Peanut Butter
I didn’t understand why Socrates had a third part in the soul until I’d finished a hard training course called The Infantry Officer Course (IOC) in the Marines. IOC was about push- ing your body to the limit. We’d go without food and with- out sleep. We’d run 20 miles one day then carry 200-pound packs the next. It was brutal. After I graduated the course, I felt entitled to a reward. Just after IOC ended, I went to Virginia Beach to attend a relaxed classroom course. For three months, I’d get 8 hours of sleep each night in a hotel room and could eat whatever I wanted. So, my first night before class, I bought loads of junk food—chips, ice cream, and my personal favorite, peanut butter. I hadn’t eaten any of those in months, so I turned on my TV and let my hydra go wild.
I opened the jar of peanut butter and took out a spoonful. Then another. And another. Soon, I was feeling a bit sick from all the crap I’d eaten, but it seemed I could always fit another bite of peanut butter. About halfway through the jar, eating the peanut butter stopped being fun. I was sickened with myself. Even more revolting than the peanut butter was the debate I was having with myself. I could feel Socrates’s parts discussing the situation:
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Small Man (the mind):
You really shouldn’t be eating all this peanut butter. Can you imagine how many calories are in a jar of peanut butter?
Hydra (the appetites):
Calories?! (Takes another bite.) Screw you! Where was the calorie counting when you starved me for the past ten weeks?!
Small Man (the mind):
That’s a fair point. I suppose you’re entitled to a little freedom . . .
Hydra (the appetites):
You treat me like your slave! Now it’s my turn, moron!
[Hydra takes another bite]
It went on this way for about an hour, until the peanut butter jar was empty. I was exhausted, sick, and still reached for more snacks. Finally, my third part stepped in.
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Hydra (the appetites):
Now I want something salty . . .
Small Man (the mind):
I really think we should start thinking about bed, hydra. It’s past midnight and our course starts at 6 am.
Hydra (the appetites):
Chips! Perfect! (Starts eating chips).
Small Man (the mind):
I guess a few more won’t kill you, but this is the last snack.
[Hydra eats more]
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Lion (anger):
Enough! The two of you are disgusting! You just became an infantry officer in the United States Marine Corps and you can’t stop yourself from eating junk food? Hydra, you’re like a revolting child with no discipline. Small Man, you’re like a weak parent who wonders why his kid keeps acting out. Get your shoes on right now.
Hydra (the appetites):
I don’t want to put my shoes on.
Small Man (the mind):
We should really get some sleep before class tomorrow, Lion.
Lion (anger):
Shut up! Shoes on. Now! We’re going on a run.
With that, I forced myself outside to run for ten miles in the middle of the night. By 2 am, I was completely wiped. The next morning, as I began my first day in the classroom four hours later, I had bags under my eyes and my face was bloated. Everyone could see that I was wrecked from the night before. “Looks like Virginia Beach gave you quite a welcome,” one of my buddies said. They all imagined me partying, drinking, and spending the night with the college kids on Spring Break. I felt pathetic and ashamed.
After that night, as embarrassed as I felt, I realized that I had a new puzzle piece to help me understand Socrates’s lion. Anger was more than just a protective behavior. The lion is the part of us that can become disgusted with ourselves. When we can’t stand watching our appetites overrule our minds, anger is what steps in to set things straight. When we can get the mind and anger to work together, we tip the scales toward reason. This is why Aristotle says that shame is almost a virtue. When we’re able to feel disgusted with ourselves, we can give ourselves discipline.
For most people, the lion is as wild as the hydra, giving their reason no chance. Treating the lion like another hydra head, most people suppress their anger until it comes out in fits and bursts. But Socrates showed another way. If we could get our lion to become an ally of the small man, if we could couple our anger with reason, we could unlock a harmony of the soul. Getting the lion trained was his path to a good and beautiful life. As I worked on understanding what he laid out, I found that stopping myself from eating peanut butter was just the tip of the iceberg.