M. Will you, when you may observe children at Lacedaemon, and young men at Olympia, and barbarians in the amphitheater, receive the severest wounds, and bear them without once opening their mouths—will you, I say, if any pain should by chance attack you, cry out like a woman? Will you not rather bear it with resolution and constancy? And not cry, “It is intolerable; nature cannot bear it!”
I hear what you say: boys bear this because they are led thereto by glory; some bear it through shame, many through fear, and yet are we afraid that nature cannot bear what is borne by many, and in such different circumstances? Nature not only bears it, but challenges it, for there is nothing with her preferable, nothing which she desires more than credit, and reputation, and praise, and honor, and glory.
I choose here to describe this one thing under many names, and I have used many that you may have the clearer idea of it; for what I mean to say is, that whatever is desirable of itself, proceeding from virtue, or placed in virtue, and commendable on its own account (which I would rather agree to call the only good than deny it to be the chief good) is what men should prefer above all things.
And as we declare this to be the case with respect to honesty, so we speak in the contrary manner of infamy; nothing is so odious, so detestable, nothing so unworthy of a man.
And if you are thoroughly convinced of this (for, at the beginning of this discourse, you allowed that there appeared to you more evil in infamy than in pain), it follows that you ought to have the command over yourself, though I scarcely know how this expression may seem an accurate one, which appears to represent man as made up of two natures, so that one should be in command and the other be subject to it.
I hear what you say: boys bear this because they are led thereto by glory; some bear it through shame, many through fear, and yet are we afraid that nature cannot bear what is borne by many, and in such different circumstances? Nature not only bears it, but challenges it, for there is nothing with her preferable, nothing which she desires more than credit, and reputation, and praise, and honor, and glory.
I choose here to describe this one thing under many names, and I have used many that you may have the clearer idea of it; for what I mean to say is, that whatever is desirable of itself, proceeding from virtue, or placed in virtue, and commendable on its own account (which I would rather agree to call the only good than deny it to be the chief good) is what men should prefer above all things.
And as we declare this to be the case with respect to honesty, so we speak in the contrary manner of infamy; nothing is so odious, so detestable, nothing so unworthy of a man.
And if you are thoroughly convinced of this (for, at the beginning of this discourse, you allowed that there appeared to you more evil in infamy than in pain), it follows that you ought to have the command over yourself, though I scarcely know how this expression may seem an accurate one, which appears to represent man as made up of two natures, so that one should be in command and the other be subject to it.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.20
I am often told I can conquer the world, if only I work hard enough, and yet I hear surprisingly little about conquering myself, if only I stand by my values; the same people who are so confident about becoming rich and famous will suddenly lose their nerve when it comes to mastering their passions.
We have our priorities out of order when we are willing to give anything for wealth or status, but then claim to be incapacitated by fear or lust. I choose to buck the trend by exerting more effort on improving my character than I do on manipulating my circumstances.
The cynical will continue to mock bravery, just as they will mock temperance or chastity; it is best to pity them, for they do not understand how the greatest freedom and joy come from an ownership of one’s thoughts and deeds. Whenever I have managed it, my worries about the whims of fortune seem to recede, because I know a bit more about what I am, and what I am not, about.
The Spartan youth, or the Olympic athlete, or the Roman gladiator are not some extraordinary outliers—they are instances, however dramatically expressed, of the natural human ability for self-rule.
Whatever the degree or the duration of the pain, its significance to me is in my estimation. When I was five, ripping off a Band-Aid or getting a shot seemed like the end of the world. Now that I am older, and hopefully a bit wiser, I should have the awareness to put the prospect of any bodily injury or loss, including that of death itself, in its proper context. Rather than dwelling on how much it will hurt, let my attention be on how I might make the best use of it.
There is always the danger of doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, as when I act with the appearance of courage merely to impress someone, or out of embarrassment, or due to a dread of a greater suffering, but even then, I still display the fact that the pain is not insurmountable. Once I discern my own nature, I grasp why the only unbearable thing is the refusal to bear.
