When an official came to Epictetus and inquired for special directions, he asked whether he had a wife and children; and when the man said, “Yes,” he asked again, how do you get on?
“Miserably,” he said.
What do you mean? said he; men do not marry and have children to the end that they may be miserable, but rather that they may be happy.
“Ah”, said he, “but I am so miserable about my poor children, that lately when my daughter was ill and was thought to be in danger, I could not bear to be near her, but fled away from her, until someone brought me news that she was well.”
Well, do you think you were right to do it?
“It was natural,” he said.
Nay, said the master, only convince me that it was natural, and I will convince you that everything that is natural is right.
“All fathers,” he said, “or most of us, at least, feel like that.”
I do not deny, said Epictetus, that parents feel so, but the real question is whether it is right. No doubt as far as that goes, we must say that even tumors come into being for the good of the body, and in a word that error is natural, for nearly all, or most of us at least, are prone to error.
I deeply regret being confused about love, thinking that a flighty feeling of affection was the same as a choice of lasting commitment. A passion that comes to me is not the same as an act of the will that comes from me.
I also deeply regret being confused about morality, thinking that the natural thing to do was not necessarily the right thing to do. An assumption that there could ever be a conflict between them set me back for years and years.
This chapter from Epictetus has been a great blessing for me, and so I return to it regularly. I have never been an important official for anything at all, and yet I sympathize with this poor bureaucrat’s urge to run away.
Why take that stressful job, if it makes me no better? Why marry, if it makes me no happier? Why have children, if they aren’t an opportunity for caring?
Perhaps I believe that the job will give me power, and the marriage will give me pleasure, and the children will give me a legacy. Notice how it’s all about what I expect the world to give me.
When a child is suffering, the parent will instinctively feel pain. Reducing a person to only biology, we are now taught that there is fight or flight—kill it or run away from it.
We forget that there is another option, one that arises from reason, and not merely from the appetites. Treat a man as an animal, and he will be encouraged to behave as an animal. Treat a man as a creature of judgment, and he will be encouraged to behave as a creature of judgment.
Beyond all the conflict and the cringing, there is the possibility of love. The mind allows for the understanding, and the will is open to give. A simple choice makes the whole difference.
The bureaucrat thought it best to follow his feelings, and he thought that this was the “natural” thing to do. Let me cast no blame, because I have often used my emotions as an excuse. It may well be natural for a dog, but it isn’t natural for a man.
Epictetus offers a mighty challenge, and I can’t help but notice how many “modern” Stoics don’t really like Epictetus, since he calls it like it is. No more bullshit. No more posturing. The time is now.
“This is how it feels to me!”
Do you ever think about what might be best?
“This is how it feels to me!”
Where is your conscience? Do you reflect upon the meaning?
“This is how it feels to me!”
I see. It hurts, so you must complain about the hurt. You call your pain unnatural, and yet you insist that your indignation is quite natural.
You want it both ways. You separate nature from what is right, and you confuse the act of love with the convenience of pleasure.
Written in 12/2000
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