Who, I ask you, ever offered sacrifice in gratitude for right direction of the will or for impulse in accordance with Nature? For we give thanks to the gods for what we think our good!
Today one spoke to me about the priesthood of Augustus. I told him, “Fellow, leave the thing alone; you will spend a great deal on nothing.”
“Well, but those who draw up contracts will record my name.”
Can you be there when men read it and say to them, “That is my name,” and even supposing you can be there now, what will you do if you die?
“My name will remain.”
Write it on a stone and it will remain. But who will remember you outside Nicopolis?
“But I shall wear a golden crown.”
For all my efforts at being principled and focused, I still have difficulty with old habits fighting back, and with the subtle yet corrosive effect of blindly conforming to whatever happens to be going on around me.
At the end of the day, for example, I can look back at my thoughts and deeds, and I may find some satisfaction in having managed to do at least one thing right. Nevertheless, I may also have a nagging sense that something is missing, that I didn’t get the recognition I deserved for doing my best. Why did no one notice?
Now it is one thing to appreciate praise, but quite another to crave it. If I examine my own nature, I can readily understand how the good is in what I do, regardless of whether it is perceived by someone else, and why the act of living well is itself the ultimate reward. Yet I permit myself to be diverted, assuming that I cannot be anyone without the approval of others.
How ridiculous, that my identity depends upon opinions that have nothing directly to do with me! For all that, I should hardly be surprised, given how long they have told me it is the only thing that matters. To be successful, we are led to believe, one must gain status, increase in esteem, and win ever grander honors.
Who usually receives the awards at school, or the promotions at work, or the applause and laughter at the dinner party? Not the most thoughtful, caring or devoted soul, but rather the actor who can put on the best show. The process feeds on itself, where we observe that looking good gets more points than being good, and so we continue the practice and pass it on.
It eats away at our integrity, since crafting an artificial image now takes precedence over the reality of conscience, and it turns us inside out, by swapping the content of character with the vagaries of circumstance.
As Epictetus points out, look at how a man congratulates, celebrates, and prays. Does he flatter the powerful or does he encourage the virtuous? Will he raise a glass for gaining more customers or for the bond of friendship? As he enters the church, is it a photo opportunity or an exercise in piety?
How refreshing it is when someone thanks God for the chance to be understanding and loving, instead of for becoming gratified and acclaimed!
What’s in a name? I don’t need to be an old man to know how quickly a name passes, how suddenly the fashions change. Even if the lifeless word did somehow linger on here or there, what difference would it make to being at peace right now?
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