To be deeply conscious of virtue as the highest human good, leaving aside, for the moment, the debate with the Stoics about whether it is the only human good, is the foundation for all other worthy achievements.
I do not usually take well to being scolded or shamed, though when Cicero raises the level of the rhetoric here, he also has the decency to explain why I should seek out a new standard of judgment and action. Please don’t challenge me to “Be a man!” when you won’t take the time to say, “This is what it means to be a man!”
In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna had to present the workings of the whole cosmic order before Arjuna overcame his doubts about going into battle. I may not need quite that much, yet reasoning always remains the best motivator.
I further hesitate when Cicero refers to credit, reputation, praise, honor, and glory, concerned that he is confusing the way we seem with the way we are. I am relieved, therefore, when he relates these many terms back to their rightful measure, the inner merit of the virtues, dignified in and of themselves.
Now it may be misleading to speak as if there are somehow separate and opposed natures working within me, for I am made as one man, and not as two; nevertheless, it can, at the very least, help as an analogy for realizing how my lower functions are meant to be obedient to my higher functions. Place the part within the harmony of the whole.
I am often told I can conquer the world, if only I work hard enough, and yet I hear surprisingly little about conquering myself, if only I stand by my values; the same people who are so confident about becoming rich and famous will suddenly lose their nerve when it comes to mastering their passions.
We have our priorities out of order when we are willing to give anything for wealth or status, but then claim to be incapacitated by fear or lust. I choose to buck the trend by exerting more effort on improving my character than I do on manipulating my circumstances.
The cynical will continue to mock bravery, just as they will mock temperance or chastity; it is best to pity them, for they do not understand how the greatest freedom and joy come from an ownership of one’s thoughts and deeds. Whenever I have managed it, my worries about the whims of fortune seem to recede, because I know a bit more about what I am, and what I am not, about.
The Spartan youth, or the Olympic athlete, or the Roman gladiator are not some extraordinary outliers—they are instances, however dramatically expressed, of the natural human ability for self-rule.
Whatever the degree or the duration of the pain, its significance to me is in my estimation. When I was five, ripping off a Band-Aid or getting a shot seemed like the end of the world. Now that I am older, and hopefully a bit wiser, I should have the awareness to put the prospect of any bodily injury or loss, including that of death itself, in its proper context. Rather than dwelling on how much it will hurt, let my attention be on how I might make the best use of it.
There is always the danger of doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, as when I act with the appearance of courage merely to impress someone, or out of embarrassment, or due to a dread of a greater suffering, but even then, I still display the fact that the pain is not insurmountable. Once I discern my own nature, I grasp why the only unbearable thing is the refusal to bear.
To be deeply conscious of virtue as the highest human good, leaving aside, for the moment, the debate with the Stoics about whether it is the only human good, is the foundation for all other worthy achievements.
I do not usually take well to being scolded or shamed, though when Cicero raises the level of the rhetoric here, he also has the decency to explain why I should seek out a new standard of judgment and action. Please don’t challenge me to “Be a man!” when you won’t take the time to say, “This is what it means to be a man!”
In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna had to present the workings of the whole cosmic order before Arjuna overcame his doubts about going into battle. I may not need quite that much, yet reasoning always remains the best motivator.
I further hesitate when Cicero refers to credit, reputation, praise, honor, and glory, concerned that he is confusing the way we seem with the way we are. I am relieved, therefore, when he relates these many terms back to their rightful measure, the inner merit of the virtues, dignified in and of themselves.
Now it may be misleading to speak as if there are somehow separate and opposed natures working within me, for I am made as one man, and not as two; nevertheless, it can, at the very least, help as an analogy for realizing how my lower functions are meant to be obedient to my higher functions. Place the part within the harmony of the whole.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGE: Jean-Simon Berthelemy, Death of a Gladiator (1773)
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