M. Nor is that consolation much to be relied on, though it is frequently practiced, and sometimes has some effect, namely, “That you are not alone in this.”
It has its effect, as I said, but not always, nor with every person, for some reject it; but much depends on the application of it; for you ought rather to show, not how men in general have been affected with such evils, but how men of sense have borne them.
As to Chrysippus’s method, it is certainly founded in truth; but it is difficult to apply it in time of distress. It is a work of no small difficulty to persuade a person in affliction that he grieves merely because he thinks it right so to do.
Certainly, then, as in pleadings we do not state all cases alike (if I may adopt the language of lawyers for a moment), but adapt what we have to say to the time, to the nature of the subject under debate, and to the person; so, too, in alleviating grief, regard should be had to what kind of cure the party to be comforted can admit of.
But, somehow or other, we have rambled from what you originally proposed. For your question was concerning a wise man, with whom nothing can have the appearance of evil that is not dishonorable; or at least, anything else would seem so small an evil that by his wisdom he would so overmatch it as to make it wholly disappear; and such a man makes no addition to his grief through opinion, and never conceives it right to torment himself above measure, nor to wear himself out with grief, which is the meanest thing imaginable.
Reason, however, it seems, has demonstrated (though it was not directly our object at the moment to inquire whether anything can be called an evil except what is base) that it is in our power to discern that all the evil which there is in affliction has nothing natural in it, but is contracted by our own voluntary judgment of it, and the error of opinion.
It has its effect, as I said, but not always, nor with every person, for some reject it; but much depends on the application of it; for you ought rather to show, not how men in general have been affected with such evils, but how men of sense have borne them.
As to Chrysippus’s method, it is certainly founded in truth; but it is difficult to apply it in time of distress. It is a work of no small difficulty to persuade a person in affliction that he grieves merely because he thinks it right so to do.
Certainly, then, as in pleadings we do not state all cases alike (if I may adopt the language of lawyers for a moment), but adapt what we have to say to the time, to the nature of the subject under debate, and to the person; so, too, in alleviating grief, regard should be had to what kind of cure the party to be comforted can admit of.
But, somehow or other, we have rambled from what you originally proposed. For your question was concerning a wise man, with whom nothing can have the appearance of evil that is not dishonorable; or at least, anything else would seem so small an evil that by his wisdom he would so overmatch it as to make it wholly disappear; and such a man makes no addition to his grief through opinion, and never conceives it right to torment himself above measure, nor to wear himself out with grief, which is the meanest thing imaginable.
Reason, however, it seems, has demonstrated (though it was not directly our object at the moment to inquire whether anything can be called an evil except what is base) that it is in our power to discern that all the evil which there is in affliction has nothing natural in it, but is contracted by our own voluntary judgment of it, and the error of opinion.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.33
For quite some time, I would dread sharing my troubles with anyone, because I was almost always given one of these responses:
“Well, you know all of us have to deal with these things!”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as you think it is!”
Now experience has thankfully granted me a bit more patience, but regardless of whether the statements are intended to be dismissive or helpful, such advice usually just results in greater frustration. Instead of feeling encouraged, I will likely feel diminished, and the trick to offering consolation involves walking a fine line between minimizing and enabling.
Cicero understands how prudence demands adapting the principles to the circumstances, for whatever is said must take into account how it is likely to be heard. If comfort is to be offered, what is the disposition of the sufferer? Given his strengths and weaknesses, how will he react to the advice? Is he already willing to reflect calmly, or do his passions still need some time to settle?
Most importantly, if we appeal to examples of how others have grieved, it is better to stress the way they found comfort, instead of dwelling upon the weight of their hardship; no one ever improves by merely multiplying the sadness.
You can tell me you know how bad it is, but you can also tell me you know I possess the power to overcome it. You can, conversely, tell it isn’t so bad at all, but you can also steadily walk me through the stages of my grief.
In any case, we are speaking here of those who are still on the path to wisdom, and how to gradually help them understand why the evil is ultimately in their own estimation. The original question of this book, however, was about whether the wise man must be subject to grief, and we have now seen more of how it is precisely the presence of wisdom that permits him to rise above the pain of loss.
With the Stoics, we can appreciate how, as rational animals, we are defined by our responses to events, and are not merely enslaved to the force of circumstances. Since human evil is only to be found in vice, which is ours to control, what seemed so oppressive is now an obstacle of our own making; it is either nothing at all, or so insignificant in contrast to virtue that it can practically shrink to a triviality.
This is why I know I am still a work in progress: I struggle mightily because my habits lag behind my understanding, and this is a call to arms, not an admission of defeat. Happiness is made to be my freely chosen nature, and thus grief is not made to be a part of that nature.
For quite some time, I would dread sharing my troubles with anyone, because I was almost always given one of these responses:
“Well, you know all of us have to deal with these things!”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as you think it is!”
Now experience has thankfully granted me a bit more patience, but regardless of whether the statements are intended to be dismissive or helpful, such advice usually just results in greater frustration. Instead of feeling encouraged, I will likely feel diminished, and the trick to offering consolation involves walking a fine line between minimizing and enabling.
Cicero understands how prudence demands adapting the principles to the circumstances, for whatever is said must take into account how it is likely to be heard. If comfort is to be offered, what is the disposition of the sufferer? Given his strengths and weaknesses, how will he react to the advice? Is he already willing to reflect calmly, or do his passions still need some time to settle?
Most importantly, if we appeal to examples of how others have grieved, it is better to stress the way they found comfort, instead of dwelling upon the weight of their hardship; no one ever improves by merely multiplying the sadness.
You can tell me you know how bad it is, but you can also tell me you know I possess the power to overcome it. You can, conversely, tell it isn’t so bad at all, but you can also steadily walk me through the stages of my grief.
In any case, we are speaking here of those who are still on the path to wisdom, and how to gradually help them understand why the evil is ultimately in their own estimation. The original question of this book, however, was about whether the wise man must be subject to grief, and we have now seen more of how it is precisely the presence of wisdom that permits him to rise above the pain of loss.
With the Stoics, we can appreciate how, as rational animals, we are defined by our responses to events, and are not merely enslaved to the force of circumstances. Since human evil is only to be found in vice, which is ours to control, what seemed so oppressive is now an obstacle of our own making; it is either nothing at all, or so insignificant in contrast to virtue that it can practically shrink to a triviality.
This is why I know I am still a work in progress: I struggle mightily because my habits lag behind my understanding, and this is a call to arms, not an admission of defeat. Happiness is made to be my freely chosen nature, and thus grief is not made to be a part of that nature.
—Reflection written in 12/1998
IMAGE: Jacques-Louis David, The Philosopher (1779)
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