M. Even as there may be, with respect to the body, a disease, a sickness, and a defect, so it is with the mind.
They call that a disease where the whole body is corrupted; they call that sickness where a disease is attended with a weakness, and that a defect where the parts of the body are not well compacted together; from whence it follows that the members are misshapen, crooked, and deformed. So that these two, a disease and sickness, proceed from a violent concussion and perturbation of the health of the whole body; but a defect discovers itself even when the body is in perfect health. But a disease of the mind is distinguishable only in thought from a sickness.
But a viciousness is a habit or affection discordant and inconsistent with itself through life. Thus it happens that, in the one case, a disease and sickness may arise from a corruption of opinions; in the other case, the consequence may be inconstancy and inconsistency. For every vice of the mind does not imply a disunion of parts; as is the case with those who are not far from being wise men. With them there is that affection which is inconsistent with itself while it is foolish; but it is not distorted, nor depraved.
But diseases and sicknesses are parts of viciousness; but it is a question whether perturbations are parts of the same, for vices are permanent affections: perturbations are such as are restless; so that they cannot be parts of permanent ones.
As there is some analogy between the nature of the body and mind in evil, so is there in good; for the distinctions of the body are beauty, strength, health, firmness, quickness of motion: the same may be said of the mind.
The body is said to be in a good state when all those things on which health depends are consistent: the same may be said of the mind when its judgments and opinions are not at variance with one another.
And this union is the virtue of the mind, which, according to some people, is temperance itself; others make it consist in an obedience to the precepts of temperance, and a compliance with them, not allowing it to be any distinct species of itself. But, be it one or the other, it is to be found only in a wise man.
But there is a certain soundness of mind, which even a fool may have, when the perturbation of his mind is removed by the care and management of his physicians. And as what is called beauty arises from an exact proportion of the limbs, together with a certain sweetness of complexion, so the beauty of the mind consists in an equality and constancy of opinions and judgments, joined to a certain firmness and stability, pursuing virtue, or containing within itself the very essence of virtue.
Besides, we give the very same names to the faculties of the mind as we do to the powers of the body, the nerves, and other powers of action. Thus the velocity of the body is called swiftness: a praise which we ascribe to the mind, from its running over in its thoughts so many things in so short a time.
They call that a disease where the whole body is corrupted; they call that sickness where a disease is attended with a weakness, and that a defect where the parts of the body are not well compacted together; from whence it follows that the members are misshapen, crooked, and deformed. So that these two, a disease and sickness, proceed from a violent concussion and perturbation of the health of the whole body; but a defect discovers itself even when the body is in perfect health. But a disease of the mind is distinguishable only in thought from a sickness.
But a viciousness is a habit or affection discordant and inconsistent with itself through life. Thus it happens that, in the one case, a disease and sickness may arise from a corruption of opinions; in the other case, the consequence may be inconstancy and inconsistency. For every vice of the mind does not imply a disunion of parts; as is the case with those who are not far from being wise men. With them there is that affection which is inconsistent with itself while it is foolish; but it is not distorted, nor depraved.
But diseases and sicknesses are parts of viciousness; but it is a question whether perturbations are parts of the same, for vices are permanent affections: perturbations are such as are restless; so that they cannot be parts of permanent ones.
As there is some analogy between the nature of the body and mind in evil, so is there in good; for the distinctions of the body are beauty, strength, health, firmness, quickness of motion: the same may be said of the mind.
The body is said to be in a good state when all those things on which health depends are consistent: the same may be said of the mind when its judgments and opinions are not at variance with one another.
And this union is the virtue of the mind, which, according to some people, is temperance itself; others make it consist in an obedience to the precepts of temperance, and a compliance with them, not allowing it to be any distinct species of itself. But, be it one or the other, it is to be found only in a wise man.
But there is a certain soundness of mind, which even a fool may have, when the perturbation of his mind is removed by the care and management of his physicians. And as what is called beauty arises from an exact proportion of the limbs, together with a certain sweetness of complexion, so the beauty of the mind consists in an equality and constancy of opinions and judgments, joined to a certain firmness and stability, pursuing virtue, or containing within itself the very essence of virtue.
Besides, we give the very same names to the faculties of the mind as we do to the powers of the body, the nerves, and other powers of action. Thus the velocity of the body is called swiftness: a praise which we ascribe to the mind, from its running over in its thoughts so many things in so short a time.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.13
Once again, I might think that these are technical distinctions of interest only to the most finicky scholar, and yet making sense of my own shortcomings will do me a world of good in the daily grind of practice. Some men will, until their last breaths, stubbornly deny that they are sick, and others may feel the ache, while sadly remaining ignorant of the cause. But whether we feel it or not, and whether it afflicts only a part or consumes the whole, the beginning of healing is always to know what ails you.
