Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 10.4

. . . Thus Epictetus has given a short but exact character of these three sorts of persons. 

The perfect philosophers are guilty of no miscarriages; for their understanding is sufficiently accomplished to direct them, and the irrational part readily submits to those directions. So that there is nothing but harmony and compliance, and consequently, they have nobody to lay any misery to the charge of; for indeed, they cannot labor under anything that is truly and properly misery. They cause none to themselves, for this would be a contradiction to the perfection of their wisdom and virtue, and nothing else causes them any, for they do not suppose any external causes capable of doing it. 

The ignorant and untaught err in both these respects. Neither their reason, nor their passions, are rightly disposed. They lay all their unhappiness to others, upon an erroneous imagination, that it proceeds from things without us. And indeed, it is easy and pleasant, and fit for ignorant wretches, to shuffle off their own faults from themselves, and throw them upon other people. 

The young proficient, who has attained to the first principles of wisdom, though he be guilty of some miscarriages, and falls now and then into evil, yet he understands wherein it consists, and from whence it is derived, and what it was that first gave birth to it; and therefore he lays it at the right door. 

And these marks are so distinguishing, that no man, who makes a wise use of them, can be in danger of confounding these three classes of men, the accomplished philosopher, the rude and untaught, and the young proficient. 

This metaphor is so much the more warrantable and pertinent, for the resemblance which education bears to the management of ourselves: for this is properly the training up of a child, under the care and correction of a master. 

Our sensual part is the child in us; and, like all other children, does not know its own good, and is violently bent upon pleasure and pastime. The master that has the care of it, is reason; this fashions our desires, prescribes them their bounds, reduces and restrains them, and directs them to that which is best for them. 

So that the ignorant and untaught live the life of a child left to himself, run giddily on, are perpetually in fault, as being heady and heedless, and minding nothing, but the gratifying of their own inclinations; and so these men never think themselves to blame. 

The young proficients have their master at hand, correcting and instruction them; and the child in them is pretty towardly, and begins to submit to rules. 

So that if these men are at any time in the wrong, they are presently sensible who has been to blame, and accuse nobody but the offender himself. 

But the perfect and accomplished philosophers are such, whose master keeps a constant eye upon them, and has conquered the child’s stubborn and perverse spirit. 

So that now he is corrected and improved, and has attained to the perfection he was intended for; that is, the being observant to the master, and absolutely at his direction. For the proper virtue of a child is this readiness to receive and to obey instructions. 

Proverbs 4:20-27

[20] My son, be attentive to my words;
incline your ear to my sayings.
[21] Let them not escape from your sight;
keep them within your heart.
[22] For they are life to him who finds them,
and healing to all his flesh.
[23] Keep your heart with all vigilance;
for from it flow the springs of life.
[24] Put away from you crooked speech,
and put devious talk far from you.
[25] Let your eyes look directly forward,
and your gaze be straight before you.
[26] Take heed to the path of your feet,
then all your ways will be sure.
[27] Do not swerve to the right or to the left;
turn your foot away from evil. 

IMAGE: Nicholas Roerich, The Straight Path (1912) 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 10.3

. . . None but ignorant and undisciplined people tax others with their misfortunes. The young proficient blames himself; but he who is a philosopher indeed, blames neither others nor himself.

Comment: 

The connection of this with what went before is so close, that if a conjunction were added, and we read thus, for none but ignorant and undisciplined people tax other with their misfortunes, it would give a very good reason why we should never lay our troubles, or fears, or disorders, or any other calamity we fancy ourselves in, to anything, or anybody’s charge, but our own: since this way of proceeding, he says, comes from want of being taught better. And then to this character of the ignorant and undisciplined, he adds those of one who is a beginner only in philosophy, and one who has attained to a mastery in it. 

The perfect philosopher never thinks anything, that befalls him, evil; or charges anybody with being the occasion of his misfortunes; because he lives up to the dictates of nature and reason, and is never disappointed in his pursuits and desires, nor ever overtaken with his fears. 

He that is but raw and unfinished, does indeed sometimes miss of his desires, and fall into the mischiefs he would flee from, because the brutish inclinations move too strongly in him at such times. And when this happens, the first elements he learned, which taught him to distinguish things in and out of our power, teach him too, that he himself, and none but he, is the true cause of all his disappointments, and all his disasters. And the occasion of them all was his mistaking the things without us, and placing a man’s proper good and evil in them.

