I was just reading through "Self-Reliance" for about the hundredth time and paused on this sequence:
It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.
If we can forgive the sexist language (I'm sure you noticed how Emerson associates brave nonconformity with masculinity and mindless conformity with femininity), perhaps we can take a minute to appreciate this three part statement. If nothing else it is a perfect lesson in how to use the semicolon, the most under appreciated of punctuation marks.
No, seriously, I like what he says here, because it puts into words something I've felt before. Living how the world expects you to live is relatively easy. If you know how to pick up basic social cues, it is easy enough act in ways that bring us into the protected fold of society. It is also easy, when isolated, to make thoughtful decisions about the kind of person you want to be. You can close your bedroom door and make your own personal mission statement and accompanying lists of values, virtues, and resolves (like Ben Franklin). But as soon as you take that list -- and those very individualistic notions -- out into the world, you start to feel the brute power of social expectation. Truly courageous people stand up to this tidal wave of expectation, dig their feet in mud, and insist upon their own visions of themselves. To use the language of the guy from this morning's assembly, courageous people are the ones who stand up. I'm not talking about rebellion per se, or even Rosa Parks type determination -- just the simple courage to be exactly the person you are or want to be. If you decide that most gossip is mean-spirited and hurtful, then have the courage to say something your caddy friends -- or even walk away. Sometimes, in order to be true to yourself, you have to say things that create the kind of awkwardness in conversations that everyone seems to want to avoid at all costs. Later in the piece, Emerson suggests that we should speak our words as "hard as cannonballs," the exact opposite advice given to us by our good friend Ben Franklin. Cannonballs, of course, can sink ships, but in the end to have enough moral nerve to stand by an unpopular viewpoint can bring the kind of "perfect sweetness" that he mentions. Sweet!
