M. Just as distempers and sickness are bred in the body from the corruption of the blood, and the too great abundance of phlegm and bile, so the mind is deprived of its health, and disordered with sickness, from a confusion of depraved opinions that are in opposition to one another.
From these perturbations arise, first, diseases, which they call νοσήματα; and also those feelings which are in opposition to these diseases, and which admit certain faulty distastes or loathings; then come sicknesses, which are called ἀῤῥωστήματα by the Stoics, and these two have their opposite aversions.
Here the Stoics, especially Chrysippus, give themselves unnecessary trouble to show the analogy which the diseases of the mind have to those of the body: but, overlooking all that they say as of little consequence, I shall treat only of the thing itself.
Let us, then, understand perturbation to imply a restlessness from the variety and confusion of contradictory opinions; and that when this heat and disturbance of the mind is of any standing, and has taken up its residence, as it were, in the veins and marrow, then commence diseases and sickness, and those aversions which are in opposition to these diseases and sicknesses.
From these perturbations arise, first, diseases, which they call νοσήματα; and also those feelings which are in opposition to these diseases, and which admit certain faulty distastes or loathings; then come sicknesses, which are called ἀῤῥωστήματα by the Stoics, and these two have their opposite aversions.
Here the Stoics, especially Chrysippus, give themselves unnecessary trouble to show the analogy which the diseases of the mind have to those of the body: but, overlooking all that they say as of little consequence, I shall treat only of the thing itself.
Let us, then, understand perturbation to imply a restlessness from the variety and confusion of contradictory opinions; and that when this heat and disturbance of the mind is of any standing, and has taken up its residence, as it were, in the veins and marrow, then commence diseases and sickness, and those aversions which are in opposition to these diseases and sicknesses.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.10
Ancient medicine is regularly mocked for being primitive and unscientific, even as all of our modern refinements are built upon the efforts of those who inquired before us. In one sense, at least, I suspect that the Greeks and the Romans knew something too many of us have now forgotten: health within the body derives from the subtle harmony of our many powers, and we do ourselves no favors when we merely try to smother the symptoms with the brute force of surgery and drugs. The health of the mind is much the same.
The model of the Four Humors may well be a crude form of biology, but it does grasp a broader concept about disease being a consequence of an imbalance. When the parts are working together in equilibrium, the whole will operate smoothly, while when those parts are misaligned by excess or deficiency, the function of the whole is compromised. Where there is such a disorder, the organism will be wracked by the conflict of opposites.
I can discern this in my diet, and in the discipline of my daily activities, and in my resistance to infection or to injury. I see it also in the relationship of my thoughts and feelings—if my judgments are disturbed, my passions will also be in disarray. A false estimation about the source of the true and good, where I have built up a distorted view of right and wrong, is the cause of so many harmful emotions.
Beyond a few fragments, the works of Chrysippus are no longer available to us, so I will have to take Cicero at his word that the Early Stoics were overly occupied with comparing the ailments of the mind to those of the the body. Nevertheless, while each operates within its own domain, I should not underestimate their close complementarity and greater unity; the spirit and the flesh are intimately bound together, such that the state of one is immediately reflected in that of the other.
Just as a fever may be a reaction to an intrusive virus, so my sadness or my anger may well be a product of my lopsided opinions. I am happy to follow the advice of the doctor in curing a physical illness, and I should also heed the wisdom of the philosopher when I am confused about meaning and value. Perhaps my brain needs a chemical adjustment, and yet none of it will take hold without a deeper reformation of my character.
I have long enjoyed the story of Prince Antiochus, who was overcome with lethargy. His father summoned the famed physician Erasistratus, who, by monitoring the young man’s pulse, observed his response to his beloved Stratonice: the sickness proceeded from his longing. I too know how matters of the heart have led to perturbations in every other aspect of my being.
Ancient medicine is regularly mocked for being primitive and unscientific, even as all of our modern refinements are built upon the efforts of those who inquired before us. In one sense, at least, I suspect that the Greeks and the Romans knew something too many of us have now forgotten: health within the body derives from the subtle harmony of our many powers, and we do ourselves no favors when we merely try to smother the symptoms with the brute force of surgery and drugs. The health of the mind is much the same.
The model of the Four Humors may well be a crude form of biology, but it does grasp a broader concept about disease being a consequence of an imbalance. When the parts are working together in equilibrium, the whole will operate smoothly, while when those parts are misaligned by excess or deficiency, the function of the whole is compromised. Where there is such a disorder, the organism will be wracked by the conflict of opposites.
I can discern this in my diet, and in the discipline of my daily activities, and in my resistance to infection or to injury. I see it also in the relationship of my thoughts and feelings—if my judgments are disturbed, my passions will also be in disarray. A false estimation about the source of the true and good, where I have built up a distorted view of right and wrong, is the cause of so many harmful emotions.
Beyond a few fragments, the works of Chrysippus are no longer available to us, so I will have to take Cicero at his word that the Early Stoics were overly occupied with comparing the ailments of the mind to those of the the body. Nevertheless, while each operates within its own domain, I should not underestimate their close complementarity and greater unity; the spirit and the flesh are intimately bound together, such that the state of one is immediately reflected in that of the other.
Just as a fever may be a reaction to an intrusive virus, so my sadness or my anger may well be a product of my lopsided opinions. I am happy to follow the advice of the doctor in curing a physical illness, and I should also heed the wisdom of the philosopher when I am confused about meaning and value. Perhaps my brain needs a chemical adjustment, and yet none of it will take hold without a deeper reformation of my character.
I have long enjoyed the story of Prince Antiochus, who was overcome with lethargy. His father summoned the famed physician Erasistratus, who, by monitoring the young man’s pulse, observed his response to his beloved Stratonice: the sickness proceeded from his longing. I too know how matters of the heart have led to perturbations in every other aspect of my being.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Jacques-Louis David, Erasistratus Discovering the Cause of Antiochus' Disease (1774)
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