But you will say, perhaps, since this young philosopher knows, that our own proper good and evil depends upon our own power and choice (and the accusing himself implies that he knows thus much), how comes it to pass, that he takes wrong measures, and renders himself liable to this blame? 

Probably, because the knowledge of good and evil is the first step to be made toward virtue, this being the proper act of reason: but the brutish appetites do not always presently submit to reason, nor suffer themselves to be easily reduced and tempered by it; and especially, where it happens, as it does very often, that reason is negligent and sluggish, and the irrational part active, and perpetually in motion, by which means the passions gather strength, and usurp and absolute dominion. This was the case of her in the play:

Remorse and sense of guilt pull back my soul,

But stronger passion does her powers control;
With rage transported, I push boldly on,
And see the precipice I cannot shun. 

So that for some time it is pretty tolerable, if reason can work upon the passions, and either draw them by force, or charm and win them over some softer way: for, when this is done, then the knowledge of the intelligent part is more clear and instructive, and proceeds without any distraction at all. 

No wonder therefore, if men but little trained in philosophy make some false steps while their passions are not yet totally subdued, and their reason does not operate in its full strength. And when they do so, they accuse themselves only, as having admitted that distinction of things in and out of our own power, though as yet they seem to have but an imperfect notion of it. 

But they that are ignorant, and absolutely untaught, must needs commit a world of errors, both because of that violent agitation which their passions are continually in, and of the ignorance of their rational part, which has not yet learned to distinguish real good and evil, from what is so in appearance only: nor does it take them off from brutality, not so much as in thought only. By brutality I mean such low and mean notions, as persuade us, that our body is properly ourselves, and our nature; or, which is yet worse, when we think our riches so, as the covetous do. 

Now while we continue thus ignorant, there are several accounts to be given for our doing amiss: we do it, because we think all our good and evil consist in things without us; and, not being at all sensible, what is properly the happiness or unhappiness of human nature, or whence it proceeds, we fall foul upon other people; and fancy, that they, who obstruct or deprive us of those external advantages we so eagerly pursue, or that bring upon us any of the calamities we would avoid, are the real causes of all our misery. 

Though in truth, neither those external advantages which we call good, nor those calamities we call evil, are what we take them for; but, as circumstances are sometimes ordered, may prove the direct contrary. For our folly in this case is just like that of silly boys, who cannot endure their masters, but think them their worst enemies, and the cause of a world of misery, but value and love those as their friends, indeed, that invite them to play and pleasure. . . . 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.11.5

What subject, I might ask, lies before us for our present discussion? 
 
“Pleasure.” 
 
Submit it to the rule, put it in the balance. Ought the good to be something which is worthy to inspire confidence and trust? 
 
“It ought.” 
 
Is it proper to have confidence in anything which is insecure? 
 
“No.” 
 
Has pleasure, then, any certainty in it? 
 
“No.” 
 
Away with it then! Cast it from the scales and drive it far away from the region of good things. But if your sight is not keen, and you are not satisfied with one set of scales, try another. 
 
Is it proper to be elated at what is good? 
 
“It is.” 
 
Is it proper, then, to be elated at the pleasure of the moment? Be careful how you say that it is proper. If you do, I shall not count you worthy of the scales. 
 
Thus, things are judged and weighed if we have standards ready to test them: and in fact the work of philosophy is to investigate and firmly establish such standards; and the duty of the good man is to proceed to apply the decisions arrived at. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.11 
 
So as to assure us that philosophy does not have to be such a perplexing task, Epictetus offers us an example of determining the measure, the sort of inquiry that any thoughtful and patient person can practice, without any training in scholarly subtleties. 
 
And we should not be intimated by obscure terms, especially when the experts hurl them at us in Greek, because there are perfectly good words, from our own everyday language, that can do the job just as well. 
 
Begin with the thing that most people seek in their daily lives: “pleasure”. Then add what is probably the most common adjective: “good”. What does each of these mean? How can they be weighed against one another? We will not get very far if we don’t understand the proper relationship between them. 
 
I often suggest a dry run before addressing the really important stuff, so ask yourself what qualities you might attribute to a good car. You would certainly appreciate style, and luxury, and breathtaking performance, but what use would any of that be if the car is not reliable? I once knew a fellow who owned a Maserati Biturbo, and he was so deeply sad, because it was always at the mechanic and never out on the road. 
 
The same will be true in the more essential aspects of our lives. When push comes to shove, can I rely upon this or that situation to serve me well? I recall the many opportunities I assumed would set me free, only to still find myself dissatisfied. I think of how often I had faith in a so-called friend, and I was then left high and dry when the going got tough. I recognize how many times I made the wrong bet, when the sure thing was right in front of me all along. 
 
