M. But fear borders upon grief, of which I have already said enough; but I must say a little more on that. Now, as grief proceeds from what is present, so does fear from future evil; so that some have said that fear is a certain part of grief: others have called fear the harbinger of trouble, which, as it were, introduces the ensuing evil.
Now, the reasons that make what is present supportable, make what is to come very contemptible; for, with regard to both, we should take care to do nothing low or groveling, soft or effeminate, mean or abject.
But, notwithstanding we should speak of the inconstancy, imbecility, and levity of fear itself, yet it is of very great service to speak contemptuously of those very things of which we are afraid.
So that it fell out very well, whether it was by accident or design, that I disputed the first and second day on death and pain—the two things that are the most dreaded: now, if what I then said was approved of, we are in a great degree freed from fear. And this is sufficient, as far as regards the opinion of evils.
Now, the reasons that make what is present supportable, make what is to come very contemptible; for, with regard to both, we should take care to do nothing low or groveling, soft or effeminate, mean or abject.
But, notwithstanding we should speak of the inconstancy, imbecility, and levity of fear itself, yet it is of very great service to speak contemptuously of those very things of which we are afraid.
So that it fell out very well, whether it was by accident or design, that I disputed the first and second day on death and pain—the two things that are the most dreaded: now, if what I then said was approved of, we are in a great degree freed from fear. And this is sufficient, as far as regards the opinion of evils.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.30
Grief and fear are cut from the same cloth, for they are both disordered aversions to falsely perceived evils, and they differ only in how we are in distress over what is currently present, or over what we believe is yet to come. While it can be of great assistance for me to reconsider if this or that object is actually as oppressive as it may appear, everything finally hinges upon my willingness to take charge of my own character, to decide:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? . . .
What is the terror I face? For the Stoic, it has become terrible precisely because I think it so, and when I can find the constancy to alter my judgments, I have then discovered the means to become neither mournful nor timid. It is, indeed, a mighty task, but I believe this is so because it is my primary job to rule myself, not to conquer the world.
The best friends I have ever had, and there have been but a few, told me to be brave, since they loved me enough to see the dignity that was within me, not to scold me with some cold lesson about insensitivity. A good man will cry with you when you feel pain, but he will not permit you to succumb to your suffering. I take that distinction to heart.
Cicero rightly observes how the solutions offered in all the earlier books of these Disputations apply just as readily to any sort of perturbation. When I am afraid, what is it that I usually dread? On the one hand it is the prospect of pain, and on the other hand it is the approach of death, as discussed in the first two sections.
Don’t tell me it isn’t going to hurt—I know it will. Don’t tell me dying makes no difference—it must, after all, be the end of me. Remind me, rather, how neither of these, however severe they feel, need have no effect on my exercise of the virtues. Then I am strengthened in my resolve, relying on the very core of my humanity.
Grief and fear are cut from the same cloth, for they are both disordered aversions to falsely perceived evils, and they differ only in how we are in distress over what is currently present, or over what we believe is yet to come. While it can be of great assistance for me to reconsider if this or that object is actually as oppressive as it may appear, everything finally hinges upon my willingness to take charge of my own character, to decide:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? . . .
What is the terror I face? For the Stoic, it has become terrible precisely because I think it so, and when I can find the constancy to alter my judgments, I have then discovered the means to become neither mournful nor timid. It is, indeed, a mighty task, but I believe this is so because it is my primary job to rule myself, not to conquer the world.
The best friends I have ever had, and there have been but a few, told me to be brave, since they loved me enough to see the dignity that was within me, not to scold me with some cold lesson about insensitivity. A good man will cry with you when you feel pain, but he will not permit you to succumb to your suffering. I take that distinction to heart.
Cicero rightly observes how the solutions offered in all the earlier books of these Disputations apply just as readily to any sort of perturbation. When I am afraid, what is it that I usually dread? On the one hand it is the prospect of pain, and on the other hand it is the approach of death, as discussed in the first two sections.
Don’t tell me it isn’t going to hurt—I know it will. Don’t tell me dying makes no difference—it must, after all, be the end of me. Remind me, rather, how neither of these, however severe they feel, need have no effect on my exercise of the virtues. Then I am strengthened in my resolve, relying on the very core of my humanity.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Gustave Courbet, The Man Made Mad with Fear (c. 1844)
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