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Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Seneca, On Peace of Mind 16.2


Well, but see how each of them endured his fate, and if they endured it bravely, long in your heart for courage as great as theirs; if they died in a womanish and cowardly manner, nothing was lost.

Either they deserved that you should admire their courage, or else they did not deserve that you should wish to imitate their cowardice: for what can be more shameful than that the greatest men should die so bravely as to make people cowards?

I attach ever more importance to bravery, though I find that the way I understand it is very different from the way many others describe it. I do not mean a toughness that is uncaring, or the application of a brute force of will, or a glorification of my power to take what I want. I think rather of the strength of conviction, the willingness to surrender lesser things for the sake of greater things, a foundation of character.

A brave man does not to be ten feet tall, or have muscles made of steel, or be required to repress his feelings. No, he must only commit to doing right instead of wrong. The battle he fights is in his own heart and mind, not against any external threat. If I can’t build up such habits of courage, no other quality I possess will be of any use to me.

Will this be easy? Hardly, at least at first. I will still feel fear, and I will still have nagging doubts, and sometimes my legs will buckle, and my hands will shake. I still find myself quivering or flinching at the silliest of obstacles, yet I manage by remembering that my judgment rules me, not my flesh. If I can be firm in my awareness of the good, I have it within me to take control of myself.

Odd things may go on in my head, where I may know that death should not be feared, and yet I fear the pain that will most likely accompany death. Another estimation is necessary then, perhaps a more difficult one for me, that my worth is deeper than pleasure and pain. I can then more easily bear the absence of one or the presence of the other. I begin to see that I must be wise to be brave, not some growling beast.

And perhaps something is going right in my thinking, when I am deeply moved by the moral courage of my betters, and I wish to become more like them. Their suffering was in itself neither here nor there, because everyone suffers, but what they chose to do with it, how they transformed it, is what makes them close to the gods.

The bravery was itself the victory, regardless of any other consequences. They made themselves better, and thereby happier, so let me pay homage to them by following their example. How foolish it would be of me if I watched decent folks face death for the sake of justice, and then I myself only ran away in cowardice.

When the henchmen of Mark Antony finally caught up with Cicero, Plutarch says that the old man not only died for his principles, but he held his chin and stretched out his own neck to show that he would die willingly, even as his followers covered their faces. Cassius Dio records his last words as “There is nothing proper about what you are doing, soldier, but do try to kill me properly.”

In the movies, there would surely have a been a lengthy battle scene filmed with fancy wire work, but that is not necessary for there to be bravery.

Written in 12/2011

IMAGE: S.W. Reynolds, The Death of Cicero (c. 1820)

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