With that in mind, will pleasure be a constant source of benefit? Is it absolutely trustworthy, or must I attach various conditions? Even the avowed hedonist is forced to admit how his desires have regularly left him in the lurch, so if gratification is merely relative, it cannot be synonymous with the good we are seeking. 
 
Whatever is contingent has to proceed from what is necessary, or to put it more simply, once I admit how “it depends on . . . ”, I have not yet isolated a meaningful standard. I may call it fun, but that doesn’t make it good. 
 
Coming from a different angle, I don’t believe I have recently heard anyone speak of being “elated”, though I constantly observe people being “excited”, “super-excited”, and “stoked”. We are quick to praise unbridled enthusiasm, though we unfortunately forget why the difference lies in the object of our eagerness. A passion for treachery is far removed from a passion for fidelity. Let us choose our pleasures wisely, so as not to let them destroy us. 
 
Where is the balance? What is the greater, and what is the lesser? To establish the measure, to discover the rule that applies to the particulars, is a requirement for life, not merely an option. This is why we are all called to be authentic philosophers. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 10.2

. . . Now Epictetus, it is true, has drawn his argument from that which is generally esteemed the most formidable evil that we are capable of suffering: but however, since most of us, when we lie under the present smart of any calamity, straightaway imagine it worse than death (for what can be more usual, than for people in pain, and very often in no great extremity of it neither, to wish for death to deliver them from it, and when reduced to poverty, to tell us, they had much rather be dead than live in want?) upon this account, we may apply Epictetus’ argument to these instances also. 

As to pain, what degree of it is there so violent, which men, nay even those of low and vulgar spirits, are not content to go through, to cure a dangerous disease? They do not only endure, but choose and pay for it: they thank their physicians for putting them to torture, and look upon cutting and burning, as acts of the greatest tenderness and friendship. 

Now, though this makes it pretty plain, that men, who are well pleased to purchase life so dear, must needs be of the opinion, that no pain is so terrible to human nature as death; yet the principal use I would make of this observation is, to show, that men can really suffer with great patience and resolution, can harden themselves against what they count very dreadful, and meet it with a composed countenance, when once they are persuaded, that enduring it will be for their advantage. 

What prodigious instances of patience were the Lacedaemonian youths, who endured scourgings so barbarous, as almost to expire under the rod, and all this, merely for a little ostentation and vainglory? Now this, it is evident, they did not out of any compulsion, but freely and cheerfully; for they offered themselves to the trial, of their own accord. 

And the reason why they held out so obstinately was, not that their sense of pain was less quick and tender than that of other people (though more hardened too than people who indulge themselves in effeminacy and ease), but because they thought it their glory and their virtue, to suffer manfully and resolutely. 

For the same reason, Epictetus would tell you, that poverty is no such formidable thing neither: because he can produce the example of Crates the Theban to the contrary; who, when he disposed of all he was worth to the public, and said, 

Let others keep, or mourn lost, store,
Crates’ own hands make Crates poor. 

That moment put an end to his slavery; and his freedom commenced, from the time he had disburdened himself of his wealth. 

Now the manifest consequence of all this is, that nothing of this kind is terrible and insupportable in its own nature, as we fondly imagine. So far from it, that there may be some cases, when such things are much more eligible, and better for us: I mean, when they are converted to higher and more excellent purposes for our own selves; by tending to the advantage and improvement of the reasonable soul. 

The only expedient, to retain an even temper in the midst of these accidents, is to possess our minds with just notions of them. And the regulating of these notions is in our own power: consequently, the preventing of those disorders, that proceed from the want of such a regulation, is in our own power too. 

And one great advantage to persons thus disposed will be, the learning how to manage those things that are not at our disposal, as though they were. For if it be not in my power to prevent defamation or disgrace, the loss of my goods or my estate, affronts and violent insults upon my person, yet thus much is in my power, to possess myself with right apprehensions of these things; to consider them, not only as not evil, but sometimes the instruments and occasion of great good. 

Now such an opinion as this, makes it almost the same thing to a man, as if they did not happen at all; or, which is all one, makes him think himself never the worse, but sometimes the better for them, when they do. And I take it for granted, that every wise man will allow it more for our (that is, for the soul’s) honor and advantage, to have behaved ourselves gallantly under afflictions, than never to have been afflicted at all: and the greater still in proportion, is the honor and advantage gained by them. 

