It is tempting to believe that our current social problems are uniquely modern, and that they have no analogues to conditions of previous ages.  A review of the thoughtful writings of the past shows that this belief is far from the truth.  Consider, for example, this comment from the Latin dialogue Antonius, which was composed by the humanist Giovanni Pontano around 1487 and first printed in 1491:

Now leisure and effeminacy are held in high esteem; we chase after harlots [scorta], we settle down in crude eating establishments, dice and dice-box in our hands, and the most morally corrupt things are considered to be worth something.  It is a competition about whose wife, sister, or daughter may fetch the best price, and no difference is made between the craven and the courageous, except that courage is hated and viewed with contempt.  The greatest coward is enthusiastically adored and embraced by the multitude.  Duty, piety, honor, finally everything, can be bought.  [Antonius 12] 

The more the times change, the more social mores remain relatively predictable.  There never was a time when the man of virtue found himself swimming in favorable waters; his way through the water has always been beset by currents, winds, turbulence, and the creatures of the deep.  “Men were born to achieve virtue, to cultivate the mind,” Pontano says at another place in the same treatise.  And while this declaration may be easily made, it is not easily attained.  He who wishes to follow this path may expect constant toil, and perpetual obstacles.  It cannot be otherwise, for “no productive farmer possessed hands without calluses, and there is no good doctor who has not been deeply involved in curing various and grave diseases.”  Artists cannot accomplish anything without constant creative exertion supported by unremitting toil.

But we should not see these trials and struggles as something evil to be avoided.  They have been placed in our path by Fortune to test us, to challenge us, and to sharpen our acuteness.  They exist for our perfectibility.  I have a friend with whom I have discussed this idea at great length.  In recent years he found himself the recipient of severe trials and tragedies; and finally, after much reflection and study, he came to the conclusion that human misfortunes and calamities are part of the polishing of the soul.  Our sufferings exist to help us to “achieve virtue, to cultivate the mind,” to use Pontano’s phrasing. 

And this polishing of the soul must take place gradually and incrementally.  It cannot happen all at once, any more than an insurgent can defeat a powerful adversary all at once.  Life takes years to live, and the lessons of life take even more years to gather and digest.  We must not look for decisive battles, but rather small engagements that end favorably.  He who follows the path of virtue in this world is in many ways similar to an insurgent.  He finds himself waging war against an occupying army, so to speak, that is spiritually committed to overwhelming him with an avalanche of iniquity and evil.  As a quiet insurgent, he has all he can do to maintain his life, his sanity, and his integrity; and he must carve out his little virtuous space in a vast area of hostile terrain.  He wins by pinpricks, by plucking out the hairs of a horse’s tail one by one, instead of all at once.  In this regard I find an anecdote appearing in the Roman writer Frontinus to be relevant:

Quintus Sertorius had learned from practice that he was unequal in strength to the whole Roman army.  To communicate this to the barbarians who were ill-advisedly calling for a fight with the Romans, he brought before them two horses, one of which was quite powerful, and the other gaunt.  He then brought up two young men of corresponding constitutions, one strong, and the other frail.  The more robust youth was ordered to pull out the entire tail of the gaunt horse; the weaker youth, however, was told to pluck out the hairs of the powerful horse, one hair at a time.  The slight youth succeeded in carrying out his orders, while the strong youth was exerting himself with the tail of the gaunt horse to no effect.  Sertorius said, “Soldiers, with this demonstration I have shown you the nature of Roman strength.  When attacked as a group, they are insurmountable.  But he who assaults them in parts will mangle and erode them.”  [Strategems IV.7.6]

It is no use for the man of virtue to complain about the unfairness of his burden.  The best and the most courageous men often bear the greatest burdens; Fortune seems to enjoy heaping challenges and misfortunes on their capable shoulders.  The most difficult assignments always fall upon the best men.  In this quiet insurgency, conducted outside the glare and cacaphony of daily life, we cannot expect epic, decisive battles; we must know that progress is achieved slowly, gradually, as the fruition of years of unrelenting effort. Yet if these men of virtue persist in their quiet insurgency, they will eventually achieve victories and glories that can scarcely be comprehended.

.

.

Read more essays in the extensive collections Digest and Centuries.