Struggling with Circumstances 3

. . . "What then shall I do? What do you do when you leave a ship? Do you take away the helm or the oars? What then do you take away? You take what is your own, your bottle and your wallet; and now if you think of what is your own, you will never claim what belongs to others.

"The emperor says, 'Lay aside your laticlave.' See, I put on the angusticlave. 'Lay aside this also.' See, I have only my toga. 'Lay aside your toga.' See, I am naked. 'But you still raise my envy.' Take then all my poor body. When, at a man's command, I can throw away my poor body, do I still fear him?". . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

Consider all the things we mistakenly think are ours, and then how fully we allow our lives to depend upon such false possessions. If we understand what truly belongs to us, and what can never be taken away, we will never suffer the frustration and loss of being swayed and swept by fortune.

One of the few times I felt that my attempts at teaching made any practical difference to people was not in a formal classroom at all, but when I had been asked to lead a self-help group. Reading our text together led to one person after another worried about how fragile and unstable the circumstances of our lives were.

Now this could have gone very poorly, very quickly, if we had either just complained until we were drowning in our tears, or if we had brushed off the concerns with some clever saying about "not worrying", or "letting go and letting God." Neither dwelling on the wrong, or offering quick solutions without explanations, was going to cut it. We managed a middle path.

First, what are these things I consider to be mine, but are not really mine at all, because my 'possession' of them does not really depend upon me?

The very things that seem to bring me grief are precisely the things that aren't mine to begin with. I make myself miserable by relying upon them, and treating them as if I owned them and deserved them. These include my wealth, my influence, my reputation, my position.

Consider all these fancy titles and badges of honor, like the clothing Epictetus speaks of. The world gives them to us, and the world takes them away.

Even my body and its health are hardly mine to control. My very name was given  to me by others, my identity is wrapped up into the conditions I was born into, and my career, however humble or noble, is a social construct. None of these things are me.

One of my favorite episodes of one of my favorite shows, Babylon 5, titled "Come the Inquisitor" had a dark and mysterious stranger interrogate our characters about only one question: "Who are you?" He finds the usual responses wanting.

"Unacceptable! What a sad thing you are! Unable to answer even such a simple question without falling back on references, and genealogies and what other people call you. Have you nothing of your own? Nothing to stand on that is not provided, defined, delineated, stamped, sanctioned, numbered, and approved by others? How can you expected to fight for someone else when you haven't the fairest idea who you are?"

The clever reference to Patrick McGoohan's The Prisoner was not lost on me.

"I will not make any deals with you. I've resigned. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own!"

I can almost feel a "Stoicism and Popular Art" essay coming on. . .

So our group has now exhausted all the things we usually rely on, and there's an awkward silence. After I've removed all the externals, what is left? It would seem even my life is on lease.

"Yes, but no one can judge for me, decide for, act for me, love for me. That's what's mine."  Those words came from our youngest, and perhaps most troubled, participant.

If I don't claim ownership of the things that aren't mine, I won't resent losing them, and if I rely on what can never be taken from me, I can always find peace. The trappings don't matter.

I need not worry what the world thinks or says of me. The praise is often worse than the rejection. Peel back all the glory, the achievement, step out from the rank and file of those who seek fame and attention. Sebastian, the dark and mysterious stranger in "Come the Inquisitor", says it this way:

"How do you know the chosen ones? No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother. Not for millions. . . not for glory, not for fame. For one person. . . in the dark. . . where no one will ever know. . . or see."

Making that kind of commitment is entirely within my possession.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)