M. But they define these in this manner:
Enviousness (invidentia), they say, is a grief arising from the prosperous circumstances of another, which are in no degree injurious to the person who envies; for where any one grieves at the prosperity of another, by which he is injured, such a one is not properly said to envy—as when Agamemnon grieves at Hector’s success; but where any one, who is in no way hurt by the prosperity of another, is in pain at his success, such a one envies indeed.
Now the name “emulation” is taken in a double sense, so that the same word may stand for praise and dispraise: for the imitation of virtue is called emulation (however, that sense of it I shall have no occasion for here, for that carries praise with it); but emulation is also a term applied to grief at another’s enjoying what I desired to have, and am without.
Detraction (and I mean by that, jealousy) is a grief even at another’s enjoying what I had a great inclination for.
Pity is a grief at the misery of another who suffers wrongfully; for no one is moved by pity at the punishment of a parricide or of a betrayer of his country.
Vexation is a pressing grief.
Mourning is a grief at the bitter death of one who was dear to you.
Sadness is a grief attended with tears.
Tribulation is a painful grief.
Sorrow, an excruciating grief.
Lamentation, a grief where we loudly bewail ourselves.
Solicitude, a pensive grief.
Trouble, a continued grief.
Affliction, a grief that harasses the body.
Despair, a grief that excludes all hope of better things to come.
But those feelings which are included under fear, they define thus:
There is sloth, which is a dread of some ensuing labor.
Shame and terror, which affect the body—hence blushing attends shame; a paleness, and tremor, and chattering of the teeth attend terror.
Cowardice, which is an apprehension of some approaching evil.
Dread, a fear that unhinges the mind, whence comes that line of Ennius,
“Then dread discharged all wisdom from my mind.”
Fainting is the associate and constant attendant on dread.
Confusion, a fear that drives away all thought.
Alarm, a continued fear.
Enviousness (invidentia), they say, is a grief arising from the prosperous circumstances of another, which are in no degree injurious to the person who envies; for where any one grieves at the prosperity of another, by which he is injured, such a one is not properly said to envy—as when Agamemnon grieves at Hector’s success; but where any one, who is in no way hurt by the prosperity of another, is in pain at his success, such a one envies indeed.
Now the name “emulation” is taken in a double sense, so that the same word may stand for praise and dispraise: for the imitation of virtue is called emulation (however, that sense of it I shall have no occasion for here, for that carries praise with it); but emulation is also a term applied to grief at another’s enjoying what I desired to have, and am without.
Detraction (and I mean by that, jealousy) is a grief even at another’s enjoying what I had a great inclination for.
Pity is a grief at the misery of another who suffers wrongfully; for no one is moved by pity at the punishment of a parricide or of a betrayer of his country.
Vexation is a pressing grief.
Mourning is a grief at the bitter death of one who was dear to you.
Sadness is a grief attended with tears.
Tribulation is a painful grief.
Sorrow, an excruciating grief.
Lamentation, a grief where we loudly bewail ourselves.
Solicitude, a pensive grief.
Trouble, a continued grief.
Affliction, a grief that harasses the body.
Despair, a grief that excludes all hope of better things to come.
But those feelings which are included under fear, they define thus:
There is sloth, which is a dread of some ensuing labor.
Shame and terror, which affect the body—hence blushing attends shame; a paleness, and tremor, and chattering of the teeth attend terror.
Cowardice, which is an apprehension of some approaching evil.
Dread, a fear that unhinges the mind, whence comes that line of Ennius,
“Then dread discharged all wisdom from my mind.”
Fainting is the associate and constant attendant on dread.
Confusion, a fear that drives away all thought.
Alarm, a continued fear.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.8
There are many ways to categorize the human passions, depending upon which attributes we might wish to emphasize. The Germanic part of me certainly does like a good inventory, but lists themselves cannot be of any use if they do not help me to relate the effects back to their causes.
What motivated my response? Why was my reaction healthy or unhealthy? How should I modify my thinking to return a balance to my feeling?
Grief, as a distress at a falsely perceived present evil, is quite familiar to me, and I immediately recognize all of these slight variations presented by Cicero. In each case, I will latch on to a particular feature of my world which I am convinced has somehow done me wrong; then, having mentally reduced myself to being the victim, I allow myself to suffer emotionally.
The error is always one of making my happiness or misery depend upon the weight of the circumstances.
