I shall admit my own weakness, at any rate; for I never bring back home the same character that I took abroad with me. Something of that which I have forced to be calm within me is disturbed; some of the foes that I have routed return again.
Just as the sick man, who has been weak for a long time, is in such a condition that he cannot be taken out of the house without suffering a relapse, so we ourselves are affected when our souls are recovering from a lingering disease.
To consort with the crowd is harmful; there is no person who does not make some vice attractive to us, or stamp it upon us, or taint us unconsciously therewith. Certainly, the greater the mob with which we mingle, the greater the danger.
I must resist accusing others of being the cause of my own failures, and yet I must be acutely aware that the company I keep will make my own choices easier or harder. The quality of the people around me, for better or for worse, influences the quality of my thoughts.
The old Peripatetic in me sees it as the difference between an efficient and a material cause, that which acts and that out of which it acts.
To be surrounded by a crowd can often magnify the confusion, for I am more easily tempted to follow the many instead of the few, the blunt force of what is popular over the delicate nudge of what is wise. Old habits die hard, and few things will hinder independent thought more than moving along thoughtlessly with the herd.
Perhaps one day I will have built the strength of character to effortlessly let it all bounce off of me, but that day is not yet today. I still feel drawn to a shallow and banal conformity, where the worst deeds suddenly seem like the safest deeds.
I will always remember when, way back in elementary school, my mother would describe how I was a radically different person when I came home, after having spent the day surrounded by noise and bluster. “It takes an hour or so,” she said, “and then the fellow I know comes out again.” I laughed it off, of course, but she was completely right.
The trick is in knowing my own dispositions, and never shrugging off the powerful effect that being surrounded by wickedness can have on my own soul. Before I know it, I start speaking and acting like a drunken braggart, or a shifty salesman, or a pompous academic, depending on the settings for the day.
It is foolish to rush back into the world right after recovering from an illness, and it is foolish to think that I am immune to vices in public that I can barely overcome in private.
Peer pressure is hardly a problem only for children, something we can assume we automatically outgrow. When I see everyone else doing something, fired up by one or another sort of feeding frenzy, I will feel an instinctive urge to follow along, on the premise that what is common must also be best. The agreement of the many seems to give it all authority and weight, when it is really just a matter of mindless mimicry.
Did your own mother ask you if all your friends jumped off a cliff, whether you would go and do the same? Of course she did, if she was a good mother.
Did you roll your eyes and mumble a weak denial? Of course you did, but you knew you were lying.
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