“He who is brave is fearless; he who is fearless is free from sadness; he who is free from sadness is happy.”
It is our own school which has framed this syllogism; they attempt to refute it by this answer, namely, that we Stoics are assuming as admitted a premise which is false and distinctly controverted—that the brave man is fearless.
“What!” they say, “will the brave man have no fear of evils that threaten him? That would be the condition of a madman, a lunatic, rather than of a brave man. The brave man will, it is true, feel fear in only a very slight degree; but he is not absolutely free from fear.”
Now those who assert this are doubling back to their old argument, in that they regard vices of less degree as equivalent to virtues. For indeed the man who does feel fear, though he feels it rather seldom and to a slight degree, is not free from wickedness, but is merely troubled by it in a milder form.
“Not so,” is the reply, “for I hold that a man is mad if he does not fear evils which hang over his head.”
What you say is perfectly true, if the things which threaten are really evils; but if he knows that they are not evils and believes that the only evil is baseness, he will be bound to face dangers without anxiety and to despise things which other men cannot help fearing.
Or, if it is the characteristic of a fool and a madman not to fear evils, then the wiser a man is the more he will fear such things!
It is our own school which has framed this syllogism; they attempt to refute it by this answer, namely, that we Stoics are assuming as admitted a premise which is false and distinctly controverted—that the brave man is fearless.
“What!” they say, “will the brave man have no fear of evils that threaten him? That would be the condition of a madman, a lunatic, rather than of a brave man. The brave man will, it is true, feel fear in only a very slight degree; but he is not absolutely free from fear.”
Now those who assert this are doubling back to their old argument, in that they regard vices of less degree as equivalent to virtues. For indeed the man who does feel fear, though he feels it rather seldom and to a slight degree, is not free from wickedness, but is merely troubled by it in a milder form.
“Not so,” is the reply, “for I hold that a man is mad if he does not fear evils which hang over his head.”
What you say is perfectly true, if the things which threaten are really evils; but if he knows that they are not evils and believes that the only evil is baseness, he will be bound to face dangers without anxiety and to despise things which other men cannot help fearing.
Or, if it is the characteristic of a fool and a madman not to fear evils, then the wiser a man is the more he will fear such things!
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 85
We have come to a point where the distinctions must be subtle, and I fear that I lack the proper words to express them, but it remains critical to maintain the power of the virtues to rise above the passions, for otherwise we will all settle for being just a little less vicious than the next fellow.
To be fearless must involve being free from fear, whether that means feeling no distress at all, or possessing a mastery over any passions that might be present. If I have no anxiety about my future, then my mind can truly be at peace, and so I can rightly say that I am happy; while the miserable man will always be consumed by worry, the blessed man can now face his hardships with confidence.
The critic, doubting the influence of our judgments, will protest that it is impossible to remove fear from our lives, and that an absence of fear could therefore only be a symptom of ignorance, recklessness, or insanity. As someone who still regularly struggles with dread, I am quite sympathetic to such objections, wondering whether the Stoics have crossed the line into dismissing the essential place of our emotions.
It is commonly said that courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the ability to conquer fear. Indeed, we are told that every soldier is terrified before he goes into battle, or even that every man has to tremble at the approach of his death, however ordinary. How can it be reasonable to expect a total lack of fear? How could we face any danger without feeling deeply disturbed?
Yet I have heard some veterans speak of the horror leaving them completely upon making a valiant choice, and I have watched people die in a state of absolute acceptance. I will not question their integrity, or attribute this to derangement. To say that perfect serenity might be rare makes it neither unattainable nor undesirable.
Some feelings come to us through the instincts of the body, and we must listen carefully to what they say, while never allowing them to decide for us. Other feelings come to us through the workings of the mind, and we must always be conscious of how our thinking informs the shape of those emotions. Slowly but surely, our feelings become ordered when they are in harmony with our understanding, since our estimation of good or bad is ultimately the measure of our desire or aversion.
No, the Stoic is not asking us to repress our emotions; he is instead suggesting that we take responsibility for them, and to direct them according to our reason. A passion, in the particular Stoic sense of an unhealthy feeling, can always be transformed into a healthy sentiment that supports our nature.
What was once gratification can now be joy. What was once lust can now be good will. What was once fear can now be caution. And there never needs to be any despair, because an attitude of acceptance always allows us to discover the opportunity within our own character.
The critic may be confused about the definitions of benefit and harm, assuming that certain things are evils, when they can actually be occasions for good. Poverty, obscurity, and even death itself are not, in themselves, to be feared. The vices of avarice, vanity, and cowardice are far more pernicious.
We have come to a point where the distinctions must be subtle, and I fear that I lack the proper words to express them, but it remains critical to maintain the power of the virtues to rise above the passions, for otherwise we will all settle for being just a little less vicious than the next fellow.
To be fearless must involve being free from fear, whether that means feeling no distress at all, or possessing a mastery over any passions that might be present. If I have no anxiety about my future, then my mind can truly be at peace, and so I can rightly say that I am happy; while the miserable man will always be consumed by worry, the blessed man can now face his hardships with confidence.
The critic, doubting the influence of our judgments, will protest that it is impossible to remove fear from our lives, and that an absence of fear could therefore only be a symptom of ignorance, recklessness, or insanity. As someone who still regularly struggles with dread, I am quite sympathetic to such objections, wondering whether the Stoics have crossed the line into dismissing the essential place of our emotions.
It is commonly said that courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the ability to conquer fear. Indeed, we are told that every soldier is terrified before he goes into battle, or even that every man has to tremble at the approach of his death, however ordinary. How can it be reasonable to expect a total lack of fear? How could we face any danger without feeling deeply disturbed?
Yet I have heard some veterans speak of the horror leaving them completely upon making a valiant choice, and I have watched people die in a state of absolute acceptance. I will not question their integrity, or attribute this to derangement. To say that perfect serenity might be rare makes it neither unattainable nor undesirable.
Some feelings come to us through the instincts of the body, and we must listen carefully to what they say, while never allowing them to decide for us. Other feelings come to us through the workings of the mind, and we must always be conscious of how our thinking informs the shape of those emotions. Slowly but surely, our feelings become ordered when they are in harmony with our understanding, since our estimation of good or bad is ultimately the measure of our desire or aversion.
No, the Stoic is not asking us to repress our emotions; he is instead suggesting that we take responsibility for them, and to direct them according to our reason. A passion, in the particular Stoic sense of an unhealthy feeling, can always be transformed into a healthy sentiment that supports our nature.
What was once gratification can now be joy. What was once lust can now be good will. What was once fear can now be caution. And there never needs to be any despair, because an attitude of acceptance always allows us to discover the opportunity within our own character.
The critic may be confused about the definitions of benefit and harm, assuming that certain things are evils, when they can actually be occasions for good. Poverty, obscurity, and even death itself are not, in themselves, to be feared. The vices of avarice, vanity, and cowardice are far more pernicious.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
IMAGE: Francois Gerard, Gallic Courage (1832)
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