Epictetus, Discourses 1.18.6

Put confidence in these thoughts for the future and walk erect and free, not relying on bulk of body like an athlete. For you do not need to be invincible by brute force like an ass. 

 

Who then is the man who is invincible? He whom nothing beyond his will can dismay. So I go on observing him in each set of circumstances as if he were an athlete. He has overcome the first round. What will he do in the second? What if it be a hot sun, and the struggle is in Olympia? 

 

So it is in life. If you offer a man a trifle of silver, he will scorn it. What will happen if you offer him a young. maid? What if you do it in the dark? What happens if you ply him with reputation, or abuse, or praise, or death? All these he can conquer. 

 

What will he do if he is wrestling in the hot sun, I mean, if he has drunk too much? What if he is in a frenzy, or in sleep? The man who can overcome in all these circumstances is what I mean by the invincible athlete. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.18

 

A Stoic power is not one of flesh and bone, for while the body assists the man in living, it does not make the man live well. A Stoic courage is not defined by brawn, for while running faster, jumping higher, or lifting stronger might bring fortune and fame, only wisdom and virtue can bring peace of mind. 

 

A rigorous training in moral endurance is required, whatever physical gifts may be brought to bear. 

 

I know far too many who sculpt their muscles and pose with a square jaw, even as their sort of toughness excludes any forms of kindness and compassion. I know far too few who put more time into exercising decency and respect than they do exercising at the gym. We look for bravery and perseverance in all the wrong places. 

 

The mind and the will are tested by a multitude of trials, and if I still find myself drawn to the imagery of athletic victory, I can always imagine that my struggles of character are as romantic and grand as competing in the Olympics. In reality, of course, my inner contests are far more worthy than any sport. 

 

In one round, I am tempted by money. Will I lose my conscience in order to win a prize? In another round, lust is the obstacle to overcome. Will I succumb to cheating if no one else is looking? 

 

At this turn, I could be distracted by the cheering, and at the next I could be discouraged by the jeering. What if the effort might even kill me? What if I allow myself to be consumed by intoxication or by rage? 

 

Yes, that rage, the very same anger that makes us want to condemn and destroy those who offend us, is a mighty foe. If I can only defeat an opponent like that, I will gladly come in last for the footrace. 

 —Reflection written in 1/2001