Musonius Rufus, Lectures 4.3

Perhaps someone may say that courage is a virtue appropriate to men only. That is not so. For a woman too of the right sort must have courage and be wholly free of cowardice, so that she will neither be swayed by hardships nor by fear; otherwise, how will she be said to have self-control, if by threat or force she can be constrained to yield to shame?

Even more, it is necessary for women to be able to repel attack, unless indeed they are willing to appear more cowardly than hens and other female birds that fight with creatures much larger than themselves to defend their young.

How then should women not need courage? That women have some prowess in arms the race of the Amazons demonstrated when they defeated many tribes in war. If, therefore, something of this courage is lacking in other women, it is due to lack of use and practice rather than because they were not endowed with it. 

Or as my mother might have put it, any man who doesn’t think a woman needs to be brave has never met a real woman. And he’s probably a sorry excuse for a man himself.

I think I may have inherited a certain cynical toughness from her, a woman who would describe herself as a “kind and gentle creature”, while still being able to take you out with a stare at twenty paces.

I still have a vivid memory of her laughing uncontrollably when a trendy singer on TV shook her little fist in the air and proclaimed, “I am strong! I am invincible! I am woman!”

A girlfriend of mine once made the mistake of asking her why she still wore dresses and skirts, instead of pants like all the other women. “Because I’m not all the other women. You should try that some time.”

My own stubborn claim that fortitude is quite different from rage or indignation surely owes much to her. I saw her quite angry a few times, but I never saw her lose her temper. Even when she raised her voice, she still seemed to be in control. She slapped me once, only once, but I deserved it, and I still tell everyone that I have a loose tooth from it.

We would often take walks together, and I recall her advice on all sorts of things, but her constant insistence on the need for moral courage was what stuck with me the most. It depended first and foremost on being committed to what was true and good, and not just on throwing your weight around.

English was not her first language, but she loved the phrase, “Don’t let the bastards get you down!”

 She would tell me that constantly complaining, and loudly protesting, and being deeply offended were never marks of character, but actually signs of profound weakness. “Only cowards need to look brave.”

“The real people, the ones who matter, change the world with their love, in the smallest of ways. They don’t show off, they do the work.”

“Burning your bra won’t liberate you. Practicing kindness will liberate you.”

“Don’t be that kind of man who tries to manipulate a woman. Tell her straight out what you want, but be then be prepared to be told exactly what she wants. If she’s a good one, be smart enough to do what she tells you, because she knows better.”

“Be fair to others, but never be surprised if they aren’t fair to you. The Good Lord will see the difference.”

“Strength is in your conscience, not in your fists.”

“Speak your mind calmly and do your own thing in your own way. Outrage never got anything done.”

Bravery, for her, was about sticking to what was right, whatever the world might say or do. Notice how this is different from the mock courage of the vain and pompous types, who only like to perform for the crowd.

Roosters get all the credit for strutting about, and too many of us forget the noble hens.

Written in 5/1999