Epictetus, Discourses 1.28.2

Now, in the sphere of action what have we to correspond to true and false in the sphere of perception? What is fitting and unfitting, profitable and unprofitable, appropriate and inappropriate, and the like. 
 
“Cannot a man, then, think a thing is to his profit, and not choose it?”
 
He cannot. 
 
What of Medea, who says: 
 
“I know full well what ills I mean to do 
But passion overpowers what counsel bids me.” 
 
Here the very gratification of passion and the vengeance she takes on her husband she believes to be more to her profit than saving her children. 
 
“Yes, but she is deceived.” 
 
Prove to her plainly that she is deceived, and she will not do it, but as long as you do not show her, what else can she follow but that which appears to her? Nothing. 
 
Why then are you indignant with her, because, unhappy woman, she is deluded on the greatest matters and is transformed from a human being into a serpent? Why do you not rather pity her—if so it may be? 
 
As we pity the blind and the lame, so should we pity those who are blinded and lamed in their most sovereign faculties. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.28 

 
The example of Medea speaks to me immediately. Though I have absolutely no qualifications in drama, I was once given the job of running a school production of Euripides’ Medea, mainly because I was the only faculty member who had actually read the play. 
 
I was pleased by how well the students took to it, but I was a bit taken aback by how many of them saw the title character as a noble heroine. I should not have been surprised, however, given the way our culture assumes intense passion alone to be the foundation for moral worth, and thereby confuses revenge with justice, hatred with righteousness, and appetite with love. 
 
At the same time, I know all too well how easy it is to get tangled up in the impressions. Another may be treating me poorly, and the pain lures me into perceiving myself simply as a victim. 
 
From being the object of his abuse, I jump to the conclusion that I must pay him back in kind, as I permit myself to be consumed by wrath. “A hurt for a hurt” operates on the level of brute instinct, not as the expression of a prudent choice. 
 
I have no doubt that Jason acted in the worst possible way, driven on by his avarice and lust, and it is as if I can feel along with Medea’s anger and despair. And yet to respond by murdering not only Glauce and Creon, but also her own sons, shows how two wrongs don’t make a right. 
 
This is why the tale is a tragedy and not a triumph, a warning and not a glorification. Let the wicked man be wary of what may come to him, and let the injured man be wary of becoming precisely what he despises. 
 
A part of the tragedy is the way Medea, caught up in desperate confusion and wild rationalizations, genuinely believed that she was justified in her reaction. Perhaps we have not schemed murder, but can any of us throw stones? 
 
One of the greatest struggles I ever faced was the opportunity to destroy the reputation of someone I loved dearly, but who had cast me aside. Instead of being proud that I didn’t do it, I am now ashamed that I even considered it. 
 
If I come across a fellow crippled by injury or illness, should I not reach out my hand to offer whatever help is within my power? It makes no difference how he got there, or if he is somehow the cause of his own plight. I am called to do just the same if he is impaired by ignorance and delusion. 
 

We are all made for one another. If I can be bothered to put myself in his shoes for a moment, I know it to be true. 

—Reflection written in 4/2001 

IMAGE: German Hernandez Amores, Medea (c. 1887)