M. But any perturbation of the mind of this sort may be, as it were, wiped away by the method of appeasing the mind, if you succeed in showing that there is no good in that which has given rise to joy and lust, nor any evil in that which has occasioned fear or grief.
But certainly the most effectual cure is to be achieved by showing that all perturbations are of themselves vicious, and have nothing natural or necessary in them. As we see, grief itself is easily softened when we charge those who grieve with weakness and an effeminate mind; or when we commend the gravity and constancy of those who bear calmly whatever befalls them here, as accidents to which all men are liable; and, indeed, this is generally the feeling of those who look on these as real evils, but yet think they should be borne with resignation. One imagines pleasure to be a good, another money; and yet the one may be called off from intemperance, the other from covetousness.
The other method and address, which, at the same time that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, has more subtlety in it; but it seldom succeeds, and is not applicable to vulgar minds, for there are some diseases which that medicine can by no means remove.
For, should anyone be uneasy because he is without virtue, without courage, destitute of a sense of duty or honesty, his anxiety proceeds from a real evil; and yet we must apply another method of cure to him, and such a one as all the philosophers, however they may differ about other things, agree in.
For they must necessarily agree in this, that commotions of the mind in opposition to right reason are vicious; and that even admitting those things to be evils which occasion fear or grief, and those to be goods which provoke desire or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious; for we mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is resolute, sedate, grave, and superior to everything in this life; but one who either grieves, or fears, or covets, or is transported with passion, cannot come under that denomination; for these things are consistent only with those who look on the things of this world as things with which their minds are unequal to contend.
But certainly the most effectual cure is to be achieved by showing that all perturbations are of themselves vicious, and have nothing natural or necessary in them. As we see, grief itself is easily softened when we charge those who grieve with weakness and an effeminate mind; or when we commend the gravity and constancy of those who bear calmly whatever befalls them here, as accidents to which all men are liable; and, indeed, this is generally the feeling of those who look on these as real evils, but yet think they should be borne with resignation. One imagines pleasure to be a good, another money; and yet the one may be called off from intemperance, the other from covetousness.
The other method and address, which, at the same time that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, has more subtlety in it; but it seldom succeeds, and is not applicable to vulgar minds, for there are some diseases which that medicine can by no means remove.
For, should anyone be uneasy because he is without virtue, without courage, destitute of a sense of duty or honesty, his anxiety proceeds from a real evil; and yet we must apply another method of cure to him, and such a one as all the philosophers, however they may differ about other things, agree in.
For they must necessarily agree in this, that commotions of the mind in opposition to right reason are vicious; and that even admitting those things to be evils which occasion fear or grief, and those to be goods which provoke desire or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious; for we mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is resolute, sedate, grave, and superior to everything in this life; but one who either grieves, or fears, or covets, or is transported with passion, cannot come under that denomination; for these things are consistent only with those who look on the things of this world as things with which their minds are unequal to contend.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.28
To be honest, I find myself swinging back and forth on which of these two methods is “better” for taming my passions. Sometimes I find more success with focusing on my inner temperament, and at other times I achieve more lasting results when I reconsider the seeming good or evil of the outer circumstances. I suppose this merely supports the idea that there are always different remedies for different conditions.
If you tell me that I must strengthen my resolve and stand firm in the virtues, I will most certainly be inspired, even as I have little patience for any macho demands to “man up”. Once I actually know how it is within my power to withstand hardships with dignity, I discover a remarkable moral courage I didn’t even know I had within me. Even the most indolent and wishy-washy fellow will feel ashamed when his character is challenged.
Nevertheless, I still feel the need to examine the reasons why my desires and aversions should be ruled with such discipline: is there not something good in the objects I desire and not something harmful in the objects I fear? Perhaps it is only the little philosopher in me, but I wish to understand how to distinguish the true benefit from the true harm. If you tell me to be strong, please explain how I will reap the rewards.
From the Stoic perspective, the key to embracing the primacy of the virtues is in realizing how no object is in itself good or bad for me at all, unless it is accompanied by my own virtue or vice. Cicero may not be willing to take it that far, yet he does accept how the effect of external circumstances is so minor compared to the perfection of our internal powers. In either case, it helps me to grasp why I should give far less concern to the things I crave or fear, and I should give far more concern to the state of my soul.
In my own experience, a hearty self-discipline only takes me so far, and then I turn outward to a reflection on the ways of the world to further encourage that composure. In other words, I better learn to master my own urges by observing why their objects really have very little to offer me—the latter invigorates the former. I imagine Cicero is right, however, to claim that an inner persistence is the more efficient means, even if an outer investigation can also provide a greater depth of conviction.
The disorder in my judgments is the ultimate problem, and that is why there are so many perturbations in my emotions. Even as real philosophers understand this, it flies in the face of popular opinion, which remains convinced that a despair over the situation is the only way out. By improving myself, I improve my ability to cope with my circumstances, however unpleasant it initially feels.
Unlike the Stoic, Aristotle might say that poverty is bad, but like the Stoic, he would agree that the best solution is in the exercise of character. How different this is from when I complain about my state, acting as if gratification, lust, grief, and fear are somehow unavoidable.
To be honest, I find myself swinging back and forth on which of these two methods is “better” for taming my passions. Sometimes I find more success with focusing on my inner temperament, and at other times I achieve more lasting results when I reconsider the seeming good or evil of the outer circumstances. I suppose this merely supports the idea that there are always different remedies for different conditions.
If you tell me that I must strengthen my resolve and stand firm in the virtues, I will most certainly be inspired, even as I have little patience for any macho demands to “man up”. Once I actually know how it is within my power to withstand hardships with dignity, I discover a remarkable moral courage I didn’t even know I had within me. Even the most indolent and wishy-washy fellow will feel ashamed when his character is challenged.
Nevertheless, I still feel the need to examine the reasons why my desires and aversions should be ruled with such discipline: is there not something good in the objects I desire and not something harmful in the objects I fear? Perhaps it is only the little philosopher in me, but I wish to understand how to distinguish the true benefit from the true harm. If you tell me to be strong, please explain how I will reap the rewards.
From the Stoic perspective, the key to embracing the primacy of the virtues is in realizing how no object is in itself good or bad for me at all, unless it is accompanied by my own virtue or vice. Cicero may not be willing to take it that far, yet he does accept how the effect of external circumstances is so minor compared to the perfection of our internal powers. In either case, it helps me to grasp why I should give far less concern to the things I crave or fear, and I should give far more concern to the state of my soul.
In my own experience, a hearty self-discipline only takes me so far, and then I turn outward to a reflection on the ways of the world to further encourage that composure. In other words, I better learn to master my own urges by observing why their objects really have very little to offer me—the latter invigorates the former. I imagine Cicero is right, however, to claim that an inner persistence is the more efficient means, even if an outer investigation can also provide a greater depth of conviction.
The disorder in my judgments is the ultimate problem, and that is why there are so many perturbations in my emotions. Even as real philosophers understand this, it flies in the face of popular opinion, which remains convinced that a despair over the situation is the only way out. By improving myself, I improve my ability to cope with my circumstances, however unpleasant it initially feels.
Unlike the Stoic, Aristotle might say that poverty is bad, but like the Stoic, he would agree that the best solution is in the exercise of character. How different this is from when I complain about my state, acting as if gratification, lust, grief, and fear are somehow unavoidable.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGES:
Jan Steen, The Effects of Intemperance (c. 1663)
Jan Steen, Beware of Luxury (c. 1663)
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