For, as to bodies that are able to bear it, the most violent motions exercise them best, and make greatest improvements of health, and strength, and activity; so the mind too must be put upon sharp trials sometimes, to qualify it for suffering gallantly, when any accident gives us an occasion. 

And this may be accomplished these two way: by getting a right notion of them, and by being well prepared against them. And this is to be done, partly, by accustoming the body to hardship, which indeed is of general use, and has enabled even ignorant and ill men to slight blows, and other pains, which we commonly think intolerable; and partly by fixing the mind in a provident forecast, and distant expectation of them. And all these things we may certainly do, if we please. 

Now, if neither death nor any of those things we dread most, have anything formidable in their own nature, it is plain, neither they, nor the persons that inflict them are the cause of our trouble, but we ourselves, and our own opinions, bring this upon ourselves. When therefore the mind feels itself perplexed with grief, or fear, or any passion the blame is our own, and nothing but our opinions are accountable for such disorders. . . . 

Sayings of Heraclitus 94

A man, when he gets drunk, is led by a beardless lad, tripping, knowing not where he steps, having his soul moist. 

The dry soul is the wisest and best. 

IMAGE: Jan Steen, The Drunken Couple (c. 1660) 

Painfully Accurate . . .

. . . though I fear I have been guilty of number five. 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 10.1

That which gives men disquiet, and makes their lives miserable, is not the nature of things as they really are, but the notions and opinions, which they form to themselves concerning them. 

Thus, even death, which we look upon as the most perplexing and dreadful, has, in truth, nothing of terror in it: for if it had, Socrates must needs have feared it, as much as we. But our opinion that it is evil, is the only thing that makes it so.  

Therefore, whenever we meet with obstructions and perplexities, or fall into troubles and disorders, let us be just, and not lay the blame where it is not due; but impute it all to our own selves, and our prejudicate opinions. . . . 

Comment: 

We were told before, what means would be proper and effectual, for preserving an even and composed temper of mind, in the midst of all those hardships which frequently attend our best actions: that this might be accomplished by the power of premeditation; by representing these inconveniences, are sure to happen; and when we had made the worst of it, convincing ourselves, that such actions were worth our undertaking, even with all those encumbrances. 

Now that rule proceeded upon the work of our own minds; but here is another, fetched from the nature of the things themselves, and the consideration of those difficulties and dangers which use to give us disturbance. 

And here he changes his method, and confirms what he says, not by some slight and trivial instances, as he did before, but by death the greatest and most confounding one to human nature, that can be. For if the argument holds good in this case, it must needs be a great deal stronger with regard to all the rest, since those, by our own confession, are less dismal and affrighting. 

To this purpose then he tells us, that those things which we apprehend to be evil, and which for that reason discompose our spirits, because we think ourselves miserable under them, are really neither evil themselves, nor the true causes of any evil to us: quite contrary; that all our troubles and perplexities are entirely owing to the opinions, which we ourselves have entertained and cherished concerning them. 

For proof of this determination, he produces that, which, of all the things that we apprehend as evil, is confessedly the greatest and most terrible, and shows, that even death, nay a violent and untimely death, is yet no evil. The argument he uses is short indeed, but very full and conclusive; the method and consequence whereof lies thus. 

Whatever is evil in its own nature, must needs appear so to all mankind; more especially to those, whose apprehensions are most improved, and most suitable to the real nature of things. Thus all things naturally hot or cold, or beautiful, or the like, appear such to all people in their right senses. But death does not appear evil to all people, nor are they universally agreed in this notion of it. 

For Socrates did not think it so; he chose to undergo it, when it was in his power to have declined it; he endured it with all the calmness and composure imaginable; he spent that whole day in which he died, with his friends, demonstrating to them the existence and immortality of the soul, and the efficacy of a philosophical life, in order to virtue and reformation. 

From all which premises, this conclusion evidently follows: that death is not in its own nature evil, and consequently, that our fears and troubles concerning it do not come from the thing itself, but from a disquieting persuasion of it being evil, with which we possess and disorder our own minds. 

And such a persuasion there may very well be, though there be no ground for it in the nature of the thing. For honey is not bitter, and yet men in the jaundice, who have their palates vitiated, from a constant bitterness occasioned by the overflowing of the gall, are prejudiced against it, as if it were so. 

