Nor were they less ingenious in calling the state of the soul devoid of the light of the mind, “a being out of one’s mind,” “a being beside one’s self.” From whence we may understand that they who gave these names to things were of the same opinion with Socrates, that all silly people were unsound, which the Stoics have carefully preserved as being derived from him; for whatever mind is distempered (and, as I just now said, the philosophers call all perturbed motions of the mind distempers) is no more sound than a body is when in a fit of sickness.
Hence it is that wisdom is the soundness of the mind, folly a sort of unsoundness, which is insanity, or a being out of one’s mind: and these are much better expressed by the Latin words than the Greek, which you will find the case also in many other topics. But we will discuss that point elsewhere: let us now attend to our present subject.
The very meaning of the word describes the whole thing about which we are inquiring, both as to its substance and character. For we must necessarily understand by “sound” those whose minds are under no perturbation from any motion as if it were a disease. They who are differently affected we must necessarily call “unsound.”
So that nothing is better than what is usual in Latin, to say that they who are run away with by their lust or anger have quitted the command over themselves; though anger includes lust, for anger is defined to be the lust of revenge.
They, then, who are said not to be masters of themselves, are said to be so because they are not under the government of reason, to which is assigned by nature the power over the whole soul.
Why the Greeks should call this mania, I do not easily apprehend; but we define it much better than they, for we distinguish this madness (insania), which, being allied to folly, is more extensive, from what we call furor, or raving.
The Greeks, indeed, would do so too, but they have no one word that will express it: what we call furor, they call μελαγχολία, as if the reason were affected only by a black bile, and not disturbed as often by a violent rage, or fear, or grief.
Thus we say Athamas, Alcmaeon, Ajax, and Orestes were raving (furere); because a person affected in this manner was not allowed by the Twelve Tables to have the management of his own affairs; therefore the words are not, if he is mad (insanus), but if he begins to be raving (furiosus).
For they looked upon madness to be an unsettled humor that proceeded from not being of sound mind; yet such a person might perform his ordinary duties, and discharge the usual and customary requirements of life: but they considered one that was raving as afflicted with a total blindness of the mind, which, notwithstanding it is allowed to be greater than madness, is nevertheless of such a nature that a wise man may be subject to raving (furor), but cannot possibly be afflicted by insanity (insania).
But this is another question: let us now return to our original subject.
Hence it is that wisdom is the soundness of the mind, folly a sort of unsoundness, which is insanity, or a being out of one’s mind: and these are much better expressed by the Latin words than the Greek, which you will find the case also in many other topics. But we will discuss that point elsewhere: let us now attend to our present subject.
The very meaning of the word describes the whole thing about which we are inquiring, both as to its substance and character. For we must necessarily understand by “sound” those whose minds are under no perturbation from any motion as if it were a disease. They who are differently affected we must necessarily call “unsound.”
So that nothing is better than what is usual in Latin, to say that they who are run away with by their lust or anger have quitted the command over themselves; though anger includes lust, for anger is defined to be the lust of revenge.
They, then, who are said not to be masters of themselves, are said to be so because they are not under the government of reason, to which is assigned by nature the power over the whole soul.
Why the Greeks should call this mania, I do not easily apprehend; but we define it much better than they, for we distinguish this madness (insania), which, being allied to folly, is more extensive, from what we call furor, or raving.
The Greeks, indeed, would do so too, but they have no one word that will express it: what we call furor, they call μελαγχολία, as if the reason were affected only by a black bile, and not disturbed as often by a violent rage, or fear, or grief.
Thus we say Athamas, Alcmaeon, Ajax, and Orestes were raving (furere); because a person affected in this manner was not allowed by the Twelve Tables to have the management of his own affairs; therefore the words are not, if he is mad (insanus), but if he begins to be raving (furiosus).
For they looked upon madness to be an unsettled humor that proceeded from not being of sound mind; yet such a person might perform his ordinary duties, and discharge the usual and customary requirements of life: but they considered one that was raving as afflicted with a total blindness of the mind, which, notwithstanding it is allowed to be greater than madness, is nevertheless of such a nature that a wise man may be subject to raving (furor), but cannot possibly be afflicted by insanity (insania).
But this is another question: let us now return to our original subject.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.5
I am barely competent in the subtleties of my own language, let alone of Greek and Latin, so I cannot add anything to Cicero’s observations on the words for madness and raving. I do, however, grasp the importance of making such distinctions, for sloppy language is a symptom of sloppy thinking.
I take note, for example, of how readily people use the terms “stupid” and “insane” in everyday conversations, and they are almost always employing them in a thoughtless manner, which is rather ironic. No, it isn’t stupid just because I don’t like it, and it certainly isn’t insane if I happen to find it unusual.
