M. But to come to the analogy of the state of body and mind, which I shall sometimes make use of, though more sparingly than the Stoics.
Some men are more inclined to particular disorders than others; and, therefore, we say that some people are rheumatic, others dropsical, not because they are so at present, but because they are often so: some are inclined to fear, others to some other perturbation.
Thus in some there is a continual anxiety, owing to which they are anxious; in some a hastiness of temper, which differs from anger, as anxiety differs from anguish: for all are not anxious who are sometimes vexed, nor are they who are anxious always uneasy in that manner: as there is a difference between being drunk and drunkenness; and it is one thing to be a lover, another to be given to women.
And this disposition of particular people to particular disorders is very common: for it relates to all perturbations; it appears in many vices, though it has no name.
Some are, therefore, said to be envious, malevolent, spiteful, fearful, pitiful, from a propensity to those perturbations, not from their being always carried away by them.
Now this propensity to these particular disorders may be called a sickness from analogy with the body; meaning, that is to say, nothing more than a propensity towards sickness.
But with regard to whatever is good, as some are more inclined to different good qualities than others, we may call this a facility or tendency: this tendency to evil is a proclivity or inclination to falling; but where anything is neither good nor bad, it may have the former name.
Some men are more inclined to particular disorders than others; and, therefore, we say that some people are rheumatic, others dropsical, not because they are so at present, but because they are often so: some are inclined to fear, others to some other perturbation.
Thus in some there is a continual anxiety, owing to which they are anxious; in some a hastiness of temper, which differs from anger, as anxiety differs from anguish: for all are not anxious who are sometimes vexed, nor are they who are anxious always uneasy in that manner: as there is a difference between being drunk and drunkenness; and it is one thing to be a lover, another to be given to women.
And this disposition of particular people to particular disorders is very common: for it relates to all perturbations; it appears in many vices, though it has no name.
Some are, therefore, said to be envious, malevolent, spiteful, fearful, pitiful, from a propensity to those perturbations, not from their being always carried away by them.
Now this propensity to these particular disorders may be called a sickness from analogy with the body; meaning, that is to say, nothing more than a propensity towards sickness.
But with regard to whatever is good, as some are more inclined to different good qualities than others, we may call this a facility or tendency: this tendency to evil is a proclivity or inclination to falling; but where anything is neither good nor bad, it may have the former name.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.12
Whether it be about a struggle within the body or the mind, I should never confuse a propensity with a perturbation, a disposition with a disease. While the former always calls for being watchful, it is the latter that demands the remedy of a much firmer correction.
Over the last few years, I have gone from being careless to becoming fussy about my flaws, and a proper distinction between weakness and wickedness is of great help in fixing my mean between the extremes of excess and deficiency. I do not need to treat the hiccups like a case of the consumption, and a moment of doubt about my place in the world does not suddenly make me a raving lunatic.
I know, for example, that I have a frail knee, and though I can manage most any physical activity, I must be cautious of my limits. A certain sort of ache is a warning to slow down, and a tiny “pop” is a sign I have already pushed myself too far. It is common sense that will then keep me off the crutches.
My moral state reveals quite similar patterns. Whether by my constitution, or by my habits, or most likely by a combination of both, I am inclined to feelings of intense despair, and then I am tempted to numb that pain by crawling into a bottle. While I am not continuously sad, I am rather prone to attacks of severe melancholy, and while I am not a boozer, I have a notable sensitivity to the hooch. No, you don’t have to lock me away, at least not yet, but I am growing acutely aware of my precarious leanings.
Each of us has his own unique temperament, and so each of us should learn to discern his own strengths and weaknesses, to know the peculiarities of his heart and mind like he knows the back of his hand. Self-reflection, about the pesky details as much as about the grand principles, is the most critical form of understanding.
I am increasingly wary of claiming that any man is inherently “evil” in his soul, for his nature remains good, even as his thoughts and deeds may be habitually disordered. I now also refuse to mistake a proclivity with a deeper failure of principle, for the man who still labors to become better has not yet surrendered his conscience. Our dispositions, for good or for ill, are in what we choose to make of them.
Whether it be about a struggle within the body or the mind, I should never confuse a propensity with a perturbation, a disposition with a disease. While the former always calls for being watchful, it is the latter that demands the remedy of a much firmer correction.
Over the last few years, I have gone from being careless to becoming fussy about my flaws, and a proper distinction between weakness and wickedness is of great help in fixing my mean between the extremes of excess and deficiency. I do not need to treat the hiccups like a case of the consumption, and a moment of doubt about my place in the world does not suddenly make me a raving lunatic.
I know, for example, that I have a frail knee, and though I can manage most any physical activity, I must be cautious of my limits. A certain sort of ache is a warning to slow down, and a tiny “pop” is a sign I have already pushed myself too far. It is common sense that will then keep me off the crutches.
My moral state reveals quite similar patterns. Whether by my constitution, or by my habits, or most likely by a combination of both, I am inclined to feelings of intense despair, and then I am tempted to numb that pain by crawling into a bottle. While I am not continuously sad, I am rather prone to attacks of severe melancholy, and while I am not a boozer, I have a notable sensitivity to the hooch. No, you don’t have to lock me away, at least not yet, but I am growing acutely aware of my precarious leanings.
Each of us has his own unique temperament, and so each of us should learn to discern his own strengths and weaknesses, to know the peculiarities of his heart and mind like he knows the back of his hand. Self-reflection, about the pesky details as much as about the grand principles, is the most critical form of understanding.
I am increasingly wary of claiming that any man is inherently “evil” in his soul, for his nature remains good, even as his thoughts and deeds may be habitually disordered. I now also refuse to mistake a proclivity with a deeper failure of principle, for the man who still labors to become better has not yet surrendered his conscience. Our dispositions, for good or for ill, are in what we choose to make of them.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Francisco Goya, Courtyard with Lunatics (1794)
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