M. Examine the definitions of courage: you will find it does not require the assistance of passion.
Courage is, then, an affection of mind that endures all things, being itself in proper subjection to the highest of all laws; or it may be called a firm maintenance of judgment in supporting or repelling everything that has a formidable appearance, or a knowledge of what is formidable or otherwise, and maintaining invariably a stable judgment of all such things, so as to bear them or despise them; or, in fewer words, according to Chrysippus (for the above definitions are Sphaerus’s, a man of the first ability as a layer-down of definitions, as the Stoics think. But they are all pretty much alike: they give us only common notions, some one way, and some another).
But what is Chrysippus’s definition? Fortitude, says he, is the knowledge of all things that are bearable, or an affection of the mind which bears and supports everything in obedience to the chief law of reason without fear.
Now, though we should attack these men in the same manner as Carneades used to do, I fear they are the only real philosophers; for which of these definitions is there which does not explain that obscure and intricate notion of courage which every man conceives within himself? And when it is thus explained, what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator want more?
And no one can think that they will be unable to behave themselves courageously without anger. What! Do not even the Stoics, who maintain that all fools are mad, make the same inferences? For, take away perturbations, especially a hastiness of temper, and they will appear to talk very absurdly.
But what they assert is this: they say that all fools are mad, as all dunghills stink; not that they always do so, but stir them, and you will perceive it. And in like manner, a warm-tempered man is not always in a passion; but provoke him, and you will see him run mad.
Now, that very warlike anger, which is of such service in war, what is the use of it to him when he is at home with his wife, children, and family? Is there, then, anything that a disturbed mind can do better than one which is calm and steady? Or can anyone be angry without a perturbation of mind? Our people, then, were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our manners, and nothing is worse than a passionate disposition, called angry men the only morose men.
Courage is, then, an affection of mind that endures all things, being itself in proper subjection to the highest of all laws; or it may be called a firm maintenance of judgment in supporting or repelling everything that has a formidable appearance, or a knowledge of what is formidable or otherwise, and maintaining invariably a stable judgment of all such things, so as to bear them or despise them; or, in fewer words, according to Chrysippus (for the above definitions are Sphaerus’s, a man of the first ability as a layer-down of definitions, as the Stoics think. But they are all pretty much alike: they give us only common notions, some one way, and some another).
But what is Chrysippus’s definition? Fortitude, says he, is the knowledge of all things that are bearable, or an affection of the mind which bears and supports everything in obedience to the chief law of reason without fear.
Now, though we should attack these men in the same manner as Carneades used to do, I fear they are the only real philosophers; for which of these definitions is there which does not explain that obscure and intricate notion of courage which every man conceives within himself? And when it is thus explained, what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator want more?
And no one can think that they will be unable to behave themselves courageously without anger. What! Do not even the Stoics, who maintain that all fools are mad, make the same inferences? For, take away perturbations, especially a hastiness of temper, and they will appear to talk very absurdly.
But what they assert is this: they say that all fools are mad, as all dunghills stink; not that they always do so, but stir them, and you will perceive it. And in like manner, a warm-tempered man is not always in a passion; but provoke him, and you will see him run mad.
Now, that very warlike anger, which is of such service in war, what is the use of it to him when he is at home with his wife, children, and family? Is there, then, anything that a disturbed mind can do better than one which is calm and steady? Or can anyone be angry without a perturbation of mind? Our people, then, were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our manners, and nothing is worse than a passionate disposition, called angry men the only morose men.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.24
This doesn’t mean that I won’t feel anything when I am being brave, but it does mean that I won’t be consumed by any extreme or disordered feelings when I am being brave: the very presence of an unhealthy passion is already in conflict with a sound judgment, for I am allowing myself to be carried along instead of steering my own course. An unruly emotion is a symptom of a troubled mind, and never the cause of any excellence.
Much as we get ourselves in trouble by treating love as a mere sentiment, instead of as a deliberate choice, so we have our wires crossed when we assume that anger is a condition for courage. Even as a frenzy puts on an impressive show, fortitude overcomes fear by first offering an understanding of true benefit and harm, and so what once appeared so terrifying is now no longer so dreadful. I know that I can bear it when I know how my virtues are always within my power, and why my circumstances can never do me any real injury.
