M. You know very well that, even though part of your Corinthian furniture were gone, the remainder might be safe without that; but if you lose one virtue (though virtue in reality cannot be lost), still if, I say, you should acknowledge that you were deficient in one, you would be stripped of all.
Can you, then, call yourself a brave man, of a great soul, endued with patience and steadiness above the frowns of fortune? Or Philoctetes? For I choose to instance him, rather than yourself, for he certainly was not a brave man, who lay in his bed, which was watered with his tears,
“Whose groans, bewailings, and whose bitter cries,
With grief incessant rent the very skies.”
I do not deny pain to be pain—for were that the case, in what would courage consist?—but I say it should be assuaged by patience, if there be such a thing as patience: if there be no such thing, why do we speak so in praise of philosophy? Or why do we glory in its name?
Does pain annoy us? Let it sting us to the heart: if you are without defensive armor, bare your throat to it; but if you are secured by Vulcanian armor, that is to say by resolution, resist it. Should you fail to do so, that guardian of your honor, your courage, will forsake and leave you.
By the laws of Lycurgus, and by those which were given to the Cretans by Jupiter, or which Minos established under the direction of Jupiter, as the poets say, the youths of the State are trained by the practice of hunting, running, enduring hunger and thirst, cold and heat.
The boys at Sparta are scourged so at the altars that blood follows the lash in abundance; nay, sometimes, as I used to hear when I was there, they are whipped even to death; and yet not one of them was ever heard to cry out, or so much as groan.
What, then? Shall men not be able to bear what boys do? And shall custom have such great force, and reason none at all?
Can you, then, call yourself a brave man, of a great soul, endued with patience and steadiness above the frowns of fortune? Or Philoctetes? For I choose to instance him, rather than yourself, for he certainly was not a brave man, who lay in his bed, which was watered with his tears,
“Whose groans, bewailings, and whose bitter cries,
With grief incessant rent the very skies.”
I do not deny pain to be pain—for were that the case, in what would courage consist?—but I say it should be assuaged by patience, if there be such a thing as patience: if there be no such thing, why do we speak so in praise of philosophy? Or why do we glory in its name?
Does pain annoy us? Let it sting us to the heart: if you are without defensive armor, bare your throat to it; but if you are secured by Vulcanian armor, that is to say by resolution, resist it. Should you fail to do so, that guardian of your honor, your courage, will forsake and leave you.
By the laws of Lycurgus, and by those which were given to the Cretans by Jupiter, or which Minos established under the direction of Jupiter, as the poets say, the youths of the State are trained by the practice of hunting, running, enduring hunger and thirst, cold and heat.
The boys at Sparta are scourged so at the altars that blood follows the lash in abundance; nay, sometimes, as I used to hear when I was there, they are whipped even to death; and yet not one of them was ever heard to cry out, or so much as groan.
What, then? Shall men not be able to bear what boys do? And shall custom have such great force, and reason none at all?
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.14
Out of a desire to have it both ways, we may be confusing a compromise as a balance with a compromise as a surrender. Where all things are equal, it can be quite reasonable to pick and choose, but where the higher is being sold out for the lower, bargaining now becomes a rationalization for the tepid soul.
It can be helpful for me to give up some of my money for the sake of a pleasure, or to deny myself a luxury to save for a rainy day, but it is never right for me to sacrifice even one bit of virtue in favor of any convenience.
This is because the formation of character is the highest human good, the absolute to which all other aspects of life are relative. It is, by definition, an expression of integrity and constancy, and is thus denied on all levels when it is hindered on only one level.
Since the capacity for virtue always remains within my nature, it can always be revived, though I know all too well what happens to the strength of my convictions when I chip away one little piece at a time.
Over the years, I have learned how myths and legends contain so much of what I need to know about the endeavor for a good life. The characters can indeed be ambiguous, showing different tendencies toward right or wrong, and yet I now see this more as an aid than as a hindrance, reflecting the freedom that exists within all of us.
