You hear ignorant folk saying, “Unhappy man that he was, he died.” “His father perished, and his mother.” “He was cut off, yes, and untimely and in a foreign land.”
Now listen to the arguments on the other side; draw yourself away from these voices, set against habit the opposite habit. Set against fallacious arguments the processes of reason, training yourself to be familiar with these processes: against the plausibilities of things we must have our primary conceptions clear, like weapons bright and ready for use.
When death appears an evil we must have ready to hand the argument that it is fitting to avoid evils, and death is a necessary thing. What am I to do? Where am I to escape it?
Grant that I am not Sarpedon son of Zeus, to utter those noble words, “I would fain go and achieve glory or afford another the occasion to achieve it: if I cannot win success myself, I will not grudge another the chance of doing a noble deed.”
Grant that this is beyond us, can we not compass the other?
Now listen to the arguments on the other side; draw yourself away from these voices, set against habit the opposite habit. Set against fallacious arguments the processes of reason, training yourself to be familiar with these processes: against the plausibilities of things we must have our primary conceptions clear, like weapons bright and ready for use.
When death appears an evil we must have ready to hand the argument that it is fitting to avoid evils, and death is a necessary thing. What am I to do? Where am I to escape it?
Grant that I am not Sarpedon son of Zeus, to utter those noble words, “I would fain go and achieve glory or afford another the occasion to achieve it: if I cannot win success myself, I will not grudge another the chance of doing a noble deed.”
Grant that this is beyond us, can we not compass the other?
—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.27
Instead of getting caught up in vague ruminations, let me go straight to concrete instances from everyday life. How am I to deal with pain? How am I to deal with loss? How am I to deal with death? These impressions hang over me.
I subconsciously tend to work from the hasty assumption that any sort of suffering is an evil, and that death is the worst evil of all. My reactions are still dragging behind my thinking, on account of those clinging habits. Though my deliberations are about doing the right thing, my inclinations are about doing the safest thing.
We are expected to express our horror at dying, especially if someone was considered “too young”, and we will do most anything in our power to extend our lives, even if it means sacrificing any quality to our lives. We try not to think about death, and we only speak of it in awkward whispers, while all the time we are filled with dread.
Surely this an outgrowth of our instinct for self-preservation? Yes, but Epictetus reminds me how I have misunderstood the meaning of that instinct: I wish to exist, to be, and yet I am worried about the duration instead of the excellence, forgetting how living better is more important that living longer.
Death is a natural part of life, and so there is no “evil” in it whatsoever. This only becomes clear when I stop trying to bargain with the world, and I stop dwelling on whether an outcome is more or less likely to be gratifying. There is no point to dealing in probabilities when the first principles of my identity are so crystal clear, and I only neglect them because they don’t happen to fit my mood at the moment.
What am I? A creature of reason and will. Who am I? It follows from how I choose to make use of those powers. Will I decide to work in harmony with Nature, or will I lose myself in doubt and uncertainty? Death only appears like a curse to me when I confuse my character with my circumstances.
It’s quite difficult to go against the grain of custom, but as they say, nothing good ever comes easy. They tell me I must somehow escape from death, when the real trick is about charging selflessly into life.
As much as I work on my fortitude on each and every day, I don’t know if I could be a Sarpedon. When the Trojans had him carrying all the weight, he called them out on it, and yet he did his duty nonetheless. In the heat of battle, he reminded Glaucus how there is no shame in falling to a foe, for you have given him his own opportunity for triumph. As he finally faced the enraged Patroclus, he died with honor.
Well, if I can’t be a Sarpedon in my glorious deeds, might I at least emulate him in my humble thoughts? We do what we can.
Instead of getting caught up in vague ruminations, let me go straight to concrete instances from everyday life. How am I to deal with pain? How am I to deal with loss? How am I to deal with death? These impressions hang over me.
I subconsciously tend to work from the hasty assumption that any sort of suffering is an evil, and that death is the worst evil of all. My reactions are still dragging behind my thinking, on account of those clinging habits. Though my deliberations are about doing the right thing, my inclinations are about doing the safest thing.
We are expected to express our horror at dying, especially if someone was considered “too young”, and we will do most anything in our power to extend our lives, even if it means sacrificing any quality to our lives. We try not to think about death, and we only speak of it in awkward whispers, while all the time we are filled with dread.
Surely this an outgrowth of our instinct for self-preservation? Yes, but Epictetus reminds me how I have misunderstood the meaning of that instinct: I wish to exist, to be, and yet I am worried about the duration instead of the excellence, forgetting how living better is more important that living longer.
Death is a natural part of life, and so there is no “evil” in it whatsoever. This only becomes clear when I stop trying to bargain with the world, and I stop dwelling on whether an outcome is more or less likely to be gratifying. There is no point to dealing in probabilities when the first principles of my identity are so crystal clear, and I only neglect them because they don’t happen to fit my mood at the moment.
What am I? A creature of reason and will. Who am I? It follows from how I choose to make use of those powers. Will I decide to work in harmony with Nature, or will I lose myself in doubt and uncertainty? Death only appears like a curse to me when I confuse my character with my circumstances.
It’s quite difficult to go against the grain of custom, but as they say, nothing good ever comes easy. They tell me I must somehow escape from death, when the real trick is about charging selflessly into life.
As much as I work on my fortitude on each and every day, I don’t know if I could be a Sarpedon. When the Trojans had him carrying all the weight, he called them out on it, and yet he did his duty nonetheless. In the heat of battle, he reminded Glaucus how there is no shame in falling to a foe, for you have given him his own opportunity for triumph. As he finally faced the enraged Patroclus, he died with honor.
Well, if I can’t be a Sarpedon in my glorious deeds, might I at least emulate him in my humble thoughts? We do what we can.
—Reflection written in 4/2001
IMAGE: Johann Heinrich Füssli, Sleep and Death Carrying Away Sarpedon (1803)
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