Now, as the only way to bring these persons to discern tastes as they really are, is to carry off that redundance of choler, which corrupts their palate: so in this case, we must remove the distemper of the mind, correct our notions of things, and make a right judgment of what is really good and evil to us, by just distinctions between things that are, and thing that are not, in our own power; what is properly ours, and what belongs not to us. 

For, according to this rule, if death be none of the things in our power, it cannot be evil; and though it should be granted such, with regard to the body; yet if it does not extend to the soul, nor do any harm to that, it cannot be evil to us. 

Plato indeed, or Socrates as he is introduced by Plato, goes a great deal farther, and boldly affirms, that it is good, and much to be preferred before this life that we lead in the body; and this, not only to some persons, and in some circumstances, as men may be better or worse, but in general, and without exception to all. 

For thus Socrates expresses himself in his Phaedo: it may possibly surprise you, and seem a strange paradox, that this should be the only accident, which is good at all times, and without any reserve; but yet so it is. 

In all other cases, nothing happens to a man, which, as his circumstances may alter, he might not at another time better be without: but no time, no circumstance whatsoever, can render it more for a man’s advantage to live that to die. 

And Plato, in his book concerning laws, speaking in his own person, delivers himself to this purpose: if I may be allowed to speak my opinion freely, it is really my judgment, that the continuation of soul and body together, ought not upon any consideration, to be rather chosen, than the separation and dissolution of them. . . . 

Dio Chrysostom, On Pain and Distress of Spirit

That the majority of us are mastered by Pleasure can perhaps be explained: it is because we are under her spell and witchery that we stay in her company, whereas accepting servitude to Pain is altogether irrational and strange. For although suffering pain and agony from the severest of all tortures, we nevertheless remain in it and do not accept the word of reason that frees and delivers us from our distress. 

And yet what more abject creature is there than a man who is held in thrall to Pain? What sight is there so shameful? For it seems to me that his condition actually affects his body also, and makes it shrunken and scowling and distorted in appearance. 

But this yielding to the mind's disturbance, and not only that but also the devising of certain external signs of it, such as black raiment, wringing the hands, sitting in a dejected posture, so that by all these the mind is in a certain sense compelled never to get away from its pain and distress, but to be always conscious of being in pain, although one knows perfectly well that there will be some relief from this and that there will not be found always and ever some cause for the suffering—is this not utterly silly? 

For instance, either the death of a relative, or the illness of one of them, or of oneself, may occur, and besides these, loss of reputation, a financial reverse, complete or partial failure in some undertaking, pressure of affairs, danger, and all the countless other misfortunes which occur in life (and one of these is practically sure always to be present); and finally, if after all a time does come when no trouble confronts one, yet all the same, the constant expectation of such things and the knowledge that they may occur will lay hold upon the mind of those who are of that temperament. 

Therefore, one should not seek a special consolation for each of these troubles—for the task would be endless, and life is full of painful things—but one should tear that morbid state out of his soul completely, get a firm hold on the truth that the intelligent man ought not to feel pain about anything whatever, and be a free man henceforth. 

Then there will be release from dread of all that causes distress. For in fact there is nothing that in itself should cause fear; it is only false opinion and weakness on our part that make it so. 

The great majority, for instance, whenever any one of the things happen which are commonly regarded as untoward, keep continually recalling that thing, distressing though the recollection is, their state of mind being something like that of children, who are bent on touching the fire, for example, although they suffer great pain in doing so: yet if you give them permission they will do it again. 

So, just as when men go forth to war it is no use for them to march out without their armor and then merely hope to dodge each flying missile, for it is impossible to guard against them all; but the soldier needs a stout breastplate and his full panoply too, so that, even if a missile does strike him, it may not penetrate—in the same way those also who have marched out into life cannot possibly dodge or so guard themselves as not to be struck by any of Fortune's shafts, thousands of which are flying against each man; but what they need is a stout heart, preferably invulnerable and yielding before no blow; or if that may not be, at least one that is not easily wounded or by any ordinary blow; for otherwise it must often be stabbed and receive a thousand wounds. 

Why, those who have feet which are tender and not calloused at all by use, and then attempt to walk with them bare, will never find a road so smooth that their feet will not be gashed or in pain, but any little thing hurts them; whereas for feet hardened by practice not even the roughest road causes trouble.

Therefore, since there are so many distressing things, beginning with those due of the body, what should anyone expect, or how is it possible, for anyone who pays attention to each of them and easily gives way, to avoid being the most unhappy man alive, ever praying the gods that this or that may not happen? 

