Under perceivedly fateful circumstances—consequential and problematic—and only in close connection with them, a second set of capacities or properties appear. An in-dividual’s sudden sense of what might shortly occur can have a marked effect on his behavior, with respect to both social ties and task performance. In the case of relations to others, the principled behavior he manages to exhibit during ordinary occasions may break down. The quick consciousness of what his principles are costing him at the moment may cause his wonted decency to falter, and in the heat and haste of the moment, naked self-interest may obtrude. Or, contrariwise, the sudden high cost of correct behavior may serve only to confirm his principled-ness. Similarly, in the matter of task performance, his imagining to himself the consequence of failing or succeeding can work strongly upon his capacity to exercise the primary capacities in question. The imminent possibilities may make him nervous, incapable of drawing on what he knows, and incapable of organized action;95 on the other hand, the challenge may cause him to mobilize his energies and perform above himself. In contrast to Heming-way’s friend Antonio, there is Jose Martinez who, upon his debut as a matador at Murcia, on entrance of the bull, fainted.96
These capacities (or lack of them) for standing correct and steady in the face of sudden pressures are crucial; they do not specify the activity of the individual, but how he will manage himself in this activity. I will refer to these maintenance properties as an aspect of the individual’s character. Evidence of incapacity to behave effectively and correctly under the stress of fatefulness is a sign of weak character. He who manifests average, expected ability does not seem to be judged sharply in terms of character. Evidence of marked capacity to maintain full self control when the chips are down—whether exerted in regard to moral temptation or task performance—is a sign of strong character.
Primary properties and those of character both contribute to the reputation an individual acquires; both are therefore consequential. But there are important differ-ences between the two. As suggested, primary qualities can be expressed in a situation that is not fateful; qualities of character—in the aspects considered here—emerge only during fateful events, or at least events subjectively con-sidered to be fateful. One may approve of, disapprove of, or be morally neutral toward primary qualities. Properties of character, however, are always judged from a moral perspective, simply because a capacity for mobilizing oneself for the moment is always subjected to social evaluation. And, in contrast to primary properties, character traits tend to be evaluated in the extremes, referring to failures in no way expected or successes out of the ordinary; mere conformance with usual standards is not the issue. Finally, unlike primary traits, those of character tend to be “essentializing,” fully coloring our picture of the person so characterized, and (as we will see later) a single expression tends to be taken as an adequate basis for judgment.
Consider some of the major forms of character that bear on the management of fateful events.
First, there are various forms of courage, namely, the capacity to envisage immediate danger and yet proceed with the course of action that brings the danger on. The variations are established by the nature of the risk, for example, whether physical, financial, social, or spiritual. Thus, among professional gamblers, there is respect for a quality called “gamble,” namely, a willingness to submit to the rules of the game while chancing a major portion of one’s current capital—presumably with the grace to carry off the win or loss circumspectly. Note that the interests served by courageous actions may be quite selfish; the issue is the actor’s readiness to face great risk.
There is gameness, the capacity to stick to a line of activity and to continue to pour all effort into it regardless of set-backs, pain, or fatigue, and this not because of some brute insensitivity but because of inner will and determination. Boxers provide a version:
There is also a cult of a kind of persevering courage, called a “fighting heart,” which means “never admitting defeat.” The fighter learns early that his ex-hibited courage—his ability, if necessary, to go down fighting—characterizes the respected, audience-pleasing boxer. He must cherish the lingering hope that he can win by a few more punches.97
It should be added that persons are not alone, and perhaps not even first, in this matter of showing heart. Bulls, properly bred, wonderfully have it; that is why they accept the matches made for them and continue to fight from an increasingly weakening position, and that is why there can be bullfights. Race horses, under a special reading of the term “class,” can have it too.98
A fundamental trait of personal character from the point of view of social organization is integrity, meaning here the propensity to resist temptation in situations where there would be much profit and some impugnity in departing momentarily from moral standards. Integrity seems especially important during fateful activity that is not witnessed by others. Although societies differ widely in the kinds of character they approve, no society could long persist if its members did not approve and foster this quality. Everyone tends to claim a high standard of integrity, however rarely realized; excellence in this regard is taken for granted, and it is persons who fall short who are the ones to be designated, in this case, as having weak char-acters.99 (We can find examples of integrity therefore in the littlest corners of life: when a salesperson touts an unsuitable product with less persuasion than he could have mustered; when a girl does not break a date that sudden opportunity has made disadvantageous; when a school child admits to an offense others would have been thought guilty of; when a cab driver or barber gives back three dollars in bills when a two-dollar debt is paid with a five.) Somewhat similar comments can be made about “self-discipline,” the capacity to refrain from excessive involvement in the easy pleasures of the table—whether in a bar, restaurant, or casino.
