M. So that Dionysius of Heraclea is right when, upon this complaint of Achilles in Homer,
“Well hast thou spoke, but at the tyrant’s name
My rage rekindles, and my soul’s in flame:
’Tis just resentment, and becomes the brave,
Disgraced, dishonor’d like the vilest slave—"
he reasons thus: Is the hand as it should be, when it is affected with a swelling? Or is it possible for any other member of the body, when swollen or enlarged, to be in any other than a disordered state?
Must not the mind, then, when it is puffed up, or distended, be out of order? But the mind of a wise man is always free from every kind of disorder: it never swells, never is puffed up; but the mind when in anger is in a different state.
A wise man, therefore, is never angry; for when he is angry, he lusts after something, for whoever is angry naturally has a longing desire to give all the pain he can to the person who he thinks has injured him; and whoever has this earnest desire must necessarily be much pleased with the accomplishment of his wishes. Hence he is delighted with his neighbor’s misery; and as a wise man is not capable of such feelings as these, he is therefore not capable of anger.
But should a wise man be subject to grief, he may likewise be subject to anger; for as he is free from anger, he must likewise be free from grief. Again, could a wise man be subject to grief, he might also be liable to pity, or even might be open to a disposition towards envy (invidentia).
I do not say to envy (invidia), for that can only exist by the very act of envying: but we may fairly form the word invidentiafrom invidendo, and so avoid the doubtful name invidia; for this word is probably derived from in and video, looking too closely into another’s fortune; as it is said in the Melanippus,
“Who envies me the flower of my children?”
where the Latin is invidit florem. It may appear not good Latin, but it is very well put by Accius; for as video governs an accusative case, so it is more correct to say invideo florem than flori. We are debarred from saying so by common usage. The poet stood in his own right, and expressed himself with more freedom.
“Well hast thou spoke, but at the tyrant’s name
My rage rekindles, and my soul’s in flame:
’Tis just resentment, and becomes the brave,
Disgraced, dishonor’d like the vilest slave—"
he reasons thus: Is the hand as it should be, when it is affected with a swelling? Or is it possible for any other member of the body, when swollen or enlarged, to be in any other than a disordered state?
Must not the mind, then, when it is puffed up, or distended, be out of order? But the mind of a wise man is always free from every kind of disorder: it never swells, never is puffed up; but the mind when in anger is in a different state.
A wise man, therefore, is never angry; for when he is angry, he lusts after something, for whoever is angry naturally has a longing desire to give all the pain he can to the person who he thinks has injured him; and whoever has this earnest desire must necessarily be much pleased with the accomplishment of his wishes. Hence he is delighted with his neighbor’s misery; and as a wise man is not capable of such feelings as these, he is therefore not capable of anger.
But should a wise man be subject to grief, he may likewise be subject to anger; for as he is free from anger, he must likewise be free from grief. Again, could a wise man be subject to grief, he might also be liable to pity, or even might be open to a disposition towards envy (invidentia).
I do not say to envy (invidia), for that can only exist by the very act of envying: but we may fairly form the word invidentiafrom invidendo, and so avoid the doubtful name invidia; for this word is probably derived from in and video, looking too closely into another’s fortune; as it is said in the Melanippus,
“Who envies me the flower of my children?”
where the Latin is invidit florem. It may appear not good Latin, but it is very well put by Accius; for as video governs an accusative case, so it is more correct to say invideo florem than flori. We are debarred from saying so by common usage. The poet stood in his own right, and expressed himself with more freedom.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.9
It took me quite some time to appreciate the Iliad, which I do understand was a problem with myself and not with Homer, but one obstacle was the way people regularly referred to Achilles as the “hero” of the story.
For his many impressive qualities, where was I to find any moral worth in the man? I could only discern a single instance in the narrative when he revealed a brief moment of decency, and then he went right back to being a spoiled and impulsive brat.
I had to discover how no man is either completely good or evil, and why the struggle itself is a crucial part of the process. The story of the Trojan War is an ideal opportunity to learn about getting it right by watching so many people getting so much of it so dreadfully wrong.
