M. I think you said that it was your opinion that a wise man was liable to grief.
A. And so, indeed, I think.
M. It is natural enough to think so, for we are not the offspring of flints; but we have by nature something soft and tender in our souls, which may be put into a violent motion by grief, as by a storm; nor did that Crantor, who was one of the most distinguished men that our Academy has ever produced, say this amiss: “I am by no means of their opinion who talk so much in praise of I know not what insensibility, which neither can exist, nor ought to exist”.
“I would choose,” says he, “never to be ill; but should I be so, still I should choose to retain my sensation, whether there was to be an amputation or any other separation of anything from my body. For that insensibility cannot be but at the expense of some unnatural ferocity of mind, or stupor of body.”
But let us consider whether to talk in this manner be not allowing that we are weak, and yielding to our softness. Notwithstanding, let us be hardy enough, not only to lop off every arm of our miseries, but even to pluck up every fiber of their roots.
Yet still something, perhaps, may be left behind, so deep does folly strike its roots: but whatever may be left it will be no more than is necessary. But let us be persuaded of this, that unless the mind be in a sound state, which philosophy alone can effect, there can be no end of our miseries. Wherefore, as we began, let us submit ourselves to it for a cure; we shall be cured if we choose to be.
I shall advance something further. I shall not treat of grief alone, though that indeed is the principal thing; but, as I originally proposed, of every perturbation of the mind, as I termed it; disorder, as the Greeks call it: and first, with your leave, I shall treat it in the manner of the Stoics, whose method is to reduce their arguments into a very small space; afterward I shall enlarge more in my own way.
A. And so, indeed, I think.
M. It is natural enough to think so, for we are not the offspring of flints; but we have by nature something soft and tender in our souls, which may be put into a violent motion by grief, as by a storm; nor did that Crantor, who was one of the most distinguished men that our Academy has ever produced, say this amiss: “I am by no means of their opinion who talk so much in praise of I know not what insensibility, which neither can exist, nor ought to exist”.
“I would choose,” says he, “never to be ill; but should I be so, still I should choose to retain my sensation, whether there was to be an amputation or any other separation of anything from my body. For that insensibility cannot be but at the expense of some unnatural ferocity of mind, or stupor of body.”
But let us consider whether to talk in this manner be not allowing that we are weak, and yielding to our softness. Notwithstanding, let us be hardy enough, not only to lop off every arm of our miseries, but even to pluck up every fiber of their roots.
Yet still something, perhaps, may be left behind, so deep does folly strike its roots: but whatever may be left it will be no more than is necessary. But let us be persuaded of this, that unless the mind be in a sound state, which philosophy alone can effect, there can be no end of our miseries. Wherefore, as we began, let us submit ourselves to it for a cure; we shall be cured if we choose to be.
I shall advance something further. I shall not treat of grief alone, though that indeed is the principal thing; but, as I originally proposed, of every perturbation of the mind, as I termed it; disorder, as the Greeks call it: and first, with your leave, I shall treat it in the manner of the Stoics, whose method is to reduce their arguments into a very small space; afterward I shall enlarge more in my own way.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.6
Given how often I have been tossed back and forth between outrageous extremes, I am deeply indebted to philosophy for keeping me sane. I scold myself about how I could have done so much better, and then I remember that the intervention of a level head is the only thing that has kept me from total self-destruction. The progress may be plodding, but it is critical.
I’m sure I’m not alone in having those moments where I wish I couldn’t feel at all. Grief, in its many forms, seems to deny me anything worth living for, and hence I wonder if excising my very emotions could be the answer.
I might be filled with hope and joy on one day, when the circumstances happen to be pleasing, and then suddenly consumed by dread and misery on the next day, once events stop going my way. If the passions are so troublesome, why not find a way to finally be rid of them?
When the gloom takes over, I assume that all of us, even the very best of us, must be victims of sadness. Along with the Auditor, I don’t see how wisdom could keep me from suffering mental and emotional pain, and I resign myself to bearing the hurt, falling into a sort of chronic malaise. If I’m not depressed right now, I probably will be soon enough, so what’s the point? The brooding music of my youth turns out to express a timeless affliction.
