Epictetus, Discourses 1.28.7

Am I any better than Agamemnon or Achilles, that they should do and suffer such evils because they follow their impressions, and I should be content with mine? 

 

Surely tragedy has no other source but this. 

 

What is the “Atreus” of Euripides? Impressions. 

 

What is the “Oedipus” of Sophocles? Impressions. 

 

“Phoenix”? Impressions. 

 

“Hippolytus”? Impressions. 

 

How do you think then we should describe the man who takes no pains to discipline his impressions? What name do we give to those who follow everything that comes into their mind? 

 

“Madmen.” 

 

Well, is not this exactly what we do? 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.28 

 

I may shake my head with disapproval at the bickering between Agamemnon and Achilles, but can I say I am a saint when I fly off the handle at someone who rubs me the wrong way? I get caught up in disagreements by taking passions alone as my guide, without first reflecting on the right or the wrong of the matter. 

 

Tragedies, whether in literature or in real life, are brought on by false pride, which in turn is a consequence of letting the will run ahead of the understanding, and so be enslaved by raw impressions. If I only take a moment to examine why it feels the way it does, I will not be so keen on greed, lust, betrayal, or revenge. 

 

Every tale of woe that has ever been told is about a failure of self-control, and I have found my own bungling to take on the form of a sort of frenzy. I allow myself to get riled up to begin with, and then I take a hasty and impulsive step. 

 

I may sense I have jumped from the fat into the fire, but it is too late, because I cover for my carelessness with a mighty dose of stubbornness. With each further blunder, the cycle repeats itself, and my misery is compounded. Obsessed with the pretense of appearing strong, I forget how restraint is the most profound inner strength. 

 

Indignation and outrage are expressions of self-righteousness, not of righteousness. The absence or presence of prudence makes the difference. 

 

In most cases, the initial feeling will pass quickly. Even when it doesn’t, as with a stewing bitterness or an enduring sorrow, the application of sound reasoning is the best remedy. No, reason is not cold at all—it warms the soul much like a wood fire warms the body after coming in from shoveling the snow.

 

I should not demand for the impressions to disappear, though I should keep a sharp eye on them, and pull back on the reins when they get too feisty. A runaway image, like a runaway horse, can easily be the end of me. 

 

Is the frenzy I describe a sort of insanity? As much as I would like to claim that it removes my responsibility, I know it does nothing of the sort, since I am the very one who let it loose. Yet it does acquire its own sort of force, which only a more powerful judgment can overcome, and before too long the weakness becomes an excuse. 

 

“How dare you tell me I don’t have a right to getting whatever I want! What sort of person can manage without daily doses of cash, adulation, or sex?”

 

That, my dear, would be what we call a healthy person. To dwell on what can be received over what can be given is an addiction, a disease. It is the reliance of the self upon gratifying impressions. 

 

And how should we treat the sick man, whether he suffers from cancer or from a malady of his thoughts? We offer him mercy and compassion, we provide him with assistance to relieve his troubles. 

 

We are back to the original topic, for while Epictetus might wander here and there in these Discourses, he always returns to the meat of the matter. 

 

Do not be angry with the wrongdoer. As much as he could know better, he doesn’t know right here and now. Teach him, guide him, even if it takes a firm hand. If you know what is greatest in this life, you will be a friend to him, not an enemy. 

—Reflection written in 4/2001 

IMAGE: Giovanni Battista Gaulli, The Quarrel Between Agamemnon and Achilles (c. 1695)