I find myself returning, as I often do in these quiet moments of reflection, to a curious observation about our modern condition. We live in an age where suffering has become, almost overnight it seems, a medical emergency requiring immediate intervention. Where once a man might have sat with his melancholy as Dürer's engraving suggests—chin resting thoughtfully upon his hand, surrounded by the tools of learning and creation—we now rush to appointments, clutching prescriptions and therapeutic strategies like lifelines thrown to the drowning.