It doesn’t seem to occur to me that pain, like pleasure, is a necessary part of the human condition, and so to wish it away would be like wishing myself away. Perhaps the wise man must experience suffering, yet that does not mean he must be at the mercy of suffering. Though he is presented with impressions, he does not permit them to rule over him.
Unlike a stone, a man will feel. Crantor rightly reminds us that becoming insensitive is hardly preferable, or even possible, as a way to manage our sensitivities. What would become of a mind divorced from feelings, whether from the outside or on the inside? There is a perfectly good reason why we sense, and as much as we do not desire pain, it serves as a means of our awareness.
I need not deny my sensations, nor should I surrender to them. There is a harshness on the one side, and a fragility on the other, and reason, as always, points the way to the balance between them. Allow the grief to come if it must, but don’t feed it or let it get too comfortable.
In matters of meaning and purpose, only understanding can offer direction, for a feeling requires judgment to provide a context. What does it signify? Why has it come about? How can it be focused? No emotion exists without a consciousness of its significance, such that the soundness of my reasoning is the key to overcoming my troubles.
Philosophy is once again showing me how much I need her aid. I can squirm all I like, but there is no getting around the necessity of establishing first principles of true and false, of right and wrong. I must do that for myself, as no one else can do it for me.
Cicero is here specifically concerned with grief, though he further observes that any sort of confusion in the mind will call for similar remedies. He proposes to first examine what the Stoics have to say, who have a special knack for coping with hardships, and then to offer his own insights.
Given how often I have been tossed back and forth between outrageous extremes, I am deeply indebted to philosophy for keeping me sane. I scold myself about how I could have done so much better, and then I remember that the intervention of a level head is the only thing that has kept me from total self-destruction. The progress may be plodding, but it is critical.
I’m sure I’m not alone in having those moments where I wish I couldn’t feel at all. Grief, in its many forms, seems to deny me anything worth living for, and hence I wonder if excising my very emotions could be the answer.
I might be filled with hope and joy on one day, when the circumstances happen to be pleasing, and then suddenly consumed by dread and misery on the next day, once events stop going my way. If the passions are so troublesome, why not find a way to finally be rid of them?
When the gloom takes over, I assume that all of us, even the very best of us, must be victims of sadness. Along with the Auditor, I don’t see how wisdom could keep me from suffering mental and emotional pain, and I resign myself to bearing the hurt, falling into a sort of chronic malaise. If I’m not depressed right now, I probably will be soon enough, so what’s the point? The brooding music of my youth turns out to express a timeless affliction.
It doesn’t seem to occur to me that pain, like pleasure, is a necessary part of the human condition, and so to wish it away would be like wishing myself away. Perhaps the wise man must experience suffering, yet that does not mean he must be at the mercy of suffering. Though he is presented with impressions, he does not permit them to rule over him.
Unlike a stone, a man will feel. Crantor rightly reminds us that becoming insensitive is hardly preferable, or even possible, as a way to manage our sensitivities. What would become of a mind divorced from feelings, whether from the outside or on the inside? There is a perfectly good reason why we sense, and as much as we do not desire pain, it serves as a means of our awareness.
I need not deny my sensations, nor should I surrender to them. There is a harshness on the one side, and a fragility on the other, and reason, as always, points the way to the balance between them. Allow the grief to come if it must, but don’t feed it or let it get too comfortable.
In matters of meaning and purpose, only understanding can offer direction, for a feeling requires judgment to provide a context. What does it signify? Why has it come about? How can it be focused? No emotion exists without a consciousness of its significance, such that the soundness of my reasoning is the key to overcoming my troubles.
Philosophy is once again showing me how much I need her aid. I can squirm all I like, but there is no getting around the necessity of establishing first principles of true and false, of right and wrong. I must do that for myself, as no one else can do it for me.
Cicero is here specifically concerned with grief, though he further observes that any sort of confusion in the mind will call for similar remedies. He proposes to first examine what the Stoics have to say, who have a special knack for coping with hardships, and then to offer his own insights.
—Reflection written in 9/1996
IMAGE: Crantor of Soli
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