M. Even as in a battle the dastardly and timorous soldier throws away his shield on the first appearance of an enemy, and runs as fast as he can, and on that account loses his life sometimes, though he has never received even one wound, when he who stands his ground has nothing of the sort happen to him, so they who cannot bear the appearance of pain throw themselves away, and give themselves up to affliction and dismay.
But they that oppose it, often come off more than a match for it. For the body has a certain resemblance to the soul: as burdens are more easily borne the more the body is exerted, while they crush us if we give way, so the soul by exerting itself resists the whole weight that would oppress it; but if it yields, it is so pressed that it cannot support itself. And if we consider things truly, the soul should exert itself in every pursuit, for that is the only security for its doing its duty.
But this should be principally regarded in pain, that we must not do anything timidly, or dastardly, or basely, or slavishly, or effeminately, and, above all things, we must dismiss and avoid that Philoctetean sort of outcry.
A man is allowed sometimes to groan, but yet seldom; but it is not permissible even in a woman to howl; for such a noise as this is forbidden, by the twelve tables, to be used even at funerals.
Nor does a wise or brave man ever groan, unless when he exerts himself to give his resolution greater force, as they who run in the stadium make as much noise as they can.
The wrestlers, too, do the same when they are training; and the boxers, when they aim a blow with the cestus at their adversary, give a groan, not because they are in pain, or from a sinking of their spirits, but because their whole body is put upon the stretch by the throwing-out of these groans, and the blow comes the stronger.
But they that oppose it, often come off more than a match for it. For the body has a certain resemblance to the soul: as burdens are more easily borne the more the body is exerted, while they crush us if we give way, so the soul by exerting itself resists the whole weight that would oppress it; but if it yields, it is so pressed that it cannot support itself. And if we consider things truly, the soul should exert itself in every pursuit, for that is the only security for its doing its duty.
But this should be principally regarded in pain, that we must not do anything timidly, or dastardly, or basely, or slavishly, or effeminately, and, above all things, we must dismiss and avoid that Philoctetean sort of outcry.
A man is allowed sometimes to groan, but yet seldom; but it is not permissible even in a woman to howl; for such a noise as this is forbidden, by the twelve tables, to be used even at funerals.
Nor does a wise or brave man ever groan, unless when he exerts himself to give his resolution greater force, as they who run in the stadium make as much noise as they can.
The wrestlers, too, do the same when they are training; and the boxers, when they aim a blow with the cestus at their adversary, give a groan, not because they are in pain, or from a sinking of their spirits, but because their whole body is put upon the stretch by the throwing-out of these groans, and the blow comes the stronger.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.23
Once more, I am inclined to be suspicious of machismo, so I must restrain myself from tossing a book aside whenever I come across passages on virile courage. I spent too much time being bullied and beaten to admire any man who thinks with his fists.
Yet that is not what Cicero meant, is it? As a man closely familiar with tyrants, he understood the difference between those who, out of a sense of their own insufficiencies, feel the need to dominate others, and those who, at peace with themselves, are content to master their own souls.
It is far more difficult, and far more noble, to tame oneself than to lash out, to nurture a fortitude of the spirit than to hide behind a severity of the flesh.
In hindsight, I can indeed think of many instances when a surrender to my fears ended up doing me far more harm than if I had simply stood my ground. It was always my imagination running wild that did me in, such that the self-imposed anxiety was a thousand times worse than any consequences in reality.
The more I chose to dwell on the possibility of pain, the greater its force became in my estimation, and so the less my willingness to resist it.
I recall an incident in college, when a student mixed the wrong chemicals during a chemistry demonstration, and the room was quickly filled with an eerie smoke. The professor immediately called out that it was completely harmless, but to no avail. Everyone rushed for the doors, and everyone in the hallway then joined in the panic.
The result was a number of injuries as people pushed their way out of the building; it could all have been avoided if someone had just followed the calm advice to open a few windows.