Using the old Stoic terms, I can sometimes be afflicted with a disease, which might be eating away at all of me, slowly but surely, even as I can’t immediately identify any obvious symptoms. It is when my frailty then becomes apparent that I start to call it a sickness, and I can only pray that the recognition doesn’t come too late. A defect may hinder this part or the other, and throw them out of proportion, but a disease and a sickness are obstacles to the function of the whole, and so they reflect a far deeper disorder.
My bum knee is a defect, and that horrid attack of the flu from last month was surely a sickness, and I have a sneaking suspicion that my heart doesn’t work quite right, though the disease has not yet disabled me. I treat each accordingly, conscious of its scope, its scale, and its signs. Let me remove it if it is within my power, contain it when it has grown too strong, and accept it once the time has come.
While Cicero will soon explain the contrast between maladies of the body and of the mind, we can see how vices have much in common with illness. Their extents can vary, and they may be brief or lasting, and the causes will differ, but a moral corruption is a sort of dissonance within the soul, much like an imbalance within the flesh.
In some instances, a vice arises from a fundamental error of judgment, and so it is a corruption of our very core principles, and in other instances the evil is the result of a more limited confusion, what Aristotle called moral incontinence, or a weakness of execution, and what the Stoics called an inconstancy.
As it is with the wrong, so it is with the right: both the body and the mind may be described as being beautiful, strong, healthy, or nimble, however much these qualities express themselves on totally different levels. Nevertheless, beauty is always in the harmony of the whole, strength in the ability to rule, health in the capacity to function freely, and swiftness in the ease of reaction.
Virtue can be in the wise soul through its complete submission to temperance, which sounds terrible to the man who is still struggling, but it is a total liberation for the man who truly understands his inner nature. For those of us who still have some more work to do, virtue also expresses itself as a broader disposition of the person, a balanced arrangement of our powers, which prepares us for self-mastery. It is, for example, the purpose of an education to encourage this, and while it is not yet wisdom, it lays the foundation for becoming wise.
If you had told me twenty years ago that I needed temperance in order to be happy, I would have rolled my eyes in disgust. I now see far more of why moderate living is the healthiest living, both on the physical and the moral level, because there can be no peace where there is no symmetry, and no joy where I do not possess myself. It is ironic that the most maligned virtue of our age should actually provide for such a pressing need.
Once again, I might think that these are technical distinctions of interest only to the most finicky scholar, and yet making sense of my own shortcomings will do me a world of good in the daily grind of practice. Some men will, until their last breaths, stubbornly deny that they are sick, and others may feel the ache, while sadly remaining ignorant of the cause. But whether we feel it or not, and whether it afflicts only a part or consumes the whole, the beginning of healing is always to know what ails you.
Using the old Stoic terms, I can sometimes be afflicted with a disease, which might be eating away at all of me, slowly but surely, even as I can’t immediately identify any obvious symptoms. It is when my frailty then becomes apparent that I start to call it a sickness, and I can only pray that the recognition doesn’t come too late. A defect may hinder this part or the other, and throw them out of proportion, but a disease and a sickness are obstacles to the function of the whole, and so they reflect a far deeper disorder.
My bum knee is a defect, and that horrid attack of the flu from last month was surely a sickness, and I have a sneaking suspicion that my heart doesn’t work quite right, though the disease has not yet disabled me. I treat each accordingly, conscious of its scope, its scale, and its signs. Let me remove it if it is within my power, contain it when it has grown too strong, and accept it once the time has come.
While Cicero will soon explain the contrast between maladies of the body and of the mind, we can see how vices have much in common with illness. Their extents can vary, and they may be brief or lasting, and the causes will differ, but a moral corruption is a sort of dissonance within the soul, much like an imbalance within the flesh.
In some instances, a vice arises from a fundamental error of judgment, and so it is a corruption of our very core principles, and in other instances the evil is the result of a more limited confusion, what Aristotle called moral incontinence, or a weakness of execution, and what the Stoics called an inconstancy.
As it is with the wrong, so it is with the right: both the body and the mind may be described as being beautiful, strong, healthy, or nimble, however much these qualities express themselves on totally different levels. Nevertheless, beauty is always in the harmony of the whole, strength in the ability to rule, health in the capacity to function freely, and swiftness in the ease of reaction.
Virtue can be in the wise soul through its complete submission to temperance, which sounds terrible to the man who is still struggling, but it is a total liberation for the man who truly understands his inner nature. For those of us who still have some more work to do, virtue also expresses itself as a broader disposition of the person, a balanced arrangement of our powers, which prepares us for self-mastery. It is, for example, the purpose of an education to encourage this, and while it is not yet wisdom, it lays the foundation for becoming wise.
If you had told me twenty years ago that I needed temperance in order to be happy, I would have rolled my eyes in disgust. I now see far more of why moderate living is the healthiest living, both on the physical and the moral level, because there can be no peace where there is no symmetry, and no joy where I do not possess myself. It is ironic that the most maligned virtue of our age should actually provide for such a pressing need.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
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