It is just as if a man should go out in a rain without any covering, and should trust merely to prayers for avoiding each single drop⁠ (and yet much thicker than the raindrops are the afflictions which Fortune sends); or exactly as if a man sailing a boat, instead of giving his attention to the steering-oars and meeting skillfully each oncoming wave, should pray that none might strike the ship. 

Just think, you misguided man—even if everything else turns out as your heart wishes, yet what assurance have you of living even till the morrow, and not being suddenly, in the midst of everything, torn away from your fancied blessings? 

Consequently, this is the first thing about which you should be in painful anxiety and fear—the uncertainty of everything. Yet if you have the wisdom to reflect that absolutely no man is master of his life, but that all those who have been thought blessed and exceedingly fortunate are dead, and that this goal awaits you at any moment, even if you live to the ripest old age, you will consider it great nonsense and utter simplicity to imagine that anything at all which happens is terrible or great or marvelous, except this one achievement of living at least one day free from painful fretting, fear, and similar emotions. 

The story goes that the famous Jason anointed himself with a certain potent salve⁠ which he got from Medea, and it was after that, I fancy, that no harm came to him from either the dragon or the bulls which belched out fire. This, therefore, is the potent thing of which we should acquire possession, getting it from Medea, that is, from Meditation or Intelligence,⁠ and then with our intelligence look with scorn thenceforth upon all things. Otherwise everything will be fire for us and everything sleepless dragons. 

And yet every man who suffers pain and distress of spirit says that what has happened to himself is a most terrible thing and most worth grieving over, just as every person who carries a load imagines that what he is carrying is very heavy. But this really indicates a weak and sickly body, for another and stronger man will take and carry the same load easily. 

IMAGE: Francisco Ribalta, The Soul in Pain (c. 1610) 

Epictetus, Fragments 2

The soul that companies with Virtue is like an ever-flowing source. It is a pure, clear, and wholesome draught; sweet, rich, and generous of its store; that injures not, neither destroys. 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.11.4

Is there, then, no standard here beyond opinion? It is impossible surely that things most necessary among men should be beyond discovery and beyond proof? 
 
There is a standard then. Then, why do we not seek it and find it, and having found it use it hereafter without fail, never so much as stretching out our finger without it? 
 
For it is this standard, I suppose, the discovery of which relieves from madness those who wrongly use personal opinion as their only measure, and enables us thereafter to start from known principles, clearly defined, and so to apply our conceptions to particulars in definite and articulate form. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.11 
 
But where do I look to find this elusive measure? What can I ever know beyond how I feel at the moment? How am I expected to distinguish black from white in a world so full of grey? Why am I worrying about problems that obviously have no solutions? 
 
While the philosophers should busy themselves with a pursuit of the true, the good, and the beautiful, however imperfect our perceptions might be, the sophists will assure us that we have no need for such abstractions. In the most refined manner, they offer us an excuse for dodging our responsibilities, by drawing into question the very contrast between right and wrong. 
 
Wherever you find relativism, you will also find skepticism, for a rejection of objective meaning relies upon denying a knowledge of what is real. But while we should always be wary of hasty absolutes, and carefully develop a healthy sense of doubt, there is a grave danger of throwing out the baby with the bathwater. 
 
In almost every case I have encountered, subjectivism, so prevalent in modernity, is a form of psychological escape, not an argument of philosophical discipline. Observe the blatant contradictions in the usual platitudes: How can I know that nothing can be known? How can everything be relative, if there no absolute by which it is judged? How can I make a supposedly objective claim that all awareness is merely subjective? 
 
Despite the pedantic objections, there is no profound mystery, no metaphysical complexity, in establishing a measure for life. Any sort of proof is built upon self-evident first principles, the immediate facts presented to us in every act of experience. From the moment I am conscious, it is not only apparent that I am a being who thinks, but also that there is content to the world I am thinking about. The effect of an appearance proceeds from a cause within nature. 
 
I don’t need to be a rocket scientist, or even a phenomenologist, to make some sense of this. Who I am, and what I am meant for, are inherent in my human identity. How odd it would be to say that the meaning of life is to have no meaning! It makes for inscrutable poetry, but not for sober philosophy. 
 
If it is my purpose to understand, then let me roll up my sleeves and get to work; the task is for each and every moment, in the most commonplace situations, not just for putting on a splendid show at the podium. What shall be my rules for daily living? How am I to treat my neighbor? When do I know if my efforts have been successful? 
 
