“No.  One can be insensible to cold as to every other pain.  Marcus Aurelius says:  ’A pain is a vivid idea of pain; make an effort of will to change that idea, dismiss it, cease to complain, and the pain will disappear.’  That is true.  The wise man, or simply the reflecting, thoughtful man, is distinguished precisely by his contempt for suffering; he is always contented and surprised at nothing.”

“Then I am an idiot, since I suffer and am discontented and surprised at the baseness of mankind.”

“You are wrong in that; if you will reflect more on the subject you will understand how insignificant is all that external world that agitates us.  One must strive for the comprehension of life, and in that is true happiness.”

“Comprehension . . .” repeated Ivan Dmitritch frowning.  “External, internal. . . .  Excuse me, but I don t understand it.  I only know,” he said, getting up and looking angrily at the doctor—­“I only know that God has created me of warm blood and nerves, yes, indeed!  If organic tissue is capable of life it must react to every stimulus.  And I do!  To pain I respond with tears and outcries, to baseness with indignation, to filth with loathing.  To my mind, that is just what is called life.  The lower the organism, the less sensitive it is, and the more feebly it reacts to stimulus; and the higher it is, the more responsively and vigorously it reacts to reality.  How is it you don’t know that?  A doctor, and not know such trifles!  To despise suffering, to be always contented, and to be surprised at nothing, one must reach this condition”—­and Ivan Dmitritch pointed to the peasant who was a mass of fat—­“or to harden oneself by suffering to such a point that one loses all sensibility to it—­ that is, in other words, to cease to live.  You must excuse me, I am not a sage or a philosopher,” Ivan Dmitritch continued with irritation, “and I don’t understand anything about it.  I am not capable of reasoning.”

“On the contrary, your reasoning is excellent.”

“The Stoics, whom you are parodying, were remarkable people, but their doctrine crystallized two thousand years ago and has not advanced, and will not advance, an inch forward, since it is not practical or living.  It had a success only with the minority which spends its life in savouring all sorts of theories and ruminating over them; the majority did not understand it.  A doctrine which advocates indifference to wealth and to the comforts of life, and a contempt for suffering and death, is quite unintelligible to the vast majority of men, since that majority has never known wealth or the comforts of life; and to despise suffering would mean to it despising life itself, since the whole existence of man is made up of the sensations of hunger, cold, injury, and a Hamlet-like dread of death.  The whole of life lies in these sensations; one may be oppressed by it, one may hate it, but one cannot despise it.  Yes, so, I repeat, the doctrine of the Stoics can never have a future; from the beginning of time up to to-day you see continually increasing the struggle, the sensibility to pain, the capacity of responding to stimulus.”