Seneca, Moral Letters 11.2

For by no wisdom can natural weaknesses of the body be removed. That which is implanted and inborn can be toned down by training, but not overcome. 

The steadiest speaker, when before the public, often breaks into a perspiration, as if he had wearied or over-heated himself; some tremble in the knees when they rise to speak; I know of some whose teeth chatter, whose tongues falter, whose lips quiver. 

 

Training and experience can never shake off this habit; nature exerts her own power and through such a weakness makes her presence known even to the strongest.

 

I know that the blush, too, is a habit of this sort, spreading suddenly over the faces of the most dignified men. It is, indeed, more prevalent in youth, because of the warmer blood and the sensitive countenance; nevertheless, both seasoned men and aged men are affected by it. 

 

Along with the blushing, I can think of many other instances where I react in a certain way from instinct alone, without any choice or deliberate thought. 

 

I have noticed that some people’s hands start shaking when they are frightened, though I oddly find that my hands start shaking only when I feel great anger. 

 

At some point in my youth, most likely triggered by overdoing it with some mountaineering, I developed a fear of heights, a nauseous sort of gnawing in my gut, and I have never been able to rid myself of it. Even looking down a stairwell gives me the jitters. 

 

Whenever I become extremely nervous or self-conscious, I have what I can only describe as a sort of tunnel vision, where people and objects around me suddenly seem to be very far away. It can become quite debilitating for me, and I wonder if anyone else notices that I am not quite myself, incapable of reaching out for the glass on the table. 

 

Years ago, I foolishly attached myself to a chronically dishonest person, and I slowly learned that her inability to look me in the eye was a sign of deception. I made the mistake, however, of once angrily telling her about my observation, and from that day forward she would make a conscious effort to stare me straight in the face whenever she told a fib. The only problem was that she would now gaze at my forehead, a direct meeting of the eyes still being entirely beyond her power. 

 

Such involuntary impulses can be rather humbling, making me realize that I have far less control over many aspects of myself than I would like to think. Though my reason and will are at my core, there are all sorts of further layers of the self that operate, to different degrees, on their own terms. I can act of my own accord, though I am constantly carrying around various pieces of baggage; whether I turn these qualities into hindrances or opportunities is what will be up to me. 

 

I might become more aware of my quirks and weaknesses, and I can decide to limit their scope or to rein them in, but no amount of practice is going to entirely eliminate those innate dispositions within me. We must all work with what we have, the peculiarities of how we are made. It reminds me how I have limitations that can’t be wiped away by wishing.

 

At the same time, there is something refreshingly honest about a mindless urge, where I can see a bit of myself before any self-awareness can be tempted to hide it away. I am certainly a creature of reason, but not only of reason. 

Written in 6/2012