volume	18,	no.	25 december	2018 Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief Berislav Marušić Brandeis University © 2018 Berislav	Marušić This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 3.0 License. <www.philosophersimprint.org/018025/> M	y	mother	died	on	November	30,	2007	-	suddenly	and	unex-pectedly	at	the	age	of	55.	In	light	of	her	death,	I	immediately	experienced	intense	grief.	And	this	seems	as	it	should	be: my	reason	for	grief	was	that	my	mother	had	died,	not	exactly	young, but	too	young.	Indeed,	if	I	had	not	experienced	such	grief,	something would	have	been	wrong	with	me.	Contrast	me	with	Camus's	character Meursault	in	The Stranger	who,	a	day	after	his	mother's	funeral,	goes	to the	movies	with	a	new	love	interest	(1942/1988). Yet	now,	many	years	later,	I	experience	hardly	any	grief	at	all.	This, too,	seems	as	it	should	be.	In	"Mourning	and	Melancholia,"	Freud	puts it	with	apparent	simplicity: [A]lthough	mourning	involves	grave	departures	from	the normal	attitude	to	life,	it	never	occurs	to	us	to	regard	it	as a	pathological	condition	and to refer it to	medical treatment.	We	rely	on	its	being	overcome	after	a	certain	lapse of	time.	(1917/1999,	243–4)1 In	a similar	vein,	DSM-5,	our contemporary standard for classifying mental	illnesses,	states: The dysphoria in grief is likely to decrease in intensity over days to weeks and occurs in waves, the so-called pangs	of	grief.	(American	Psychiatric	Association	2013) Yet	upon	reflection,	the	diminution	of	grief	is	puzzling.	My	grief	has passed,	almost	entirely.	But	my	mother's	death	has	not	been	undone. Yet	if	my	grief	was	a	rational	response	to	her	death,	and	if	her	death	remains	the	same	over	time,	then,	it	seems,	I	am	failing	to	be	responsive to	my	reasons. This	gives	rise	to	a	puzzle:	Grief	is,	plausibly,	a	response	to	reasons; the reason for	my	grief	was	my	mother's	death;	her	death	does	not change	over	time;	but	it	is	not	wrong	for	me	to	grieve	less	over	time. 1. I take "mourning" and "grief" to refer to the same emotion	-	what in	German is rendered	as "Trauer."	My interest is in the	emotional	experience	of grief	-	paradigmatically	of	being	sad	-	and	not	in	the	practice	of	grieving. berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 2 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) However, I	did	recover.	And	I	was	surprised	by	how	quickly	this happened	and	how	thorough	the	recovery	was.	Yet	I'd	like	to	think	that this	does	not	reflect	a	peculiar	callousness	on	my	part	but	is	a	common phenomenon.	Empirical	studies	have	shown	that	we	typically	come	to terms	with	others'	deaths,	and	many	other	misfortunes,	surprisingly quickly.4	Here	is	how	George	Bonanno,	a	leading	researcher	on	grief, puts	it	at	the	opening	of	his	book	The Other Side of Sadness: The good	news is that for	most of us, grief is not overwhelming	or	unending.	As	frightening	as	the	pain	of	loss can	be,	most	of	us	are	resilient.	Some	of	us	cope	so	effectively,	in	fact,	we	hardly	seem	to	miss	a	beat	in	our	day-today	lives.	We	may	be	shocked,	even	wounded,	by	a	loss, but	we	still	manage	to	regain	our	equilibrium	and	move on....	[Bereavement]	is	something	we	are	wired	for,	and	it is	certainly	not	meant	to	overwhelm	us.	Rather,	our	reactions	to	grief	seem	designed	to	help	us	accept	and	accommodate	losses	relatively	quickly	so	that	we	can	continue to	live	productive	lives.	(2009,	7–8) For	what it's	worth, this is true to	my	experience.	However, it is something	that	surprised	me.	I	was	surprised	that	only	a few	weeks after	my	mother's	death,	I	could	lead	my	life	more	or	less	exactly	as	I did	before	her	death:	I	hardly	missed	a	beat!	I	was	also	surprised	that my	grief seemed to	disappear almost completely	-	just as	Bonanno describes: The	fact	is	that	most	of	the	time,	there	is	no	hidden	grief. There	may	be	lingering	questions	about	the	relationship, or changes	wrought	by the	death	may	have to	be	dealt 4. See,	for	instance,	Bonanno	et al (2005)	and	the	extensive	references	in	Bonanno	(2009),	as	well	as	the	discussion	in	Moller	(2007).	However,	I	do	not	propose	to	pursue	the	empirical	question	of	whether	grief	really	diminishes	as quickly	as	Bonanno	and	others	argue.	My	methodology	in	this	essay	is	that of	phenomenology	not	of	empirical	psychology;	hence	the	focus	on	the	first person. Yet	how	could	the	diminution	of	grief	not	be	wrong,	if	my	reason	for grief	stays	the	same?	Do	reasons	for	grief	expire? In	what	follows,	I	will	first	clarify	the	puzzle.	I	will	then	consider four	possible	responses.	Finally,	I	will	argue	that	the	puzzle	eludes	a solution,	but	that	there	are	principled	reasons	for	why	that	is	so.2 My	topic	in	this	paper	is	grief.	However,	the	phenomenon	I	am	interested	in	-	the	rationality	of	accommodation	to	a	loss	and	also	injustice	-	arises	not	just	for	grief	but	for	many	other	emotions,	including, paradigmatically,	anger,	indignation	and	guilt.	Here	I	wish	to	focus	on grief	as	a	case	study,	and	I	leave	discussion	of	our	emotional	response to	injustice	for	another	occasion.3 1. Clarifying the Puzzle In	this	section,	I	would	like	to	make	the	puzzle	I	just	sketched	more vivid	and	also	clarify some	aspects	of it.	What I	hope to	make	plausible is that the	puzzle is	especially	pressing	when	considered from a	first-person	perspective	-	from	the	perspective	of the	griever	who anticipates	the	diminution	of	her	grief	or	someone	who	reflects	upon the	diminution	of	her	grief	in	retrospect.	I	will	also	consider	why	the puzzle	might	be	overlooked	and	how	we	are	to	understand	the	object of	grief. 1.1 Surprise, Anticipation, Retrospection To	make the	puzzle vivid, I	will start	by	describing	how the	puzzle initially	struck	me. When	my	mother	died	and	I	initially	felt	intense	grief,	it	seemed	to me	that	I	would	never	fully	recover.	I	was	convinced,	perhaps	naïvely, that	my	life	would	always	be	infused	with	pain	over	her	death. 2. Although	there is	a large literature	on	grief, I take the	puzzle I	describe to be novel. I discuss some of the literature in what follows. Moller (2007) and	Nussbaum	(2001,	ch.1)	have	been	especially	influential	in	my	thinking. Moller (forthcoming),	which	came to	my	attention	only	as this article	was going	to	press,	offers	considerations	that	are	congenial	to	the	present	line	of argument. 3. Marušić	(in	preparation). berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 3 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) our	loss.	Proust	puts	it	well	in	a	famous	passage	from	Within a Budding Grove: Our	dread	of	a	future	in	which	we	must	forego	the	sight of	faces	and	the	sound	of	voices	which	we	love	and	from which today we derive our dearest joy, this dread, far from	being	dissipated,	is	intensified,	if	to	the	pain	of	such a	privation	we	feel	that	there	will	be	added	what	seems to	us	now	in	anticipation	more	painful	still:	not	to	feel	it as	a	pain	at	all	-	to	remain	indifferent.	(1919/1998,	340)6 When	we	grieve,	the	thought	that	we	will	stop	grieving	strikes	us	as the	thought	that	we	will	no	longer	care	-	that,	in	time,	we	will	become indifferent to it. This is unproblematic, and even comforting,	when we	are	upset	over	something	that,	as	we	understand,	we	won't	have reason	to	care	about	anymore	-	for	instance,	the	end	of	a	bad	relationship	or	a	ruined	shirt.	But	the	death	of	a	loved	one	is	different.	When we	anticipate	that	the	object	of	our	grief	will	continue	to	matter	-	for instance,	when	we	think	that	we	will	continue	to	love	the	other	-	the thought	that	our	grief	will	diminish	strikes	us	as	a	failure	on	our	part.7 The fact that the anticipation	of the end	of grief, rather than	being	a	source	of	comfort,	is	something	that	we	shrink	from,	illuminates my	puzzle:	If,	in	grieving,	we	understand	that	our	loss	will	continue to	matter,	we	anticipate	the	end	of	grief	as	a	failure	to	adequately	respond	to	our	reasons.	I	take	this	to	be	an	insight	suggested	by	Proust 6. Thanks	to	Richard	Moran	and	Nicholas	Riggle	for	pointing	me	to	this	passage. Moller	(2007,	312)	also	discusses	the	passage.	He	accepts	Proust's	point	and argues	that	our	resilience	in	the	face	of	loss	is	to	be	understood	as	a	form	of blindness	to	the	significance	of	loss. 7. Preston-Roedder	and	Preston-Roedder (2017) argue that	we	have	different ways	in	which	we	can	"stand	in	solidarity"	with	the	dead	loved	one,	even	if we	don't	experience	grief.	Even	if	correct,	I	think	that	this	view	cannot	help	us make	sense	of	the	end	of	grief.	In	fact,	it	seems	to	me	-	though	I	am	certain that	many	will	disagree	-	that	these	alternative	ways	of	standing	in	solidarity with	the	dead	are,	in	effect,	attempts	to	cling	to	diminishing	grief.	Indeed,	if we	had	alternative,	equally	good	ways	of	standing	in	solidarity	with	the	dead, why	should	we	grieve	at	all? with,	but	usually	when	grief	has	come	and	gone,	that's	it. Even	if	the	anguish	was	short-lived,	most	of	the	time	all that	means	is	that	the	person	has	managed	her	or	his	grief effectively	and	is	moving	on	with	life.	(22) It	surprised	me	that there	wasn't	hidden	grief	-	or	at	any	rate	much less	than	I	initially	believed	there	would	be. This,	then,	gave	rise	to	a	puzzle:	In	my	initial	experience	of	grief, I (naïvely) expected	my grief to continue, because I thought of	my mother's death as	my reason for grief. In grieving, it seemed to	me that	my	grief	would	continue	for	as	long	as	her	death	was	a	reason	to grieve	-	that	is,	as	long	as	she	continued	to	matter	to	me.	This	is	why I	was	surprised	at	the	rapid	diminution	and	the	eventual	end	of	grief:	I stopped	grieving,	even	though	she	did	not	stop	mattering	to	me. Here	is	another	way	to	articulate	this	point:	Robert	Solomon	said that	grief	is	the	continuation	of	love.5	I	think	that	this	captures	my	experience	of	grief	quite	well: I took	grief to	be	a	manifestation	of	my love	for	my	mother.	And	I thought	I	would	love	her for	as long	as	I shall	live	-	or	at	least	for	longer	than	a	few	weeks.	