Earlier it was suggested that social situations carry in themselves some reputational implications, especially in connection with the standards that participants are obliged to maintain in their dealings with one another. It was said that this consequentiality was usually not problematic. However, here we must see that circumstances can sometimes render it so.
For example, the continued maintenance of the cere-monial order can occasionally become very costly, producing the questionable privilege of displaying a special version of integrity. At these times the individual will have to decide whether or not to give in under pressure, whether or not to let standards lapse. Gallantry refers to the capacity to maintain the forms of courtesy when the forms are full of substance. It is shown when Douglas Fairbanks, in the middle of a cinematic duel to the death, retrieves his opponent’s fallen sword and hands it to him with a polite bow, the better to prevent a meaningless advantage from cutting short the opportunity for valid expression. Other competitions provide similar opportunities:
It was in 1902 that the British then-champion, Selwyn F. Edge, driving in the Paris-Vienna race, punctured an inner tube and was forced to stop for repairs. He soon discovered, however, that the tire pump which his car carried would not work. Without it, the tube could not be inflated and the car could not continue.
At this moment, the colorful Count Louis Zborowski came along the road in a Mercedes, took in the situation at a glance, pulled up next to Edges car and tossed his own tire pump to his rival. Edge went on to win the Gordon Bennett cup. Zborowski was second.100
It is interesting that examples of gallantry are usually of the kind I have cited, and neglect the place of this property in everyday life. In fact, a shopkeeper is gallant when he unnecessarily and politely refunds a large sale for a tourist who suddenly has had misgivings. Certainly a stand-by passenger is gallant when he voluntarily gives up the second last seat so that a youthful pair next in line can stay together and yet not be stranded.101
Gallantry, of course, is not the only quality of character that is found in connection with the costly and problematic maintenance of the ceremonial order. Just as the individual owes others courtesies, so
they owe courtesies to him, and should they fail to treat him properly he may find he must risk retaliatory acts in order to show that advantage cannot be taken of him. In contemporary times the police provide excellent illustrations of this theme, since sometimes they feel they must pledge their fists, their clubs, and even their guns to ensure a nice deference from those they arrest or otherwise accost.102
Retaliatory acts of this sort assume, of course, that the offended person has ample authority and resources. When this is not the case then he may feel obliged to sacrifice his own substance to maintain the forms. Gallantry in reverse results: not costly courtesy but costly contempt. In the mythic extreme, dutifully employed in many action novels, the hero, stripped and bound to a chair, spits or at least sneers into the face of the villain who threatens death and torture; the hero voluntarily exacerbates a precarious situation in order to show distaste for the villain’s presumption and style. More realistically, we find that servers of all kinds know that if the value of their service or of their selves is disputed, they can with majesty de-cline any payment or can even ask the customer to take his patronage elsewhere—a matter of cutting off one’s nose in order to destroy the other’s face. These pyrrhic victories are often disapproved of, along with the quality of char-acter felt to be responsible for exacting them. And no doubt such incidents do not actually occur frequently. Yet stories of their occurrence are everywhere and seem to play a significant role in maintaining the self-respect of servers and the self-restraint of those they serve.