The intellectual is inclined to wind himself up, and to get all tied up in knots, which really is a sort of madness, a frenzy of wishing for the reality to conform to his preferences and moods. We are made to be in harmony with Nature, not to hide away in the narcissism of our opinions. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

IMAGE: Albrecht Dürer, The Doubting Thomas (c. 1510) 

Jacob's Ladder 11

Giorgio Vasari, Jacob's Dream (1558) 

Jacob Wrestling with the Angel 22

Frederick Taubes, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel (1944) 

Netherlandish Proverbs 15

"The herring hangs by its own gills." 

You must accept responsibility for your own actions. 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.11.3

Can you then point us to anything beyond your own opinion which will enable us to apply our conceptions better? Does the madman do anything else but what he thinks right? Is this criterion then sufficient for him too? 
 
“It is not.” 
 
Come, then, let us look for something beyond personal opinion. Where shall we find it? 
 
Here you see the beginning of philosophy, in the discovery of the conflict of men's minds with one another, and the attempt to seek for the reason of this conflict, and the condemnation of mere opinion, as a thing not to be trusted; and a search to determine whether your opinion is true, and an attempt to discover a standard, just as we discover the balance to deal with weights and the rule to deal with things straight and crooked. This is the beginning of philosophy. 
 
“Are all opinions right which all men hold?” 
 
Nay, how is it possible for contraries to be both right? 
 
“Well, then, not all opinions, but our opinions?” 
 
Why ours, rather than those of the Syrians or the Egyptians, or the personal opinion of myself or of this man or that? 
 
“Why indeed?” 
 
So then, what each man thinks is not sufficient to make a thing so: for in dealing with weights and measures we are not satisfied with mere appearance, but have found a standard to determine each. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.11 
 
If you wholeheartedly embrace the vocation of teaching, you will face many frustrations along the way, and you may be tempted to throw in the towel on account of the poor wages, the endless paperwork, or the clueless bureaucrats.
 
For me, however, the greatest annoyance has been what I call the “cult of opinion”, a whole generation of young people who are convinced that a proposition is true just because they happen to believe it, and that the premises should be cherry-picked in support of a preferred conclusion. 
 
The psychologists call it “confirmation bias”, and while I am grateful for their insights, I fear that only an appeal to philosophy, in its most practical sense, can help us to escape from the quagmire. It is one thing to observe how we get trapped in our subjective habits, but quite another to establish an objective foundation for the sound judgments we so desperately need. 
 
I remind myself how this is nothing new, even if the fashion of the age makes it easier to be at the mercy of our prejudices. If I do not make the effort to think for myself, I will become a slave to my passions, or to the clever manipulation of someone else’s thinking. 
 
However distorted our reasoning, we will act with the confidence that we are right, so no good will come from condemning the person, or even from attacking the conclusion. The hope lies rather in examining the argument, and ultimately to revisit the first principles that stand behind it. Despite some initial protests, I have always been grateful to someone for challenging me to explain why I hold something to be true. 
 
This is also why I regularly try to teach Plato’s Meno, where the distinction between opinion (doxa) and knowledge (episteme) is so critical to arriving at any meaning and purpose. If you cannot ground it, it is likely to fly away. Whatever the art or the field of study, success or failure depend upon an understanding of the causes. 
 
Since not all propositions can be equally true, how are we to decide? I regularly find my students falling back on appeals to the authority of this or that “-ism”, as if the conformity to a crowd can excuse us from doing our own work. 
 
There are the religious zealots, who insist they are saved because the heretic is damned, or the political demagogues, who prop up an ideology by so desperately hating the fellow across the aisle. Perhaps you feel comfortably smug, but that doesn’t make it true. 
 
Philosophy has to start when we finally admit to the failure of assumptions. Most of what passes for debate is like a marketplace where no one can agree on a common set of weights and measures, or a bar where the patrons bicker over the match on the television without having ever actually read the rulebook. 
 
It may be too late to call upon the philosopher after the pantry is bare and the bombs are falling. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

Abandoned Places 69

IMAGE by Dmitry Kokh 

Nature 71

IMAGE by Randy Olson 

Dhammapada 420

Him I call indeed a Brahmana whose path the gods do not know, nor spirits, nor men, whose passions are extinct, and who is venerable. 

IMAGE: Ma Yuan, Walking on a Mountain Path in Spring (c. 1200) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.11.2

“Why!” says he; “do I not know what is noble and what is shameful? Have I no conception of them?” 
 
You have. 
 
“Do I not fit my conception to particulars?” 
 
