Strength of 100 men? I'd probably just get mad and hurt somebody

Nelly once spoke with a mixture of jest and honesty: “Strength of 100 men? I’d probably just get mad and hurt somebody and end up in jail. I think invisibility would probably be the best thing. I could be like, ‘You know what, let me just see what these folks are talking about over here.’ Then you could sneak into Rams cheerleaders’ locker room.” At first glance, these words seem only playful banter, the musings of a man choosing between superpowers. Yet beneath the humor lies a reflection as old as mankind itself: the struggle between brute force and hidden knowledge, between the strength of the body and the unseen power of subtlety.

For the ancients knew that sheer strength, while glorious, is also perilous. The giant may crush his enemies, but without discipline, he also destroys himself. Samson of old bore the strength of many men, yet his fury and lack of restraint brought ruin upon his life. Nelly, in jest, recognizes this danger: that to wield such force without control would not lead to glory, but to chains. Thus he turns his thought toward invisibility, the power not of destruction, but of perception—of slipping unseen into places, of listening to whispers, of knowing without being known.

Invisibility has always carried with it a fascination, for it is the gift of hidden sight. In Plato’s tale of the Ring of Gyges, a man discovers a ring that grants invisibility. With it, he gains knowledge and power, but he also faces the corruption of unchecked freedom. The story warns us that to act unseen is both a blessing and a curse. Nelly’s words, though playful, reflect this same ancient tension: which power is more dangerous, brute strength without wisdom, or hidden access without accountability?

And yet, there is wisdom here too. Nelly admits that strength without self-mastery would lead to harm, but invisibility, if rightly used, could grant understanding. Imagine being able to listen before judging, to observe before acting, to uncover truth that would otherwise remain hidden. The warrior wins battles with force, but the sage prevails with insight. In history, many victories have been won not by power alone, but by those who mastered the unseen. The American Revolution was aided by spies who moved in shadows, gathering secrets that would tilt the scales of war. Knowledge, unseen but potent, often outweighs the strength of armies.

But there is also a caution within his words. To use invisibility for selfish desire, as he jokes about with the cheerleaders, is a reminder of how easily great power can be misused. This too is the teaching of Plato: that unseen power without virtue corrupts the heart. True greatness is not in strength or invisibility alone, but in the wisdom to use power for good. A man may have muscles or secrets, but if he lacks honor, both will undo him.

The lesson for us is this: do not be quick to crave strength without discipline, nor to seek hidden knowledge without responsibility. Power in any form must be balanced with wisdom. In our lives, we may not wield the strength of 100 men or wear the cloak of invisibility, but we all hold influence—our words, our choices, our access to others. Use them not for harm or selfish gain, but to understand, to uplift, and to guide.

So let Nelly’s playful musing be remembered as a parable: strength without control leads to ruin, and invisibility without honor leads to corruption. Yet when discipline rules strength, and virtue guides secrecy, then power serves not the self but the greater good. Choose wisely the powers you pursue, and when they are placed in your hand, wield them with humility. For the true superpower is not muscle nor cloak, but the wisdom to govern both the seen and the unseen within you.