M. Proceed we now to what are goods—that is to say, to joy and desire.
To me, indeed, one thing alone seems to embrace the question of all that relates to the perturbations of the mind—the fact, namely, that all perturbations are in our own power; that they are taken up upon opinion, and are voluntary. This error, then, must be got rid of; this opinion must be removed; and, as with regard to imagined evils, we are to make them more supportable, so with respect to goods, we are to lessen the violent effects of those things which are called great and joyous.
But one thing is to be observed, that equally relates both to good and evil: that, should it be difficult to persuade anyone that none of those things which disturb the mind are to be looked on as good or evil, yet a different cure is to be applied to different feelings; and the malevolent person is to be corrected by one way of reasoning, the lover by another, the anxious man by another, and the fearful by another: and it would be easy for anyone who pursues the best approved method of reasoning, with regard to good and evil, to maintain that no fool can be affected with joy, as he never can have anything good.
But, at present, my discourse proceeds upon the common received notions. Let, then, honors, riches, pleasures, and the rest be the very good things which they are imagined to be; yet a too elevated and exulting joy on the possession of them is unbecoming; just as, though it might be allowable to laugh, to giggle would be indecent.
Thus, a mind enlarged by joy is as blamable as a contraction of it by grief; and eager longing is a sign of as much levity in desiring as immoderate joy is in possessing; and, as those who are too dejected are said to be effeminate, so they who are too elated with joy are properly called volatile; and as feeling envy is a part of grief, and the being pleased with another’s misfortune is a kind of joy, both these feelings are usually corrected by showing the wildness and insensibility of them: and as it becomes a man to be cautious, but it is unbecoming in him to be fearful, so to be pleased is proper, but to be joyful improper.
I have, in order that I might be the better understood, distinguished pleasure from joy. I have already said above, that a contraction of the mind can never be right, but that an elation of it may; for the joy of Hector in Naevius is one thing—
“’Tis joy indeed to hear my praises sung
By you, who are the theme of honor’s tongue—”
but that of the character in Trabea another:
“The kind procuress, allured by my money, will observe my nod, will watch my desires, and study my will. If I but move the door with my little finger, instantly it flies open; and if Chrysis should unexpectedly discover me, she will run with joy to meet me, and throw herself into my arms.”
Now he will tell you how excellent he thinks this:
“Not even fortune herself is so fortunate."
To me, indeed, one thing alone seems to embrace the question of all that relates to the perturbations of the mind—the fact, namely, that all perturbations are in our own power; that they are taken up upon opinion, and are voluntary. This error, then, must be got rid of; this opinion must be removed; and, as with regard to imagined evils, we are to make them more supportable, so with respect to goods, we are to lessen the violent effects of those things which are called great and joyous.
But one thing is to be observed, that equally relates both to good and evil: that, should it be difficult to persuade anyone that none of those things which disturb the mind are to be looked on as good or evil, yet a different cure is to be applied to different feelings; and the malevolent person is to be corrected by one way of reasoning, the lover by another, the anxious man by another, and the fearful by another: and it would be easy for anyone who pursues the best approved method of reasoning, with regard to good and evil, to maintain that no fool can be affected with joy, as he never can have anything good.
But, at present, my discourse proceeds upon the common received notions. Let, then, honors, riches, pleasures, and the rest be the very good things which they are imagined to be; yet a too elevated and exulting joy on the possession of them is unbecoming; just as, though it might be allowable to laugh, to giggle would be indecent.
Thus, a mind enlarged by joy is as blamable as a contraction of it by grief; and eager longing is a sign of as much levity in desiring as immoderate joy is in possessing; and, as those who are too dejected are said to be effeminate, so they who are too elated with joy are properly called volatile; and as feeling envy is a part of grief, and the being pleased with another’s misfortune is a kind of joy, both these feelings are usually corrected by showing the wildness and insensibility of them: and as it becomes a man to be cautious, but it is unbecoming in him to be fearful, so to be pleased is proper, but to be joyful improper.
I have, in order that I might be the better understood, distinguished pleasure from joy. I have already said above, that a contraction of the mind can never be right, but that an elation of it may; for the joy of Hector in Naevius is one thing—
“’Tis joy indeed to hear my praises sung
By you, who are the theme of honor’s tongue—”
but that of the character in Trabea another:
“The kind procuress, allured by my money, will observe my nod, will watch my desires, and study my will. If I but move the door with my little finger, instantly it flies open; and if Chrysis should unexpectedly discover me, she will run with joy to meet me, and throw herself into my arms.”
Now he will tell you how excellent he thinks this:
“Not even fortune herself is so fortunate."
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.31
Once again, I can’t claim to understand the subtleties of why Yonge chooses to translate certain terms in the way he does, but I remind myself to distinguish between a healthy and an unhealthy, an ordered and a disordered, expression of the emotions, such that I take laetitia here to be what I call gratification, or inordinate pleasure, and cupiditas to be what I call lust, or inordinate desire. The one is a twisted form of joy, the other a twisted sort of wish. The context of the chapter makes this clear, yet some will still insist that Cicero, and the Stoics, condemn the passions as a whole, which is clearly not the case.
While it is easier to convince people to conquer their grief and fear, for they are more willing to avoid pain, it is far more difficult to convince them to conquer their gratification and lust, for they are more readily drawn to pleasure. I will usually get a funny look when I suggest that it would be a mistake to open another bottle, or a dismissive wave if I speculate whether the pursuit of one more sexual conquest is really worth it. I rarely even bother anymore when the topic is about acquiring more money.