That	is	why	I	did not	think	that	my	grief	would	diminish	so	quickly.	But	it	did	diminish, and	eventually	it	ended,	and	I	struggle	to	understand	how	that	can	be, since,	I'd	like	to	think,	my	love	continues. I	was surprised by the temporality of	my grief, because I hadn't grieved	before,	at	least	not	in	a	way	that	the	importance	of	my	loss	so clearly	outlived	my	grief.	However,	I	probably	should	have	known	better,	since	there	was	plenty	of	evidence	about	how	other	people	experience	loss.	For	the	less	naïve,	my	puzzle	will	therefore	arise	differently. It	will	arise	in	anticipation	of	the	diminution	of	grief. Indeed,	it	is	the	anticipation	of	the	diminution	of	grief	that	makes my	puzzle	most	vivid.	When	we	anticipate	the	diminution	of	grief,	it seems	to	us	that, in	time,	we	will	no	longer	care	about	our loss.	Yet this is jarring	when	we	also	anticipate the	continued importance	of 5. As	Higgins	(2013,	159)	reports,	Solomon	says	this	in	his	unpublished	lecture "Good	Grief."	In	True to Our Feelings,	he	says,	"Grief	is	...	a	way	of	keeping	the love	alive"	(2007,	74). berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 4 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) My	puzzle	arises	because	it	is	difficult	in	retrospect	to	identify	the reasons in light of	which it	would	make sense to grieve less. In an effort	to	explain	why	we	grieve	less,	we	seem	to	reach	for	the	wrong kind	of	reasons.	That	is	because	the	diminution	of	grief	does	not	seem to	be	primarily	a	response	to	a	change	in	the	significance	or	value	of the	loss	but	is,	rather,	occasioned	by	the	needs	of	the	griever.	Yet	this makes	it	hard	to	understand	the	diminution	of	grief	as	a	response	to reasons	-	since	the	reasons	for	grief	are	not	provided	by	the	needs	of the griever. To compare: If it	were shown that	we disbelieve something	because	it	is	bad	for	us	to	believe	it,	wouldn't	this	reveal	that	we are,	precisely,	not	responsive	to	our	reasons? A	similar	point	applies	to	a	frequent	response	to	my	puzzle.	People say:	As	time	passes,	we	have	to	face	life	again;	we	have	to	attend	to our	children,	do	our	jobs,	and	take	care	of	ourselves	-	and	this	somehow	makes	the	diminution	of	grief	intelligible.	The	difficulty	with	this response	is	that	it	seems	to	appeal	to	the	wrong	kind	of	reasons.	The fact	that	I	have	to	carry	on	with	my	life	-	attend	to	my	children,	do	my job	and	take	care	of	myself	-	is	a	reason	of	the	wrong	kind;	it	merely shows that it	would	be important for	me	not to	grieve.	Also, it	may explain why I experience less grief	-	why	my attention shifts from my	mother	to	other	matters	-	but	it	does	not	provide	a	reason	for	the diminution	of	grief.	Indeed,	it	seems	that	the	only	reason	that	would be	of	the	right	kind	is	a	reason	that	would	show	that	my	mother	did not	die	after	all,	or	that	her	death	no	longer	matters	as	much.	But	this does	not	seem	to	be	the	case	here;	my	grief	diminished,	even	though I	continue	to	care.	But	if	the	loss	still	matters	to	me	-	how	could	it	be all	right	not	to	grieve? 1.2 Adjustment and Detachment I	acknowledge	that	the	puzzle	I	described	is	elusive.	I	think	that	this	is so,	because	there	are	two	reasons	that	make	sense	of	the	diminution	of grief	to	some	extent,	but	not	entirely.	But	because	they	make	sense	of the	diminution	of	grief	to	some	extent,	they	obscure	the	puzzle. (even	if	it	is	not	quite	what	he	had	in	mind).	However,	it	is	important to	note	that	this	insight	holds	only	of	cases	in	which	we	anticipate	the continuation	of	love.	When	we	don't	-	when	we	are	upset	over	something	that,	we	realize,	won't	continue	to	matter	to	us	-	we	may	well look	forward	to	a	time	when	we	won't	have	any	more	reason	to	grieve. Or,	when	we	experience	grief	over	something	that	we	recognize	as	not being	of	value	-	an	unrealized	holiday	crush,	say	-	we	can	see	the	end of	grief	as	a	return	to	reason. The	anticipation	of	the	diminution	of	grief	is,	I	think,	the	most	vivid way	to	feel	the	force	of	my	puzzle.	However,	there	is	another	way:	It is	to	consider	how	we	could	make	sense	of	the	diminution	of	grief	in retrospect. I realize that when	my	mother died, I had very good reason to grieve.	I	also	acknowledge	that	today,	a	decade	after	her	death,	I	am not	wrong not to grieve. But I find it puzzling	why this should be so	-	since	it	does	not	seem	that	her	death	is	any	less	of	a	loss. The	main	reason	why	my	grief	diminished	so	quickly	seems	to	be that	I	simply	had	to	move	on.	Intense	grief	is	hard	to	bear	and	is	a	major	disruption	to	life.	If	my	initial	grief	had	not	diminished	significantly and	quickly,	I	would	have	gone	to	pieces.	That	is	why	it	makes	very good	sense	that	my	grief	would	diminish	and	that	I	would	be	wired in	a	way	for	this	to	be	so.	The	trouble	is	that	this	is	no	reason	for	grief to	diminish,	since,	at	best,	it	is	a	reason	of	the	wrong	kind.8	I	did	not grieve	because	grieving	was	somehow	good	for	me.	I	grieved	because my	mother	had	died.	Considerations	showing	that it is	good	or	bad for	me	to	grieve	are	like	considerations	showing	that	it	is	good	or	bad to	believe	something:	they	may	make	sense	of	why	someone	believes something,	but	not	in	a	way	that	renders	the	belief	intelligible	to	the believer.	The	goodness	or	badness	of	grief	has	something	to	do	with me,	the	griever.	But	my	grief	was	not	about	me;	my	grief	was	my	response	to	my	mother's	death. 8. See	D'Arms	and	Jacobson	(2000,	77)	for	a	point	in	this	vein	about	grief	and Hieronymi	(2005;	2013)	for	an	account	of	the	wrong	kind	of	reasons	that	I find	convincing. berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 5 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) itself	is	a	large	part	of	what	constitutes	the	diminution	of grief.	(2001,	82) Nussbaum	identifies	two	reasons	that	make	sense	of	diminished	grief: the griever's adjustment to her loved one's death and the griever's gradual	detachment	from	her.10	And	I	think	that	she	is	right	about	both. However,	I	don't	think	this	is	all	there	is. Here	is	why,	despite	Nussbaum's	insights, I think	that	the	puzzle persists. Even though the diminution of grief makes limited sense in	light	of	our	adjustment	to	the	other's	death	-	especially	when	the death	was	unexpected	-	grief	is	not	primarily	a	response	to	the	unexpectedness	or	suddenness	of	the	other's	death,	but	to	her	death	itself. That	is	why	one's	adjustment	does	not	significantly	bear	on	whether one	has	less	reason	to	grieve	over	time.	To	the	extent	that	it	bears	on	it, it	does	so	insofar	as	grief	is	a	response	to	the	time	or	circumstances	of the	other's	death,	rather	than	to	the	death	itself. Nussbaum's	second	point	-	that	over time	the loved	one	matters less	to	us	-	may	identify	a	good	reason	for	the	diminution	of	grief.	Yet even	if	it	does,	this	does	not	seem	reason	enough.	Although	my	mother's	role	in	my	life	is	very	different	today	than	when	she	died,	and	even though	in	a	salient	sense	she	matters	less	to	me	today	than	she	did	a decade	ago,	my	love	did	not	disappear	as	quickly	and	as	thoroughly	as my	grief.	My	grief	started	diminishing	very	shortly	after	her	death	and its	diminution	was	rapid	and	complete.	Yet	I	love	her	more	and	longer than	is	reflected	in	my	grief.	It	is	the	discrepancy	between	the	duration of	grief	and	the	extent	to	which	the	loved	one	matters	to	us	that	gives rise	to	the	puzzle	-	even	if	we	acknowledge	that	over	time	the	dead do,	in	fact,	come	to	matter	less. Indeed, it remains puzzling to me why Nussbaum's second point	-	that her mother plays a less central role in her flourishing	-	would	not	constitute	a	reason	for	an intensification,	rather	than the	diminution,	of	grief.	After	all,	isn't	it	a	further	loss,	in	addition	to 10. I	take	Nussbaum's	saying	that	some	of	her	value	judgments	change	tense	to reflect	the	fact	that	her	mother	comes	to	matter	less. The	first reason is that	grief	may involve	an	element	of	shock	or surprise,	especially	if	a	loved	one's	death	was	unexpected,	and	this	is something	that	one	adjusts	to	fairly	quickly.	The	second	is	that	over time the	dead loved	one	does lose	significance in	one's life.	Martha Nussbaum	brings	out	both	points	in	her	poignant	reflections	on	the diminution	of	her	grief	over	her	mother's	death:9 When	I	receive	the	knowledge	of	my	mother's	death,	the wrenching	character	of	that	knowledge	comes	in	part	from the	fact	that	it	violently	tears	the	fabric	of	hope,	planning, and	expectation	that	I	have	built	up	around	her	all	my	life. But	when	the	knowledge	of	her	death	has	been	with	me for	a long	time, I reorganize	my	other	beliefs	about the present	and	future	to	accord	with	it.	I	no	longer	have	the belief	that	I	will	see	my	mother	at	Thanksgiving	dinner;	I no	longer	think	of	the	end	of	a	busy	day	as	a	time	when I	can	call	her	up	and	enjoy	a	long	talk;	I	no	longer	think of	a	trip	abroad	as	an	occasion	to	buy	presents	for	her;	I no longer expect to	make	happy	plans to celebrate	her birthday.	(2001,	80) I	will still accept	many	of the	same judgments	-	including	judgments	about	my	mother's	death,	about	her	worth and	importance,	about	the	badness	of	what	happened	to her.	But	propositions	having	to	do	with	the	central	role of	my	mother in	my	own	conception	of	flourishing	will shift	into	the	past	tense.	By	now,	in	August	2000,	it	is	no longer	as	true	of	me	as	it	was	in	1992,	that	"my	mother	is an	important	element	in	my	flourishing";	I	am	now	more inclined	to	accept	the	proposition,	"The	person	who	died was	a	central	part	of	my	life,"	and	this	judgmental	change 9. This	discussion	is	anticipated	in	Nussbaum's	The Therapy of Desire	(1994,	375– 89).	See	also	her	recent	Anger and Forgiveness	for	the	contrast	between	grief and	anger	(2016,	126). berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 6 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) reason	has	its	strength	or	significance.12 Indeed,	sometimes	we	have reason	to	grieve	for	those	to	whom	we	stand	in	no	significant	relationship.	