Epictetus, The Handbook 44: Right Learning

. . . Do not go lightly or casually to hear lectures; but if you do go, maintain your gravity and dignity and do not make yourself offensive.

When you are going to meet any one, and particularly some man of reputed eminence, set before your mind the thought, 'What would Socrates or Zeno have done?' and you will not fail to make proper use of the occasion. . . .

—Epictetus, The Handbook, Chapter 33 (tr Matheson)

I used to consider my days playing the game of higher education as a time of trial, because I was so frustrated by all the pettiness of small minds. I still consider it as a time of trial, but I now see it as the opportunity given to me to learn to not be petty and small-minded myself.

If you were a serious undergraduate you were strongly encouraged, and if you were any sort of graduate student you were absolutely required, to attend the usual evening and weekend lectures by visiting scholars. I never much liked the lengthy hagiographies in the introductions, but I learned quite a bit from those talks themselves. I still have pages and pages of notes I took back then, complete with my own thoughts and observations.

What I really never looked forward to, however, were the lengthy question and answer sessions. As a follower of Socrates, I hardly hate either questions or answers, but what irked me so was that these questions were usually not about a love of truth, but rather about a desire for recognition. Like some twisted political press conference, people stepped into the arena to challenge, and hopefully to defeat, a reigning champion. If they could manage it, they thought their fame would spread far and wide.

I recall one such lecture, by a very well respected Classical scholar, about the proper division and order of the books in Aristotle’s Metaphysics. I hardly know if he was right or wrong, but I was fascinated by the argument, and I was grateful for being given something to mentally chew on.

The talk had actually filled a rather large lecture hall, easily many hundreds of seats. When the lecturer opened the floor to questions, a man stood up in the back and started speaking. He spoke for some time. I still have no idea who he was, but I think I was supposed to recognize him. He surely thought we should all recognize him.

I could already tell that his question was hardly a question, but a personal attack. “Your reading of the text is clearly flawed, because you don’t understand the nuances of the Greek.”

The lecturer politely thanked him for the comment, and offered, as I recall, a four point reasoned response, even admitting that there were indeed issues still to be resolved.

The fellow wouldn’t stand down. “I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying. I have studied the language of Aristotle for many years, and I find it absolutely ridiculous that you are making such an obvious mistake.” By this point all heads were turned back to look at this man, and even from a distance, I saw a broad, self-satisfied grin.

“I believe I have answered your question as best I can, and I’d like to move on to other questions, if I may.”

Here’s where it got ugly. As he was sitting down, the man in the back pretended to mumble an aside, even though he was shouting it from the top of his lungs. “Well, they sure don’t make philosophers like they used to!” I was startled to hear a good number of people laugh, and some even clapping, in approval of the comment.

Again, I am not one to judge about the merit of the argument about Aristotle’s Metaphysics. It hardly matters, because what was really at stake, right there and then, was a judgment about respect and decency. I walked away that night realizing that I had learned an important lesson, that philosophy hardly amounted to a hill of beans if it didn’t encourage the practice of loving one’s neighbor.

What would Socrates and Zeno have done? These men were hardly obsequious, and many people downright despised them for challenging the usual norms. But I also hardly think either of them ever thought that a lecture or a debate was about puffing up their own self-importance.

Written in 6/2009