You do. 
 
“Do I not fit them well then?” 
 
There lies the whole question and there fancy comes in. For, starting with these admitted principles, men advance to the matter in dispute, applying these principles inappropriately. 
 
For if they really possessed this faculty as well, what would prevent them from being perfect? You think that you apply your preconceptions properly to particular cases; but tell me, how do you arrive at this? 
 
“I have such a conviction.”  
 
But another has a different conviction, has he not, and yet believes. as you do, that he is applying his conception rightly? 
 
“He does.”
 
Is it possible then for you both to apply your conceptions properly in matters on which you hold contrary opinion? 
 
“It is impossible." 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.11  
 
People will, of course, be offended if you suggest that they can’t distinguish between right and wrong, though they are not ashamed to admit that they can’t solve a quadratic equation or play sweet jazz on the saxophone. 
 
I, for one, never properly learned the game of poker, and I spent a number of years thinking I could just pretend, which ended rather poorly. I am now happy to proclaim my incompetence at cards, and yet I still feel a bit of a twinge whenever the content of my character is questioned. 
 
Why might that be? Of all the abilities a man can possess, only virtue is essential, as the fulfillment of his very nature, while all of the others are quite accidental. 
 
Regardless of my preferences, I could live perfectly well without the skill to rebuild an engine or coach a professional football team, but I would fail miserably at being human if I could not practice prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice. However smart, or charming, or funny I may become, it means nothing without the talent of simply being a good person. 
 
Even when we haven’t thought it through, we sense this instinctively, and so we cling to the idea that we must remain righteous, sometimes at the risk of becoming self-righteous. 
 
Is it possible for me to lack a conscience? No, I am always working from certain principles, which only leaves the question whether they are truly sound principles, and if that conscience is indeed properly informed. 
 
And when we disagree with others about those principles, we often start to bicker, a response that hardly seems fitting for someone who has his moral house in order. 
 
If I really know how to attain the good, why am I doing such a bad job at it? I may be assured in my beliefs, but it remains to be seen if they are reasonable: to “feel strongly” about something does not necessarily mean that I am judging it correctly. 
 
We end up with an unintelligible relativism, where a confidence in our opinions takes the place of a certainty in our understanding. I demand the freedom to speak my mind, and you condemn my words as abhorrent; hence the fellow who shouts the loudest, or eventually breaks the most bones, proclaims himself the winner. No one can be right when everyone is right. 
 
Lately, I have been hearing much chatter about “my” truth and “your” truth, which, regardless of how sensitive we should be to different points of view, falls into the contradiction of making the objective assertion that all truth is subjective. Without a standard we can both share, or at least a few common definitions to begin a discussion, we cannot avoid falling into a death spiral. 
 
Fighting over a game of cards, or some tribal tenet, is a surefire sign that I ought to reconsider how my precious conceptions fit with the plain facts of nature. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

IMAGE: Jan Steen, Argument over a Card Game (1665) 

Stockdale on Stoicism 57

Like all good squeeze-play systems, political prisons are meant to destroy the man who chooses the "middle way," who decides to be "reasonable," to "meet them half-way." 

For hours on end, my commissar would plead with me to follow that track: "You are an American, you are pragmatic; come, let us reason together." 

It is only when he can get you to level with him in some small way, to drop your guard and betray an emotional dependence on his good will, that he can get his crowbars of fear and guilt behind your armor and begin to twist.

Political prison extortion is one grand leverage game. The inmate is well served to chant the rules he must live by under his breath: "Show no fear." "Never trigger shame." "The credibility of your defiance must be maintained." "The prison onslaught must be contained." "Never level with a jailer." 

One soon learns that to survive with self-respect, he has to divest himself of the remnants of his student-body-president personality: the willingness to be open, to interact, to respond in interesting ways. 

With time and care, many prisoners create a new independent personality that even under torture is difficult to manipulate. In Stoic terms, having external needs makes one vulnerable and vulgar.

The condition and characteristic of a vulgar person is that he never looks for either help or harm from himself, but only from externals. The condition and characteristic of a philosopher is that he looks to himself for all help or harm.

I do not suggest that I understood all this while in prison or that the Enchiridion was familiar enough to use as a text on how to face the challenge. But, remembering my experiences in prison, I have since come to think that the Enchiridion has all the right answers. 

—from James B. Stockdale, Epictetus' Enchiridion: Conflict and Character 

IMAGE: Nikolai Yaroshenko, A Prisoner in His Cell (1878)