As	an	anonymous	reviewer	puts	it:	"I	might	for	instance	look	at	a picture	of	a	child's	corpse	in	the	arms	of	a	crushed	and	grieving	mother, perhaps	in	new	photos	of	the	aftermath	of	an	errant	Hellfire	missile attack,	and	be	struck	with	grief.	Would	this	be	unreasonable?	I	think not,	even	though	the	loss	is	not	in	any	distinctive	sense	mine."	Agreed. No	particular	relationship	to	the	dead	child	is	required	for	reasonable grief.13 I	conclude	that	grief	often,	but	not	always,	involves	partiality:	the deaths	of	those	with	whom	we	stand	in	close	relationships	present	us with	different	and	more	significant	reasons	to	grieve	than	the	deaths of those	with	whom	we don't stand in any particular relationships. However,	this	does	not	mean	that	grief	is,	after	all,	about	us	or	about our	relationships	rather	than	about	those	who	died.	In	due	course,	I will	return	to	this	point	to	consider	whether	the	temporality	of	grief could	be	understood	by	analogy	to	its	partiality. 1.4 Desiderata for a Solution I	conclude	this	section	by	identifying	two	desiderata	for	a	solution	to my	puzzle:	A	solution	would	explain	how,	as	grievers,	we	are	to	anticipate	the	diminution	of	grief	in	a	way	that	makes	sense	to	us	-	but	without	invoking	the	wrong	kind	of	reasons.	Relatedly,	a	solution	would explain	how	we	are to	understand in retrospect	why	we	grieve less and	why	we	may	eventually	stop	grieving	altogether	-	again	without 12. I	propose to	understand the relationship to the	dead loved	one	as	what is sometimes	called	a	background	condition	for	a	reason	(see	Pettit	and	Smith (1990),	Dancy	(2000,	127–8),	Schroeder	(2007,	23–40),	and	especially	Keller (2013)).	I	hold	that	Cholbi	(2017,	258)	mistakes	a	background	condition	for a	reason	with	the	reason	itself	when	he	argues	that	the	object	of	grief	is	the relationship	to	the	dead,	on	the	grounds	that	we	only	have	reason	to	grieve for	those	with	whom	we	stand	in	the	relevant	relationships. 13. I	may	simply	stand	in	a	basic	"moral	relationship"	to	the	child	in	which	I	stand to	all	fellow	human	beings	(Scanlon	2013,	90),	so	that	the	relationship	plays	a crucial	role	after	all:	this	relationship,	too,	may	determine	the	significance	of my	reason	for	grief. her	mother's being dead, that her	mother no longer plays this central	role?	For	what	it's	worth,	I	have	been	struck	by	the	thought	that it	should	be	distressing	that	my	mother	is	no	longer	a	central	part	of my	life	-	for	instance,	when	she	missed	the	birth	of	her	grandchildren. Why	shouldn't	this	provide	further	reasons	for	grief?	This	is	another case	in	which	my	experience	of	grief	struck	me	as	incongruent	with the	reasons	in	light	of	which	grief	would	make	sense.11 1.3 The Object of Grief The	preceding	discussion	makes	clear	that,	to	understand	the	diminution	of	grief,	it	is	important	to	be	clear	about	the	object	of	grief.	Let	me clarify	how	I	propose	to	understand	it. Grief	is	a	response	to	loss.	In	the	case	at	hand,	my	loss	is	my	mother's	death.	It	is	to	her	death	that	I	respond	with	grief,	and	it	is	her	death that	is	the	primary	object	of	my	grief.	(More	precisely,	it is	her	being dead,	rather	than	the	event	of	her	dying).	However,	my	grief	may	concurrently	have	other	objects,	such	as	the	circumstances	of	her	dying, the	end	of	an	ongoing	relationship	with	her,	or	the	deprivation	to	myself.	In	contrast,	in	grieving	over	the	breakup	of	a	relationship,	the	primary	object	of	grief	-	the loss	-	is,	precisely, the	end	of	an	ongoing relationship.	This	brings	out	a	deep	difference	between	grief	over	a breakup	and	grief	over	a	loved	one's	death.	When	I	grieve	in	light	of	a breakup,	I	grieve	for us (who	no	longer	have	an	ongoing	relationship), or	for myself	(who	no	longer	has	a	companion).	But	when	I	grieve	in light	of	a	loved	one's	death,	I	grieve	for the other. Nonetheless,	it	is	clear	that	when	we	grieve	for	a	dead	loved	one, our relationship to her	matters a great deal. That is because the relationship to the	dead at least partly determines the significance	of our reasons to grieve. For example, it is in virtue of the fact that it was	my	mother who died that I have particularly strong reason to grieve	-	more reason than	a friend	or	a stranger.	However, the relationship	is	not	itself	my	reason;	rather,	it	is	that	in	virtue	of	which	my 11. I	am	indebted	to	Faye	Halpern	for	discussion	of	this	issue. berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 7 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) a	fever	does	not	make	such	a	question	applicable:	There	is	no	reason in	light	of	which	we	suffer	from	a	fever	-	though,	of	course,	there	is a	reason	why	we	suffer	from	the	fever,	an	explanatory	reason.	Hence, the	way	in	which	we	make	sense	of	grief	is	different	from	the	way	in which	we	make	sense	of	conditions	that	befall	us.17 A	related	observation	-	though	one I	do	not take to	be	as important	-	is	that	we	criticize	or	praise	others'	emotional	responses.	Meursault, for example, fails to properly respond to his loss, and others disapprove	of	him	for	that.18	However,	I	do	not	think	that	the	felicity of	criticism	or	blame	is	the	main	rationale	for	seeing	grief	as	reasonsresponsive.	It	is,	rather,	the	applicability	of	the	why-question,	posed	in the	sense	in	which	it	asks	for	reasons	in	light	of	which	we	grieve. I	hasten	to	add,	however,	that	the	assumption	that	grief	is	responsive	to	reasons	doesn't	equate	grief	with	judgment.	There	may	well	be deep	differences	between	the	two.19	One	important	difference	is	that whereas	both judgment	and	grief	can	be	recalcitrant to	reasons, the 17. The	applicability	of	the	Anscombean	why-question	also	leads	me	to	resist	the view	of	emotions	as	perceptions	(Prinz	2004):	The	question	of	why	we	grieve is	quite	unlike	the	question	of	why	we	perceive:	the	former	asks	for	the	reasons	in	light	of	which	we	grieve,	whereas	the	latter,	insofar	as	it	is	intelligible, asks	for	the	point	of,	say,	looking	at	something. 18. Solomon	argues,	in	light	of	Meursault's	example,	that	there	is	an	obligation	to grieve.	He	writes,	"We	are	not	just	surprised	when	a	person	shows	no	signs of	grief	after	a	very	personal	loss.	We	are	morally	outraged	and	think	much less	of the	person"	(2007,	75). In	contrast,	Wilkinson	(2000,	296–7)	argues that	we	do	not	see	a	failure	to	grieve	as	a	rational	failure	and,	in	light	of	this, concludes	that	grief	is	a	non-rational	response.	I	find	Wilkinson's	argument unconvincing,	but I think	that	only	consideration	of the	Anscombean	whyquestion	makes	this	clear. 19. Maguire (forthcoming) argues that there are no reasons for emotions but that	emotions	are	assessed	for	fittingness.	However,	I	don't	see	talk	of	fittingness	as	an	alternative	to	talk	of	reasons.	Rather,	it	seems	to	me	that	considerations	of	fittingness	could	be	understood	as	a	particular	kind	of	reasons.	Thus D'Arms	and	Jacobson	write,	"Crudely	put,	considerations	of	fittingness	are	all and	only	those	considerations	about	whether	to	feel	shame,	amusement,	fear, and so forth that bear on	whether the emotion's evaluation	of the circumstances	gets	it	right:	whether	the	situation	really	is	shameful,	funny,	fearsome, and	so	forth"	(2003,	132). invoking	the	wrong	kind	of	reasons.	Both	explanations	would	speak	to the	first-person	perspective	of	the	(former)	griever.	In	this	way,	a	solution	to	the	puzzle	would	explain	why	reasons	for	grief	expire.14 2. Reasons-Responsiveness A	fundamental	assumption	of	my	puzzle is that	grief is, in	principle, responsive	to	reasons.	In	this	section	I	will	clarify	this	assumption	and defend	its	plausibility. The	assumption seems	plausible,	because	our emotions are	not conditions that befall us, but they	partly constitute our take	on the world:	In	fear,	we	apprehend	something	as	dangerous,	in	anger	we	apprehend	something	as	a	wrong,	and	in	grief,	we	apprehend	something as	a	loss.15	That	is	why	grief	makes	sense	to	us	in light of	something	that happens in	the	world	-	unlike, for instance,	a fever,	which	we	don't experience in light of something,	despite the fact that,	quite like the pangs	of	grief,	it	comes	and	goes.	The	apprehension	involved	in	grief is reflected in the fact that there is, in principle, something I could discover	which	would	extinguish	my	grief:	In	discovering	that	I	hadn't suffered	a	loss	-	that	my	mother	wasn't	dead	after	all	-	I	would	therein stop	grieving.	In	this	respect,	grief	differs	from	a	fever:	there	is	nothing	I	could	discover,	such	that	in	discovering	it,	I	would	cease	to	have a	fever.	This	is	captured	in	the	observation	that	when	we	experience grief,	the	question	of	why	we	experience	it,	posed	in	the	specific	sense in	which	it	asks	for	our	reasons,	finds	application.	(I	think	of	this	as	a variation	of	Anscombe's	why-question.)16	In	contrast,	a	condition	like 14. An	anonymous	reviewer	suggests	"that there is	more	to	rationality than	responding	to	(apparent)	reasons,"	for	instance	in	considerations	of	instrumental	rationality,	rational	coherence,	and	structural	rationality.	My	main	reservation	is	that it is	not	clear	to	me	to	what	extent	such	accounts	of	rationality speak	to	the	agent's	understanding,	though	I	do	not	have	space	here	to	address	the	issue	adequately. 15. See	Solomon	(1976;	2007),	de	Sousa	(1987),	Roberts	(1988),	D'Arms	and	Jacobson (2000; 2003) and	Nussbaum (2001) for endorsements	of the	view that	emotions	are	reasons-responsive,	though	on	different	grounds. 16. Anscombe	(1957/2000). berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 8 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) these	cases	is	that	there	is logical	room	for	such	a	question,	about	regret	as	much	as	about	belief,	and	that	the	actual	fear	or	regret	one	feels	is	answerable	to	such	considerations.	