Epictetus, Discourses 1.10.2

What conclusion do I draw? Do I say that the creature man is not to be active? Heaven forbid! 

 

But what is it that fetters our faculty of action? Take myself first: when day comes, I remind myself a little as to what lesson I ought to read to my pupils. 

 

Then in a moment I find myself saying, “But what do I really care what sort of lesson I give to this man or that? The first thing is for me to sleep.”

 

To the anxious man, who is always seeking out war, the serene man, who is always seeking out peace, will appear as if he has achieved nothing at all. 

 

“What does he do all day? He hasn’t shamed his enemies, or made a name for himself, or won any spoils. He is wasting his life!”

 

It isn’t, however, that the philosopher doesn’t act, but rather that the nature of his activity is incomprehensible to one who only defines himself by externals. While the former pursues an action for its own sake, regardless of any further rewards, the latter wishes to be gratified, to be compensated, to be recognized. There is a world of difference between improving oneself and making demands of others. 

 

The go-getters, those who are working their way up the corporate ladder, or accumulating influence in the halls of government, or employing their talents to attract attention, suffer from a terrible affliction, that of thinking that they become better by acquiring more. Don’t hate them, have compassion for them. 

 

Yet the philosophers should not think themselves free from danger, because they are also subject to temptations and diversions. They might not be so concerned with building an empire for themselves, but they will still worry about whether their words and deeds are making any difference at all. Why keep doing all these things, when it would be so much easier to just pull away from the world entirely?

 

I have never been a teacher anywhere close to the caliber of Epictetus, though I have certainly experienced something of the lethargy he describes. With all those hours of careful preparation, at best I will find myself completely ignored, and at worst I will have managed to offend someone’s tender insecurities. Why bother? It is still dark out, and the blankets are so inviting. 

 

Now even though I may believe that I am nothing like the go-getters, I have fallen into a similar trap, that of assuming that my actions are measured by whether others will pay me any heed. The corporate lawyer barks all the louder when he doesn’t win the case, and I whimper pathetically when I feel that I am irrelevant. 

 

The sleepy philosopher can also be as confused as the fellow who seeks his advancement in Rome, on account of pursuing his contentment in the wrong place, in the fruit of the act instead of the merit of the act. 

Written in 11/2000

IMAGE: Francesco Novelli, The Sleeping Philosopher (c. 1800)