It is this kind of courage which at every moment of life is most in requisition, and which is the rarest; for there will be found plenty of men capable of braving death when the occasion presents itself; but to bear with resignation the inevitable and constantly renewed ills of human life, is a virtue all the more rare as one is scarcely ever ashamed of its opposite vice. One would blush to fear peril, one does not blush for rebelling against destiny; one is willing to die if necessary, but not to be thwarted. Yet will it be admitted that to succumb under the weight of destiny, is a kind of cowardice. It is for this reason that it would be justly said that suicide is also a cowardly act; for whilst it is true that it demands a certain physical courage, it is also true that the moral courage which bears the ills of life is of a still higher order.
“You take a journey to Olympia,” says Epictetus, “to behold the work of Phidias, and each of you thinks it a misfortune to die without a knowledge of such things; and will you have no inclination to see and understand those works, for which there is no need to take a journey; but which are ready and at hand, even to those who bestow no pains! Will you never perceive what you are, or for what you were born, or for what purpose you are admitted to behold this spectacle? But there are in life some things unpleasant and difficult. And are there none at Olympia? Are you not heated? Are you not crowded? Are you not without good conveniences for bathing? Are you not wet through, when it happens to rain? Do you not have uproar and noise, and other disagreeable circumstances? But, I suppose, by comparing all these with the merit of the spectacle, you support and endure them. Well, and have you not received faculties by which you may support every event? Have you not received greatness of soul? Have you not received a manly spirit? Have you not received patience? What signifies to me anything that happens, while my soul is above it? What shall disconcert or trouble or appear grievous to me? Shall I not use my powers to that purpose for which I received them; but lament and groan at every casualty?”[127]
But we should not confound true strength, true courage, true patience, with false strength and ridiculous obstinacy.
“An acquaintance of mine,” says again Epictetus, “had, for no reason, determined to starve himself to death. I went the third day, and inquired what was the matter. He answered: ‘I am determined.’—‘Well; but what is your motive? For, if your determination be right, we will stay, and assist your departure; but if unreasonable, change it.’—‘We ought to keep our determinations.’—‘What do you mean, sir? Not all of them; but such as are right. Else, if you should fancy that it is night, if this be your principle, do not change, but persist and say, “We ought to keep to our determinations.” ‘What do you mean, sir? Not to all of them. Why do you not begin by first laying the foundation, inquiring whether your determination be a sound one, or not; and then build your firmness and constancy upon it. For, if you lay a rotten and crazy foundation, you must not build; since the greater and more weighty the superstructure, the sooner will it fall. Without any reason you are withdrawing from us, out of life, a friend, a companion, a fellow-citizen both of the greater and the lesser city; and while you are committing murder, and destroying an innocent person, you say, “We must keep to our determinations.” Suppose, by any means, it should ever come into your head to kill me; must you keep to such a determination?’
“With difficulty this person was, however, at last convinced; but there are some at present, whom there is no convincing ... a fool will neither bend nor break.”[128]
161. Moderation.—The ancients always associated with patience in adversity another kind of courage, no less rare and difficult, namely, moderation in prosperity. It was for them, in some respects, one and the same virtue, exercised in two opposite conditions, and this is what they call equanimity.
“Now, during our prosperity,” says Cicero, “and while things flow agreeably to our desire, we ought, with great care, to avoid pride and arrogance; for, as it discovers weakness not to bear adversity with equanimity, so also with prosperity. That equanimity, in every condition of life, is a noble attribute, and that uniform expression of countenance which we find recorded of Socrates, and also of Caius Lælius. Panætius tells us, his scholar and friend, Africanus, used to say that as horses, grown unruly by being in frequent engagements, are delivered over to be tamed by horse-breakers, thus men, who grow riotous and self-sufficient by prosperity, ought, as it were, to be exercised in the traverse[129] of reason and philosophy, that they may learn the inconstancy of human affairs and the uncertainty of fortune.[130]
Nothing occurs more frequently among the ancient poets and moralists than this idea of the vicissitude of human things. The metaphor of Fortune’s wheel, which sometimes lowers to the greatest depth those it raised highest, is well known. We need scarcely dwell upon this commonplace saying which has never, for an instant, ceased to be true; although the more regular conditions of modern society have introduced more security and uniformity in life, at least for those who live wisely and with moderation. Yet is no one secure against the changes of fortune; there are unexpected elevations as there are sudden falls; and firmness in either bad or good fortune will always be necessary.
162. Equality of temper; anger.—To equality of temper or possession of one’s self, there is still another obligation attached: that of avoiding anger, a passion which the ancients with reason considered the principle of courage,[131] but which of itself is without any rules, and is more proper to beasts than men. Aristotle has described the irascible disposition with great accuracy. He justly distinguishes two kinds of anger; one where a man is easily carried away, and as easily appeased again, and the other where resentment is nursed and kept up for a long time. The first is the irascible disposition; the second, the splenetic or vindictive disposition.
“Irascible men,” says Aristotle, “are easily angered, with improper objects, on improper occasions, and too much; but their anger quickly ceases, and this is the best point in their character. And this is the case with them, because they do not restrain their anger, but retaliate openly and visibly, because of their impetuosity, and then they become calm.—But the bitter are difficult to be appeased, and retain their anger a long time, for they repress their rage; but there comes a cessation, when they have retaliated; for revenge makes their anger cease, because it produces pleasure instead of the previous pain. But if they do not get revenge, they feel a weight of disappointment: for, owing to its not showing itself, no one reasons with them; and there is need of time for a man to digest his anger within him. Persons of this character are very troublesome to themselves, and to their best friends.”[132]