Of all the qualities of character associated with the management of fatefulness, the one of most interest for this essay is composure, that is, self-control, self-possession, or poise. This attribute is doubly consequential, for it directly effects the functioning of a primary property and is a source of reputation in its own right.
Composure has a behavioral side, a capacity to execute physical tasks (typically involving small muscle control) in a concerted, smooth, self-controlled fashion under fateful circumstances. Money-making at pool provides an example:
On the other hand, the hustler must have “heart” (courage). The sine qua non is that he is a good “money player,” can play his best when heavy action is riding on the game (as many non-hustlers can’t). Also, he is not supposed to let a bad break or distractions in the audience upset him. (He may pretend to get rattled on such occasions, but that’s just part of his con.) Nor should the quality of his game deteriorate when, whether by miscalculation on his part or otherwise, he finds himself much further behind than he would like to be.103
One example of what this capacity is not might be cited:
A nervous man wearing a trench coat and dark glasses stood at the check-cashing booth of the Safeway store at 4940 Mission Street last night.
Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a .32 caliber blue steel automatic. Or at least he tried. The gun caught on the pocket, firing a shot into the baseboard of the cashier’s booth.
Some 15 customers and ten clerks stared at the man. He licked his lips nervously.
“This is a holdup,” he blurted to cashier Rose Catelli, 30, of 579 Naples Street. “I want all the money in the safe.”
Where upon he turned and bolted from the store, with manager Val Andreacchi and clerk Tom Holt in pursuit.
Without even a glance back, the gunman wildly fired three or four more shots as he sprinted half a block up an alley to London Street, jumped into his car and sped away.104
Composure also has what is thought of as an affective side, the emotional self-control required in dealing with others. Actually what seems to be involved here is physical control of the organs employed in discourse and gesture. Sir Harold Nicolson, reviewing the qualities required of the professional diplomat provides illustrations:
A third quality which is essential to the ideal di-plomatist is the quality of calm. Not only must the negotiator avoid displaying irritation when confronted by the stupidity, dishonesty, brutality or conceit of those with whom it is his unpleasant duty to negotiate, but he must eschew all personal animosities, all personal predilections, all enthusiasms, prejudices, vanities, exaggerations, dramatizations, and moral indignations. . . .
The quality of calm, as applied to the ideal diplomatist, should express itself in two major directions. In the first place he should be good-tempered, or at least he should be able to keep his ill-temper under perfect control. In the second place he should be quite exceptionally patient.
The occasions on which diplomatists have lost their tempers are remembered with horror by generations of their successors. Napoleon lost his temper with Metternich in the Marcolini Palace at Dresden on June 26, 1813, and flung his hat upon the carpet with the most unfortunate results. Sir Charles Euan Smith lost his temper with the Sultan of Morocco and tore up a treaty in the imperial presence. Count Tatten-bach lost his temper at the Algeciras Conference and exposed his country to a grave diplomatic hu-miliation. Herr Stinnes lost his temper at Spa.105
These men “flooded out,” ceased to be their own masters, becoming, along with their principals, subject to control by others.
Along with the value of smooth movements and unruf-fled emotions, we can consider that of mental calmness and alertness, that is, presence of mind. This competency is important for the proper execution of many impersonal tasks, as, for example, examinations. These are meant to be a sampling device for uncovering a just and only-to-be-expected outcome. But, in fact, one’s test score depends on mobilizing memory and knowledge under pressure and then fashioning an orderly comprehensive answer in less than comfortable time; the opposite of what is sometimes called “blocking.”106 Presence of mind is also important in tasks that involve other persons directly. This kind of presence of mind is what people known as wits have and the self-conscious person does not. Books of famous mots brilliant statements of tact, and effective “squelches” and “put-downs” attest to the general interest in this mind-edness.
