Epictetus, Discourses 1.17.4

Is this then what you call great and admirable—to understand or interpret Chrysippus? No, no one says that. 

What is admirable then? To understand the will of Nature. 

Very well: do you understand it of yourself? If so, what more do you need? For if it is true that all error is involuntary and you have learnt the truth, you must needs do rightly hereafter.

“But,” you may say, “I do not understand the will of Nature.”

Who then expounds it? They say “Chrysippus." 

I come and inquire what this interpreter of Nature says. I begin not to understand what he means and I seek someone to interpret. The interpreter says, “Let us examine the sense of this phrase, as if it were Latin.”

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.17 

Just as I can get frazzled by the steps of a winding logical proof, barely containing the urge to scream out loud, I can also start to personally resent a philosopher’s dense writings, being tempted to toss the darn book out the window.

After taking a deep breath, I see that this happens because I have abandoned my sense of perspective, and I am failing to approach the argument as a means to an end, a tool by which I might hopefully become a better man. 

A chain of syllogisms is ultimately an opportunity to direct myself on how I should live, and a grueling volume is a challenge to work in harmony with Nature. Without setting my eyes on the prize, the words are just words, signs without anything signified. 

I did not slave over the works of Aristotle or Aquinas to merely become fluent in Aristotle or Aquinas; I wanted to follow their example in how to be a servant of the true, the good, and the beautiful. That is what makes the headaches and the heartaches worthwhile. 

Beyond a few fragments, the writings of Chrysippus are now lost to us, but it would do me no good to rediscover them all in some dusty basement, if I did not offer them reverence for the right reasons. The pursuit of virtue and the embrace of Providence are the proper goals, for which Chrysippus is but an aid. 

Can I figure out this world without the help of Seneca, or Epictetus, or Marcus Aurelius as my guides? It might be possible for another man, but it is not possible for me. I require the assistance of such interpreters, and even then, I must often turn to friends who are far wiser than myself to further unravel the ancient teachings. 

What a painstaking and tedious chore it seems to be! Perhaps, but nothing precious ever comes easy, and a strenuous apprenticeship in the basic skills of philosophy is a condition for becoming a master in peace of mind. The promise is what makes it pleasing. 

I should not feel overwhelmed by studying the subtleties of a term, or examining how propositions are opposed, or becoming practiced in the forms of syllogisms, for big things always start out with little things. 

—Reflection written in 1/2001 

IMAGE: It's not as hard as it looks . . .