Epictetus, Discourses 1.25.9

“Tear his toga off him.” 

 

Why bring him in? Take his toga. Tear that.

 

“I have done you an outrage.” 

 

May it turn out to your good. 

 

These were the principles that Socrates practiced: that is why his face always wore the same expression. But we are fain to study and practice everything except how to be free men and untrammeled.

 

“The philosophers talk paradoxes.” 

 

But are there no paradoxes in the other arts? Nay, what is more paradoxical than to lance a man's eye that he may see? If one told this to a person unskilled in the physician's art, would he not laugh at him who said it?

 

Is it surprising then that in philosophy also many truths seem paradoxical to those who are unskilled? 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 

 

The only real battle I fight is with myself. Whenever I moan about this or that having been taken from me, I must remember that it wasn’t mine to begin with, and so no one can be blamed for violating my dignity. Yes, the tyrant seizes property, thereby injuring his own soul, while my soul is only injured if I too am obsessed with the accumulation of wealth. 

 

How much I care for something follows directly from my own estimation of its value. I’d prefer to stay warm, but you are free to rip the shirt from my back if you must, though you can’t rip away my integrity. If that shirt wasn’t essential to my sense of self-respect, I don’t need to fret. 

 

Observe, in this regard, how often the grasping man is not satisfied with his physical spoils, and further wishes to see his victim mentally crushed. I am not, however, obliged to grant him his wish; I can retain a peace of mind within, regardless of his scheming without. 

 

Such serenity is not a state of separation, but rather a joy that comes from being connected to Nature in all the ways that truly count. Am I attending to my own virtues? Am I forgiving of another’s vices? Then my demeanor can always be peaceful. Socrates had a rapier wit, and yet he never felt the need to get nasty, facing any hardships with a calm and grateful disposition. 

 

Strike out at me, or ignore me completely, and it is still within my power to wish you well. 

 

I seem to notice more and more how many people switch between two expressions: either a haggard look of dread, or a forced grin of histrionics. Neither is necessary, as the whims of fortune do not call for either despair or dissimulation. 

 

I am slowly getting the knack for recognizing the face of a sage, to whatever tribe he might belong, by becoming attuned to those little signs of composure and amity. It is hard to find a scoundrel who can manage to fake the bright eyes and the relaxed smile—genuine philosophy can’t be contrived. 

 

The bitterness would like to creep its way back in, and so I protest about philosophy being a waste of time, and how the eggheads are always contradicting themselves anyway. Am I expected to believe that I can be happy without being pampered, or that I am even capable of meeting hatred with love? What nonsense! 

 

Yet, as with so many aspects of life, a patient discipline reveals a harmony where I may have presumed a conflict. My own good is never in opposition to the good of my neighbor. My conscience works through circumstances, not against them. My reverence for the rule of Providence is the pinnacle of my freedom.  

—Reflection written in 3/2001 

IMAGES: 

Antonio Zanchi, Socrates (c. 1680) 

 

Antonio Zanchi, The Death of Socrates (c. 1690)