For Chrysippus, this was because there is no evil in fortune at all, and for Cicero, this was because any pain from the outside pales in comparison when compared to the glory on the inside. It is either nonexistent, or, at the very least, it is insignificant. I keep an open mind when Cicero, like Carneades, is critical of the Stoics, and yet here he is supportive of their definitions for courage, since they describe clearly what most of us only sense confusedly. Know it before choosing to feel it.
In practice, of course, there will be a struggle to apply such principles, as the force of the passions requires a steady discipline to tame. I still cringe at the thought of a wound to my body, or the loss of my property, or an insult to my reputation, and this is all due to my own weakness of character. Calling myself an admirer of the Stoics does not automatically make me a Stoic—I need only think of how often I have permitted my anger to take the lead, while stubbornly insisting I was still firmly in command.
Last year, I found myself the target of a troll on a Usenet group, and after an initial attempt to reply with civility, I was caught up in the malice as much as the other fellow. And what, pray tell, were we so furious about? Picky details about Stoic philosophy, that’s what! Indeed, some of the most ill-tempered people I know are seemingly refined academics, so the problem of a foul disposition is hardly limited to marines, bikers, or construction workers.
In line with Cicero’s vivid image, one must only stir the pot to discern someone’s true qualities, and then we discover how many of us are habitually quite irritable and vindictive. It is indeed a sort of madness, however much we seek to mask it with the illusion of good manners; the cure is in peace of mind, a constancy born of daily practice. What use is the hysteria of a battlefield for the tranquility of a home? Look to the stalwart and patient father, not to the boisterous and jittery soldier: no man ever needs to be incensed.
This doesn’t mean that I won’t feel anything when I am being brave, but it does mean that I won’t be consumed by any extreme or disordered feelings when I am being brave: the very presence of an unhealthy passion is already in conflict with a sound judgment, for I am allowing myself to be carried along instead of steering my own course. An unruly emotion is a symptom of a troubled mind, and never the cause of any excellence.
Much as we get ourselves in trouble by treating love as a mere sentiment, instead of as a deliberate choice, so we have our wires crossed when we assume that anger is a condition for courage. Even as a frenzy puts on an impressive show, fortitude overcomes fear by first offering an understanding of true benefit and harm, and so what once appeared so terrifying is now no longer so dreadful. I know that I can bear it when I know how my virtues are always within my power, and why my circumstances can never do me any real injury.
For Chrysippus, this was because there is no evil in fortune at all, and for Cicero, this was because any pain from the outside pales in comparison when compared to the glory on the inside. It is either nonexistent, or, at the very least, it is insignificant. I keep an open mind when Cicero, like Carneades, is critical of the Stoics, and yet here he is supportive of their definitions for courage, since they describe clearly what most of us only sense confusedly. Know it before choosing to feel it.
In practice, of course, there will be a struggle to apply such principles, as the force of the passions requires a steady discipline to tame. I still cringe at the thought of a wound to my body, or the loss of my property, or an insult to my reputation, and this is all due to my own weakness of character. Calling myself an admirer of the Stoics does not automatically make me a Stoic—I need only think of how often I have permitted my anger to take the lead, while stubbornly insisting I was still firmly in command.
Last year, I found myself the target of a troll on a Usenet group, and after an initial attempt to reply with civility, I was caught up in the malice as much as the other fellow. And what, pray tell, were we so furious about? Picky details about Stoic philosophy, that’s what! Indeed, some of the most ill-tempered people I know are seemingly refined academics, so the problem of a foul disposition is hardly limited to marines, bikers, or construction workers.
In line with Cicero’s vivid image, one must only stir the pot to discern someone’s true qualities, and then we discover how many of us are habitually quite irritable and vindictive. It is indeed a sort of madness, however much we seek to mask it with the illusion of good manners; the cure is in peace of mind, a constancy born of daily practice. What use is the hysteria of a battlefield for the tranquility of a home? Look to the stalwart and patient father, not to the boisterous and jittery soldier: no man ever needs to be incensed.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Carneades
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