It is not surprising, then, if our greatest terror is of such a fate; for it comes in many shapes and its paraphernalia are terrifying. For just as the torturer accomplishes more in proportion to the number of instruments which he displays—indeed, the spectacle overcomes those who would have patiently withstood the suffering—similarly, of all the agencies which coerce and master our minds, the most effective are those which can make a display.
Those other troubles are of course not less serious; I mean hunger, thirst, ulcers of the stomach, and fever that parches our very bowels. They are, however, secret; they have no bluster and no heralding; but these, like huge arrays of war, prevail by virtue of their display and their equipment.
Some will assure me that Seneca is exaggerating here, that such bloodthirsty and vicious behavior is hardly common. Even if people were caught up in violent frenzies more often in the past, it is quite unlikely that we will have to fear these extremes in our civilized times. We live in a democracy now, and we know better than to engage in bullying, beatings, and torture.
I’m not even sure how to begin a response. Whatever the time or place, human nature remains essentially unchanged, and so wherever there is free judgment, there will always be the option for both great good and great evil.
If you tell me that Alaric and his Visigoths are no longer sacking Rome, I can open a newspaper and point to any number of current injustices and atrocities. Sometimes the scale is big, as when we devastate whole nations, and sometimes the scale is small, as when we take away a poor man’s home or livelihood, while the cruelty is always the same in kind.
Something that strikes me as being inseparable from such instances is not only the sense of satisfaction the tormentor gets from doing his deeds, but also the satisfaction he gets from being seen to be doing them, the way the plight of the victim is intended as an open threat to anyone else foolish enough to resist his power.
I have a deeply unpleasant memory from college, when I saw two police officers having their fun with a drunk at a subway station. They didn’t send him home to sleep it off, or even cart him off to the drunk tank, but took their time mocking and tormenting him. He was repeatedly told to get up by one, and then the other pushed him back to the ground. When he finally just stayed still, they kicked him. They laughed and laughed, and I noticed how they felt the need to look around, making sure that all the confused passengers were observing the spectacle.
I still feel ashamed that I did nothing to stop it. None of us did, and it was the fear that we would be next that kept us from saying anything. Now there are good cops and there are bad cops, though it just goes to show you that the fellow with the club and the gun isn’t always your friend. Sometimes he will use those tools only to make himself look big and to make you look small.
A torturer, of whatever sort, has twisted himself into thinking that the infliction of suffering will get him what he wants. His methods can appear effective long before he has lifted a finger, because the prospect of what he could do is horrifying enough. Never underestimate the power of sheer terror.
What can be done in the face of such terror? The Stoic knows that he must steel himself, to distance his own worth from his circumstances, his own character from whatever may be done to him.
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