What follows? The occupation is not a very safe one nowadays, and especially in Rome. For he who pursues it will certainly not have to do it in a corner, but he must go up to a consular or a rich man, if it so chance, and ask him: “You there, can you tell me to whose care you trust your horses?”
“Yes.”
Do you trust them to a chance corner and one unskilled in horse-keeping?
“Certainly not.”
Again, tell me to whom you trust your gold or your silver or your clothes.
“Not to a chance corner either.”
And your body—have you ever thought of trusting that to anybody to look after it?
“Certainly.”
He too, no doubt, is one skilled in the art of training or of medicine, is he not?
“Certainly he is.”
Are these then your best possessions or have you got something besides, better than all?
“What can you mean?”
I mean, of course, that which makes use of all these possessions and tests each one, and thinks about them.
“Do you mean the soul?”
You are right; that is exactly what I do mean.
“Yes, I certainly think that this is a better possession than all the rest.”
Can you tell me, then, in what manner you have taken care of your soul? For it is not likely that one so wise as you. and of such position in the state, should lightly and recklessly allow the best possession you have to be neglected and go to ruin.
“Certainly not.”
Well, have you taken care of it yourself? Did anyone teach you how, or did you find out for yourself?
When you do this, the danger is, you will find, that first he will say: “My good sir, what concern is it of yours? Are you my master?”
Then, if you persist in annoying him, he will lift his hand and give you a drubbing.
That was a pursuit I had a keen taste for once, before I was reduced to my present condition.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.12
Once I began to admire Socrates, I felt an itch to imitate his style; I notice how this is fairly common among young spirits who are suddenly on fire with philosophy, but who have not yet moved beyond a need to define themselves by some quirky image. In college, I was often that brooding fellow in the corner, spinning obscure records while smoking foreign cigarettes, so confronting innocent bystanders with odd questions was right up my alley.
It didn’t work out, of course, because I was merely engaged in an absurd caricature, going through the motions for all the wrong reasons. I was interested in looking clever, not in being helpful, and I was trying to drop hints to an answer I already preferred, instead of urging others to understand for themselves.
A good discussion can only take place when our motives are pure. It ceases to be philosophy if it is about putting on a show, for there is neither love nor wisdom in any of it.
And even if I am being sincere and respectful, I should not expect to be thanked for my efforts—very few of us respond well to having our assumptions poked and prodded, especially the ones that lurk deep down on the inside, silently informing our entire worldview.
Do not be surprised by a few harsh words, and perhaps also the threat of a knuckle sandwich. As much as we may desperately need the medicine, it may taste very bitter at first.
Though I am not sure I would approach a complete stranger with such a pesky problem, any meaningful conversation about life must get to the root, with a line of inquiry, however uncomfortable it might be, that shakes the foundation of everything we claim to hold dear.
In the order of nature, the causes precede the effects, but in the order of our discovery, the effects precede the causes. The investigation must push our thinking backwards, to arrive at the why behind the what, to make us revisit our priorities.
There is no profound secret to asking a constructive set of questions—they must simply challenge us to be consistent in our principles, by applying the same rules in one corner of our lives as we do in another.
If I have worked so hard at protecting my property, my health, or my reputation, how much effort have I applied to the excellence of my character? Should it be the same? Or maybe it should be far more, because the goods of the body are subservient to the goods of the soul? If I am brutally honest with myself, haven’t I actually been doing far less than is necessary, hoping I could pull a fast one?
Once I began to admire Socrates, I felt an itch to imitate his style; I notice how this is fairly common among young spirits who are suddenly on fire with philosophy, but who have not yet moved beyond a need to define themselves by some quirky image. In college, I was often that brooding fellow in the corner, spinning obscure records while smoking foreign cigarettes, so confronting innocent bystanders with odd questions was right up my alley.
It didn’t work out, of course, because I was merely engaged in an absurd caricature, going through the motions for all the wrong reasons. I was interested in looking clever, not in being helpful, and I was trying to drop hints to an answer I already preferred, instead of urging others to understand for themselves.
A good discussion can only take place when our motives are pure. It ceases to be philosophy if it is about putting on a show, for there is neither love nor wisdom in any of it.
And even if I am being sincere and respectful, I should not expect to be thanked for my efforts—very few of us respond well to having our assumptions poked and prodded, especially the ones that lurk deep down on the inside, silently informing our entire worldview.
Do not be surprised by a few harsh words, and perhaps also the threat of a knuckle sandwich. As much as we may desperately need the medicine, it may taste very bitter at first.
Though I am not sure I would approach a complete stranger with such a pesky problem, any meaningful conversation about life must get to the root, with a line of inquiry, however uncomfortable it might be, that shakes the foundation of everything we claim to hold dear.
In the order of nature, the causes precede the effects, but in the order of our discovery, the effects precede the causes. The investigation must push our thinking backwards, to arrive at the why behind the what, to make us revisit our priorities.
There is no profound secret to asking a constructive set of questions—they must simply challenge us to be consistent in our principles, by applying the same rules in one corner of our lives as we do in another.
If I have worked so hard at protecting my property, my health, or my reputation, how much effort have I applied to the excellence of my character? Should it be the same? Or maybe it should be far more, because the goods of the body are subservient to the goods of the soul? If I am brutally honest with myself, haven’t I actually been doing far less than is necessary, hoping I could pull a fast one?
As much as it hurts to learn that we are trying to live out a contradiction, we have no one to blame but ourselves. The dialogue breaks us down, so we can then get on with the task of rebuilding.
—Reflection written in 8/2001
IMAGE: Marcello Bacciarelli, Alcibiades Being Taught by Socrates (1777)
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