I	may	confess	that	my	fear	is	beyond	my	control and	that	I	can't	help	being	afraid	of	something	where,	by my	own	lights,	there	is	nothing	to	be	feared.	But	so	long as I	am	to	understand	my	condition	as fear	of	any	kind, even	irrational	fear,	I	cannot	fail	to	accept	the	relevance, the	force	of	the	deliberative	question	"Is	there	anything	to be	feared	here?"	(2001,	63) To	apply	Moran's	thought	to	the	case	of	grief,	I	want	to	say:	as	long	as	I am	to	understand	my	condition	as	grief,	even	irrational	grief,	I	cannot fail	to	accept	the	relevance	or	applicability	of	the	question,	"What	has been	lost?" How, then, are we to understand the reasons-responsiveness of grief?	This	is	something	that	I	would	like	to	leave	open,	because	I	do not	think	that	the	puzzle	I	described	depends	on	the	particulars	of	an account	of	the	reasons-responsiveness	of	emotions.	The	puzzle	arises on an account, according to	which emotions partly consist in judgments,	but	it	also	arises	on	an	account,	according	to	which	emotions don't	consist	in,	or	involve	judgments,	but	the	reasons-responsiveness of	emotions	is	simply	to	be	understood	in	terms	of	whether	the	emotion	is	a	fitting	appraisal	of	a	situation.	On	such	a	view,	the	question is	simply:	Why	is	less	grief	fitting	after	a	certain	amount	of	time	has passed?	I	also	want	to	leave	open	whether	reasons-responsiveness	is to	be	understood	in	terms	of	obligation	or	permissiveness,	since	I	don't think	of	these	notions	as	the	primary	guide	to	reasons-responsiveness. It	may	be	that	grief	is	always	at	most	permissible	and	never	required (though	I	did	not	think	of	my	own	grief	that	way).	What	matters	is	that even	on	a	permissivist	view,	the	reasons-responsiveness	of	grief	has	a temporal	profile.	Even	if	grief	is	always	permissible,	it	seems	plausible that	one	has	reason	to	feel	grief	more	strongly	right	after	a	loss	and recalcitrance	of	grief	strikes	us	as	less	problematic.20	Richard	Wollheim puts	it	well: Perhaps,	if	we	are	to	think	of	some	emotion	of	ours	as	altogether	rational,	we	must	think	of	its	object	as	deserving it.	But	that	is	neither	the	norm	that	our	emotions	follow, nor one to	which	we think they should comply. In our emotional life,	we	do	not	always feel	ourselves to	have right	on	our	side.	(1999,	115) I	think	that	Wollheim	is	correct	that	in	our	emotional	life,	we	do	not always	feel	ourselves	to	have	right	on	our	side.	We	might	experience sadness	and	think	that	we	have	no	reason	to	be	sad,	we	might	experience	fear	and	know	that	there	is	nothing	to	be	feared,	or	we	might experience envy and know that the other's achievement	would not really	be	of	value	to	us.	Even	more	often	we	might	experience	an	emotion	very	intensely	-	strong	emotional	responses	to	sports	and	games come	to	mind	-	and	take	ourselves	to	be	wrong	in	so	doing.	But	that we	do	not	always	feel	right	does	not	suggest	that	we	do	not	aspire,	in our	emotional	lives,	to	get	things	right.21	In	experiencing	an	emotion, we take ourselves answerable for experiencing it, even if we don't think	that	we	have	a	good	answer.	Richard	Moran	sums	up	the	crucial point	well: This	is	not	to	say	that	one	normally	arrives	at	one's	beliefs (let alone one's fears or regrets) through some explicit process of deliberation. Rather, what is essential in all 20.	For	discussion	of	emotional	recalcitrance	to	reasons,	see	Rorty	(1978),	Greenspan	(1981;	1988),	Deigh	(1994),	Nussbaum	(2001,	35–6)	and	D'Arms	and	Jacobson	(2003). 21. Wollheim	(1999)	argues	that	our	emotions	provide	us	with	an	attitude	to	the world,	in	contrast	to	beliefs,	which	give	us	a	picture	of	the	world.	But	it	seems to	me that	an	attitude is reasons-responsive: the	question	why to	have	an attitude	clearly	finds	application.	Thus	I	think	that	Wollheim's	picture	could allow	that	emotions	are	reasons-responsive,	though	perhaps	not	in	the	same way as beliefs. For a similar view to	Wollheim's,	which nonetheless takes emotions	to	be	reasons-responsive,	see	de	Sousa	(1987,	esp.	ch.7). berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 9 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) than	our	spatial	distance	does.	Just	as	whether	something	is	a	loss	or	a harm	does	not	depend	on	where	it	occurs,	it	does	not	depend	on	when it	occurs.	To	echo	Simone	Weil:	What's	time	got	to	do	with	it?	"Comme si	le	temps	faisait	quelque	chose	à	l'affaire"?25 On this	hardline	view, temporal	distance	matters	only insofar as it	affords	a	psychological	explanation	of	our	disinclination	to	grieve losses	that	have	receded	into	the	past.	Temporal	distance	is	like	spatial distance	from	those	in	need	as	Singer	sees	it:	It	explains	our	reactions but	does	not	justify	them. I	think	that	there	is	something	attractive	about	the	hardline	view: It	is	neat	and	clear	and	uncompromising.	But	I	do	not	think	that	it	can be	right.	Temporal	distance	does	not	merely	make	us	grieve less; in many	cases	it	seems	that	we	are	not	wrong	to	grieve	less.	Indeed,	there is	something	wrong	with	being	stuck;	there	is	something	wrong	with persistent	grief.	Persistent	grief is	distinguishable from	(statistically) normal	grief	-	and,	interestingly,	the	main	criterion	is	duration.	DSM5	states: Persistent complex bereavement disorder is diagnosed only if at least 12	months (6	months in children) have elapsed	since the	death	of	someone	with	whom	the	bereaved	had	a close relationship.	...	This time frame	discriminates	normal	grief	from	persistent	grief.	(American Psychological	Association,	2013) Persistent grief is a	mental disorder of sorts, though	DSM-5 lists it 25.	Maurice	Schumann	recalls	Simone	Weil	saying:	"How	can	we	condemn	the holocausts	which	are in	preparation	or are	being	perpetrated	around	us if we	don't	condemn,	or	even if	acknowledge	the	holocausts	as truths	of the faith	[i.e.	the	killings	described	in	the	Hebrew	Bible]	under	the	pretext	that they	occurred	thousands	of	years	ago,	as if time made a difference to the matter?" (Kahn,	ed.	1978,	25,	translation	and	italics	mine).	("Comment	pouvons-nous condamner les	holocausts	qui	se	préparent	ou	qui	se	perpètrent	autour	de nous	si	nous	ne	condamnons	pas,	ou	même	si	nous	reconnaissons	comme vérités	de	la	foi les	holocauses	sous	prétexte	qu'ils	se	sont	écoulés il	y	a	un certain	nombre	de	millénaires, comme si le temps faisait quelque chose à l'affaire?").	I	owe	the	reference	to	Yourgrau	(2010,	127).	See	Yourgrau	(2010) for	an	account	of	Weil's	own	suffering	over	temporally	distant	harms. less strongly as time	passes.22	Understanding rationality in terms	of permissiveness	may	make	the	puzzle	less	pronounced,	but	it	will	not address	it,	as	long	as	the	temporal	profile	of	the	reasons	for	grief	is	not properly	understood. 3. The Hardline View: Reasons Don't Expire A	first	response	to	my	puzzle	insists	that	reasons	don't	expire.23	The main	rationale	for	it	is	the	plausible	observation	that	a	loss	does	not cease	to	be	a	loss	as	it	recedes	into	the	past.	The	death	of	my	mother was	a	loss	when	it	occurred	and	remains	a	loss	to	this	day,	even	as	I move	on	in	life.	It	is	not	undone	by	the	passage	of	time,	and	it	is	not undone	by	the	many	events	in	my	life	that	have	occurred	since	then, such	as	the	birth	of	my	children.	But	since	this	loss	is	a	reason	for	grief, and	since	it	remains	a	loss,	it	remains	a	reason	for	grief.24 Indeed,	we	can	think	of	this	hardline	view	as	the	temporal	counterpart	to	Peter	Singer's	view	in	"Famine,	Affluence,	and	Morality"	(1972) that	spatial	distance	does	not	affect	our	intrinsic	reasons	to	aid	those in	need.	Presumably,	Singer's	view	applies	to	time	as	well	as	to	space. Our	temporal	distance	to	others	may	limit	the	ways	we	can	aid	them, since it is	not	possible to	send	aid	to the	past,	but	our temporal	distance as such	does	not seem to affect the intrinsic	moral facts, and therefore the reasons that	others'	plight	presents	us	with,	any	more 22. Sometimes	one	may	have	reason	to	pre-grieve	a	loss	-	though	the	strength of	reasons	for	pre-grief	seems	to	me	to	depend	on	the	imminence	of	the	loss and,	therefore,	to	exhibit	a	temporal	profile	as	well. 23. Agnes	Callard	has	defended	a	view	in	this	vein	in	several	talks,	though	she has	ultimately	come	to	reject	it	(Callard,	2018). 24. This	may seem	especially	plausible if there is a close connection	between values	-	such	as	losses	-	and	reasons:	For	instance,	on	a	"buck-passing"	view like	T.M.	Scanlon's,	for	something	to	be	a	value	is	for	it	to	have	a	particular second-order	property	-	namely	the	property	of	having	properties	in	virtue of	which	we	have	reasons for	certain	attitudes	and	actions	(1998,	97).	And it	seems	plausible	to	hold	that	something's	being	a	loss	consists	in	having	a property	that	provides	us	with	reasons	-	such	as	a	reason	to	grieve.	On	Scanlon's	view,	we	can	use	the	notion	of	reasons	to	explain	values.	But	for	present purposes	-	when	we	are trying to	settle	what reasons	we	have	-	we	could see	the	explanation	as	going	the	other	way	around,	from	values	to	reasons. berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 10 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) through	fire	for	their	husbands	and	wives,	and	generally show	tremendous	concern	before	their	loss.	It	is	just	that afterwards adaptive	mechanisms operate so as immediately	to	extinguish	any	feelings	of	distress.	(313) The	Sub-resilient	are	like	us	except	that	they	never	cease caring as	deeply for their spouses as at the	moment	of death;	the	loss	of	that	relationship	is	as	deeply	felt	at	half a century as it is at half an hour. The bereaved Sub-resilient	are	consequently	extremely	unhappy	people	who feel	they	suffer	from	a	kind	of	never-healing	open	wound. (314) It seems to	me that the Sub-resilient are not the	more rational species, as the hardline view	would imply. Indeed, I think	Moller's example	makes	vivid	that	to	assess	the	reasons-responsiveness	of	grief, we	need	a	realistic	moral	psychology	-	a	moral	psychology	for	human beings.	