Going beyond being pleasant

Men at some time are masters of their fates.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
--Julius Caesar

Yesterday, I took one of those silly quizzes that keep popping up on my Facebook newsfeed.  Ones like "What Planet Do You Come From?"  Where each question posed by the quiz is surrounded by a multitude of advertisements.

But this quiz purported to determine my personality by asking a few multiple choice questions.  Most of those questions sought the decade, month, zodiac sign, time of month, and time of day during which I was born.  There were also a few odd questions, such as the color of my eyes.

I took the quiz, waited thirty seconds for the mandatory commercial clip to play, and then received my analysis.  It was flattering, for the most part.  I apparently love my family, am generous to a fault, and probably feel underappreciated at times.  That's just me, the analysis said -- it would be silly to try to change myself.  But be careful, don't let folks take advantage of me.

My first reaction was to roll my eyes, and to observe that virtually any old codger born during the decade of my birth might well receive the same analysis.  But then I recall that I once had an analysis of my handwriting done -- long ago, when I was younger and my personality less predictable --  with almost identical results.

While I concede that handwriting analysis probably has some basis in science, I'm hardly an enthusiast for the "science" of astrology.  But the similarity of the handwriting and astrological analyses is interesting, especially when they correspond to some degree with my egotistical self-image.

Regardless of the validity of these pop science conclusions, they raise questions in my mind -- questions that have puzzled mankind since earliest times.  What if both good traits and bad traits really are inherent in the individual -- either because of the configuration of the stars at the moment of his birth, or because of genetics, events in utero, and his early up-bringing?

If I have a naturally pleasant, loving and generous temperament, is this something for which I can claim credit or be proud?  If I'm naturally irritable, tense, aggressive, and quick to anger, are these traits something for which I should be ashamed?  Our entire concept of morality seems based on the assumption that our actions are chosen in an exercise of free will.  Instinctual goodness or badness, on the other hand, seems no more moral or immoral than athleticism or a tendency toward obesity.

I suppose the usual response would be that free will gives us the ability to rise above our natural personality.  If we are naturally loving, we can direct our natural affections in ways that do the most good.  If we are naturally quick to anger, we can bite our tongues and seethe in private, or direct our anger toward evils we find in the world.  

As a consequence, two persons may behave identically.  But one of them -- who acts nicely by instinct -- is no more virtuous than a dog who wags his tail.  And the other one, whose acts of kindness may be accomplished only by strenuous efforts to overcome his natural inclination toward anger, may well be a saint of sorts.

As Shakespeare suggested, at some times -- maybe not on a hourly basis, but some times -- we are masters of our fates.  Rising above whatever instinctual behavior is built into our brains may be the definition of heroic virtue.