Observe, for example, how Cicero’s specific definition of envy does not even require for any direct harm to have been done to the envier, only that the envied possesses a general prosperity. I’m afraid I can no longer count the number of times I have seethed over some ridiculous luxury I never even desired, just because it made another fellow look better than me.
It’s all about me, and it has absolutely nothing to do with him.
Or consider what Cicero calls despair, which is the sort of grief that rejects any possibility of improvement. Even when I am completely clueless about what lies in store, I succumb to despair as it feels easier to give up hope than to act with any sort of conviction: I would rather experience a greater pain of loss than I would endure even the slightest pain of effort.
Again, this is never about the situation, and it is really a reflection of my own surrender.
In the end, however, it makes little difference what this man has, or what that man might do to me. Beyond an initial shock, a dwelling upon grief is the result of a disordered judgment concerning the human good. It calls for compassion instead of condemnation, but sorrows must never be indulged.
The remedy is in learning to find comfort in what I truly know to be my own, regardless of Fortune’s flighty ways. She has her fickleness, while I have my constancy.
When it comes to fear, as a distress at a falsely perceived expected evil, I suppose I should be grateful to know some of these forms a bit better than others. I tend to struggle less with a lazy conscience, or with any sort of moral cowardice, and more with the obstacle of a terror that cripples, at least for the moment, my capacity to reason clearly.
The odd result is that when I find myself in a pinch, I must first calm myself down from a wave of anxiety, not rouse myself up to the necessity of action. Indeed, if I don’t do this, by deliberately counting down in my head, I will usually behave recklessly, not mindfully. I recognize it as a variation of what I call my Irish temper, though I cannot yet claim to have it licked.
We will all have our own unique variations and personal quirks; where we then find ourselves located on the map will indicate in which direction we are best advised to travel.
There are many ways to categorize the human passions, depending upon which attributes we might wish to emphasize. The Germanic part of me certainly does like a good inventory, but lists themselves cannot be of any use if they do not help me to relate the effects back to their causes.
What motivated my response? Why was my reaction healthy or unhealthy? How should I modify my thinking to return a balance to my feeling?
Grief, as a distress at a falsely perceived present evil, is quite familiar to me, and I immediately recognize all of these slight variations presented by Cicero. In each case, I will latch on to a particular feature of my world which I am convinced has somehow done me wrong; then, having mentally reduced myself to being the victim, I allow myself to suffer emotionally.
The error is always one of making my happiness or misery depend upon the weight of the circumstances.
Observe, for example, how Cicero’s specific definition of envy does not even require for any direct harm to have been done to the envier, only that the envied possesses a general prosperity. I’m afraid I can no longer count the number of times I have seethed over some ridiculous luxury I never even desired, just because it made another fellow look better than me.
It’s all about me, and it has absolutely nothing to do with him.
Or consider what Cicero calls despair, which is the sort of grief that rejects any possibility of improvement. Even when I am completely clueless about what lies in store, I succumb to despair as it feels easier to give up hope than to act with any sort of conviction: I would rather experience a greater pain of loss than I would endure even the slightest pain of effort.
Again, this is never about the situation, and it is really a reflection of my own surrender.
In the end, however, it makes little difference what this man has, or what that man might do to me. Beyond an initial shock, a dwelling upon grief is the result of a disordered judgment concerning the human good. It calls for compassion instead of condemnation, but sorrows must never be indulged.
The remedy is in learning to find comfort in what I truly know to be my own, regardless of Fortune’s flighty ways. She has her fickleness, while I have my constancy.
When it comes to fear, as a distress at a falsely perceived expected evil, I suppose I should be grateful to know some of these forms a bit better than others. I tend to struggle less with a lazy conscience, or with any sort of moral cowardice, and more with the obstacle of a terror that cripples, at least for the moment, my capacity to reason clearly.
The odd result is that when I find myself in a pinch, I must first calm myself down from a wave of anxiety, not rouse myself up to the necessity of action. Indeed, if I don’t do this, by deliberately counting down in my head, I will usually behave recklessly, not mindfully. I recognize it as a variation of what I call my Irish temper, though I cannot yet claim to have it licked.
We will all have our own unique variations and personal quirks; where we then find ourselves located on the map will indicate in which direction we are best advised to travel.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Edvard Much, Jealousy (1895)
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