忍 (rěn) / grit your teeth

The Chinese character 忍 is often translated as “to endure” or “to tolerate.”

Like other translations from Chinese to English, this interpretation does not cover the full scope of the word. Nor does it capture the deeper aspects of this beautiful language that I grew up with. As I work on The Character Project, I’m continually astounded by the poetry of these characters, and of this language.

“To endure,” like so many Chinese phrases, is oversimplified.

Besides “to endure,” 忍 (rěn) also means “to bear, to tolerate, to have patience.”

To show restraint.

Let’s break 忍 (rěn) into simpler characters:
The 刀 (dāo) on top is the character for “knife.”
The 心 (xīn) below means “heart,” or “soul.”

Together, it symbolizes the endurance that suffering requires — as in, the strength to withstand the pain and suffering of a knife stabbed through the heart. I like to think the extra “ ‘ “ next to the “刀” is the droplet of blood from such an action. 

To endure with the heart; to bear, with patience.

In traditional Chinese culture, numerous philosophical texts and stories about “enduring hardship” have been recorded in history books for thousands of years. This character is commonly woven into words related to patience (忍耐), endurance (忍受), and tolerance (容忍).

This is because in Confucian philosophy, endurance and tolerance is a virtue. It allows you to love one another, contribute to society, to build character. In other words, to be a good human.

After all, Chinese culture tends to prioritize the needs of the group over individual desires — there is an emphasis on the “collective” over the “individual.” Thus, the ability to endure physical or emotional pain, to sacrifice personal comfort or satisfaction, is a skill to hone for the greater good of the family, community and society.

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I heard this phrase too often growing up.

“Does that hurt? 忍一忍.”

My parents had no choice but to 忍 and endure the hardships of immigration, stereotypes, “bamboo ceilings,” and poverty. They endured endless hustle and late nights. Loneliness. And almost too much sacrifice, to the point where I wonder if they ever question if the sacrifices were worth it.

As they left all they knew back in China to start over somewhere new – leaving behind their community, their family, their language, and their heritage – they gritted their teeth because they had too, in their pursuit of a better life.

To sacrifice.

I’ve also been taught to grit my teeth. To tolerate, suppress, and bear difficult emotions or challenges. To 忍.

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While there are many things I appreciate and value in my heritage, this idea of 忍 (rěn) is one I do not.

I think about the phrases that parents repeat to children, those repeated words we hear as children and internalize as adults. I don't love this phrase. I don't love its philosophy, or the Confucian values it holds. 

Too often in Chinese culture we are told to suppress and withhold. To suppress our emotions; suffer in silence. To sacrifice for ____________ (fill in the blank). A myriad of reasons can fit in that blank.

I've seen what happens when you grit your teeth too much. It can make you hard. You push your emotions down, when really you need to bring them to the surface. It can make you deny your pain when what you really need, instead, is to embrace it.

Gritting your teeth too much, too hard, can make you break down, burn out, explode. Or worse, self-destruct.

And yet, we are reminded often that enduring suffering builds character. 

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Now that I am a new mom, I think about this phrase a lot as I sit here watching my eight-month-old daughter play with her toys. I think about the things I want her to learn, and also, the things I don’t want her to carry with her.

Growing up and having to 忍 led to many painful experiences of my own, of which I won’t burden you here. I want her to know how to tolerate painful emotions, because “life is pain, highness; anyone who says differently is selling something.”¹ 

But I don’t want her to suppress painful emotions. I want her to feel them. To understand them, and why they exist.

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I find it fascinating that 忍 (rěn) is spelled phonetically the same as the character 仁 (rén). If you spoke quickly, lacking context, it would sound almost exactly the same.

仁 (rén) stands for compassion, kindness, humanity.

How can two words spelled exactly the same carry such different meanings?

Perhaps — having these two juxtaposing characters was intentional by design. A reminder of two important traits to develop in our own character: kindness and endurance.

And yet there is a greater question that needs to be asked — what happens when you endure too much? What can it lead to?

1. The Princess Bride