“Should I then proclaim this to all men?”
No! One should study the weakness of the uninstructed and say to them, “This man advises me what he thinks good for himself, and I excuse him.”
For Socrates too excused the jailer who wept when he was going to drink the poison, and said, “How nobly he has wept for us!”
Does he say to the jailer, “That is why we dismissed the women”?
No, he says that to his intimate friends, who were fit to hear it, but the jailer he treats considerately like a child.
No! One should study the weakness of the uninstructed and say to them, “This man advises me what he thinks good for himself, and I excuse him.”
For Socrates too excused the jailer who wept when he was going to drink the poison, and said, “How nobly he has wept for us!”
Does he say to the jailer, “That is why we dismissed the women”?
No, he says that to his intimate friends, who were fit to hear it, but the jailer he treats considerately like a child.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.29
I am especially wary of succumbing to the extremes of either absolutism or relativism, both of which are equally signs that I am being lazy of mind and arrogant of will.
I wish to serve the truth, and yet I must never claim to possess the truth. I know I must do what is right, and yet I must never insist upon being right.
There is quite a haughtiness in saying I know everything without question, just as there is in questioning everything to say that nothing can be known. The philosophical life can only be poisoned by dogmatism or cynicism.
As I try to strike a balance, to carefully find that middle path, the way I go about treating others will reflect whether there is any integrity to my thinking.
I may feel certain that I understand, but am I brave enough to also understand how and why another may be struggling with doubt?
For the little that I think I know, can I make the effort to patiently help my neighbor to learn, however long that might take?
If I am finally grasping this or that bit correctly, shouldn’t I respond to an error with love instead of hatred?
Plato’s Phaedo, which describes the last moments of Socrates, contains some rather difficult philosophical theory, while it also opens and closes with two of the most personal moments in the dialogues.
At the beginning, Socrates says goodbye to his family, and at the end, he sends away his jailer, whose job has not spared him from being overcome with grief.
In both cases, Socrates does not scold them for their feelings, or berate them for their ignorance, but instead speaks to them with kindness and compassion. He chooses not to talk down at them, and he relates to wherever they happen to be.
In much the same manner, Socrates did not curse the jury that convicted him, because he was aware that they had acted as they thought best.
Such a power to accept, and to forgive, is a mark of the greatest constancy, to stand on principles that do not depend on anyone else being knocked down.
I am especially wary of succumbing to the extremes of either absolutism or relativism, both of which are equally signs that I am being lazy of mind and arrogant of will.
I wish to serve the truth, and yet I must never claim to possess the truth. I know I must do what is right, and yet I must never insist upon being right.
There is quite a haughtiness in saying I know everything without question, just as there is in questioning everything to say that nothing can be known. The philosophical life can only be poisoned by dogmatism or cynicism.
As I try to strike a balance, to carefully find that middle path, the way I go about treating others will reflect whether there is any integrity to my thinking.
I may feel certain that I understand, but am I brave enough to also understand how and why another may be struggling with doubt?
For the little that I think I know, can I make the effort to patiently help my neighbor to learn, however long that might take?
If I am finally grasping this or that bit correctly, shouldn’t I respond to an error with love instead of hatred?
Plato’s Phaedo, which describes the last moments of Socrates, contains some rather difficult philosophical theory, while it also opens and closes with two of the most personal moments in the dialogues.
At the beginning, Socrates says goodbye to his family, and at the end, he sends away his jailer, whose job has not spared him from being overcome with grief.
In both cases, Socrates does not scold them for their feelings, or berate them for their ignorance, but instead speaks to them with kindness and compassion. He chooses not to talk down at them, and he relates to wherever they happen to be.
In much the same manner, Socrates did not curse the jury that convicted him, because he was aware that they had acted as they thought best.
Such a power to accept, and to forgive, is a mark of the greatest constancy, to stand on principles that do not depend on anyone else being knocked down.
—Reflection written in 5/2001
IMAGE: Antonio Canova, Socrates Taking Leave of His Family (c. 1790)
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