A kindness should be received in the spirit that prompted it.
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Tuesday, July 2, 2024
Epictetus, Discourses 2.6.2
Suppose you did not get what you wanted? Surely that was his business and not yours. Why then do you claim what is another's? If you always remember what is yours and what is not yours, you will never be put to confusion.
Therefore, Chrysippus well says, “As long as the consequences are unknown to me, I always hold fast to what is better adapted to secure what is natural, for God Himself created me with the faculty of choosing what is natural.”
Nay, if I really knew that it was ordained for me now to be ill, I should wish to be ill; for the foot too, if it had a mind, would wish to get muddy.
For instance, why do ears of corn grow? Is it not that they may ripen in the sun? And if they are ripened, is it not that they may be reaped, for they are not things apart? If they had feelings then, ought they to pray never to be reaped at any time? But this is a curse upon corn—to pray that it should never be reaped.
In like manner know that you are cursing men when you pray for them not to die: it is like a prayer not to be ripened, not to be reaped.
But we men, being creatures whose fate it is to be reaped, are also made aware of this very fact, that we are destined for reaping, and so we are angry; for we do not know who we are, nor have we studied human things as those who are skilled in horses study the concerns of horses.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.6
In finding myself awkwardly out of place in this world, and in also having a melancholic disposition, I often feel inclined to gripe and moan. If I then foolishly choose to surround myself with those who have a perverse pride in their many dissatisfactions, I merely compound the matter. Do I not see how my misery is entirely of my own making?
I perceive this section of the text to be achingly beautiful, though whenever I share it with others, they usually just see doom and gloom. The way Epictetus writes, and the whole context of what I call the Stoic Turn, can only be uplifting when I have joyfully embraced a whole new set of values. All of those crippling diversions out there? They are as nothing. Instead, look within to the invincible dignity of this little soul.
Just as the world was made to be as it is for a perfectly good reason, so my own intellect and will were given to me so that I might come to know and to love my place within the whole. My particular nature is completed by working in harmony with the Universal Nature, and I am gifted with awareness so that I can arrive at this insight through my own free choice.
Now this all sounds perfectly nice, one could say, as long as the circumstances of Nature are pleasant, but I will surely change my tune once the world starts to scratch and bite. If that is indeed how I respond, I have hardly learned the lesson, because I still remain attached to outside conditions, valuing convenience over character. No, once I discover the source of my happiness in what is rightly my own, I do not need to depend upon what rightly belongs to another.
Epictetus is not trying to one-up Chrysippus, and he is instead clarifying how radical and transformative such a true commitment to Nature must be. If it has happened, what good will come from any rage or despair? Let me rather ask myself how I can modify my own thoughts and deeds to cooperate with Providence; every purpose is joined to every other, and my part is defined by what I decide to do, not by what is done to me.
Whatever is sown is meant to be reaped, so the crop does not feel the need to complain. Opening my mind to the inner worth of every creature is what makes it possible for me to love both myself and others, whatever the accidents may be. Pleasure or pain, riches or poverty, health or sickness are all on the table—accepting this is the first step to serenity.
If I knew myself morally even half as well as I am expected to know my worldly trade, this would not be such a difficult task.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
IMAGE: Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Harvesters (1565)
Monday, July 1, 2024
Proverbs 1:10-16
do not consent.
[11] If they say, "Come with us, let us lie in wait for blood,
let us wantonly ambush the innocent;
[12] like Sheol let us swallow them alive
and whole, like those who go down to the Pit;
[13] we shall find all precious goods,
we shall fill our houses with spoil;
[14] throw in your lot among us,
we will all have one purse"—
[15] my son, do not walk in the way with them,
hold back your foot from their paths;
[16] for their feet run to evil,
and they make haste to shed blood.
IMAGE: Francisco Goya, Assault of Thieves (1794)
Epictetus, Discourses 2.6.1
Chapter 6: On what is meant by “indifferent” things.
Take a given hypothetical proposition. In itself it is indifferent, but your judgement upon it is not indifferent, but is either knowledge, or mere opinion, or delusion.
In the same way, though life is indifferent, the way you deal with it is not indifferent. Therefore, when you are told “These things also are indifferent”, do not be careless, and when you are urged to be careful, do not show a mean spirit and be overawed by material things.
It is a good thing to know what you can do and what you are prepared for, that in matters where you are not prepared, you may keep quiet and not be vexed if others have the advantage of you there.
For when it is a question of syllogisms, you in your turn will expect to have the advantage, and if they are vexed with this you will console them with the words, “I learnt them, but you did not.”
So when acquired dexterity is needed it is for you in your turn not to seek what only practice can give: leave that to those who have acquired the knack, and be content yourself to show constancy.
“Go and salute such a one.”
I have saluted him.
“How?”
In no mean spirit.
“But his house was shut upon you.”
Yes, for I have not learned to enter by the window: when I find the door shut, I must either retire or go in by the window.
'But again one says, "Talk to him."'
I do talk to him.
“How?”
In no mean spirit.
Take a given hypothetical proposition. In itself it is indifferent, but your judgement upon it is not indifferent, but is either knowledge, or mere opinion, or delusion.
In the same way, though life is indifferent, the way you deal with it is not indifferent. Therefore, when you are told “These things also are indifferent”, do not be careless, and when you are urged to be careful, do not show a mean spirit and be overawed by material things.
It is a good thing to know what you can do and what you are prepared for, that in matters where you are not prepared, you may keep quiet and not be vexed if others have the advantage of you there.
