M. But we see Ajax in Homer advancing to meet Hector in battle cheerfully, without any of this boisterous wrath. For he had no sooner taken up his arms than the first step which he made inspired his associates with joy, his enemies with fear; so that even Hector, as he is represented by Homer, trembling, condemned himself for having challenged him to fight.
Yet these heroes conversed together, calmly and quietly, before they engaged; nor did they show any anger or outrageous behavior during the combat.
Nor do I imagine that Torquatus, the first who obtained this surname, was in a rage when he plundered the Gaul of his collar; or that Marcellus’s courage at Clastidium was only owing to his anger.
I could almost swear that Africanus, with whom we are better acquainted, from our recollection of him being more recent, was noways inflamed by anger when he covered Alienus Pelignus with his shield, and drove his sword into the enemy’s breast.
There may be some doubt of L. Brutus, whether he was not influenced by extraordinary hatred of the tyrant, so as to attack Aruns with more than usual rashness; for I observe that they mutually killed each other in close fight.
Why, then, do you call in the assistance of anger? Would courage, unless it began to get furious, lose its energy? What! Do you imagine that Hercules, whom the very courage which you would try to represent as anger raised to heaven, was angry when he engaged the Erymanthian boar, or the Nemaean lion?
Or was Theseus in a passion when he seized on the horns of the Marathonian bull? Take care how you make courage to depend in the least on rage. For anger is altogether irrational, and that is not courage which is void of reason.
Yet these heroes conversed together, calmly and quietly, before they engaged; nor did they show any anger or outrageous behavior during the combat.
Nor do I imagine that Torquatus, the first who obtained this surname, was in a rage when he plundered the Gaul of his collar; or that Marcellus’s courage at Clastidium was only owing to his anger.
I could almost swear that Africanus, with whom we are better acquainted, from our recollection of him being more recent, was noways inflamed by anger when he covered Alienus Pelignus with his shield, and drove his sword into the enemy’s breast.
There may be some doubt of L. Brutus, whether he was not influenced by extraordinary hatred of the tyrant, so as to attack Aruns with more than usual rashness; for I observe that they mutually killed each other in close fight.
Why, then, do you call in the assistance of anger? Would courage, unless it began to get furious, lose its energy? What! Do you imagine that Hercules, whom the very courage which you would try to represent as anger raised to heaven, was angry when he engaged the Erymanthian boar, or the Nemaean lion?
Or was Theseus in a passion when he seized on the horns of the Marathonian bull? Take care how you make courage to depend in the least on rage. For anger is altogether irrational, and that is not courage which is void of reason.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.22
We pay so much attention to the rage of Achilles, that we can easily forget about the downright chivalry of Ajax and Hector. It was hardly some casual moment, since everything was at stake, but it just goes to show how those who are brave do not need to be compelled by anger. If we must look down our noses at the hyperbole of myth, cannot the more literal facts of history teach us the very same lesson?
I know I have been watching too many action movies when I look at the hero’s motives from the bottom up, and not from the top down: it tells me far more about my own failings than it does about his actual merits. The desire for revenge can be strong, and yet it always remains within our power to follow a conscience, a deliberate choice that can be far stronger. What does it say about me when I see a greater vitality in a surrender to the passions than I do in the exercise of principles?
Cicero rightly observes how an emotion alone, however intense it may be, is not itself an act of judgment, and so it is not even the expression of a whole person, as a rational animal. What will be our response to the impressions? Far more importantly, how will our thinking then actively inform the impressions, such that what we feel is in harmony with what we understand?
It can’t be a virtue if it isn’t a product of deliberation, so why am I giving credit for the mere presence of an instinct? I must resist the current fashion, where “offense” and “outrage” are treated as if they were badges of honor. I would instead argue that the willingness to consciously cultivate patience and decency is a far greater mark of character.
For all the military heroes I might turn to, I first think of Franz Jägerstätter as a personal model of courage, a fellow whose choice to not get caught up in the frenzy of violence was the occasion for his fortitude. To the end, he offered love and forgiveness, feeling no need to be inflamed at anyone. While I accept that many will disagree, that remains my kind of strength.
We pay so much attention to the rage of Achilles, that we can easily forget about the downright chivalry of Ajax and Hector. It was hardly some casual moment, since everything was at stake, but it just goes to show how those who are brave do not need to be compelled by anger. If we must look down our noses at the hyperbole of myth, cannot the more literal facts of history teach us the very same lesson?
I know I have been watching too many action movies when I look at the hero’s motives from the bottom up, and not from the top down: it tells me far more about my own failings than it does about his actual merits. The desire for revenge can be strong, and yet it always remains within our power to follow a conscience, a deliberate choice that can be far stronger. What does it say about me when I see a greater vitality in a surrender to the passions than I do in the exercise of principles?
Cicero rightly observes how an emotion alone, however intense it may be, is not itself an act of judgment, and so it is not even the expression of a whole person, as a rational animal. What will be our response to the impressions? Far more importantly, how will our thinking then actively inform the impressions, such that what we feel is in harmony with what we understand?
It can’t be a virtue if it isn’t a product of deliberation, so why am I giving credit for the mere presence of an instinct? I must resist the current fashion, where “offense” and “outrage” are treated as if they were badges of honor. I would instead argue that the willingness to consciously cultivate patience and decency is a far greater mark of character.
For all the military heroes I might turn to, I first think of Franz Jägerstätter as a personal model of courage, a fellow whose choice to not get caught up in the frenzy of violence was the occasion for his fortitude. To the end, he offered love and forgiveness, feeling no need to be inflamed at anyone. While I accept that many will disagree, that remains my kind of strength.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGES:
Charles-André van Loo, Theseus Taming the Bull of Marathon (c. 1730)
Franz Jägerstätter (undated)
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