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Thursday, October 26, 2017

Epictetus, The Handbook 13: The Price of Freedom



If you wish to make progress, abandon reasonings of this sort: 'If I neglect my affairs I shall have nothing to live on'; 'If I do not punish my son, he will be wicked.' For it is better to die of hunger, so that you be free from pain and free from fear, than to live in plenty and be troubled in mind. It is better for your son to be wicked than for you to be miserable.

Wherefore begin with little things. Is your drop of oil spilt? Is your sup of wine stolen? Say to yourself, 'This is the price paid for freedom from passion, this is the price of a quiet mind.' Nothing can be had without a price.

When you call your slave-boy, reflect that he may not be able to hear you, and if he hears you, he may not be able to do anything you want. But he is not so well off that it rests with him to give you peace of mind.

—Epictetus, The Handbook, Chapter 12 (tr Matheson)

We spend so much our time and energy trying to make the world conform to our wants. It’s much like cramming the wrong piece into that empty space in a jigsaw puzzle, or if we can’t get it done the way we want, we throw away the puzzle and start a new one. Now how much time and energy do we expend simply on making ourselves right, instead of wanting the world to be right for us?

I am going to have to give up this need to make the world in my image if I wish to find peace. At first, this seems a terribly high price. Upon reflection, I recognize that I’m getting the best deal out there. I’m trading in something frustrating and unreliable for something serene and constant.

I have learned to measure the degree of my own progress in life by observing what I allow to disturb me, and what I am able to give up and rise above. Whenever I am angered by my circumstances, this is the warning bell that I’m not thinking rightly, and the smaller the object of my frustration, the greater the imbalance in my own thinking.

In the past, this passage was one that troubled me, in fact even offended me. Now I know that when I take offense, the problem is usually with me, and so I try to understand before I condemn. I understood the bit about being willing to give up my own security for my happiness. I once wrote “lose your greedom for your freedom” on a classroom chalkboard, and was met with complete befuddlement. No, what troubled me was the idea that I should be willing to bear a wicked son for my peace of mind. As a father, this just didn’t sit right.

I hardly think that Epictetus is telling us that we should let our children become scoundrels so that we can become happy. This isn’t about being negligent to be selfish. Rather, it’s about taking responsibility for what is my own. I can love a child with all my heart, but I can’t make him good. I can encourage him, teach him, try to inspire him, but only he can make himself good, and only I can make myself good. As soon as I allow myself to be destroyed by his choice to be wicked, I am now also myself wicked.

I will never make someone else good by being bad. In fact, if I can keep my own house in order, there is no better way to help others keep theirs in order.

Written in 1/2012



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