What am I to make of King Solomon, the wise and just king who was also an idolater and had a poor choice in wives? How am I to judge Odysseus, a man of great intelligence and bravery who also succumbed to pride and duplicity? I only need examine myself to find echoes of such conflicts.
I am not fluent enough in Greek and Roman mythology to form any conclusions about Philoctetes; I admire his devotion to Hercules, and my own reading of the Iliad has always given me the sense that he acquitted himself admirably in the face of such extreme hardship. It seems, however, that later accounts considered him to be something of an effete bellyacher.
I suppose such a contrast is another instance of the complexity to our thoughts and deeds. Having suffered a festering wound that refused to heal, and therefore abandoned by his companions on the island of Lemnos for ten years, I can sympathize with any crying and moaning he may have done. To what degree did he succumb, to what degree did he endure?
What does his struggles tell me about my own? As Cicero says, the pain is real—what remains is how I am choosing to face it, to bear it, to transform it into something of benefit. Yes, it must be a form of patience, while never devolving into a grumbling resentment. Yes, it must be a form of toughness, while never allowing a love of principle to degrade into a heartless inflexibility.
I was usually taught how the Spartans were brutal, and yet I didn’t properly ask myself about the goal of their rigor and discipline. Join such a resolve to justice, and you have heroism. Join such a resolve to arrogance, and you have villainy.
The courage to love is never to be mistaken for the recklessness to hate. Philosophy steers the right course.
Out of a desire to have it both ways, we may be confusing a compromise as a balance with a compromise as a surrender. Where all things are equal, it can be quite reasonable to pick and choose, but where the higher is being sold out for the lower, bargaining now becomes a rationalization for the tepid soul.
It can be helpful for me to give up some of my money for the sake of a pleasure, or to deny myself a luxury to save for a rainy day, but it is never right for me to sacrifice even one bit of virtue in favor of any convenience.
This is because the formation of character is the highest human good, the absolute to which all other aspects of life are relative. It is, by definition, an expression of integrity and constancy, and is thus denied on all levels when it is hindered on only one level.
Since the capacity for virtue always remains within my nature, it can always be revived, though I know all too well what happens to the strength of my convictions when I chip away one little piece at a time.
Over the years, I have learned how myths and legends contain so much of what I need to know about the endeavor for a good life. The characters can indeed be ambiguous, showing different tendencies toward right or wrong, and yet I now see this more as an aid than as a hindrance, reflecting the freedom that exists within all of us.
What am I to make of King Solomon, the wise and just king who was also an idolater and had a poor choice in wives? How am I to judge Odysseus, a man of great intelligence and bravery who also succumbed to pride and duplicity? I only need examine myself to find echoes of such conflicts.
I am not fluent enough in Greek and Roman mythology to form any conclusions about Philoctetes; I admire his devotion to Hercules, and my own reading of the Iliad has always given me the sense that he acquitted himself admirably in the face of such extreme hardship. It seems, however, that later accounts considered him to be something of an effete bellyacher.
I suppose such a contrast is another instance of the complexity to our thoughts and deeds. Having suffered a festering wound that refused to heal, and therefore abandoned by his companions on the island of Lemnos for ten years, I can sympathize with any crying and moaning he may have done. To what degree did he succumb, to what degree did he endure?
What does his struggles tell me about my own? As Cicero says, the pain is real—what remains is how I am choosing to face it, to bear it, to transform it into something of benefit. Yes, it must be a form of patience, while never devolving into a grumbling resentment. Yes, it must be a form of toughness, while never allowing a love of principle to degrade into a heartless inflexibility.
I was usually taught how the Spartans were brutal, and yet I didn’t properly ask myself about the goal of their rigor and discipline. Join such a resolve to justice, and you have heroism. Join such a resolve to arrogance, and you have villainy.
The courage to love is never to be mistaken for the recklessness to hate. Philosophy steers the right course.
—Reflection written in 7/1996
IMAGE: Jean-Charles-Joseph Remond, Philoctetes Wounded on the Island of Lemnos (1818)
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