Epictetus, Discourses 1.16.3

Come, let us leave the chief works of Nature, and behold what she works by the way. 

 

Is anything more useless than the hairs upon the chin? Did she not use even these in the most suitable way she could? Did she not by these means distinguish male and female? Does not the nature of each one of us cry aloud from afar, “I am a man: on these terms approach me and address me; seek nothing else. Behold the signs.” 

 

Again, in women nature took the hair from their face, even as she mingled in their voice a softer note. 

 

What! You say the creature ought to have been left undistinguished and each of us to have proclaimed, “I am a man?” 

 

No, but how noble and comely and dignified is this sign, how much more fair than the cock's crest, how much more magnificent than the lion's mane! 

 

Therefore, we ought to preserve the signs God has given; we ought not to abandon them, nor, so far as in us lies, to confound the sexes which have been distinguished. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.16

 

Even those aspects of life we might consider to be trivial will reveal the presence of an implicit meaning and purpose. Why do the cock and the hen differ in their appearance? Does the lion’s mane grant him any benefits? Should the doe count her blessings that she need not wield those ungainly antlers? It may initially seem quite foolish, but Nature does not act in vain. 

 

I knew a fellow in college who complained bitterly about having to shave every morning. He was the sort who had trouble getting out of bed, and so he usually showed up late for class or work with awkward tufts of hair all over his face. His father berated him for looking like a slob, and he was sure he had once botched a job interview on account of his untidy appearance. He couldn’t even manage the effort of grooming some classic 1980’s designer stubble. 

 

I first suggested the admittedly old-fashioned ritual of shaving with a straight razor to put some class into his routine, but it didn’t fit with his laid-back personality. His frustrations only increased. 

 

“What the hell is the point of it? A beard is just some stupid evolutionary mistake! Isn’t there a pill I can take to make it go away?”

 

Or, I next proposed, he might consider actually growing the beard out, and making the most of it. The trimming could be done quickly at any time of the day, and he could then feel like he was proudly wearing a badge of his manhood. Why not use it in the way it was intended? 

 

I will always remember the priceless look on his face as he put two and two together, and it dawned on him that his facial hair was far more than a biological inconvenience or a matter of fashion. There was a method to the madness—it identified him for who and what he was. We had a good laugh together. 

 

I can hardly point any fingers, for there was a time when I badly injured my thumb, and I lost most of my thumbnail. I had often wondered what fingernails were there for, since I couldn’t do much with them besides scratch a pesky itch. It grew back very slowly, while in the meantime I learned how much I had relied on it as a protection from rather painful impacts with everyday items. I will no longer question the nails. 

 

A few years later, I singed off my eyebrows at a campfire, much to everyone’s amusement, and I assumed I would now only look the fool for a time. The next day, in sweltering heat, I realized what my eyebrows were meant to do, as the sweat rolled right down into my eyes. I now toss in the log from much further away. 

 

If Nature put it there, it is there for a good reason. Perhaps it is not immediately apparent to me, or I feel it is inconvenient for the moment, yet it is nonetheless a product of artful conception, delicately arranged by Providence. 

—Reflection written in 1/2001