Even broadly speaking, beyond the medical or legal definitions, insanity is a far more serious matter. With the mind being at the center of our human identity, to “lose” it is akin to losing oneself. Sometimes this is something beyond our control, though at other times we bring ourselves into a condition where we have freely abandoned our power of judgment, a surrender of our ability to manage our passions and our circumstances.
I feel as if I have flirted with madness on both levels, a disorder in my very instincts and perceptions, as well as permitting myself to be ruled by strong emotions. I do not say this lightly, for it is foolish to treat any disorders of the mind carelessly, but I have oddly found that the latter form, where I have brought myself into a sort of uncontrolled frenzy, is by the far the more troubling condition.
I mean that when my confusion comes from an involuntary source, I can be excused, while if I have chosen to lose control, I have neglected my greatest responsibility, both to myself and to others. It is the difference between what has happened to me, and what I have decided to do.
I can certainly relate my own experiences to Cicero’s contrast between madness and raving. I cannot really explain why it came about, but many years ago I had a conversation with a teacher that must have disturbed me deeply, since I completely lost all memory of it occurring. I was assured it took place, and yet I honestly had no recollection of it at all.
Now I was, in hindsight, able to reflect upon this event deliberately, and I did my best to take responsibility for myself. What little wisdom and virtue I had were still intact.
Yet a few years later, I found myself in a situation where I felt the most intense emotional pain I have ever faced. I remember every moment of it, as if time had slowed down, so I can’t say I didn’t know what I was doing. Rage coursed through me, and I gave in to it. I made a conscious decision at that moment to lash out in the most shameful way.
There was no wisdom or virtue in me at all on that day, for I had allowed myself to become a slave to a powerful desire. If I could take back only one thing in my life, that would be it.
This is how I understand madness and raving in my own life. You will surely find your own examples to chew on.
In any case, I must be acutely aware of how I can remain a good man if my brain is not firing on all cylinders, even as I cannot be a good man if I have renounced my mastery of self.
Am I feeling sadness? What matters is what I make of it. Am I bound to grief? I chose to dwell upon the sadness, and I can still change that.
I am barely competent in the subtleties of my own language, let alone of Greek and Latin, so I cannot add anything to Cicero’s observations on the words for madness and raving. I do, however, grasp the importance of making such distinctions, for sloppy language is a symptom of sloppy thinking.
I take note, for example, of how readily people use the terms “stupid” and “insane” in everyday conversations, and they are almost always employing them in a thoughtless manner, which is rather ironic. No, it isn’t stupid just because I don’t like it, and it certainly isn’t insane if I happen to find it unusual.
Even broadly speaking, beyond the medical or legal definitions, insanity is a far more serious matter. With the mind being at the center of our human identity, to “lose” it is akin to losing oneself. Sometimes this is something beyond our control, though at other times we bring ourselves into a condition where we have freely abandoned our power of judgment, a surrender of our ability to manage our passions and our circumstances.
I feel as if I have flirted with madness on both levels, a disorder in my very instincts and perceptions, as well as permitting myself to be ruled by strong emotions. I do not say this lightly, for it is foolish to treat any disorders of the mind carelessly, but I have oddly found that the latter form, where I have brought myself into a sort of uncontrolled frenzy, is by the far the more troubling condition.
I mean that when my confusion comes from an involuntary source, I can be excused, while if I have chosen to lose control, I have neglected my greatest responsibility, both to myself and to others. It is the difference between what has happened to me, and what I have decided to do.
I can certainly relate my own experiences to Cicero’s contrast between madness and raving. I cannot really explain why it came about, but many years ago I had a conversation with a teacher that must have disturbed me deeply, since I completely lost all memory of it occurring. I was assured it took place, and yet I honestly had no recollection of it at all.
Now I was, in hindsight, able to reflect upon this event deliberately, and I did my best to take responsibility for myself. What little wisdom and virtue I had were still intact.
Yet a few years later, I found myself in a situation where I felt the most intense emotional pain I have ever faced. I remember every moment of it, as if time had slowed down, so I can’t say I didn’t know what I was doing. Rage coursed through me, and I gave in to it. I made a conscious decision at that moment to lash out in the most shameful way.
There was no wisdom or virtue in me at all on that day, for I had allowed myself to become a slave to a powerful desire. If I could take back only one thing in my life, that would be it.
This is how I understand madness and raving in my own life. You will surely find your own examples to chew on.
In any case, I must be acutely aware of how I can remain a good man if my brain is not firing on all cylinders, even as I cannot be a good man if I have renounced my mastery of self.
Am I feeling sadness? What matters is what I make of it. Am I bound to grief? I chose to dwell upon the sadness, and I can still change that.
—Reflection written in 9/1996
IMAGE: Francisco Goya, The Madhouse (1819)
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