But if occasion arise to accept them,
then strain every nerve to avoid lapsing into the state of the vulgar.
For know that, if your comrade has a
stain on him, he that associates with him must needs share the stain, even
though he be clean in himself. . . .
—Epictetus,
The Handbook, Chapter 33 (tr
Matheson)
I would
be filled with rage when my elders told me I should always keep good company. I
knew better, of course, because I was certain that I was may own man, and I
would never let my companions influence the way I thought or lived. If I had
known anything about Stoic thought back then, I would surely have appealed to
Epictetus. I rule myself, I would have said, and others do not rule me.
Why was
it, then, that when I spent time with a rowdy crowd in middle school, I was
quite rowdy myself? Why did I start smoking in high school as soon as I hung
around on a park bench with all the other smokers? Why did I become more
heartless and calculating when I fell in love with a heartless and calculating
girl? Why did I drink like a fish whenever I was around all the lounge lizards?
I can
parade all the proud theory I like, but the practice of daily living and the
grounding of common sense will always remind me that birds of a feather flock
together. This isn’t because I’m not free, or do not rule my own choices and
actions, but is rather about the very causes and effects of my own decisions.
No one
ever forced me to spend time with the seedy set, or made me fall in love with
the wrong girl. There was already something about me that wanted to be shifty
instead of honest, dismissive instead of kind. That I chose my company poorly
reflected less on them, and more on what was already brewing in my own heart.
And once
I was in that world, no one ever forced me to start thinking and living in a
certain way. I chose to do so entirely of my own accord, precisely because I
freely allowed others to influence me. No one broke down the door. I unlocked
and opened it entirely by myself.
I have
indeed always ruled myself, as does any man, but my rule is also something I
can freely surrender, and few things will encourage us to choose vice than
being surrounded by it. We defer to the default.
Even if
I had the incredible strength to remain pure in thought and deed, association
is itself a choice, and with any choice comes a responsibility.
If I
stand by idly while one man robs another, though I have done no robbing, I am
hardly blameless. If I spend my time with friends who deceive, betray, and
abuse, though I may not actually be doing these things myself, I am also hardly
blameless. We carry each other.
It took
some hard knocks to realize that my elders, and Epictetus, were always quite
right. I need only look at my own friends, virtuous or vulgar, and I can immediately
learn quite a bit about myself.
Image: Thomas Couture, The Romans of the Decadence (1847)
No comments:
Post a Comment