M. But as the cause of perturbations is now discovered, for all of them arise from the judgment or opinion, or volition, I shall put an end to this discourse.
But we ought to be assured, since the boundaries of good and evil are now discovered, as far as they are discoverable by man, that nothing can be desired of philosophy greater or more useful than the discussions which we have held these four days.
For besides instilling a contempt of death, and relieving pain so as to enable men to bear it, we have added the appeasing of grief, than which there is no greater evil to man. For though every perturbation of mind is grievous, and differs but little from madness, yet we are used to say of others when they are under any perturbation, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are agitated and disturbed; but of those who give themselves up to grief, that they are miserable, afflicted, wretched, unhappy.
So that it does not seem to be by accident, but with reason proposed by you, that I should discuss grief, and the other perturbations separately; for there lies the spring and head of all our miseries; but the cure of grief, and of other disorders, is one and the same in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opinion; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do.
Philosophy undertakes to eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils: let us therefore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured; for while these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be right in our minds.
We must either deny that reason can effect anything, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done right without reason, or else, since philosophy depends on the deductions of reason, we must seek from her, if we would be good or happy, every help and assistance for living well and happily.
But we ought to be assured, since the boundaries of good and evil are now discovered, as far as they are discoverable by man, that nothing can be desired of philosophy greater or more useful than the discussions which we have held these four days.
For besides instilling a contempt of death, and relieving pain so as to enable men to bear it, we have added the appeasing of grief, than which there is no greater evil to man. For though every perturbation of mind is grievous, and differs but little from madness, yet we are used to say of others when they are under any perturbation, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are agitated and disturbed; but of those who give themselves up to grief, that they are miserable, afflicted, wretched, unhappy.
So that it does not seem to be by accident, but with reason proposed by you, that I should discuss grief, and the other perturbations separately; for there lies the spring and head of all our miseries; but the cure of grief, and of other disorders, is one and the same in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opinion; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do.
Philosophy undertakes to eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils: let us therefore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured; for while these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be right in our minds.
We must either deny that reason can effect anything, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done right without reason, or else, since philosophy depends on the deductions of reason, we must seek from her, if we would be good or happy, every help and assistance for living well and happily.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.38
Though troubles within the emotions may take on many forms, and express themselves to different degrees, their root cause is always one and the same: the way I am inclined to feel will only be as good or as bad as the way I choose to think. I hardly believe this diminishes the significance of the passions, but rather offers the proper context for their deeper meaning.
This is a blessed relief for me, because I need no longer suffer under the illusion that my pain is somehow beyond my power. Do I find myself drowning in gratification, or driven to lust, or laid low by grief, or consumed by fear? By attending to my own judgements about the true nature of benefit and harm, I can learn to find the strength inside of me, instead of relying on the circumstances outside of me. I am now free to stand on my own two feet, not to be tossed about by fortune.
While grief may seem to be the most oppresive of these disorders, for it has such an immediate knack for stifling any possibility of joy, all four varieties are ultimately problems of estimation. Instead of crying out, “Why has this happened to me?”, I retain the option of stating clearly, “You will only harm me as much as I permit you to do so. My happiness is for me to determine!”
This will not come to me magically, or just by wishing, or without my rigorous effort: it demands the formation of a conscience, which is, in turn, a fruit of philosophy, understood in its most vital sense. A book won’t be enough, and a fancy degree won’t cut it, and it certainly has nothing to do with putting on an intellectual charade, since philosophy is only of use when we join the theory and the practice, the ideal to the real, the thinking with the doing.
When Cicero insists that a love of wisdom is the cure, I do not imagine a stern portrait of a whiskered man. I instead find inspiration by turning to one of my favorite paintings by Mattia Preti, in which Lady Philosophy offers comfort to the despondent Boethius, whose adversity illustrates the challenges each one of us must face. She presents him with hard reasons, not cheap excuses, and that is surely the greatest kindness.
Though troubles within the emotions may take on many forms, and express themselves to different degrees, their root cause is always one and the same: the way I am inclined to feel will only be as good or as bad as the way I choose to think. I hardly believe this diminishes the significance of the passions, but rather offers the proper context for their deeper meaning.
This is a blessed relief for me, because I need no longer suffer under the illusion that my pain is somehow beyond my power. Do I find myself drowning in gratification, or driven to lust, or laid low by grief, or consumed by fear? By attending to my own judgements about the true nature of benefit and harm, I can learn to find the strength inside of me, instead of relying on the circumstances outside of me. I am now free to stand on my own two feet, not to be tossed about by fortune.
While grief may seem to be the most oppresive of these disorders, for it has such an immediate knack for stifling any possibility of joy, all four varieties are ultimately problems of estimation. Instead of crying out, “Why has this happened to me?”, I retain the option of stating clearly, “You will only harm me as much as I permit you to do so. My happiness is for me to determine!”
This will not come to me magically, or just by wishing, or without my rigorous effort: it demands the formation of a conscience, which is, in turn, a fruit of philosophy, understood in its most vital sense. A book won’t be enough, and a fancy degree won’t cut it, and it certainly has nothing to do with putting on an intellectual charade, since philosophy is only of use when we join the theory and the practice, the ideal to the real, the thinking with the doing.
When Cicero insists that a love of wisdom is the cure, I do not imagine a stern portrait of a whiskered man. I instead find inspiration by turning to one of my favorite paintings by Mattia Preti, in which Lady Philosophy offers comfort to the despondent Boethius, whose adversity illustrates the challenges each one of us must face. She presents him with hard reasons, not cheap excuses, and that is surely the greatest kindness.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Mattia Preti, Boethius and Philosophy (c. 1680)
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