Epictetus, The Handbook 59: Rich and Clever

It is illogical to reason thus, 'I am richer than you, therefore I am superior to you', 'I am more eloquent than you, therefore I am superior to you.'

It is more logical to reason, 'I am richer than you, therefore my property is superior to yours', 'I am more eloquent than you, therefore my speech is superior to yours.'

You are something more than property or speech.

—Epictetus, The Handbook, Chapter 44 (tr Matheson)

I had one of those formative experiences many years ago, when I had to go through the uncomfortable ritual of meeting a girl’s parents. It was immediately apparent that I would not be appropriate, as most every comment during dinner seemed directed at my low social and economic status. While I recognized that I was being judged because I wasn’t rich enough, what I foolishly did not recognize was my own error, that I was equally judging them for being too rich.

The shared mistake was that we were eyeing one another not from who we were, but by what we had. These are hardly the same thing. While I certainly couldn’t control how her parents thought, I should have seen right away that this was not the problem. My own thinking, which was my responsibility, was the problem I could manage.

Our possessions never make us virtuous, and our clever words never make us wise. We all claim to know this, of course, but I’m not entirely sure we truly understand that the nature of a thing is never defined by what is added to it from outside. I can dress a man in a fine suit, confer a impressive degree upon him, give him a fancy title with a huge salary, and house him in the most prestigious neighborhood. I could also take all these things from him. Who he is, the sum of his character, will only change based upon his own judgments and choices, dependent entirely upon what is within him.

Which of us would not think to look at the same man, but have vastly different views of him based upon whether he is sitting behind an executive desk, or begging on a street corner?

I once knew a fascinating fellow, considered insane by some, who liked to perform little informal social experiments. We were in a crowded pub, and he suddenly began affecting a severe stutter while striking up conversations with strangers. He would try to explain his work in software design, but one by one, these people found excuses to move along.

He moved across the room and introduced himself in exactly the same way, but now with a refined, polished Mid-Atlantic accent. Before too long, he had a small group intently listening to his every word.

I have never found myself respected for being rich or having an important job, but every so often someone will seem deeply impressed that I somehow managed to get a Doctorate. I resist this reaction violently, and tell people quite directly that a fancy piece of paper, won through making all the right steps in an elaborate social dance ,was of absolutely no credit to me.  

“But doesn’t that mean that you’re a really smart guy?”

“It may mean that, though I suspect it has more to do with being a clever guy, and that’s not the same thing. Either way, being smart or clever, or being rich or powerful, really doesn’t mean anything about me, but about the smarts, the riches or the power. I’d really rather learn to be a good guy.”

Some people seem deeply confused when I say this, while others seem to understand immediately. 

Written in 6/2013

Image: Hendrick ter Brugghen,  The Rich Man and Poor Lazarus (1588)