In Defense of Stoicism

If Jean-Paul Sarte is right, and hell is other people, then the ninth circle is other people at the gym who won't stop talking. I made this discovery one day after fogetting my digital music player. As a result my cardio workout consisted of listening to Talky Chuck on the treadmill to my left. He carried on a hyper- animated conversation with his next-door neighbor, Chatty Denise.

They talked about a mutual friend who had difficulties following a separation; Chuck talked about the pros and cons of psychological pharmacology; Then Chuck talked about what milk did to his system. Both went on at length about their spouses, kids, and public schools. And there was no pretense of flirtation.

After several minutes of this inane twittering I my eye became drawn by the glimmer of hand barbells on a nearby rack. I wondered if I could deliver a blow that would stun but not paralyze.

I read it somewhere that in moments of doubt men should ask themselves "What would Clint do?" - referring, of course, to the famous cinematic stoicism of the actor who brought us Dirty Harry. This is solid wisdom. Despite what my readers may perceive from this sometimes-loquacious weblog, I'm usually content to say, verbally, very little. My wife observes that my tendency is to remain polite but distant until the point in the conversation when I can land a dry remark. After that contribution strangers feel reassured that I might not be a madman.

And I'm thinking Hemmingway is a worthwhile model too, a writer absorbed with hunting, fishing, and constructing taut, clean sentences - words that seemed almost self-aware that too much expression is unmanly. Then again, based on the way things ended, Old Hem might have benefited from sharing his feelings just a bit more, or at least considering non-alcoholic forms of medication.

Ours is an Oprah-tized society. We share incessantly with text messaging and weblogs; now families, churches, and communities trap each other on a 'cc' list for email. In this environment we should pause amidst the noise and confusion to recognize the virtue of listening and observing, saying things only when necessary - and otherwise remaining mercifully silent.