For when it is a question of syllogisms, you in your turn will expect to have the advantage, and if they are vexed with this you will console them with the words, “I learnt them, but you did not.”
So when acquired dexterity is needed it is for you in your turn not to seek what only practice can give: leave that to those who have acquired the knack, and be content yourself to show constancy.
“Go and salute such a one.”
I have saluted him.
“How?”
In no mean spirit.
“But his house was shut upon you.”
Yes, for I have not learned to enter by the window: when I find the door shut, I must either retire or go in by the window.
'But again one says, "Talk to him."'
I do talk to him.
“How?”
In no mean spirit.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.6
The very term “Stoic” is now sadly associated with someone who is cold and emotionless, even if the original school taught rather a commitment to possessing a mastery over our passions. Someone recently told me that this was a distinction without a difference, though I will respectfully insist on a real contrast between minding one’s feelings and being enslaved to one’s feelings.
Nor does it help when a critical Stoic concept, the willingness to become “indifferent” to our circumstances, is also tied up in the subtleties of language. In everyday usage, indifference is usually understood to be a state of not caring, and I confuse matters even more if I introduce the Greek apatheia, from which we derive our modern word “apathy”.
I will let the scholars bicker as much as they like, for while I appreciate the importance of precise phrasing, I also believe the reality behind the words should be the ultimate focus of our attention. I don’t prefer to use foreign terms when native ones will do: besides the fact that it smacks of pretentiousness, just a few minor tweaks are usually sufficient to set the record straight.
Whether we translate apatheia as indifference, or perhaps most accurately as equanimity, it means recognizing that whatever value a thing may have in itself, its value for the sake of my character depends entirely upon how I choose to make use of it. It becomes good for me when I employ it as an opportunity for virtue, and it becomes bad for me when I twist it into an occasion for vice.
The Stoic most certainly does care, even if how and why he cares is quite unconventional. We become accustomed to thinking of events as being either beneficial or harmful to us, yet this reduces us to creatures made happy or miserable by everything beyond ourselves. Instead, we can find peace of mind by withholding any presumptions about their worth: they are, so to speak, neutral matter, upon which we then work by applying our judgments.
Just as a hypothetical statement is open to possibilities, so all aspects of our lives will only become bound one way or another by our estimation. Is money a good thing or a bad thing? It is neither, since it has no merit until it is placed in the service of some human purpose—what moral end does it assist? The same is true of pleasure, or honor, or any of the other conditions we usually take as being desirable.
I must be wary of becoming attached to things, and I must also be mindful of not confusing that distance with any sort of resentment. Have I done something in the right way? Then let me find joy in that, without a posture of arrogance. Have I failed to meet the mark? Then let me patiently get to work at reforming my habits, without a hint of envy.
What others have done reflects on them, and not on me; what I can do is my sole business, always maintaining my composure, whichever way the wind may happen to blow. Fears, frustrations, and anxieties are the result of our distorted attitudes, not of the way the world unfolds. Things should be “indifferent” to me because they do not define or govern me.
The very term “Stoic” is now sadly associated with someone who is cold and emotionless, even if the original school taught rather a commitment to possessing a mastery over our passions. Someone recently told me that this was a distinction without a difference, though I will respectfully insist on a real contrast between minding one’s feelings and being enslaved to one’s feelings.
Nor does it help when a critical Stoic concept, the willingness to become “indifferent” to our circumstances, is also tied up in the subtleties of language. In everyday usage, indifference is usually understood to be a state of not caring, and I confuse matters even more if I introduce the Greek apatheia, from which we derive our modern word “apathy”.
I will let the scholars bicker as much as they like, for while I appreciate the importance of precise phrasing, I also believe the reality behind the words should be the ultimate focus of our attention. I don’t prefer to use foreign terms when native ones will do: besides the fact that it smacks of pretentiousness, just a few minor tweaks are usually sufficient to set the record straight.
Whether we translate apatheia as indifference, or perhaps most accurately as equanimity, it means recognizing that whatever value a thing may have in itself, its value for the sake of my character depends entirely upon how I choose to make use of it. It becomes good for me when I employ it as an opportunity for virtue, and it becomes bad for me when I twist it into an occasion for vice.
The Stoic most certainly does care, even if how and why he cares is quite unconventional. We become accustomed to thinking of events as being either beneficial or harmful to us, yet this reduces us to creatures made happy or miserable by everything beyond ourselves. Instead, we can find peace of mind by withholding any presumptions about their worth: they are, so to speak, neutral matter, upon which we then work by applying our judgments.
Just as a hypothetical statement is open to possibilities, so all aspects of our lives will only become bound one way or another by our estimation. Is money a good thing or a bad thing? It is neither, since it has no merit until it is placed in the service of some human purpose—what moral end does it assist? The same is true of pleasure, or honor, or any of the other conditions we usually take as being desirable.
I must be wary of becoming attached to things, and I must also be mindful of not confusing that distance with any sort of resentment. Have I done something in the right way? Then let me find joy in that, without a posture of arrogance. Have I failed to meet the mark? Then let me patiently get to work at reforming my habits, without a hint of envy.
What others have done reflects on them, and not on me; what I can do is my sole business, always maintaining my composure, whichever way the wind may happen to blow. Fears, frustrations, and anxieties are the result of our distorted attitudes, not of the way the world unfolds. Things should be “indifferent” to me because they do not define or govern me.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
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