Fortune is fickle, and circumstances will often unfold in ways we can hardly expect. We may call it “luck”, yet I think it no accident that the courage to act with a level head will always tilt the odds in our favor. Come what may, at least the brave man can rest assured he has done the best he could, the only guaranteed reward in this life.
Through all of this, I must not underestimate the power of habit. The body grows stronger or weaker through practice, and the mind and the will are no different in this regard. At first the effort might feel unbearable, and then it gradually becomes easier, and then, if I stay the course, I can even learn to respond without any conscious struggle at all.
When I tell myself it can’t be done, what I’m really saying is that I don’t want to risk such a long-term commitment to my moral improvement. Again, my judgments are shaping my expectations—if it is important enough to me, I will be glad to make the necessary sacrifices.
On the question of whether or not I should ever cry out in pain, I suspect that much of the way we express ourselves has to do with our particular social customs, and yet at the heart of it is still an awareness of a great difference between succumbing to despair and gathering the strength to fight. As is so often the case, the key is in the intention: is my scream an act of surrender or of endurance?
Back in the early 1980’s, I very much enjoyed the classic X-Men comics, and I couldn’t help but notice how the character of Wolverine would always growl and grunt his way through any hardship, though I never took it to be a sign of his complaining.
Once more, I am inclined to be suspicious of machismo, so I must restrain myself from tossing a book aside whenever I come across passages on virile courage. I spent too much time being bullied and beaten to admire any man who thinks with his fists.
Yet that is not what Cicero meant, is it? As a man closely familiar with tyrants, he understood the difference between those who, out of a sense of their own insufficiencies, feel the need to dominate others, and those who, at peace with themselves, are content to master their own souls.
It is far more difficult, and far more noble, to tame oneself than to lash out, to nurture a fortitude of the spirit than to hide behind a severity of the flesh.
In hindsight, I can indeed think of many instances when a surrender to my fears ended up doing me far more harm than if I had simply stood my ground. It was always my imagination running wild that did me in, such that the self-imposed anxiety was a thousand times worse than any consequences in reality.
The more I chose to dwell on the possibility of pain, the greater its force became in my estimation, and so the less my willingness to resist it.
I recall an incident in college, when a student mixed the wrong chemicals during a chemistry demonstration, and the room was quickly filled with an eerie smoke. The professor immediately called out that it was completely harmless, but to no avail. Everyone rushed for the doors, and everyone in the hallway then joined in the panic.
The result was a number of injuries as people pushed their way out of the building; it could all have been avoided if someone had just followed the calm advice to open a few windows.
Fortune is fickle, and circumstances will often unfold in ways we can hardly expect. We may call it “luck”, yet I think it no accident that the courage to act with a level head will always tilt the odds in our favor. Come what may, at least the brave man can rest assured he has done the best he could, the only guaranteed reward in this life.
Through all of this, I must not underestimate the power of habit. The body grows stronger or weaker through practice, and the mind and the will are no different in this regard. At first the effort might feel unbearable, and then it gradually becomes easier, and then, if I stay the course, I can even learn to respond without any conscious struggle at all.
When I tell myself it can’t be done, what I’m really saying is that I don’t want to risk such a long-term commitment to my moral improvement. Again, my judgments are shaping my expectations—if it is important enough to me, I will be glad to make the necessary sacrifices.
On the question of whether or not I should ever cry out in pain, I suspect that much of the way we express ourselves has to do with our particular social customs, and yet at the heart of it is still an awareness of a great difference between succumbing to despair and gathering the strength to fight. As is so often the case, the key is in the intention: is my scream an act of surrender or of endurance?
Back in the early 1980’s, I very much enjoyed the classic X-Men comics, and I couldn’t help but notice how the character of Wolverine would always growl and grunt his way through any hardship, though I never took it to be a sign of his complaining.
In contrast, when I growl and grunt, I’m afraid it is too often a form of whining. Who says I can’t learn some good lessons from comic books? Logan was all about the attitude making the man, and that was precisely why he could face such constant adversity.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
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