We	cannot	settle	to	what	extent	the	Super-resilient	or	the	Subresilient	alien	experiences	of	loss	are	reasons-responsive.	Their	experience	of	grief,	if	we	may	call	it	that,	is	fundamentally	different	from ours.	We,	human	beings,	grieve	for	a	limited	time.	If	we	grieve	too	little, we	are	unresponsive	to	our	reasons	because	we	are	insensitive.	If	we grieve	too	much,	we	are	unresponsive	to	our	reasons	because	we	are stuck.	For	us,	reasons-responsive	grief	takes	time,	but	not	too	much. To	say	that	we	need	a	realistic	moral	psychology,	however,	is	not yet	to	solve	my	puzzle.	We	still	need	to	make	sense	of	the	anticipation of,	and	retrospection	on,	the	diminution	of	grief.	For	instance,	when	I grieve	for	my	mother,	I	may	know	that	my	grief	will	diminish	with	time. I	may	know	that,	realistically,	this	is	how	things	are	for	a	human	being like	me.	But	that	alone	does	not	help	me	answer	the	why-question	in light	of	which	the	diminution	of	grief	would	make	sense.	It	does	not help	answer	the	Proustian	worry	that,	with	time,	I	will	stop	caring	for among	"Conditions	for	Further	Study."	In	contrast,	normal	grief	is	not	a mental	disorder.	But	if	the	hardline	view	were	correct,	persistent	grief would	not	be	a	mental	disorder	but	the	rational	response	to	a	loss.26 The	conclusion	I	propose	to	draw	from	this	observation	is	that	the hardline	view	offers	us	an	unrealistic	moral	psychology.	The	hardline view	does	not	adequately	take	into	account	the	psychological	reality of	human	grief;	it	does	not	adequately	take	into	account	how	grief	is actually	experienced.27	Bernard	Williams	makes	a	point	in	this	vein	in a	side	remark	in	his	famous	"Moral	Luck." In	arguing	that	the	justification	of	moral	approval	depends	on	one's	perspective,	Bernard	Williams	remarks,	"This is just	one	of the	ways	-	the distancing of time is another	-	in	which,	if	the	moral	sentiments	are	to	be	part	of	life	as	it	is actually	experienced,	they	cannot	be	modelled	on	a	view	of	the	world in	which	every	happening	and	every	person	is	at	the	same	distance" (1981,	37,	italics	mine).	Williams's	thought	is	something	like	this:	If	we are to	understand	the justification	of	an	emotion,	we	must	consider the	emotion	as	it	is	actually	experienced.	And	since	in	experiencing	an emotion	like	grief,	the	temporal	distance	from	a	loss	matters,	whether the	emotion	is	justified	depends	on	its	temporal	relation	to	the	loss. I	can	illustrate	my	objection	to	the	hardline	view	through	a	discussion in	Dan	Moller's	paper, "Love	and	Death" (2007, 313–5).	Moller asks	us	to	consider	two	kinds	of	alien	species	-	the	Super-resilient	and the	Sub-resilient: [The Super-resilient] are like us except that members have	no	grief	reactions	at	all	to	what	would	strike	us	as great	tragedies....	When	their	spouses	drop	dead	in	front of	them,	they	shrug	their	shoulders	and	check	what	is	on television.	They	...	deny	not	caring	for	their	loved	ones; in	fact,	investigation	reveals	that	they	are	willing	to	walk 26.	Wilkinson (2000) argues that normal grief is a mental disorder on the grounds	that	it	is	not	a	rational	state.	I	hold	that	since	normal	grief	is	rational, or,	rather,	reasons-responsive,	it	is	not	a	mental	disorder. 27. Compare here	Wittgenstein's remarks about hope, deep feeling and grief (Wittgenstein	1953/2003,	§583,	pt.	II,	sect.	ix). berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 11 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) time.	Other	things	being	equal,	it	is	not	fitting	to	feel	the same intense emotion towards past sufferings that occurred thousands	of	years	back in the	past	as	we	do towards	some	current	suffering	of	the	same	severity. In	all these	cases, the	degree to	which it is	fitting to positively respond to a state of affairs does not correspond	to	the	degree	to	which	it	is	good.	How	strongly	one should	favour	an	objectively	valuable	object	depends	on the 'distance'	between	oneself and the	object.	... [T]his distance	has	many	dimensions,	including	modal	distance, temporal	distance,	and	'personal'	distance.	It	is,	therefore, all too	crude to	say that it is	always	fitting to feel	more strongly	about	a	better	state	of	affairs	or to	be	emotionally	indifferent	between	states	of	affairs	of	the	same	value. (2009,	16)29 Bykvist's aim, in making his argument, is primarily critical: He seeks	to	object	to	views	like	the	hardline	view,	which	see	a	very	close relation	between	values	and	our reasons.	However,	Bykvist's	discussion	also	suggests	that	the	griever's	temporal	distance	to	a	loss	could be	understood	as	akin	to	her	"personal"	distance.	Perhaps	we	can	conclude	that	just	as	I	have	more	reason	to	grieve	my	mother's	death	than you	have	reason	to	grieve	it,	I	have	more	reason	to	grieve	a	loss	in	the present	than	a	loss	in	the	past. I	want to register	a	phenomenological	objection to this	proposal. It	strikes	me	that	thinking,	"It's	not	my	mother,"	makes	sense	of	why	I don't	grieve	in	a	way	that	saying,	"She	died	long	ago,"	does	not.	Here 29.	For a similar argument about blameworthiness, see Coleman and Sarch (2012). Like	Bykvist,	Coleman and Sarch	observe that it is appropriate for blaming	and related reactive	attitudes to	diminish	over time, even though the	blameworthiness	of	an	act	does	not	diminish,	and	they	argue	that	this	is	a problem	for	"buck-passing"	theories	of	blameworthiness.	I	think	that	they	fail to	see	that	this	poses	a	deeper	problem	for	our	understanding	of	the	temporality	of	blame,	a	problem	that	goes	well	beyond	the	buck-passing	theories.	I discuss	this	in	Marušić	(in	preparation). my	mother	or	that	she	will	no	longer	matter	to	me.	Why	would	I	stop grieving	if	I	continue	to	love?28 I	conclude	that	the	hardline	view	should	be	rejected	on	the	grounds that	it	presupposes	an	unrealistic	moral	psychology	of	grief.	Our	experience	of	grief	is	conditioned	by	our	psychology,	our	physiology,	our history and	our social circumstances.	And	all this somehow	also affects	our	reasons	for	grief:	the	reasons-responsiveness	of	grief	seems to	be	constrained	by	the	psychological	reality	of	grief.	But	it	is	a	philosophical	project	to	explain	exactly	how	this	could	be	so. 4. Temporality as Partiality A	first	attempt to	provide	such	an	explanation is to take	a	cue from Williams's	claim	that	"the	moral	sentiments	...	cannot	be	modelled	on a	view	of	the	world	in	which	every	happening	and	every	person	is	at the	same	distance"	(1981,	37).	The	place	and	time	of	the	griever,	as	well as	other	features	of	her,	seem	to	play	a	crucial	role	in	determining	her reasons for	grief. For instance, I grieved intensely	when	my	mother died,	but	the	deaths	of	many	mothers	leave	me	cold.	And	that	is	how it	should	be:	the	fact	that	it	was	my	mother	who	died,	and	that	I	love her,	is	partly	what	determines	the	significance	of	my	reason	for	grief. In	light	of	this,	we	could	seek	to	understand	the	temporality	of	reasons	for	grief	by	analogy	to	their	partiality:	We	might	think	that	just as	the	familial	relation	between	the	griever	and	the	dead	affects	the griever's	reasons, the	temporal	relation	between	the	griever	and	the dead	affects	the	griever's	reasons.	Krister	Bykvist	makes	this	argument: How	strongly	we should react emotionally seems	... to depend	on	temporal	matters.	For	instance,	we	think	it	is fitting that the	grief	of	a lost	beloved	softens	with time. More	generally, it seems	fitting that the	extreme	horror we	once	felt	towards	some	terrible	massacre	softens	with 28.	My	argument	that	the	hardline	view	offers	an	unrealistic	moral	psychology	is indebted	to	Lucy	O'Brien	and	Douglas	Lavin's	discussion	in	"Living	Historically"	(in	preparation).	Unlike	O'Brien	and	Lavin,	however,	I	don't	take	the articulation	of	a	realistic	moral	psychology	to	solve	(or	dissolve)	the	puzzle. berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 12 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) Clive and	Deborah are still very	much in love	with each	other,	despite	his	amnesia.	(Indeed,	Deborah's	book is	subtitled	"A	Memoir	of	Love	and	Amnesia.")	He	greeted her	several	times	as	if	she	had	just	arrived.	It	must	be	an extraordinary	situation, I thought,	both	maddening	and flattering,	to	be	seen	always	as	new,	as	a	gift,	a	blessing. Eventually,	Sacks	concludes: It	has	been	twenty	years	since	Clive's	illness,	and,	for	him, nothing has moved on.	One	might	say	he	is	still	in	1985	or, given	his	retrograde	amnesia,	in	1965.	In	some	ways,	he	is not	anywhere	at	all;	he	has	dropped	out	of	space	and	time altogether.	He	no	longer	has	any	inner	narrative;	he	is	not leading	a	life	in	the	sense	that	the	rest	of	us	do.	And	yet one	has	only	to	see	him	at	the	keyboard	or	with	Deborah to	feel	that,	at	such	times,	he	is	himself	again	and	wholly alive.	It	is	not	the	remembrance	of	things	past,	the	"once" that	Clive	yearns	for,	or	can	ever	achieve.	It	is	the	claiming, the	filling,	of the	present, the	now,	and	this is	only possible	when	he is totally immersed in the successive moments	of	an	act.	It	is	the	"now"	that	bridges	the	abyss. (Sacks	2007,	italics	mine) Wearing's deeply distressing case illustrates why temporal distance and	"personal"	distance	cannot	be	understood	in	the	same	way.	If	we have	less	reason	to	grieve	over	time,	it	is	not	because	our	loss	is	at	a greater	temporal	distance;	it	is	because	we	have	already	grieved.	Grieving	requires	something	that	Wearing	does	not	have	-	a	persistent	conception	of the	past	as	well	as	a	continued	and	continuously	remembered	experience	of	grieving.31 31. This	argument	should	make	clear	why	my	puzzle	is	distinct	from	Lucretius's puzzle	about	why	we	fear	death	but	are	unconcerned	about	pre-natal	nonexistence.	Lucretius's	puzzle	has	to	do	with	the	futurity	of	death	and	depends essentially	on	the	nature	of	time.	My	puzzle	is	not	primarily	concerned	with Weil	just	seems	to	me	to	get	it	right:	What's	time	got	to	do	with	it?	