For what think you? If Socrates had wished to keep his outward possessions, would he have come forward and said, “Anytus and Meletus have power to kill me, but not to harm me?”
Was he so foolish as not to see that this road leads not to that end, but elsewhere? Why is it then, that he renders no account to his judges, and adds a word of provocation?
Just as my friend Heraclitus, when he had an action in Rhodes concerning a plot of land and had pointed out to the judges that his arguments were just, when he came to his peroration said, “I will not supplicate you, nor do I regard the judgement you will give; it is you who are on your trial rather than I”, and so he made an end of the business.
You need not speak like that, only do not supplicate. Do not add the words, “I do not supplicate,” unless, as happened to Socrates, the right time has come deliberately to provoke your judges.
If, indeed, you are preparing a peroration of this sort, why do you appear in court? Why do you answer the summons? If you wish to be crucified, wait and the cross will come: but if reason requires that you should answer the summons and do your best to persuade the judge, you must act in accordance with this, but always keeping true to yourself.
Was he so foolish as not to see that this road leads not to that end, but elsewhere? Why is it then, that he renders no account to his judges, and adds a word of provocation?
Just as my friend Heraclitus, when he had an action in Rhodes concerning a plot of land and had pointed out to the judges that his arguments were just, when he came to his peroration said, “I will not supplicate you, nor do I regard the judgement you will give; it is you who are on your trial rather than I”, and so he made an end of the business.
You need not speak like that, only do not supplicate. Do not add the words, “I do not supplicate,” unless, as happened to Socrates, the right time has come deliberately to provoke your judges.
If, indeed, you are preparing a peroration of this sort, why do you appear in court? Why do you answer the summons? If you wish to be crucified, wait and the cross will come: but if reason requires that you should answer the summons and do your best to persuade the judge, you must act in accordance with this, but always keeping true to yourself.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.2
While I have always been notably eccentric, my increasing commitment to the practice of Stoicism has made me appear more and more insane to the “normal” crowd. I speak here of normality in the sense of popular convention, and not of conforming to the measure of Nature, even as I find that my entire life has become a gradual shift from settling for the former to seeking out the latter. I think it no accident that some of the oddest of people are quite often also the very best of people.
Just the other day, a fellow at a Twelve Step meeting I help to run charged at me in a moment of rage, and though I was carrying a hefty shillelagh I sometimes use to help with my gimpy leg, I found myself, without any deliberate thought, tossing it aside, closing my eyes, and waiting for him to do his worst. Such a reaction would never have occurred to me ten years ago, but now it is almost instinctive.
He stopped dead in his tracks, glared at me for a moment, and then shuffled out of the room, without uttering another word. Everyone else was rather confused. A friend of mine looked at me with a grin, and shook his head as he exaclaimed, “You are one crazy bastard!”
Thank you. I suppose I am.
Socrates must have seemed deranged as well, when he not only refused to beg and plead for his life, but when he went even further by turning the tables on his accusers: “You’re out of order!” Because I am still so prone to resentment, I can’t yet manage to call out the bullies without losing my head, but I can now at least stand my ground with a shred of dignity. I am a novice, not a sage.
It is most fruitful to rely upon the truth, plain and simple, not to launch into some elaborate display of sentimentality. At the very best, it remains strained and superficial, and at the very worst, it is an outright deception. The sophists, in their various guises, will thrive on such exploitation, though the philosophers will gladly stay clear.
Like many young people who first stumble across philosophy, I’m afraid I did try to imitate Socrates’ incisive style, and yet I was failing to see that the presence of such eloquence is merely optional, while a complete dedication to character, however unassuming, is the mark of the gentleman or the lady, properly understood. Indeed, the fancy and fiery words will come across as just another form of bravado if not firmly grounded in the virtues.
While I have always been notably eccentric, my increasing commitment to the practice of Stoicism has made me appear more and more insane to the “normal” crowd. I speak here of normality in the sense of popular convention, and not of conforming to the measure of Nature, even as I find that my entire life has become a gradual shift from settling for the former to seeking out the latter. I think it no accident that some of the oddest of people are quite often also the very best of people.
Just the other day, a fellow at a Twelve Step meeting I help to run charged at me in a moment of rage, and though I was carrying a hefty shillelagh I sometimes use to help with my gimpy leg, I found myself, without any deliberate thought, tossing it aside, closing my eyes, and waiting for him to do his worst. Such a reaction would never have occurred to me ten years ago, but now it is almost instinctive.
He stopped dead in his tracks, glared at me for a moment, and then shuffled out of the room, without uttering another word. Everyone else was rather confused. A friend of mine looked at me with a grin, and shook his head as he exaclaimed, “You are one crazy bastard!”
Thank you. I suppose I am.
Socrates must have seemed deranged as well, when he not only refused to beg and plead for his life, but when he went even further by turning the tables on his accusers: “You’re out of order!” Because I am still so prone to resentment, I can’t yet manage to call out the bullies without losing my head, but I can now at least stand my ground with a shred of dignity. I am a novice, not a sage.
It is most fruitful to rely upon the truth, plain and simple, not to launch into some elaborate display of sentimentality. At the very best, it remains strained and superficial, and at the very worst, it is an outright deception. The sophists, in their various guises, will thrive on such exploitation, though the philosophers will gladly stay clear.
Like many young people who first stumble across philosophy, I’m afraid I did try to imitate Socrates’ incisive style, and yet I was failing to see that the presence of such eloquence is merely optional, while a complete dedication to character, however unassuming, is the mark of the gentleman or the lady, properly understood. Indeed, the fancy and fiery words will come across as just another form of bravado if not firmly grounded in the virtues.
We are free to retain our preferences or quirks, and different circumstances will call for different replies, but in the end, I must be at peace with my own conscience.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
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