When I feel inclined to press the point, these folks will also tell me that their urges are only natural, after all. “How am I supposed to stop it? Everyone wants to have fun!” That there is a bodily instinct to pursue pleasure and to avoid pain is hardly in question, but why are we so quick to overlook our capacity for judgment, and therefore the power of free will? It is as if we were looking only to the gut, while ignoring the head. Deliberately modify the estimation, and you then exercise your conscious choice.
If gratification and lust are truly irresistible, how are we to explain those noble souls who do indeed manage to rise above them? I believe they do so by carefully attending to their inner reflections, not merely by the brute force of will. If gratification and lust will bring us genuine happiness, then why are so many of us dragged into complete misery by their pursuits? A grasping man wouldn’t even know what to do with his many pleasures, because he rejects a deeper understanding of the human good.
If I can’t bring myself to accept why luxury and fame have no value in themselves, I can still learn how unfitting it is for any man to be a slave to his desires. It is enough for me to consider why it violates my very dignity, as a creature gifted with reason, to grovel before trinkets and idols. Once I forget how there is something divine within me, an emanation of the God who made me, I have sadly abandoned my soul; whatever the skeptics may claim, I do not need to be bound by every impression that comes my way.
This is as true for the one who chases after sensuality as it is for the one who wallows in heartbreak. We are used to seeing it immediately in the poor and the abandoned, though it is just as common among the rich and the prominent—the self-important crowd just have a better knack for whitewashing their sins. In the end, it has nothing to do with the weight of the circumstances, and everything to do with the content of character.
My current “pastor” likes to scold the drunks who hang out at the dingy bar down the street, while he and his cronies sit in his extravagant parlor, counting their coins. Our virtues are all the same, and our vices are all the same. Let’s please stop pretending, for the measure of a man is within.
I am pleased as Punch when anyone mentions Hector, not because I consider him a saint, since he was, in his own peculiar way, just as flawed as Achilles, but because his experiences reveal all the possible highs and lows of the human condition. I believe both of these quotes are from works now lost to us, and yet I immediately recognize the difference expressed in them between joy and gratification, between love and lust.
Once again, I can’t claim to understand the subtleties of why Yonge chooses to translate certain terms in the way he does, but I remind myself to distinguish between a healthy and an unhealthy, an ordered and a disordered, expression of the emotions, such that I take laetitia here to be what I call gratification, or inordinate pleasure, and cupiditas to be what I call lust, or inordinate desire. The one is a twisted form of joy, the other a twisted sort of wish. The context of the chapter makes this clear, yet some will still insist that Cicero, and the Stoics, condemn the passions as a whole, which is clearly not the case.
While it is easier to convince people to conquer their grief and fear, for they are more willing to avoid pain, it is far more difficult to convince them to conquer their gratification and lust, for they are more readily drawn to pleasure. I will usually get a funny look when I suggest that it would be a mistake to open another bottle, or a dismissive wave if I speculate whether the pursuit of one more sexual conquest is really worth it. I rarely even bother anymore when the topic is about acquiring more money.
When I feel inclined to press the point, these folks will also tell me that their urges are only natural, after all. “How am I supposed to stop it? Everyone wants to have fun!” That there is a bodily instinct to pursue pleasure and to avoid pain is hardly in question, but why are we so quick to overlook our capacity for judgment, and therefore the power of free will? It is as if we were looking only to the gut, while ignoring the head. Deliberately modify the estimation, and you then exercise your conscious choice.
If gratification and lust are truly irresistible, how are we to explain those noble souls who do indeed manage to rise above them? I believe they do so by carefully attending to their inner reflections, not merely by the brute force of will. If gratification and lust will bring us genuine happiness, then why are so many of us dragged into complete misery by their pursuits? A grasping man wouldn’t even know what to do with his many pleasures, because he rejects a deeper understanding of the human good.
If I can’t bring myself to accept why luxury and fame have no value in themselves, I can still learn how unfitting it is for any man to be a slave to his desires. It is enough for me to consider why it violates my very dignity, as a creature gifted with reason, to grovel before trinkets and idols. Once I forget how there is something divine within me, an emanation of the God who made me, I have sadly abandoned my soul; whatever the skeptics may claim, I do not need to be bound by every impression that comes my way.
This is as true for the one who chases after sensuality as it is for the one who wallows in heartbreak. We are used to seeing it immediately in the poor and the abandoned, though it is just as common among the rich and the prominent—the self-important crowd just have a better knack for whitewashing their sins. In the end, it has nothing to do with the weight of the circumstances, and everything to do with the content of character.
My current “pastor” likes to scold the drunks who hang out at the dingy bar down the street, while he and his cronies sit in his extravagant parlor, counting their coins. Our virtues are all the same, and our vices are all the same. Let’s please stop pretending, for the measure of a man is within.
I am pleased as Punch when anyone mentions Hector, not because I consider him a saint, since he was, in his own peculiar way, just as flawed as Achilles, but because his experiences reveal all the possible highs and lows of the human condition. I believe both of these quotes are from works now lost to us, and yet I immediately recognize the difference expressed in them between joy and gratification, between love and lust.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Karl Friedrich Deckler, The Farewell of Hector to Andromache and Astyanax (c. 1900)
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