Liberty
Letters

September 1, 2004
Thomas Jefferson and John Adams,
#12
Is Grief an
Evil?
by Steve Farrell
Is grief an evil?
Or more to the point, is there something
fundamentally wrong with you or I, or a family
member, or the neighbor down the road, or the poor
fellow across the ocean having an absolutely
devastating day, week, month, year, decade or,
perhaps, lifetime -- as some of our politicians,
physicians and psychologists seem to believe?
And, if one of us, or let's say, a group of us,
happens to believe that there IS something terribly
wrong with grief -- ought we to raise a hue and cry
for a law, a pill, or a plug to be pulled to end
the weeping and wailing, end it quickly, and end it
forever?
Or does grief, in God's wisdom, have its
uses?
I confess; I side with the latter. Not that I'm
a believer in piling grief upon grief for the
benefit's sake; nor am I a skeptic of voluntary
compassion, wisely and sincerely administered, to
lighten the burden of those who suffer -- but then
again, I am no socialist, no pill popper, no escape
artist.
A little bit of grief can do a body good. That's
my faith.
It was Thomas Jefferson's and John Adams' faith,
as well. Their thoughts on the subject are
sage.
On May 6, 1816 Adams wrote Jefferson:
- In your favor of April 8th you "wonder for
what good end the sensations of grief could be
intended?" You "wish the pathologists would tell
us, what is the use of grief in our economy, and
what good it is the cause proximate or remote?
(1)
Jefferson was looking for answers from the
perspective of faith, from the perspective of
Divine Providence. Adam's had a ready answer. He
continues:
- When I approach such questions as this, I
consider myself, like one of those little eels
in Vinaigre, or one of those animalcules in
black orred pepper, or in the horse-radish root,
that bite our tongues so cruelly, reasoning upon
[these, I ask,]
-
- Of what use is this sting upon the tongue?
Why might we not have the benefit of these
stimulants, without the sting? Why might we not
have the fragrance and beauty of the rose
without the thorn?
-
- In the first place, however, we know not the
connection between pleasure and pain. They seem
to be mechanical and inseparable. How can we
conceive a strong passion, a sanguine hope
suddenly disappointed, without producing pain,
or grief? Swift at seventy, recollected the fish
he had angled out of water when a boy, which
broke loose from his hook; and said, 'I feel the
disappointment at this moment.' A merchant
places all his fortune and all his credit in a
single India or China ship. She arrives at the
Vineyard with a cargo worth a million, in order.
Sailing round a cape for Boston, a sudden storm
wrecks her -- ship, cargo and crew, all lost. Is
it possible that the merchant ruined, bankrupt,
sent to prison by his creditors -- his wife and
children starving -- should not grieve? Suppose
a young couple, with every advantage of persons,
fortunes and connections, on the point of
indissoluble union. A flash of lightning, or any
one of those millions of accidents which are
allotted to humanity, proves fatal to one of the
lovers. Is it possible that the other, and all
the friends of both, should not
grieve?
Well, should they?
Adams answers his own question, "It seems that
grief, as a mere passion; must be in proportion to
sensibility."
That is, if we have any sense in us, we ought to
feel grief; and we will feel grief when grief is
warranted; and the more sense we have in us, the
deeper the grief will grate. And that's not
necessarily a bad thing.
"Did you ever see a portrait, or a statue of a
great man, without perceiving strong traits of pain
and anxiety? These furrows were all ploughed in the
countenance, by grief. Our juridical oracle, Sir
Edward Coke, thought that none were fit for
legislators and magistrates, but "sad men." And who
were these sad men? They were aged men, who had
been tossed and buffeted in the vicissitudes of
life forced upon profound reflection by grief and
disappointments -- and taught to command their
passions and prejudices."
Imagine that! Adam's continues:
- But all this you will say is nothing to the
purpose. It is only repeating and exemplifying a
fact, which my question supposed to be well
known, viz., the existence of grief; and is no
answer to my question, "what are the uses of
grief ?'' This is very true, and you are very
right ; but may not the uses of grief be
inferred, or at least suggested by such
exemplifications of known facts? Grief compels
the India merchant to think; to reflect upon the
plans of his voyage: Have I not been rash, to
trust my fortune, my family, my liberty, to the
caprices of winds and waves in a single ship? I
will never again give a loose to my imagination
and avarice. It had been wiser and more honest
to have traded on a smaller scale upon my own
capital.
-
- The desolated lover, and disappointed
connections, are compelled by their grief to
reflect on the vanity of human wishes and
expectations; to learn the essential lesson of
resignation; to review their own conduct towards
the deceased; to correct any errors or faults in
their future conduct towards their remaining
friends, and towards all men; to recollect the
virtues of the lost friend, and resolve to
imitate them; his follies and vices if he had
any, and resolve to avoid them.
-
- Grief drives men into habits of serious
refection, sharpens the understanding, and
softens the heart; it compels them to arouse
their reason, to assert its empire over their
passions, propensities and prejudices; to
elevate them to a superiority over all human
events; to give them the felicis annimi immcota
tranquilitatum; in short, to make them stoics
and Christians.
No wonder, then, so many laws and pills and
safety nets and state salaried grief counselors,
ready and willing and able to hinder grief from
running it's natural course, commissioned to deal
with grief from a secular, socialist, sottish
standpoint! Let's not let man, as he has from the
beginning, turn to God in his hour of
need!
