.
To despise death and pain in favor of the exercise of the virtues? I will not scoff if you say it is easier said than done, because many will talk the talk, in the hope of winning fame, while few will walk the walk, in the hope of forming character.
Yet I do believe that every one of us, peculiar to our own circumstances and abilities, is gifted with this capacity, for the power to choose what is right, especially when it faces the tendency to defer to what is convenient, is at the core of our human identity. As overwhelming it at first appears, living with a conscience is the very fulfillment of our nature, and therefore the only road to happiness.
The values I begin with point the way to where I will end up. If I assume that pleasure alone is the goal, and pain to be avoided at any cost, I have bound myself to slavery. If I look to the merits of my actions, however, I have the chance to stand on conviction, and there is absolutely no one able to stop me from doing so.
I remain intrigued by the way Cicero places himself between the Epicurean and the Stoic, even as I sense him having far more in common with the latter than with the former. Regardless of his own position, Cicero proves the priority of virtue by recognizing and praising the decency of those he happens to disagree with.
I know some who would condemn the Epicurean as a hedonist, though I suspect they have never bothered to read from the school with any care. I know others who would condemn the Stoic as cold and heartless, though I suspect they are not inclined to thinking in subtleties. Find what is good, and leave the rest, without casting aspersion.
And so with all due respect, the bit from Epicurus that Cicero, as well as I, must pass over is the insistence upon the appetites as the ultimate standards. As Cicero points out, once I make pleasure the greatest good, and pain the greatest evil, it is impossible to then claim that I should take no heed of pain, or to claim that the worst pains are bearable, simply on account of being temporary.
No, I would prefer to whitewash it that way, but I have found the most agonizing pains to be precisely those that go one and on, with no seeming end in sight. And at the same time, those were the pains that did the best for me, by calling me to be something better—to a change of attitude, not to a pursuit of some opposing gratification.
“I don’t think she satisfies me enough, so I’ll try somewhere else.” My friend, you have just dug your own grave.
I have now spent a number of years in the company of the Black Dog, and I know, in the most practical way possible, that I cannot live the lie of hoping it will “feel better tomorrow”. Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t. It always comes back. And drugs, prescribed or otherwise, don’t help.
Can’t I at least expect it to kill me soon, and put me out of my misery? Not at all; observe, once again, the intense suffering of Philoctetes, who in body struggled with a festering wound that would not heal, and in mind struggled with being rejected by all his companions, for a whole decade. His bitterness was understandable, while beyond that his integrity was extraordinary.
When, like the Epicurean, I start and stop with the passions, literally feelings that come to me, I am at the mercy of what everyone else happens to do. Emotion expresses the reality, yet it does not determine the significance of the reality—it’s my own judgments that will do that.
The relief from hardship is in the direction offered by awareness, and there can be no peace in fleeing to illusions. Feelings, without first committing to principles, simply won’t cut it.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGE: Guillaume Guillon-Lethiere, Philoctetes on the Island of Lemnos (1798)
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