One of the most common observations about Prince Philip was that he did not like the modern trend for talking so publicly about one’s own personal and emotional problems. He believed in fortitude and stoicism as healthy responses to any difficulties we might suffer.

He was a product of his time and background, as are his children and grandchildren. What seems natural and healthy to one generation may seem the opposite to the next. Is this now seen in the quiet groves of academe where many “near retirement” dons and deans are confronted by students whose public emoting on Twitter, Instagram and other platforms seems a strange way of coping with adversity?

In psychology, the two approaches have been widely discussed, with professionals distinguishing between “repressors” and “sensitisers” when it comes to pain and problems. The repression-sensitisation dimension is a supposedly simple defence mechanism used to reduce anxiety. Repressors are stoics who respond to threat by blocking, denying, repressing and forgetting distressing events. They try to avoid the issue. “Shut up and get on with it,” the Prince was known to say.

Sensitisers, by contrast, respond by readily recognising threat, have better recall of distressing events and “let it all hang out”; they approach rather than avoid issues. They will happily do a Meghan or Diana, appear on television, speak “their truth”, believing the process is in some sense beneficial.

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In the past, our heroes such as showed great stoicism, derived from a 19th-century public-school ethos. It was still visible in the Falklands conflict. It was “muscular Christianity”: the inhibition of emotions, particularly signs of vulnerability or weakness. It meant acceptance of casual, capricious, corporal punishment and the slings and arrows associated with all sorts of outrageous misfortune. Good coping is about silence, distraction, endurance and acceptance.

Most of all, fortitudinous repression was about displays of calm, control and disinterest in the face of all danger. It’s interesting that the “Keep calm and carry on” slogan has done so well in an age of sensitisation.

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The Prince Philip advice was to show imperturbability when challenged or threatened; be super cool under fire and minimise difficulties. He was a courageous sailor, proving his case. For years, the received wisdom was clearly in the Prince Philip tradition. Make light of pain of all sorts; take it like a man. Raking over the coals only stokes the fire. The past is another country.

But this approach means the concealment of anxiety, doubt and distress, and the tight control of emotional expression. Never show vulnerability.

Various psychological tests measure stoicism. Items include: “It makes me uncomfortable when people express their emotions in front of me”; and “Expressing emotions is a sign of weakness”. Stoics disagree with the following: “I believe that it is healthy to express one’s emotions”; “I like someone to hold me when I am upset” and “ I sometimes cry in public”.

So where do the psychologists stand? The literature now seems rather negative about stoicism as a philosophy, or indeed as a coping response. Of course, not all agree and those who advocate fortitude are soon viciously attacked by therapists, whose client base is dependent on the sensitisation clarion call.

There are arguments for thinking Prince Philip’s advice is a potentially maladaptive and undesirable way of dealing with the world.

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Particularly for men, who are still expected to be more stoical than women, it is associated with inertia in the face of medical symptoms. “Take the pain like a man; stop snivelling.” Yet there are long-term costs to ignoring and downplaying symptoms because “only wimps go to doctors”. Ignoring what your body is telling you is not sensible or virtuous.

The reluctance to talk about emotions may also result from the inability to do so. Pretending it is unwise, weak or unhealthy to talk about emotions may just be a bad cover for not knowing how to do it. The Prince admitted that this was not his strong suit. Having “counselling skills” gives you choice. There is all the difference in the world between choosing not to deal with emotions and being unable to do so.

There is also an argument that stoical people can be seen as cold and arrogant. Many show off their toughness with displays of superiority. Their values of competition, control, dominance and power are particularly unattractive in today’s workforce.

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The Covid-19 crisis has tested the metle of both teachers and students in higher education. Both are more than grumpy; they are stressed by a whole raft of issues they never expected ever to confront.

The question is how to help and what advice to give? The stoical (old) professor is accused of callous indifference if he or she advocates stoical repression, while the sensitising student is seen as egocentrically emotionally indulgent.

Striking the right balance between these two mentalities when confronted with life’s difficulties is harder than ever. Whatever the strategy adopted, we can at least refrain from belittling or condemning students or their more senior lecturers for the approach that works for them.

Adrian Furnham is an adjunct professor in psychology at the BI Norwegian Business School in Oslo, and a former professor of psychology at UCL.

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