However, we behave like deer: when hinds fear the feathers and fly from them, where do they turn, and in what do they take refuge as a safe retreat? They turn to the nets, and so they perish because they confuse objects of fear with objects of confidence.
So it is with us. Where do we show fear? In regard to things outside our will's control. Again, when do we behave with confidence as though there were nothing to fear? In matters within the will's control.
So if only we are successful in things beyond our will's control we think it is of no consequence to us to be deceived or to act rashly, or to do a shameless deed, or to conceive a shameful desire. But where death or exile or pain or infamy confronts us, there we show the spirit of retreat and of wild alarm.
So it is with us. Where do we show fear? In regard to things outside our will's control. Again, when do we behave with confidence as though there were nothing to fear? In matters within the will's control.
So if only we are successful in things beyond our will's control we think it is of no consequence to us to be deceived or to act rashly, or to do a shameless deed, or to conceive a shameful desire. But where death or exile or pain or infamy confronts us, there we show the spirit of retreat and of wild alarm.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.1
On any given day, what do I find myself worrying about the most? What sorts of fears keep me tossing and turning at night?
I wonder how I am going to pay the bills this month. I hope that creaking noise coming from the car isn’t too serious. I fret over why the doctors can do nothing to relieve my wife’s pain. By trying to ignore such nagging impressions, I somehow only end up fixating on them all the more.
If I am in a more existential mood, which does not mix well with my Black Dog, I am troubled about why I seem to be surrounded by such petty and vindictive people, or I brood over the fact that someone I have loved had no use for me.
No good ever comes from any of this, and it is because I am concerned about external conditions over which I have very little control. In the meantime, I am overlooking the improvement of my estimation, which is ultimately the only thing I can truly call my own.
Would I not be better served by modifying my judgments instead of fiddling with the circumstances? That way, I might learn to be at peace with any events, not merely being bound to the most agreeable outcomes.
I don’t come across a frightened deer too often in my neck of the woods, though I have gotten to know a jittery dog on my street, who slinks away with a look of abject terror in his eyes whenever I walk around the corner. I find him amusing, even as I am really no better when it comes to managing my foolish anxieties.
I am still working on the bad habit of thinking I am “winning” when things go my way, and “losing” when I can’t seem to catch a break. My success or failure, as a human being, have nothing to do with what amounts to little more than luck.
As I grow more and more cautious about the ways of the world, I am blindly supposing that my principles, my basic standards of meaning and value, are somehow sound. That confidence is unjustified, for I could fix so many of my problems, right here and now, if I were simply more vigilant about the content of my character.
The other day, I suddenly caught myself feeling like a big man for being given a new class to teach. Before I knew it, I was spouting some snide remarks about those who had been passed over for the job. We think it is harmless to brag, but I should prefer to be happy with no work at all before I choose to degrade my fellows.
Yet if the boss decides to change his mind, won’t I go back to feeling distressed? Once again, I have my confidence and caution thoroughly mixed up.
On any given day, what do I find myself worrying about the most? What sorts of fears keep me tossing and turning at night?
I wonder how I am going to pay the bills this month. I hope that creaking noise coming from the car isn’t too serious. I fret over why the doctors can do nothing to relieve my wife’s pain. By trying to ignore such nagging impressions, I somehow only end up fixating on them all the more.
If I am in a more existential mood, which does not mix well with my Black Dog, I am troubled about why I seem to be surrounded by such petty and vindictive people, or I brood over the fact that someone I have loved had no use for me.
No good ever comes from any of this, and it is because I am concerned about external conditions over which I have very little control. In the meantime, I am overlooking the improvement of my estimation, which is ultimately the only thing I can truly call my own.
Would I not be better served by modifying my judgments instead of fiddling with the circumstances? That way, I might learn to be at peace with any events, not merely being bound to the most agreeable outcomes.
I don’t come across a frightened deer too often in my neck of the woods, though I have gotten to know a jittery dog on my street, who slinks away with a look of abject terror in his eyes whenever I walk around the corner. I find him amusing, even as I am really no better when it comes to managing my foolish anxieties.
I am still working on the bad habit of thinking I am “winning” when things go my way, and “losing” when I can’t seem to catch a break. My success or failure, as a human being, have nothing to do with what amounts to little more than luck.
As I grow more and more cautious about the ways of the world, I am blindly supposing that my principles, my basic standards of meaning and value, are somehow sound. That confidence is unjustified, for I could fix so many of my problems, right here and now, if I were simply more vigilant about the content of my character.
The other day, I suddenly caught myself feeling like a big man for being given a new class to teach. Before I knew it, I was spouting some snide remarks about those who had been passed over for the job. We think it is harmless to brag, but I should prefer to be happy with no work at all before I choose to degrade my fellows.
Yet if the boss decides to change his mind, won’t I go back to feeling distressed? Once again, I have my confidence and caution thoroughly mixed up.
—Reflection written in 5/2001
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