Sticks and Stones

As a reference for Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ 3.46: 

I find it remarkable how sayings from long ago are still used today, even as their original contexts are lost to us. 

A stitch in time saves nine. 

Though my mother still mended my worn clothes when I was a pup, I knew of no one else who did so at the time, and I have certainly not seen anyone darning socks for over thirty years. And yet the phrase remains. 

Hang it out with the washing. 

You guessed it, our family never owned a dryer, and one of my childhood chores involved bringing in the the laundry from the clothesline after dinner. I miss that wonderful smell to this day, and I still remember playing with the wooden clothespins. Again, it is a practice almost completely lost in our day and age. 

Just as interesting are the familiar expressions which were once viewed positively, but are now considered to be ignorant or barbaric. 

Spare the rod and spoil the child. 

This perhaps pushes too many buttons, given the way our current culture condemns any form of corporal punishment, and yet behind it is also a deeper point about how the lack of any discipline must inevitably lead to a weakness of character. There is certainly an important line between a reprimand and abuse. 

I will only say that I distinctly recall being spanked exactly two times as a child, and given a slap by my grandmother once, and on each occasion my deplorable behavior completely justified the response. More importantly, I remember the power of those instances so vividly that I have not once repeated those offenses. If you find my suggestion unacceptable, please let us amicably agree to disagree. 

And here is one everyone knows, and most everyone brushes aside as moronic:

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. 

The assumption is now that quite the reverse is true, how the emotional pain caused by words is far more crippling than the physical pain caused by an injury to the body. 

In one sense, this is entirely correct, as I know full well from the bullying I received for many years as a child; it was easier to get punched or kicked than to be insulted and ridiculed. 

Yes, you know who you are. No, don't worry about it, because I have learned to forgive. Just please don't keep doing it to anyone else. 

In another sense, however, our rejection of the old maxim speaks volumes about our abandonment of self-reliance. The Stoic has something to offer here: are you going to surrender to what happens to you, or are you going to have a bit of confidence in your own convictions? 

For all I might try to do in controlling the circumstances, a pain in my flesh is not ultimately within my power. If it comes, it comes; if it comes fiercely, I will clench my fists so hard that I bleed from my palms. Yes, it damn well hurts. What can I do about it? I may not be able to restrain the source, but I can, with due patience, lean to manage its effects, and to transform that bodily suffering into an opportunity for improving my character. 

You'll only laugh at that until you've been there, and you'll only dismiss it until you know why, when your back is against the wall, a strength of awareness and of will is your only way out. 

The passions work a little bit differently. A pain in my soul has always felt far more severe than any of that, and yet I can do far more to tame my feelings than I can to conquer my flesh and blood—I can directly affect how I feel by ordering the way I think. 

Simply put, it feels bad when I decide it is bad. Where I alter the judgments, I then modify the emotions that come from confronting scorn and slander. Am I offended? Let me change what I believe to be offensive. With some effort, the results are remarkable and uplifting. I will not be taken down by the defamation from a man I know to be misguided. 

No, it doesn't happen overnight, as habits only shift with patient practice. No, it does not excuse the hatred offered by another, but it does allow me to rise above the nastiness I come across every day. I should love my neighbor, and I should care about what he thinks, while at the same time my life should not be ruled by the opinions of others. 

I once again try to channel my best Musonius Rufus or Epictetus: is that fellow right to say I am a loser? If so, I owe him my gratitude, and he has rightly called upon me to improve myself. Is he wrong to say I am loser? If so, I should pity his insensitivity, and offer him my compassion instead of my annoyance. 

Is anything keeping me from living with understanding and love? Only my own choices. Words only hurt when I permit them to do so. 

No one "makes" me happy or sad; I do that for myself. The old adage turns out to not be so stupid after all.      

I need to stop being a victim and leave words where they are. The outside is powerless over my insides, unless I permit it to creep its way in.