Sophrosyne and the Tyranny of Extremes

I first encountered Sophrosyne in college, a word for temperance and self-control—an ancient virtue I dismissed, caught up in the seductive certainty of absolutes. As a self-proclaimed Plato follower, I resisted the messy middle, the grey space between thesis and antithesis, where Hegel’s synthesis dares to tread. To me, contradiction was weakness, and subtlety a coward’s retreat.

Fiction shaped this rigidity. Characters in novels have fixed roles, clear arcs. Real people don’t. People are convoluted, layered contradictions resisting neat categorization. Yet I clung to simplified binaries, finding comfort in the familiar black and white, shunning the chaos of complexity.

When a friend reintroduced Sophrosyne, I recoiled—how could I embrace moderation when my identity thrived on extremes? But beneath stubbornness, an insight surfaced: my so-called objectivity was subjective armor, a defense against the vulnerability of change.

I realized that true growth demands embracing tension—not erasing contradiction, but holding it without falling apart. It’s not about surrender, but about courage: the courage to dwell in ambiguity, to learn without certainty.

I am not yet wise. But the word Sophrosyne returns to me as a quiet challenge: maybe knowledge isn’t about choosing sides, but navigating the endless, restless grey. And in that grey lies the fragile freedom to evolve.

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