M. Because, Chrysippus and the Stoics, when they discuss the perturbations of the mind, make great part of their debate to consist in definitions and distinctions; while they employ but few words on the subject of curing the mind, and preventing it from being disordered.
Whereas the Peripatetics bring a great many things to promote the cure of it, but have no regard to their thorny partitions and definitions.
My question, then, was, whether I should instantly unfold the sails of my eloquence, or be content for a while to make less way with the oars of logic?
A. Let it be so; for by the employment of both these means the subject of our inquiry will be more thoroughly discussed.
M. It is certainly the better way; and should anything be too obscure, you may examine that afterward.
A. I will do so; but those very obscure points you will, as usual, deliver with more clearness than the Greeks.
M. I will, indeed, endeavor to do so; but it well requires great attention, lest, by losing one word, the whole should escape you.
What the Greeks call πάθη we choose to name perturbations (or disorders) rather than diseases; in explaining which, I shall follow, first, that very old description of Pythagoras, and afterward that of Plato: for they both divide the mind into two parts, and make one of these partake of reason, and the other they represent without it.
In that which partakes of reason they place tranquility, that is to say, a placid and undisturbed constancy; to the other they assign the turbid motions of anger and desire, which are contrary and opposite to reason.
Let this, then, be our principle, the spring of all our reasonings. But notwithstanding, I shall use the partitions and definitions of the Stoics in describing these perturbations; who seem to me to have shown very great acuteness on this question.
Whereas the Peripatetics bring a great many things to promote the cure of it, but have no regard to their thorny partitions and definitions.
My question, then, was, whether I should instantly unfold the sails of my eloquence, or be content for a while to make less way with the oars of logic?
A. Let it be so; for by the employment of both these means the subject of our inquiry will be more thoroughly discussed.
M. It is certainly the better way; and should anything be too obscure, you may examine that afterward.
A. I will do so; but those very obscure points you will, as usual, deliver with more clearness than the Greeks.
M. I will, indeed, endeavor to do so; but it well requires great attention, lest, by losing one word, the whole should escape you.
What the Greeks call πάθη we choose to name perturbations (or disorders) rather than diseases; in explaining which, I shall follow, first, that very old description of Pythagoras, and afterward that of Plato: for they both divide the mind into two parts, and make one of these partake of reason, and the other they represent without it.
In that which partakes of reason they place tranquility, that is to say, a placid and undisturbed constancy; to the other they assign the turbid motions of anger and desire, which are contrary and opposite to reason.
Let this, then, be our principle, the spring of all our reasonings. But notwithstanding, I shall use the partitions and definitions of the Stoics in describing these perturbations; who seem to me to have shown very great acuteness on this question.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.5
I am delighted by this analogy of sailing and rowing, used to represent the contrast between speeding toward a grand conclusion and making slow headway when first defining the terms. I very much enjoy the exhilaration of the former, but I also appreciate the grueling necessity of the latter; so much confusion and misery will inevitably follow from hasty arguments!
I was trained for many years in the tradition of Aristotle, and one thing that always drew me in was its remarkable sense of precision. Nevertheless, I sometimes felt like I wanted more insight on the inner workings of the mind, so Cicero’s observation about the different stresses of the Peripatetics and the Stoics came as a blessed relief.
Yes, Aristotle had much to say on the practical remedies for a disordered soul, while the Stoics were masters at discerning the underlying causes of a disordered soul. I therefore always turn to Stoicism when I wish to understand the subtle nature of what makes me tick; though it is tedious work, it unearths the structure of the foundation.
No good will ever come from making sweeping claims without taking the time to identify the first principles; we end up with what my wife calls a “hot mess” when we pontificate about the big issues without having established the itty-bitty good of each human person, much like trying to bake a cake without choosing the proper ingredients. At least the Auditor is willing to exercise some patience, when most people would lazily abandon the task.
As G.K. Chesterton said, there is little point in dwelling upon what is wrong, before we can first establish what is right. To understand the lay of the land, many of the Classical philosophies will distinguish between different powers of the soul, where the most basic division is between the function of reason itself and then our various inclinations, which lack reason but are made subject to it. To relieve any disorder, the imbalance between these aspects of the higher and the lower must be addressed.
Whatever specific terms we may choose to describe such disturbances, we should do so with precision and with consistency. I, for one, avoid the word “disease”, so I do not confuse it with an ailment of the body, and I also resist reducing a perturbation or disorder of the soul to a mere discomfort within the passions. There is something deeper at work here, a conflict within the very harmony of our nature.
For so much of my life, my emotions felt like a jumbled mess; the Stoic account of desire and aversion, so simple and yet so comprehensive, was a revelation for me, in much the same way that the logic of Aristotle showed me why the patterns of my thinking did not need to be mysterious and intimidating.
I am delighted by this analogy of sailing and rowing, used to represent the contrast between speeding toward a grand conclusion and making slow headway when first defining the terms. I very much enjoy the exhilaration of the former, but I also appreciate the grueling necessity of the latter; so much confusion and misery will inevitably follow from hasty arguments!
I was trained for many years in the tradition of Aristotle, and one thing that always drew me in was its remarkable sense of precision. Nevertheless, I sometimes felt like I wanted more insight on the inner workings of the mind, so Cicero’s observation about the different stresses of the Peripatetics and the Stoics came as a blessed relief.
Yes, Aristotle had much to say on the practical remedies for a disordered soul, while the Stoics were masters at discerning the underlying causes of a disordered soul. I therefore always turn to Stoicism when I wish to understand the subtle nature of what makes me tick; though it is tedious work, it unearths the structure of the foundation.
No good will ever come from making sweeping claims without taking the time to identify the first principles; we end up with what my wife calls a “hot mess” when we pontificate about the big issues without having established the itty-bitty good of each human person, much like trying to bake a cake without choosing the proper ingredients. At least the Auditor is willing to exercise some patience, when most people would lazily abandon the task.
As G.K. Chesterton said, there is little point in dwelling upon what is wrong, before we can first establish what is right. To understand the lay of the land, many of the Classical philosophies will distinguish between different powers of the soul, where the most basic division is between the function of reason itself and then our various inclinations, which lack reason but are made subject to it. To relieve any disorder, the imbalance between these aspects of the higher and the lower must be addressed.
Whatever specific terms we may choose to describe such disturbances, we should do so with precision and with consistency. I, for one, avoid the word “disease”, so I do not confuse it with an ailment of the body, and I also resist reducing a perturbation or disorder of the soul to a mere discomfort within the passions. There is something deeper at work here, a conflict within the very harmony of our nature.
For so much of my life, my emotions felt like a jumbled mess; the Stoic account of desire and aversion, so simple and yet so comprehensive, was a revelation for me, in much the same way that the logic of Aristotle showed me why the patterns of my thinking did not need to be mysterious and intimidating.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Pieter Christiaan Cornelis Dommelshuizen, A Ship Becalmed and a Rowing Boat (1884)
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