Why should	the	mere	passage	of	time	make	a	difference	to	my	reasons? I	think	it	does	not.	To	show	this,	I	offer	the	following	two	examples:30 First,	suppose	you	are	in	a	car	accident	with	your	mother.	You	survive, but	your	mother	does	not.	However,	you	spend	ten	years	in	a	coma. When	you	wake	up,	you	are	informed	that	your	mother	has	died.	You are	not	relieved,	and	have	no	reason	to	be	relieved,	to	hear	that	the accident	happened	ten	years	ago.	The	mere	passage	of	time	makes	no difference	to	your	reasons.	In	contrast,	if	you	learn	that	it	was	not	your mother	who	died,	you	will	be	relieved	and,	plausibly,	you	have	reason to	be	relieved. As	a	second	example,	consider	Oliver	Sacks's	harrowing	case	history	of	Clive	Wearing,	an	English	musician	and	musicologist,	who	suffers	from,	as	Sacks	puts	it,	"the	most	devastating	case	of	amnesia	ever recorded" (2007).	This amnesia	prevents	Wearing from	engaging in temporally	extended	activities like	grief.	Sacks	describes	a	conversation	with	Deborah	Wearing,	Clive	Wearing's	wife,	who	had	written	a memoir: When I asked	Deborah	whether Clive knew about her memoir,	she	told	me	that	she	had	shown	it	to	him	twice before,	but	that	he	had	instantly	forgotten.	I	had	my	own heavily	annotated	copy	with	me,	and	asked	Deborah	to show	it	to	him	again. "You've written a book!" he cried, astonished. "Well done!	Congratulations!"	He	peered	at the cover. "All	by you?	Good	heavens!"	Excited,	he	jumped	for	joy.	Deborah showed	him	the	dedication	page:	"For	my	Clive."	"Dedicated to	me?"	He	hugged	her. This scene	was repeated several times	within	a	few	minutes,	with	almost	exactly the	same	astonishment,	the	same	expressions	of	delight and	joy	each	time. 30.	Thanks	to	Eli	Hirsch	for	the	first	example	and	Jeremy	Fantl	for	pointing	me	to the	second. berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 13 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) process	can	adequately	address	my	puzzle.	To	think	of	grief	as	a	healing	process	involves	a	distinct	kind	of	alienation:	it	requires	taking	a detached,	clinical	view	of	ourselves.35	When	we	view	grief	as	a	healing process,	we	turn	our	attention	away	from	our loss, to	ourselves.	But this	distorts the	grief.	When	I	grieve,	my	attention is	directed	to	my loss,	not	myself. When	my	mother	dies,	I	think,	not,	"This	is	hard	for me"	but	"No!	She	is	dead."	In	grief,	I	am	transparent:	I	am	the	pained apprehension	of	loss.	But	when	I	take	a	detached	view	of	grief,	and	apprehend	myself	as	suffering	from	a	psychological	injury,	my	attention shifts	from	my	loss	to	-	myself.	I	think	about	the	fact	that	I	am	beset by	grief.	I	can	then	understand	my	grief	as	an	emotional	response	to a	psychological injury that I	have to live	with. I can	see	my	grief	as posing	a	problem	for	me	-	something	I	need	to	cope	with	or	manage. However, this is	an	alienated	view	-	a	view	in	which	I	no longer	attend	to	my	reasons	for	grief	but	to	myself. The	process	view	cannot	offer	an	adequate	solution	to	my	puzzle, because	if,	as	a	griever,	I	think	of	my	grief	as	a	process	that	I	am	undergoing,	I	am	no	longer	attending	to	what	my	grief	is	about.	I	don't attend	to	the	reasons	in	light	of	which	I	grieve,	and	that	is	why	I	do	not accurately	comprehend	why	my	grief	should	diminish. Here	is	how	the	point	becomes	clearest:	If	the	diminution	of	grief consists	in	the	healing	of	a	psychological	injury,	then	the	end	of	grief	is something	that	we	should	be	looking	forward	to.	The	thought	that	we will	heal	should	strike	us	as	a	relief.	But	this	is	not	how	we	feel	about the	diminution	of	grief,	when	we	anticipate	that	the	loss	will	continue to	matter	to	us.	We	don't	look	forward	to	the	end	of	grief	but	shrink from	it. Well, perhaps this is too high-minded. Perhaps	we are not pure Proustians,	and	we	do	look	forward	to	the	end	of	the	pain	of	grief.	Fair enough.	However,	when	we	grieve,	we	don't	merely	feel	pain,	and	we don't	merely,	or	mainly,	look	forward	to	the	end	of	the	pain.	In	grieving, we	also	apprehend	our	loss,	and	insofar	as	we	do,	we	understand	our 35. Here	I	follow	what	I	take	to	be	essentially	Moran's	argument	in	Authority and Estrangement	(2001). This	suggests	that	a	realistic	moral	psychology	of	grief	and	the	reasons for it	will	not	see the	griever's temporal	distance	to the loss	as a	crucial	feature	but	rather,	the	griever's	experience	of	grieving	over time	-	the	successful	completion	of	the	psychological	process	of	grief. 5. The Process View In	this	section,	I	want	to	consider	the	possibility	that	reasons	for	grief diminish	in	virtue	of	our	having	grieved,	that	is,	in	virtue	of	our	completing	the	process	of	grief. It is plausible to think of grief as a process	-	a process through which	we	heal from	a	psychological injury.32	Alternatively,	we	could think	of	grief	not	as	the	healing	process	itself	but	as	a	manifestation	of it	-	a	manifestation	of	our "emotional immune system,"	which regulates	our	emotional	response	to	loss.33	Alternatively,	and	perhaps	even more	plausibly,	we	could	think	of	grief	as	an	experience	of	a	psychological	injury	concomitant	to	a	healing	process:	as	the	healing	process progresses,	we	feel	less	grief	-	just	as	when	we	heal	from	an	injury,	we feel	less	pain.	Either	way,	the	duration	of	grief	would	be	determined	by the	duration	of	the	healing	process.	This	would	suggest	that	reasons expire	when	the	healing	process	is	complete.34 However, I do not think that a conception of grief as a healing the	nature	of	time	since	it	is	not	through	the	passage	of	time	alone	that	reasons	for	grief	expire. 32. This	might	seem	especially	plausible	if	it	is	held	that	grief	has	stages	-	for	instance	the	five	stages	posited	by	Elisabeth	Kübler-Ross	(1969):	denial,	anger, bargaining,	depression	and	acceptance.	However,	see	Bonanno	(2009,	20–1) for	criticism. 33. See	Gilbert et al. (1998) for an account	of the "emotional immune system," which regulates	our response to loss. I owe the reference to	Moller (2007, 305). 34. For	a	more	sophisticated	view	of	grief	as	a	process	-	a	narrative	process	-	see Goldie	(2012,	ch.	3).	Here	I	do	not	have	space	to	address	the	details	of	Goldie's	thoughtful	account.	However,	the	objection	I	raise	in	what	follows	-	that the	process	view	is	alienated	-	also	applies	to	Goldie's	view.	The	objection that	a	narrative	perspective	involves	alienation	goes	back	at	least	to	Sartre's Nausea	(1938/2007)	and	is	thoughtfully	discussed	in	Moran	(2015). berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 14 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) understanding	in	a	way	that	a	healing	process	does	not.	Perhaps	if	we could	describe	the	process	as	itself	involving	understanding,	we	could eliminate the	double vision. The crucial thought	would	be that the process	of	grief	is	an	intelligent	process.	Perhaps	the	process	of	grief	is psychological	work? 6. Grief as Work In	this	section,	I	will	consider	whether	understanding	grief	as	psychological	work	could	explain	why	reasons	for	grief	expire. Importantly, the	view	that	grief	is	psychological	work	is	concerned	with	the	emotion	of	grief,	not	activities	that	constitute	the	activity	grieving	(such	as sitting	Shiva).	According	to	the	work	view,	the	emotional	response	to loss is itself	best	understood	as	a form	of	work	-	a	coming	to	terms with	loss. Here	are	two	prominent	formulations	of	something	like	the	work view.	In	"Mourning	and	Melancholia,"	Freud	understands	grief	as	the activity	of	"reality-testing"	through	which	one's libido	detaches	itself from	the	"lost	object."	He	writes,	"In	mourning	time	is	needed	for	the command	of	reality-testing	to	be	carried	out	in	detail,	and	...	when	this work	has	been	accomplished	the	ego	will	have	succeeded	in	freeing its	libido	from	the	lost	object"	(252).	"[W]hen	the	work	of	mourning	is completed	the	ego	becomes	free	and	uninhibited	again"	(245).36 36.	Freud repeatedly stresses that he doesn't know the "economic	means" by which	this	work	is	carried	out	(245;	255).	He	offers	merely	a	conjecture:	"Each single	one	of	the	memories	and	situations	of	expectancy	which	demonstrate the	libido's	attachment	to	the	lost	object	is	met	by	the	verdict	of	reality	that the	object	no	longer	exists;	and	the	ego,	confronted	as	it	were	with	the	question	whether	it	shall	share	this	fate,	is	persuaded	by	the	sum	of	the	narcissistic satisfactions	it	derives	from	being	alive	to	sever	its	attachment	to	the	object that	has	been	abolished.	We	may	perhaps	suppose that this	work	of	severance	is	...	slow	and	gradual"	(255).	Bonanno	rejects	the	conception	of	grief	as work,	because	he	objects	to	Freud's	account	of	grief	on	the	grounds	that	going through	the	memories	of	the	dead	would	perpetuate	grief,	since	it	would	lead those	memories	to	dominate	our	consciousness	(2009,	17–8).	However,	I	see this	as	an	objection	to	the	particulars	of	Freud's	account	of	grief	as	work,	not to	the	general	idea	that	grief	consists	in	psychological	work. grief	as	response	to	a	reason.	In	this	respect,	grief	differs	from	a	physiological	injury:	unlike	an	injury,	grief	involves	understanding.	But	the process	view,	at	least	as	considered	so	far,	does	not	speak	to	what	we understand in	grieving.	As far as the	process	view is concerned, all that	matters	is	that	we	heal;	it	does	not	matter	whether	we	are	healing from	(as	it	were)	a	rational	psychological	injury,	nor	whether	the	psychological	injury	(as	it	were)	continues	to	be	rational.	Indeed,	this	very formulation	brings	the	distortion	to	light:	It	makes	no	sense	to	speak of	injuries	as	rational	or	irrational	-	and	so,	on	the	process	view,	the reasons-responsiveness	of	grief	falls	out	of	the	picture. This	is	not	to	deny	that	the	process	view	contains	an	insight:	When we	suffer	a	loss,	we	do	undergo	a	healing	process.	