Composure has still another side, the capacity to con-template abrupt change in fate—one’s own and, by extension, others’—without loss of emotional control, without becoming “shook up.”107
Composure also has a bodily side, sometimes called dignity, that is, the capacity to sustain one’s bodily decorum in the face of costs, difficulties, and imperative urges.108
Here the sport of surfing (even more than skiing) is of special interest. Physical aplomb and the dignity of upright posture must be maintained on a flat narrow board against rumbling forces that press to the limit the human capacity for this kind of bodily self-control. Here the maintenance of physical poise is not merely a condition of effective performance but a central purpose of it.
A final aspect of composure might be considered: stage confidence—the capacity to withstand the dangers and opportunities of appearing before large audiences without becoming abashed, embarrassed, self-conscious, or pan-icky. Behind this is the special type of poise that pertains to dealing with the contingency of being under the observation of others while in an easily discredited role. An interesting variation is honored in the undercover world of agents, plainclothesmen, and criminals, where it may be necessary to “act natural” before a critical audience when one knows that in a few seconds the whole show may be up. It is written of one of New York’s best burglars that, just after making a very big score on the tenth floor of a hotel:
He walked back down to the ninth floor and took the elevator to the lobby. With what police call “the nerves of a burglar,” he let the doorman call him a cab. “It was the first time in my life I couldn’t tip the doorman,” he told the police. “My pockets were so full of jewelry that I couldn’t reach for any change. It was very embarrassing.”109
Here an important set of assumptions is involved. Per-sons who have good reason to fear that they may be appre hended shortly are inclined to bolt for it or at least look out constantly for possible danger. These quite natural tendencies can be held in check, but rarely without leaving some trace of agitation.
Authorities, seeking among the apparently innocent for the actually guilty, will therefore be rightly inclined to check up on persons who appear wary, or anxious without visible cause. To look self-conscious, then, is to break the cover of “looking like anyone else.” But in addition, should the individual sense that his appearance is giving him away, he will feel he has further cause to be fearful. Suppressing the urge to leave the field that this new fear creates will generate still further signs of unnaturalness, and these in turn will have their circular effect.
Composure in all its different dimensions has traditionally been associated with the aristocratic ethic. In recent years, however, a version of this quality has been strongly touted by raffish urban elements under the label “coolness.” Sir Harold might be disinclined to the locution but his advice to an errant diplomatist could be accurately expressed by saying, “Baby, don’t blow your cool.”110 The significant point here is that we find composure a concern and a value in many different cultures and across many different strata. There appear to be two major reasons for this.
First, whenever an individual is in the immediate presence of others, especially when he is cooperatively involved with them—as in, for example, the joint maintenance of a state of talk—his capacity as a competent interactant is important to them. The social order sustained in the gathering draws its ingredients, its substance, from disciplined small behaviors. His contribution of proper demeanor is melded in with the contribution of the others to produce socially organized co-presence. He will have to maintain command of himself if he is to make himself available to the affairs at hand and not disrupt them. Discomposure will disqualify him for these duties and threaten the jointly sustained world that the others feel they have a right to be in.
Second, whether or not the individual is in the presence of others, any task he performs involves the practiced easy use of human faculties—mind, limbs, and, especially, small muscles. Often this self-control must be acquired and sustained under very special circumstances: any temporary failure of control due to concern about the situation will itself provide a reason for still more self-consciousness and hence still further maladroitness and so on, until the individual is quite rattled and unable to handle the task. Sword swallowers provide a clear example. The touch and temperature of the blade make the unpracticed gag, which certainly renders the task impossible. Once this response is effectively suppressed, the learner finds that the sword causes his throat to close quite tight. Still further practice is required before these muscles become relaxed and the sword can pass without touching. The more the sword touches, the more likely an involuntary spasm, which will, of course, further increase the amount of touching.111 (Correspondingly, of course, the more composed the swallower, the less the sword will touch and the less constrictive the passage will be, and so forth.) As has been suggested, a similar predicament occurs under limited time conditions. Mal-adroitness can waste time, which further tightens the situation, which in turn gives still greater cause for dis-composure.
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