Transcript
A (0:02)
This is Philosophy Bites with me, David.
B (0:04)
Edmonds, and me, Nigel Warburton.
A (0:06)
Philosophy Bites is available at www.philosophybytes.com. anyone who's lost a spouse, a parent or a close friend will know the feeling that initial sense of intense grief tends to drop off over a period of months and years to something less overwhelming. Returning to Philosophy Bites, Samuel Scheffler, author most recently of One Life to Lead, says, there's something puzzling about this.
B (0:30)
Samuel Scheffler, welcome to Philosophy Bites.
C (0:34)
Thank you. I'm delighted to be here.
B (0:36)
The topic we're going to talk about is grief and time. Before we get on to the connection with time, could you just say what you understand by grief?
C (0:45)
Well, grief is a more complex notion than we sometimes take it to be. It's people. People often think of grief as a feeling of some kind, and it certainly has affective quality. But grief is actually quite complicated syndrome of feelings, dispositions to think in certain ways, to act in certain ways, characteristic patterns of thought, feeling and affect that typically occur in response to a personal loss.
B (1:15)
What's that got to do with time?
C (1:17)
Well, like many of our feelings and attitudes, grief seems to be affected by the passage of time in ways that sometimes can seem puzzling or even troubling, both puzzling to us as philosophers and sometimes troubling to people who are experiencing grief. One way to approach the question is to think about how various other feelings and emotions are affected by the passage of time. Not all of our feelings and emotions seem to be affected the same way. So. So, for example, if you think of something like gratitude, if you saved my life several years ago, I may reasonably remain grateful to you forever, and there's no reason why I should ever stop feeling grateful to you. A different kind of case. Suppose I'm terrified because a maniac is on the loose. I've just heard, and it seems I have reason to be terrified. But then I hear that the maniac has been captured by the police. There's no longer any danger. No. Now it seems I no longer have reason to be terrified. If I continue to be terrified, something seems to have gone amiss. So that's a case where I had a reason for the attitude. The reason's gone, so it seems like I should no longer feel the same thing, or if I do, there's something questionable or inappropriate about it. Now, another different kind of case. Suppose you point out to me someone call him Elmer, who seems to be extremely happy, and I suppose, what's going on? They said, well, he's quite elated about the birth of his daughter. I then make the assumption that his daughter was just born within the last couple of days. And he said, no, no, she was born 20 years ago. And at that point you might think, well, that's very odd. He's elated about the birth of his daughter, which took place 20 years ago. Even though we can assume that Elmer loves his daughter very much, we think that it's something weird or inappropriate about his still being elated 20 years later. And notice that in this case it's not, as in the case of the maniac on the loose, as if the reason for the original attitude is gone. There's nothing analogous to the maniac having been captured. His daughter was born, she's still alive. Let's assume so. It's not like that reason disappeared. All that's happened is time has passed. And it seems as if, well, why should the passage of time by itself alter his attitude if the reason for the attitude hasn't disappeared with the passage of time? Or has the passage of time affected the reason? Now, that's a philosophical question, not likely to trouble most people. But now to come back to your original question about grief. Suppose someone experience a terrible personal loss and they feel grief. Often when people do feel grief, it feels, like, unbearable and it's never going to end. But in fact, most of the time it does end. People seem remarkably resilient, and after the passage of a certain amount of time, they cease to feel the intense grief that they initially did, and they're able to get on with their lives again. Though, as in the case of Elmer, you might say, well, wait a minute, the person died. Nothing's changed on that score. And if that was a reason for the person to feel grief in the first place, what has changed other than the passage of time now, in this case, by distinction, the case of Aylmer. It's not just a philosopher's question. It seems people who undergo grief often are themselves troubled by this. They feel, why am I not feeling this anymore? Sometimes they feel it's disloyal to cease grieving. Or they wonder if they're not experiencing grief anymore. Are they somehow failing to register appropriately the value of the person they cared about or the magnitude of their loss? So the puzzle is, on the one hand, it seems appropriate that grief should stop. If somebody doesn't stop grieving after decades, we think something maybe has gone wrong. They should move on, they should get on with their lives. But if they do get on with their lives and move on, often people feel troubled by that, why am I able to get on with my life? Why have I moved on?