And	it	is	plausible that	the	duration	of	grief	is	reflected	in	the	completion	of	this	process. Someone	who is interested in	our	well-being	-	a	doctor, say,	or the HR	department in	our company,	or a	bookie	-	will	be interested in how the	healing	process is coming along:	how	much	we are suffering,	whether	we can	get	back to	work,	whether	we	will need to invoke	FMLA,	and	so	on.	And,	as	grievers,	we	will	be	interested	in	these things,	too.	However,	for	us,	this	is	not	the	whole	story:	for	us,	our	grief is a response to a loss, and the reasons that	determine the reasonsresponsiveness	of	grief	don't seem to	have	anything to	do	with the healing	process.	That	is	why,	to	the	extent	that	we	view	ourselves	as undergoing	a	process,	we	become	alienated	from	our	grief.	This	shows that the	process	view	does	not	provide	an	adequate solution to	my puzzle:	it	does	not	adequately	address	how	to	anticipate	the	diminution	of	grief,	nor	does	it	help	us	understand,	in	retrospect,	in	light	of which	reasons	our	grief	diminished. The	process	view	leaves	us,	as	it	were,	in	a	state	of	double-vision: As	grievers,	we	at	once	apprehend	our loss	but	also	apprehend	that we	are	undergoing	a	healing	process.	However,	we	can't	hold	both	apprehensions	together	in	one	consciousness:	we	can't	reconcile	these two	perspectives. One might think that this is so because we have worked with too crude a conception of the process. After all, grief involves berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 15 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) Although there is some	plausibility in the thought that	grief consists in	psychological	work,	ultimately	I think	that	this is	a	distorted view.	In	the	end	we	will	be	left	with	the	same	kind	of	double	vision	as on	the	simpler	process	view.	Here	is	why. We	think	of	work	as	a	goal-directed	activity	that	aims	at	change.	But we	do	not	think	of	grief	as	aimed	at	change.	More	precisely,	in	grieving, we	do	not	think	of	our	grief	as	aimed	at	change	-	at	the	detachment from	the	lost	object. Let	me illustrate:	When	we	work in the	garden	with the	goal	of clearing	weeds	from	the	flower	beds,	we	continue	(if	all	goes	well)	until	the	weeds	are	cleared,	and	then	we	stop.	Perhaps	we	subsequently adopt	a	new	goal,	or	we	change	our	focus	altogether.	But	as	we	work, the thought that	we	will	work	until all	weeds are cleared is not, in principle,	disconcerting	-	though	we	might	feel	overwhelmed	at	the sight	of	an	overgrown	garden.	There	is	nothing	problematic	as	such about the thought that	our	work	will	come	to	an	end	once	our task is	complete.	And	if	grief	consists	in	psychological	work,	then	matters should	be	the	same	with	grief. But	they	are	not	-	as	the	Proustian	observation	makes	vivid.	When we	pull	out	weeds	from	the	garden,	then	we	(quite	literally!)	remove the	reasons	we	have	to	be	working	-	the	weeds	that	grow	in	the	garden.	However,	when	we	grieve,	we	don't therein	produce	a	change; we	don't	remove	our	reasons	to	grieve.	Indeed,	in	grieving,	"there	is nothing	which	can	be	done"	(Gustafson	1989,	469).39 Of	course,	there	is	much	that	we	can	do	when	we	grieve.	We	can pay respect to the	dead,	we can	acknowledge	our loss, and	we can manage our	grief.	Much	of this is	done	through	various	activities	of grieving	-	such as sitting Shiva	-	and various ways of coping. But "bewältigen"	signifies	something	one	would	do	with	a	task.	Man bewältigt eine Aufgabe. 39.	Gustafson writes, "the peculiar strength and depth of the feeling of grief might	well	be	explained	by	the	absence	of	any	rational	motive	force	and	the absence	of	associated	action"	(469).	I	am	indebted	to	Arden	Koehler	for	the formulations	in	this	paragraph. In	a	similar	vein,	though	without	the	Freudian	theoretical	commitments,	Nussbaum	argues, [T]he	experience	of	mourning	is	in	great	part	an	experience	of	repeatedly	encountering	cognitive	frustration	and reweaving one's cognitive fabric in consequence. I find myself	about	to	pick	up	the	telephone	to	tell	[my	mother] what has just happened	-	and then see	before	me that image of her lying in the hospital bed, with the tube coming	out	of	her	nose.	In	every	area	of	my	life	in	which she	has	played	a	part, I	find	myself	expecting	her	to	appear	-	and	I then must work to	cut	short	and	to	rearrange these	expectations.	(2001,	80–1,	italics	mine) We	can	set	aside	the	particulars	of	Freud's	and	Nussbaum's	views	for present	purposes.	We	can	simply	take	it	that	what	matters	is	that	grieving	is	an	active	process,	which	takes	time	and	during	which	we	accomplish	something:	we	accomplish	the	detachment	from	the	person	or object	we	have	lost.37 A	virtue	of	the	conception	of	grief	as	work	is	that	it	takes	seriously the	observation	that	grief	is	a	process	that	takes	time.	It	implies	that, if	reasons	expire,	it	is	not	in	virtue	of	the	passage	of	time	alone	but	in virtue	of	the	activity	of	grieving,	which	takes	time.	However,	in	light of	this	very	point,	one	might	wonder	whether	I	have	made	a	mistake in	framing	the	puzzle.	Perhaps	we	should	ask,	not	"Do	reasons	expire?" but	rather,	"Do	we	exhaust	our	reasons"?38 37. In	her	recent	Anger and Forgiveness,	Nussbaum	presents	a	less	active	view	of grief:	"[W]orking	through	grief	is	something	that	simply	happens	as	life	goes on:	new	ties	replace	the	old,	the	world	revolves	less	around	the	departed	person"	(2016,	126).	However,	it	seems	to	me	that	working	through	is,	precisely, not	something	that	simply	happens	but	something	that	we	do. 38. Indeed, something like this lies behind the notion of Vergangenheitsbewältigung	-	a very prominent notion in public discourse in Germany (which, via	Adorno,	who coined the term, goes back to Freud). The	German verb berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 16 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) does	not	involve	apprehending	a	teleological	structure	of	means	and ends	-	even	if,	as	a	matter	of fact,	grieving is	a	means	to	the	end	of coming	to	terms	with	our	loss.	Grief	is	neither	an	exercise	of	the	will, nor	is	it	responsive	to	practical	reasons.	Hence,	grief	is	not	work. Nonetheless, there is an insight in the	work	view.	The insight is that grief is (concomitant to) a process through	which	we come to terms	with	a	loss.	But	this	insight	has	to	be	captured	differently.	Grief is	best	understood	as akin to a judgment	with a temporally limited functional	role.	However,	the	functional	role	is	not	part	of	the	content of	grief.	The functional role	of	grief is like the functional role	of an over-confident judgment	during	a race: It contributes to	one's ends, because	it	can	help	one	win	the	race,	but	not	through	the	content	of the	judgment.	The	functional	role	of	grief	-	be	it	detachment	from	the lost	object	or	healing	from	a	psychological	injury	-	is	essentially	separated	from	the	understanding	embodied	in	grief. So	we	are	back	to	the	double-vision:	In	grieving,	we	apprehend	our loss.	And	in	apprehending	ourselves	as	grieving,	we	apprehend	ourselves	as	going	through	a	process	through	which	we	detach	ourselves from	the	lost	object.	But	we	have	not	found	a	way	to	unify	the	two	perspectives.	And	that,	I	will	now	argue,	is	no	accident:	it	is	a	structural feature	of	the	consciousness	that	is	involved	in	grief. 7. Ineliminable Double Vision I	think	that	reasons	for	grief	expire:	over	time,	as	we	grieve,	it	becomes not	wrong	to	grieve	less.	However,	I	also	think	that	there	is	no	good way	to	understand	this.	When	we	try	to	understand	it,	all	we	find	are reasons	of	the	wrong	kind. In	this	section,	I	will	offer	a	principled	rationale	for	why	this	is	so. To	do so, I	will	draw	on Jean-Paul	Sartre's account	of	bad faith. Sartre	famously	described	two	paradigmatic	ways	of	being	in	bad	faith.43 The	first	is	to	treat	oneself	as	an	object	or,	to	put	it in	Sartre's	terms, to identify	oneself	with	one's "facticity"	-	like	a	gambler	who thinks 43. Sartre	(1943/1956,	pt.1,	ch.2).	See	also	Moran	(2001,	esp.	77–83). these	activities	are	not	to	be	confused	with	the	emotion	of	grief.	These activities	may	be	considered	work,	but	grief,	the	emotion,	is	not. There is	a	principled	reason	why	this is	so:	Work,	unlike	grief, is subject	to	the	will.	Thus,	we	can	apprehend	the	temporal	limitations of	work,	because	we	set	them.	But	we	cannot	apprehend	the	temporal limitations	of	grief,	because	we	don't	set	them.	For	example,	when	we work	in	the	garden	with	the	goal	of	clearing	weeds	from	the	flowerbeds,	we	will	continue,	if	all	goes	well,	until	the	weeds	are	cleared.	But that	is	because	we	have	set	out	to	clear	the	weeds	from	the	flowerbeds: we	have	set	that	as	our	goal	and,	in	so	doing,	we	have	set	the	endpoint of	our	activity.	Since	it	is	up	to	us	to	clear	the	weeds	from	the	flowerbeds,	we	can	decide	whether	to	do	so,	when	to	do	so,	and	for	how	long to	do	so. But whether we grieve, when we grieve, and for how long we grieve	is	not	up	to	us.	In	this	respect,	grief	is	like	belief	-	a	persistent state	or	activity	that	constitutes	a	response	to	the	world,	rather	than	a goal-directed	activity	that	aims	at	change.40	Grief	is	an	activity	or	state that	we	can	apprehend	and	manage.41	But	the	understanding	involved in	grieving	is	not	goal-oriented	and	thus	does	not	include	a	temporal limitation.	The	end	of	grief	is	not	an	accomplishment,	and	we	do	not look	forward	to	it	as	an	accomplishment.42 A	corollary	observation	is	that	if	we	were	to	understand	our	own grief	as	work,	we	would	take	our	grief	to	be	responsive	to	reasons	that show	grieving	worthwhile:	When	we	work,	we	understand	ourselves to	be	responding	to	reasons	that	show	our	work	to	be	worthwhile.	But when	we	grieve,	we	do	not	understand	ourselves	as	responding	to	reasons	that	show	our	grief	to	be	worthwhile.	Grieving,	unlike	working, 40.	See	Boyle	(2011)	for	an	illuminating	account	of	belief	as	a	persistent	activity. 41. See	Hieronymi	(2006)	on	managerial	control. 42. Freud	writes, "Why	...	after [normal	mourning]	has	run its	course, is there no	hint	in	its	case	of	the	economic	condition	for	a	phase	of	triumph?	