But I'm interrupting. Adam's
concludes:
- After all, as grief is a pain, it stands in
the predicament of all other evil, and the great
question occurs, what is the origin, and what
the final cause of evil? This perhaps is known
only to Omniscience. We poor mortals have
nothing to do with it -- but to fabricate all
the good we can out of all inevitable evils --
and to avoid all that are avoidable, and many
such there are, among which are our own
unnecessary apprehensions and imaginary fears.
Though stoical apathy is impossible, yet
patience, and resignation, and tranquility may
be acquired by consideration, in a great degree,
very much for the happiness of life.
(2)
The bottom line -- men of faith, see the GOOD,
the ADVANTAGE, the PROVIDENCE in "Hard Times," --
opportunists, however, Adam's would point out in
the next letter to Jefferson, exploit grief for
political gain, for in behalf of revolutionary
agendas. (3)
We know all about that today.
Jefferson concurred in all of this, called
Adams' answer complete, but then added a little bit
of his own faith and wisdom when he stated,
"[Grief] is destined to temper the cup we
are to drink." (4)
Jefferson applied this specifically and
repeatedly to the erosion of physical and mental
capacity, the unending aches and pains, the decline
in utility to society, the loss of lifelong friends
to death, which accompany old age.
His insights are inspiring. The supposed curse
of growing old and approaching death "proves
this that the Being who presides over the world is
essentially benevolent," -- benevolent because "the
wish to stay here is thus gradually extinguished,"
the fear of death reduced, a longing for life
eternal found in its place. (5)
To John Adams, he wrote:
- Whither, for instance, can you and I look
without seeing the graves of those we have
known? And whom can we call up, of our early
companions, who has not left us to regret his
loss? This, indeed, may be one of the salutary
effects of grief; inasmuch as it prepares us to
loose ourselves also without repugnance.
(6)
Death, then, could be "sweet," and "nature's
kindest boon," (7) thought Jefferson, and he never
let go of that theme. The longer he lived, the
closer he inched toward the inevitable, the more
the death of loved ones and troubles of old age
mounted upon his back like so many anvils, the
surer he was that life continued beyond the veil,
and that he was ready, even anxious to go. He
longed for that promised rejuvenation of faculties,
friendships, youthful vigor, and the resolution of
so many unanswered questions.
Reflective of that faith that grief and
debilitation had help burn within him, he
characteristically noted in letters to dear aged
friends that it was of small concern that bad
health had diminished the communication between he
and them, because a cheery reunion was not far
off.
To Abigail Adam's he writes, "With those beyond
the flood, our next meeting must then be in the
country to which they have flown, -- a country for
us not now very distant. For this journey we shall
need neither gold nor silver in our purse, nor
scrip, nor coats, nor staves. Nor is the provision
for it more easy than the preparation has been
kind." (8)
Such hopes brought sense out of suffering.
Adam's thought so too. He would endure "many
thousands [of] years of Smithfield fevers,"
so long as there is a "promise [of an]
eternal life free from pain." (9)
And then, he (Adams) extended the principle to a
theme of his own: "In fine, without the supposition
of a future state, mankind and this globe appear to
me to be the most sublime and beautiful bubble; and
bauble, that imagination can conceive.
"Let us then wish for immortality at all
hazards, and trust the Ruler with his skies. I do".
(10)
Adam's believed that few men, if any, would
sacrifice comfort, career, and life itself for
family, country, freedom were there no immortality,
no day of accounting, no reward waiting on the
other end. It was the belief in a greater life, a
greater peace, a greater progression in knowledge
in a Heavenly abode that was the greatest driving
force to endurance in good works and public virtue
available to man that made every sort of suffering
bearable to attain it.
"Thus, [I] earnestly wish for His
commands, which to the utmost of my power shall be
implicitly and piously obeyed[,]" he
finished. (11)
And so, these two founders ("the pen" and "the
voice" of the Declaration of Independence), these
two former presidents and men of great learning,
were yet humble enough, wise enough, faithful
enough to understood that grief, like every other
form of adversity, was the Refiner's fire, the kind
of glorious fire which fit men for a better and
happier life here and hereafter -- if only they
have the patience, if only they have the faith to
wait upon and make the best of what Providence
provides.
And so while it is common sense to avoid
bringing grief upon our own heads, and godlike to
relieve the sufferer from his burden where possible
in ways that are good and wise (or free of
compulsion, dependence and addiction), yet it is
equally sensible and godlike to look to grief as
the great teacher and benevolent friend that it is,
and to think twice before we embrace measures that
would legislate or medicate grief into oblivion; --
for it just might be that grief is just what the
Doctor of all Doctors ordered.
Footnotes
1. Bergh, Albert Ellery, editor. The Writings
of Thomas Jefferson, Volume 15, pg. 12.
2. Ibid., pgs. 12-15.
3. Ibid., pgs. 68-69.
4. Ibid., pg. 56.
5. Ibid., pg. 96.
6. Ibid., pg. 73.
7. Ibid., pg. 371.
8. Ibid., pg. 96.
9. Ibid., pg. 64.
10. Ibid., pg. 64.
11. Ibid.
Farrell
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