M. A man of courage is also full of faith. I do not use the word confident, because, owing to an erroneous custom of speaking, that word has come to be used in a bad sense, though it is derived from confiding, which is commendable.
But he who is full of faith is certainly under no fear; for there is an inconsistency between faith and fear.
Now, whoever is subject to grief is subject to fear; for whatever things we grieve at when present we dread when hanging over us and approaching.
Thus it comes about that grief is inconsistent with courage: it is very probable, therefore, that whoever is subject to grief is also liable to fear, and to a broken kind of spirits and sinking.
Now, whenever these befall a man, he is in a servile state, and must own that he is overpowered; for whoever admits these feelings, must admit timidity and cowardice. But these cannot enter into the mind of a man of courage; neither, therefore, can grief: but the man of courage is the only wise man; therefore grief cannot befall the wise man.
It is, besides, necessary that whoever is brave should be a man of great soul; that whoever is a man of a great soul should be invincible; whoever is invincible looks down with contempt on all things here, and considers them, beneath him.
But no one can despise those things on account of which he may be affected with grief; from whence it follows that a wise man is never affected with grief: for all wise men are brave; therefore a wise man is not subject to grief.
And as the eye, when disordered, is not in a good condition for performing its office properly; and as the other parts, and the whole body itself, when unsettled, cannot perform their office and business; so the mind, when disordered, is but ill-fitted to perform its duty.
The office of the mind is to use its reason well; but the mind of a wise man is always in condition to make the best use of his reason, and therefore is never out of order. But grief is a disorder of the mind; therefore a wise man will be always free from it.
But he who is full of faith is certainly under no fear; for there is an inconsistency between faith and fear.
Now, whoever is subject to grief is subject to fear; for whatever things we grieve at when present we dread when hanging over us and approaching.
Thus it comes about that grief is inconsistent with courage: it is very probable, therefore, that whoever is subject to grief is also liable to fear, and to a broken kind of spirits and sinking.
Now, whenever these befall a man, he is in a servile state, and must own that he is overpowered; for whoever admits these feelings, must admit timidity and cowardice. But these cannot enter into the mind of a man of courage; neither, therefore, can grief: but the man of courage is the only wise man; therefore grief cannot befall the wise man.
It is, besides, necessary that whoever is brave should be a man of great soul; that whoever is a man of a great soul should be invincible; whoever is invincible looks down with contempt on all things here, and considers them, beneath him.
But no one can despise those things on account of which he may be affected with grief; from whence it follows that a wise man is never affected with grief: for all wise men are brave; therefore a wise man is not subject to grief.
And as the eye, when disordered, is not in a good condition for performing its office properly; and as the other parts, and the whole body itself, when unsettled, cannot perform their office and business; so the mind, when disordered, is but ill-fitted to perform its duty.
The office of the mind is to use its reason well; but the mind of a wise man is always in condition to make the best use of his reason, and therefore is never out of order. But grief is a disorder of the mind; therefore a wise man will be always free from it.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.7
One part of submitting the movements of the passions to the judgments of reason involves considering how our many feelings are related to one another, and why they will wax and wane in proportion to our virtues and vices. An emotion always comes from something, and it always changes with our thinking.
Do I detect a twinge of anger over here, and a touch of fear over there? These feelings do not exist in isolation, and they arise out of my larger attitude, a reaction to how I interpret events. Where I do not perceive a wrong, I will not be gripped by anger, and where I do not discern a threat, I will not be crippled by fear.
So I appreciate the way Cicero makes these connections between different states of the soul, even as I have to repeatedly reread the chapter to make sure I am correctly following the progression.
If my mind is troubled, it will help to start with a dose of courage, and I will then see how an increase in my constancy serves as an antidote to the poison of grief.
Where there is conviction, there will be confidence, not in the sense of conceit but as a form of trust in the good, and such a faith, in turn, acts in opposition to fear.
Now fear and grief share in common an aversion, whether it be to what is present or to what is yet to come. Neither can endure in the face of the virtue of courage, which combats any tendencies toward anxiety and doubt.
And what sort of man has the spirit of courage? It is the man who is first wise, for it is only an understanding of the good that inspires a genuine commitment to the good. Where a man comes to know the truth, he is set free, from grief and fear, from malice and lust, and from any other disordered emotions.
The wise man, therefore, does not allow grief to consume him, because he knows precisely why he is capable of standing firm in what is right. His self-awareness permits him to be his own master, intimidated by nothing and by no one.
If I say the grief is too much to bear, where is the cause of this tragedy? The circumstances themselves have not taken hold of my thinking, but rather my thinking has willingly conceded to the circumstances.
Once I remain strong in my principles, which are mine to choose, grief has no way to conquer the soul. Simply put, the brave man, on account of being prudent, will recognize his sadness, and his happiness, as his own doing.
I know full well how a disease will hinder my body, and I get right to work at seeking a cure. Instead of assuming I must perpetually suffer, common sense should tell me much the same when it comes to an afflicted mind.
One part of submitting the movements of the passions to the judgments of reason involves considering how our many feelings are related to one another, and why they will wax and wane in proportion to our virtues and vices. An emotion always comes from something, and it always changes with our thinking.
Do I detect a twinge of anger over here, and a touch of fear over there? These feelings do not exist in isolation, and they arise out of my larger attitude, a reaction to how I interpret events. Where I do not perceive a wrong, I will not be gripped by anger, and where I do not discern a threat, I will not be crippled by fear.
So I appreciate the way Cicero makes these connections between different states of the soul, even as I have to repeatedly reread the chapter to make sure I am correctly following the progression.
If my mind is troubled, it will help to start with a dose of courage, and I will then see how an increase in my constancy serves as an antidote to the poison of grief.
Where there is conviction, there will be confidence, not in the sense of conceit but as a form of trust in the good, and such a faith, in turn, acts in opposition to fear.
Now fear and grief share in common an aversion, whether it be to what is present or to what is yet to come. Neither can endure in the face of the virtue of courage, which combats any tendencies toward anxiety and doubt.
And what sort of man has the spirit of courage? It is the man who is first wise, for it is only an understanding of the good that inspires a genuine commitment to the good. Where a man comes to know the truth, he is set free, from grief and fear, from malice and lust, and from any other disordered emotions.
The wise man, therefore, does not allow grief to consume him, because he knows precisely why he is capable of standing firm in what is right. His self-awareness permits him to be his own master, intimidated by nothing and by no one.
If I say the grief is too much to bear, where is the cause of this tragedy? The circumstances themselves have not taken hold of my thinking, but rather my thinking has willingly conceded to the circumstances.
Once I remain strong in my principles, which are mine to choose, grief has no way to conquer the soul. Simply put, the brave man, on account of being prudent, will recognize his sadness, and his happiness, as his own doing.
I know full well how a disease will hinder my body, and I get right to work at seeking a cure. Instead of assuming I must perpetually suffer, common sense should tell me much the same when it comes to an afflicted mind.
—Reflection written in 9/1996
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