I	find it	impossible	to	answer	this	question	straight	away"	(Freud,	1917/1999,	255). I	venture	to	say:	Because	normal	mourning	does	not	aim	at	an	accomplishment, there is	no sense	of accomplishment	at the	end	of it, and	hence	no triumph	over	a	job	well	done. berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 17 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) psychology,	physiology,	history,	class	and	social	circumstances,	who, as	an	empirical	matter	of	fact,	act,	feel	and	believe	in	certain	ways	and for certain	purposes	-	and therein	exhibit a	kind	of alienation from ourselves.	But	we	cannot	bring	these	two	views	into	one	reconciled consciousness:	whenever	we	attend	to	one	of	them,	the	other	is,	as	it were,	blurry	in	the	background.46 Here is	how	I	would	articulate this in terms	of	my	experience	of grief	over	my	mother's	death:	The	diminution	and	eventual	end	of	my grief	is	something	that	happened	to	me.	There	is	nothing	I	understood that	made	sense	of	the	diminution	of	grief	-	nothing	such	as	the	realization	that	her	life	has	been	restored	or	that	her	death	has	ceased	to matter.	I	simply	stopped	grieving.	But	just	as	the	diminution	of	grief happened to	me,	it	seems	to	me	that	the	diminution	of	the	reasons	for grief	happened to	me. I	no longer	grieve	-	and this is somehow	all right.	It	would	be	a	mistake	for	me	to	suffer	persistent	grief. However,	even though	my	reasons	have	expired, I	do	not	understand	their	expiration.	The	temporal	profile	of	my	reasons	for	grief	is	a fact	about	those	reasons,	but	it	is	not	a	fact	I	understand	in	apprehending	them.	It	is,	as	it	were,	the	backside	of	my	reasons.	I	don't	think	this shows that	my	grief	was	not responsive to	my	reasons,	nor that	my current	absence	of	grief	is	a	failure	to	respond	to	my	reasons.	Rather, it	reveals	a	limitation	in	the	intelligibility	of	grief	-	a	limitation	that	is 46.	Compare	Moran's	(2001,	174–5)	discussion	of	the	rakehell	-	an	example	from a	novel	by	Kingsley	Amis:	A	married	man	spends	an	evening	with	another woman.	At	the	end	of	the	night,	he	feels	shame	for	his	betrayal.	But	then	he comes	to	see	something	praiseworthy	about	his	shame:	he	likes	himself	for being	"rather	a	good	chap	for	not	liking	[him]self	much"	(Moran	2001,	174). However, this	very reflection	distorts,	and indeed	changes,	his	moral judgment	as	he	becomes	guilty	of	self-absorption.	This,	of	course,	constitutes	a further	moral	failure	-	and	one	that	is	not	lost	on	the	man,	which	results	in his	"not liking	[him]self	at	all for feeling	rather	a	good	chap"	(175).	The	relevant	point,	for	present	purposes,	is	that	the	rakehell	cannot	fully	reconcile in	his	consciousness	both	the	wrong	he	has	committed	and	his	apprehension of	the	shame	he	feels	for	it.	On	Moran's	view,	this	is	because	"an	emotional attitude	constitutes	something	closer	to	a	total	orientation	of	the	self,	the	inhabiting	of	a	particular	perspective"	(181). that	the	fact	that	he's	always	abandoned	resolutions	to	stop	gambling before	shows	that	he	will	likely	gamble	again,	because	he	is,	after	all, a	gambler.	The	second	is	to	ignore	one's	facticity	and	identify	oneself entirely	with	one's	freedom	-	like	a	gambler	who	takes	his	gambling history	to	be	irrelevant	to	the	question	of	whether	he	will	gamble	in the	future. Sartre's	concern,	in	discussing	bad	faith,	is	primarily	with	agency.44 However,	we can readily see that both kinds of bad faith are available	with regard to	our	emotions.	We	can treat	our	emotions	as	objects,	too:	We	do	so	when	we	take	a	theoretical	view	of	them	-	when we	see	them	as	a	process	that	we	undergo.	In	so	doing,	we	disregard our freedom.	Of	course, this is	not the freedom	we	enjoy in	action; it is	not freedom	of the	will.	But it is freedom	nonetheless,	because our	emotions	don't	just	happen	to	us	but	are	our	responses	to	reasons, our	active	take	on	the	world.	(Indeed,	it	strikes	me	as	plausible	to	see reasons-responsiveness	as	criterial	of	freedom.)45 Yet	we	can	also	exhibit	something	like	the	second	kind	of	bad	faith: We	can	disregard	the	facticity	of	our	emotions.	We	do	so	when	we	take the hardline view and	hold that reasons don't expire. The hardline view	offers	us	an	unrealistic	moral	psychology;	it	does	not	adequately take	into	account	the	psychological	reality	of	human	grief.	Thus	it	indulges	in	an	unrealistic	sense	of	freedom. In	light	of	this,	one	might	think	that	to	explain	the	temporality	of our reasons for	grief simply requires	an	explanation	of	how	we	can avoid	both	kinds	of	bad	faith.	But	here	is	where,	I	think,	we	encounter a	difficulty.	Our	freedom	and	our facticity	do	not	allow	for	reconciliation:	On	Sartre's	view,	we	cannot	comprehend	ourselves	as	freedom and facticity	at	once.	We	suffer from	an ineliminable	double	vision: We	can	apprehend	ourselves	as	free	and,	therein,	attend	to	the	world and respond to our reasons	-	be it our reasons for action or emotion or belief. Or we can apprehend ourselves as creatures with a 44. This	is	the	topic	of	Marušić	(2013;	2015). 45. See	Wolf	(1990). berislav	marušić Do Reasons Expire? An Essay on Grief philosophers'	imprint – 18 – vol.	18,	no.	25	(december	2018) itself.	For,	no	matter	how	welcome	the	death	of	a	loved	one	may	be,	it is	something	horrible. Death is unacceptable.	Nonetheless,	we realize that, in time,	we will accept	all	deaths,	even if	perhaps	we	don't fully come to terms with	them.	And	this	is	somehow	all	right.	It	is	a	good	thing	that	we	do, but	that	is	not	what	makes	it	all	right.	I	am	at	a	loss	to	say	what	does, and	I think	that there	are	principled	reasons	why	it is impossible	to say	it. How	big	a	problem	is	this?	I	think	it	is	potentially	immense:	Grief is	not	the	only	emotion	that	diminishes	over	time.	So	do	many	other emotions	-	most importantly anger.	We accommodate ourselves to loss, and	we accommodate ourselves to injustice. If, indeed, this is somehow	all	right	but	we	can't	say	why,	how	can	we	properly	come	to terms	with	our	past?50 50.	This	paper	has	been long in the	making, and I	have incurred	many	debts of gratitude in	writing it.	The	paper	was	originally inspired	by a conversation	with	Matt	Boyle.	Ongoing	conversations	with	Matt,	as	well	as	Eli	Hirsch, Douglas	Lavin,	Amélie	Rorty	and	especially	Agnes	Callard	have	deeply informed the paper. For helpful conversations, comments or suggestions, I am	also	indebted	to	Anke	Breunig,	Claudia	Blöser,	Rachel	Cohon,	Stephen Darwall, Sanja Dembić, James	Dreier, Jeremy Fantl,	William Flesch, Anna Flocke,	Rebekka	Gersbach,	Matthias	Haase,	Faye	Halpern,	Pamela	Hieronymi,	Thomas	Khurana,	Christian	Kietzmann,	Arden	Koehler,	Hilary	Kornblith, Richard Kraut, John Maier, Jennifer S. Marušić, Victoria McGeer, Richard Moran,	Oded	Na'aman,	Lucy	O'Brien,	Alejandro	Pérez	Carballo,	Philip	Pettit, Nicholas	Riggle,	Sebastian	Rödl,	Geoff	Sayre-McCord,	Kieran	Setiya,	David Shoemaker,	Matthew Silverstein, Jan Slaby,	Michael Smith,	Aarthy	Vaidyanathan,	Claudia	Vanea,	Katia	Vavova,	Jonathan	Way,	Stephen	White,	Daniel Whiting,	Susan	Wolf,	Palle	Yourgrau	and	several	anonymous	reviewers.	For helpful	questions	and	objections,	I	am	grateful	to	audiences	at	the	University of	Leipzig,	SUNY	Albany,	the	Humboldt	University	in	Berlin,	the	University of	Chicago,	the	NYU	Abu	Dhabi	Workshop	on	Normativity	and	Reasoning, with	special	thanks	to	Sarah	Paul	for	commenting	on	the	paper	there,	and	the Northwestern	University	Society	for	the	Theory	of	Ethics	and	Politics,	with special	thanks	to	Benjamin	Yelle	for	commenting	there.	I	am	grateful	for	a	fellowship	from	the	Humboldt	Foundation	and	a	grant	from	the	Theodore	and Jane	Norman	Fund	at	Brandeis	that	enabled	me	to	write	and	revise	the	paper. I	dedicate	the	paper	to	Sanja,	with	love. due	to	the	fact	that	I	am	embodied	and,	so,	conditioned	by	my	psychology,	physiology,	history	and	social	circumstances.47 It	is	instructive	to	compare	the	diminution	and	end	of	grief	to	forgetting: Both involve a change of	mind. But	we neither forget, nor cease	grieving, in light of	a	reason.	Forgetting, like	the	diminution	of grief,	is	something	that	happens	to	us.	And	it	happens	to	us	for	good reasons:	we	are	creatures	with	a limited	capacity for	memory	and	a limited capacity for suffering. But those are not reasons in light of which	we	forget	or	cease	grieving;	they	are	the	wrong	kind	of	reasons to	make	sense	of	forgetting	or	the	diminution	of	grief.	Both	are	limitations	of	the	intelligibility	of	a	change	of	mind. 8. Conclusion: The Unacceptability of Death If	you	think	about	it,	the	death	of	a	loved	one	is	unacceptable.	Grief	is our	rejection	of	her	death.48	Grief,	put	in	words,	is	a	passionate,	"No!" This	is	not	to	say	that	our	attitude	towards	death	is	always	a	wholehearted	rejection.	At least	some	of the time,	we	may	find	relief in	a loved	one's	death	or	even	welcome	her	death	-	such	as	when	someone	suffers	from	a	harrowing	disease.	To	say	that	death	is	unacceptable is	thus	not	to	say	that	it	is	unwelcome,	nor	that	we	would	all-thingsconsidered	prefer	that	the	dead	loved	one	live	forever.	Eternal	life	is surprisingly	unattractive,	as	Williams	has	taught	us,	and	arguably	our mortality	is	a	condition	for	valuing	the	things	we	value.49	Rather,	to	say that	death	is	unacceptable	is	to	register	a	fundamental	objection	to	the human	condition	-	an	objection	that is	compatible	with the	affirmation	of	many	other	aspects	of	the	human	condition, including	death 47. It	is	an	important	philosophical	project,	which	goes	well	beyond	the	confines of	this	essay,	to	investigate	how	these	features	condition	the	rationality	of	our emotions.	See	especially	Rorty	(1978)	and	Wollheim	(1999),	who	emphasize the	importance	of	the	history	of	an	emotion. 48. By	rejection,	I	mean	the	contrary	of	what	Jay	Wallace	has	characterized	as	the attitude	of	affirmation	(2013). 49. 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