When a man prides himself on being able to understand and interpret the books of Chrysippus, say to yourself, 'If Chrysippus had not written obscurely this man would have had nothing on which to pride himself.
What is my object? To understand Nature and follow her. I look then for some one who interprets her, and having heard that Chrysippus does I come to him.
But I do not understand his writings, so I seek an interpreter. So far there is nothing to be proud of. But when I have found the interpreter it remains for me to act on his precepts; that and that alone is a thing to be proud of. But if I admire the mere power of exposition, it comes to this—that I am turned into a grammarian instead of a philosopher, except that I interpret Chrysippus in place of Homer.
Therefore, when some one says to me, 'Read me Chrysippus', when I cannot point to actions which are in harmony and correspondence with his teaching, I am rather inclined to blush.
—Epictetus, The Handbook, Chapter 49 (tr Matheson)
Chrysippus was the third leader of the Stoic school in Athens, following Zeno of Citium and Cleanthes. We have only very brief fragments, and some secondary accounts, about what these great men had to say. The rest has been lost to history. As a bookish fellow who enjoys browsing through dusty old manuscripts, this makes me sad. Imagine what I could learn if I only had the manuscripts of the early Stoics?
Yet I must ask myself how much I care for books, and how much I care for truth. Do I care more for the posturing and profit that comes from interpreting a text, or the practice that comes from living what that text has to tell me?
My own sad experience was with what I called the ‘Panzer Thomists’, those who were so interested in the ironclad beauty of the writing of St. Thomas Aquinas that they forgot all about the doing. I’ve seen it elsewhere, of course, from the myriad contorted literalist or symbolic readings of Sacred Scriptures, to the petty political arguments about the United States Constitution, to the ways that the bylaws of a non-profit organization are twisted in order to make money.
As soon as you and I worry more about the words than about what the words signify, we are both completely lost. Please do not tell me that it’s all about the words. Words mean things, and they can be both used and abused.
I should worry less about the writer, or someone who has the knack to interpret the writer, than what I can learn about the actual true and the good from the writing.
I was once running a hiring committee for a new faculty member, and the thought of that disturbs me just as much as it should disturb you. The candidate taught a class for our students on the Catholic doctrine of the Real Presence in the Eucharist. His solution was taken word for word from the Summa Theologica, and I admired the thoroughness with which he had done his homework.
After he taught the class, during dinner, I asked him to explain the position in his own words. He once again parroted the text. I told him I wanted to understand what the text meant, and I raised certain questions I had about the relationship of substance and accident. He looked like a deer in headlights.
“Well, I just explained it. That’s what St. Thomas says.”
“Yes, I know what St. Thomas says. I’m asking you to explain it to me, and I want to grasp the issue. Assume I’m a complete idiot, and give me the truth of it as even an idiot could understand.”
He smiled and nodded, thinking he knew what I was asking for. I was then given a list of memorized references from St. Augustine and the Catholic Catechism. He smugly sat back, entirely comfortable that he had done exactly what I had asked of him.
He had, of course, done nothing of the sort. Quoting sources does not tell me that you understand anything, and it tells me only that you have studied the sources. A parrot, as amusing as he may be, is not the same thing as a man.
I always wanted to understand what Plato and Aristotle had to write, because what they wrote was a means to understanding the truth. No, I was told, it must be filtered through the commentators and interpreters, because they understood it better.
Even then, I was told not to read the interpreters, but I should read only those trendy contemporary philosophers who posed in fancy pictures, and who told me I could never understand the Classics until I read their books.
It is time to stop the madness. I am very glad you wrote a book to get your academic promotion, and I wish you the best. I will also not contest that you have chosen the latest ‘-ism’ to make yourself popular.
But never, ever, tell me that I cannot be wise or good because your most recent best-selling book is not a part of my life. I have chosen to care for the content, and you have chosen to care for the presentation.
Don’t tell me that you can explicate Chrysippus. Show me the truths he taught, in the beauty of your actions.
Written in 4/2015
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