Book 3, Chapter 22

“The Cyrenaics’ view remains:

52 “they think distress arises if something happens unexpectedly. As I said above, this is certainly an important factor. I know that Chrysippus too thinks an unforeseen event strikes more violently; but this is not the whole story. Certainly the enemy’s sudden arrival causes considerably more confusion than an expected one, and a sudden storm at sea frightens sailors more violently than one foreseen; most such cases are similar. Yet if you examine carefully the nature of unexpected events, you will find only that everything sudden seems greater, and for two reasons. First, we are given no time to consider how great the events are; second, when it seems that they could have been guarded against had they been foreseen, the evil, apparently incurred through our own fault, makes the distress sharper.

53 “That this is so is shown by time, which as it passes brings such relief that, though the same evils remain, distress is not only softened but in most cases removed. Many Carthaginians were slaves at Rome, and Macedonians after King Perseus’ capture. When I was young, I also saw some Corinthians in the Peloponnese. All these could have uttered those same laments of Andromache: ‘I saw all this […]’; but perhaps they had already sung them to exhaustion. For their expressions, speech, and every other movement and bearing were such that you would have taken them for Argives or Sicyonians. The sudden sight of Corinth’s ruined walls had moved me more than the Corinthians themselves, whose souls long reflection had covered with time’s callus.

54 “We read the book Clitomachus sent to his fellow citizens in captivity to console them after Carthage’s destruction. It contains a discussion by Carneades which Clitomachus says he set down in his notes. The proposition was that the wise person would, it seemed, be distressed if his country were captured, and Carneades’ arguments against it are recorded. The philosopher thus applies to a present calamity a medicine of such strength as is not even wanted for an old one. If the same book had been sent to the captives some years later, it would have treated not wounds but scars. For pain diminishes gradually, step by step as time advances—not because the thing itself usually changes or can change, but because experience teaches what reason should have taught: that what seemed so great is smaller than it appeared.”

“That leaves the Cyrenaics’ view.

52 “They think distress arises when something happens unexpectedly. As I said earlier, that is an important factor. I know Chrysippus also thinks that what hasn’t been foreseen hits harder. But that isn’t the whole story. An enemy’s sudden arrival does cause rather more confusion than an expected one. A sudden storm at sea frightens sailors more than one they saw coming. Most similar cases are like that. But examine unexpected events carefully, and you’ll find nothing except that everything sudden looks bigger. There are two reasons for that. First, there’s no time to consider how serious the things happening really are. Second, when it seems they could have been guarded against if foreseen, the impression that our own fault brought the trouble on makes distress sharper.

53 “Time gives us the proof. As it passes, it calms distress despite the troubles themselves remaining unchanged. Usually distress doesn’t just lessen; it vanishes. Many Carthaginians lived as slaves in Rome, and Macedonians did too after their king Perseus was captured. In my youth I saw Corinthians in the Peloponnese as well. Every one of them could have taken up Andromache’s lament, ‘I watched the whole place […].’ Perhaps they’d sung it long enough already. Judging by their expressions, their talk, all their gestures and their posture, you’d have called them Argives or Sicyonians. My unexpected sight of Corinth’s ruined walls stirred me more than it stirred the Corinthians. Years of reflection had put a callus over their minds.

54 “I’ve read the work of comfort Clitomachus sent to his captured fellow citizens after the destruction of Carthage. In it he records a discussion of Carneades, saying he entered it in his notes. The claim put forward was that the capture of his homeland would distress a wise man; the book gives Carneades’ reply against it. A philosopher thus supplies a fresh calamity with treatment so strong that an old calamity wouldn’t need it at all. Had the same book reached the captives several years later, it would be attending to scars rather than open wounds. Pain loses its force as it advances slowly, step by step. Not that the facts tend to alter, or even can alter. Rather, experience delivers reason’s missing lesson: what once appeared enormous isn’t so great.”