M. Is poverty the subject? They tell you of many who have submitted to it with patience. Is it the contempt of honors? They acquaint you with some who never enjoyed any, and were the happier for it; and of those who have preferred a private retired life to public employment, mentioning their names with respect; they tell you of the verse of that most powerful king who praises an old man, and pronounces him happy because he was unknown to fame and seemed likely to arrive at the hour of death in obscurity and without notice.
Thus, too, they have examples for those who are deprived of their children: they who are under any great grief are comforted by instances of like affliction; and thus the endurance of every misfortune is rendered more easy by the fact of others having undergone the same, and the fate of others causes what has happened to appear less important than it has been previously thought, and reflection thus discovers to us how much opinion had imposed on us.
And this is what the Telamon declares, “I, when my son was born,” etc.; and thus Theseus, “I on my future misery did dwell;” and Anaxagoras, “I knew my son was mortal.”
All these men, by frequently reflecting on human affairs, had discovered that they were by no means to be estimated by the opinion of the multitude; and, indeed, it seems to me to be pretty much the same case with those who consider beforehand as with those who derive their remedies from time, excepting that a kind of reason cures the one, and the other remedy is provided by nature; by which we discover (and this contains the whole marrow of the matter) that what was imagined to be the greatest evil is by no means so great as to defeat the happiness of life.
And the effect of this is, that the blow is greater by reason of its not having been foreseen, and not, as they suppose, that when similar misfortunes befall two different people, that man only is affected with grief whom this calamity has befallen unexpectedly.
So that some persons, under the oppression of grief, are said to have borne it actually worse for hearing of this common condition of man, that we are born under such conditions as render it impossible for a man to be exempt from all evil.
Thus, too, they have examples for those who are deprived of their children: they who are under any great grief are comforted by instances of like affliction; and thus the endurance of every misfortune is rendered more easy by the fact of others having undergone the same, and the fate of others causes what has happened to appear less important than it has been previously thought, and reflection thus discovers to us how much opinion had imposed on us.
And this is what the Telamon declares, “I, when my son was born,” etc.; and thus Theseus, “I on my future misery did dwell;” and Anaxagoras, “I knew my son was mortal.”
All these men, by frequently reflecting on human affairs, had discovered that they were by no means to be estimated by the opinion of the multitude; and, indeed, it seems to me to be pretty much the same case with those who consider beforehand as with those who derive their remedies from time, excepting that a kind of reason cures the one, and the other remedy is provided by nature; by which we discover (and this contains the whole marrow of the matter) that what was imagined to be the greatest evil is by no means so great as to defeat the happiness of life.
And the effect of this is, that the blow is greater by reason of its not having been foreseen, and not, as they suppose, that when similar misfortunes befall two different people, that man only is affected with grief whom this calamity has befallen unexpectedly.
So that some persons, under the oppression of grief, are said to have borne it actually worse for hearing of this common condition of man, that we are born under such conditions as render it impossible for a man to be exempt from all evil.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.24
Sometimes we can do all the thinking for ourselves, and at other times we can be inspired by the noble example of those who have gone before us. In either case, the goal is to appreciate the genuine good of the human condition, and to find relief in how none of us are alone in confronting our losses and doubts. The happiness that is truly our own need not be so easily lost to grief—Nature has already armed us against it.
Do I feel my life to be a waste because I lack riches? Socrates, or Diogenes, or Epictetus were also poor, and yet they managed to find their happiness. I don’t even need to look so far, since that fellow smiling outside of the subway station this morning didn’t have a penny to his name, and he seemed to possess a peace of mind I can only dream of. They apparently understand something I stubbornly refuse to embrace.
Do I complain about how I am unappreciated? If fame were a requirement for bliss, then why are there millions upon millions of humble folks who are perfectly content to live with decency and integrity, while never getting a smidgeon of praise? Though they are probably not rocket scientists, they are clearly wise enough to put their priorities in order.
Am I in mourning over the loss of my son? People far more battered than I have faced this painful fact, and in many cases they found ways to become kinder and more loving from their trials. I am so busy being tortured by what was taken away, and all the time I have forgotten what I am capable of giving. Once I put the vivid impressions in their proper place, I discover the power to transform the burden of pain into an opportunity for strengthening character and joy.
Whether my hurt is intensified by shock, or increased by the freshness of the blow, standing back, for a moment, from the furor permits me to grasp why most of my despair is a consequence of false imaginings. I must take the time to separate the reality from the self-inflicted illusion.
I never liked being told how “It isn’t nearly half as bad as you think,” but there is a profound truth in recognizing why I am making myself my own worst problem. The calm use of reason, which need never be heartless, is a soothing balm for the burn, especially when combined with a broader perspective granted by the passage of time.
Knowing ahead of time could just as easily be a curse as a blessing. The difference lies completely in how well I have informed my conscience about the origins of good and evil, and about the sources of happiness and misery. Of course I will lose heart if I ignorantly assume that fortune, however sweet or bitter, makes the man.
Sometimes we can do all the thinking for ourselves, and at other times we can be inspired by the noble example of those who have gone before us. In either case, the goal is to appreciate the genuine good of the human condition, and to find relief in how none of us are alone in confronting our losses and doubts. The happiness that is truly our own need not be so easily lost to grief—Nature has already armed us against it.
Do I feel my life to be a waste because I lack riches? Socrates, or Diogenes, or Epictetus were also poor, and yet they managed to find their happiness. I don’t even need to look so far, since that fellow smiling outside of the subway station this morning didn’t have a penny to his name, and he seemed to possess a peace of mind I can only dream of. They apparently understand something I stubbornly refuse to embrace.
Do I complain about how I am unappreciated? If fame were a requirement for bliss, then why are there millions upon millions of humble folks who are perfectly content to live with decency and integrity, while never getting a smidgeon of praise? Though they are probably not rocket scientists, they are clearly wise enough to put their priorities in order.
Am I in mourning over the loss of my son? People far more battered than I have faced this painful fact, and in many cases they found ways to become kinder and more loving from their trials. I am so busy being tortured by what was taken away, and all the time I have forgotten what I am capable of giving. Once I put the vivid impressions in their proper place, I discover the power to transform the burden of pain into an opportunity for strengthening character and joy.
Whether my hurt is intensified by shock, or increased by the freshness of the blow, standing back, for a moment, from the furor permits me to grasp why most of my despair is a consequence of false imaginings. I must take the time to separate the reality from the self-inflicted illusion.
I never liked being told how “It isn’t nearly half as bad as you think,” but there is a profound truth in recognizing why I am making myself my own worst problem. The calm use of reason, which need never be heartless, is a soothing balm for the burn, especially when combined with a broader perspective granted by the passage of time.
Knowing ahead of time could just as easily be a curse as a blessing. The difference lies completely in how well I have informed my conscience about the origins of good and evil, and about the sources of happiness and misery. Of course I will lose heart if I ignorantly assume that fortune, however sweet or bitter, makes the man.
—Reflection written in 12/1998
IMAGE: Edvard Much, Death in the Sickroom (1893)
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