Like many of us, Achilles struggles with practicing restraint. He is habitually unable, or more properly unwilling, to exercise self-control, and so he regularly succumbs to envy, anger, and lust. He is, as Cicero says, “swollen up” with pride and longing, which he tragically fails to recognize as a disease he has brought upon himself.
I realize that Achilles is gifted with a strong will, and yet he has not focused it with courage. He has intense desires, though lacking in the temperance to direct them. He is driven to take, while not just enough to give. He possesses sharp wits, which are sadly divorced from wisdom.
That sounds painfully familiar. I do not have the might of an Achilles, even as I suffer from very similar ailments. A careful and humble reading of the Iliad will do far more good for the human condition than any professional training, since it highlights the virtues and the vices that will define everything else about me, whatever my trade might be.
If I were truly wise, I would be more proficient at taming my passions, and I would be more aware of how those scattered emotions, which seem to pull me this way and that, are all bound together, and why all of them are soothed by a single remedy—an informed conscience.
Lust, anger, envy, and even grief itself are symptoms of an inflamed awareness. An excessive appetite leads to resentment, where the hunger for gain is twisted into a desire to seek vengeance on those who deny us our cravings, and thus we take a sick pleasure in their pain.
In all that mess, is it any wonder I feel miserable? I can’t help but notice how my concupiscence is inevitably conjoined with my jealousy and rage. Self-pity isn’t far behind. As Sheryl Crow said, if it makes me happy, why am I so sad?
To the impatient reader, it may seem that Cicero is once again being too picky about the different words for “envy”, but I am training myself to see the significance of such finer points. There is indeed a world of difference between the vice of being envious and innocently being an object of envy. The devil is in the details.
It took me quite some time to appreciate the Iliad, which I do understand was a problem with myself and not with Homer, but one obstacle was the way people regularly referred to Achilles as the “hero” of the story.
For his many impressive qualities, where was I to find any moral worth in the man? I could only discern a single instance in the narrative when he revealed a brief moment of decency, and then he went right back to being a spoiled and impulsive brat.
I had to discover how no man is either completely good or evil, and why the struggle itself is a crucial part of the process. The story of the Trojan War is an ideal opportunity to learn about getting it right by watching so many people getting so much of it so dreadfully wrong.
Like many of us, Achilles struggles with practicing restraint. He is habitually unable, or more properly unwilling, to exercise self-control, and so he regularly succumbs to envy, anger, and lust. He is, as Cicero says, “swollen up” with pride and longing, which he tragically fails to recognize as a disease he has brought upon himself.
I realize that Achilles is gifted with a strong will, and yet he has not focused it with courage. He has intense desires, though lacking in the temperance to direct them. He is driven to take, while not just enough to give. He possesses sharp wits, which are sadly divorced from wisdom.
That sounds painfully familiar. I do not have the might of an Achilles, even as I suffer from very similar ailments. A careful and humble reading of the Iliad will do far more good for the human condition than any professional training, since it highlights the virtues and the vices that will define everything else about me, whatever my trade might be.
If I were truly wise, I would be more proficient at taming my passions, and I would be more aware of how those scattered emotions, which seem to pull me this way and that, are all bound together, and why all of them are soothed by a single remedy—an informed conscience.
Lust, anger, envy, and even grief itself are symptoms of an inflamed awareness. An excessive appetite leads to resentment, where the hunger for gain is twisted into a desire to seek vengeance on those who deny us our cravings, and thus we take a sick pleasure in their pain.
In all that mess, is it any wonder I feel miserable? I can’t help but notice how my concupiscence is inevitably conjoined with my jealousy and rage. Self-pity isn’t far behind. As Sheryl Crow said, if it makes me happy, why am I so sad?
To the impatient reader, it may seem that Cicero is once again being too picky about the different words for “envy”, but I am training myself to see the significance of such finer points. There is indeed a world of difference between the vice of being envious and innocently being an object of envy. The devil is in the details.
—Reflection written in 9/1996
IMAGE: Michel-Martin Drolling, The Wrath of Achilles (1810)
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