Chapter 13: Concerning anxiety.
When I see a man in a state of anxiety, I say, “What can this man want?”
If he did not want something which is not in his power, how could he still be anxious?
It is for this reason that one who sings to the lyre is not anxious when he is performing by himself, but when he enters the theater, even if he has a very good voice and plays well: for he not only wants to perform well, but also to win a great name, and that is beyond his own control.
In fact, where he has knowledge, there he has confidence. Bring in any unskilled person you like, and he pays no heed to him. On the other hand, he is anxious whenever he has no knowledge and has made no study of the subject.
What does this mean? He does not know what “the people” is, nor what its praise is worth: he has learnt to strike the bottom note or the top note, but he does not know what the praise of the multitude is, nor what value it has in life; he has made no study of that. So he is bound to tremble and grow pale.
When I see a man in a state of anxiety, I say, “What can this man want?”
If he did not want something which is not in his power, how could he still be anxious?
It is for this reason that one who sings to the lyre is not anxious when he is performing by himself, but when he enters the theater, even if he has a very good voice and plays well: for he not only wants to perform well, but also to win a great name, and that is beyond his own control.
In fact, where he has knowledge, there he has confidence. Bring in any unskilled person you like, and he pays no heed to him. On the other hand, he is anxious whenever he has no knowledge and has made no study of the subject.
What does this mean? He does not know what “the people” is, nor what its praise is worth: he has learnt to strike the bottom note or the top note, but he does not know what the praise of the multitude is, nor what value it has in life; he has made no study of that. So he is bound to tremble and grow pale.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.13
They tell me that our post-modern age is especially cursed with the most crippling anxieties, and so the intellectuals will obsess about which alienating social conditions are the most to blame. I suspect, however, that the source of our worry has nothing to do with any oppressive circumstances, and everything to do with seeking out a meaning and purpose beyond the merit within our own souls.
As Pascal said, “All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone."
No, it isn’t a result of the internet, or the culture wars, or the chemicals in the food—do not confuse the cause with the consequence. The Romans felt it just as we feel it, because any creature gifted with reason and will is also tempted by the option of looking for love in all the wrong places. How agitated we become when we gamble our happiness on forces so far beyond our control!
The example of fretting over an audience is spot-on: whenever I sit down to play one of my instruments, or to write down my thoughts, or to whittle away at a piece of wood, there isn’t a smidgeon of dread; there is a joy in the deed for its own sake, and a satisfaction from improving, however slow and tedious the progress.
The doubts only start to creep in when I sense that I am being watched, and then I am suddenly questioning my own worth, as if the value of anything is merely in someone else’s impressions. Can I consider it confidence when I am bowing to your opinion? And if I truly know it to be good, why do I require your approval? The apprehension will pass once I can be certain of my own principles.
Behind the mastery of some particular skill, there must also be a mastery of a universal human measure. For all the achievement in hitting the right note, or crafting the perfect phrase, or carving a charming figurine, there is an understanding of how it can serve to increase our virtues, and why the only performance that counts is the one that strengthens our character.
I should look to the fulfillment of my nature, and then allow fortune to unfold as she best sees fit. While a compliment can be gratifying, an insult can be just as beneficial, depending on who has offered it, and on how I have chosen to receive it. As the virtuoso is not troubled by the criticism of the novice, so the sage is not offended by the complaints of a fool. To contemplate the dignity of the act is to rise above the impulses of the mob. The resentment can give way to love.
They tell me that our post-modern age is especially cursed with the most crippling anxieties, and so the intellectuals will obsess about which alienating social conditions are the most to blame. I suspect, however, that the source of our worry has nothing to do with any oppressive circumstances, and everything to do with seeking out a meaning and purpose beyond the merit within our own souls.
As Pascal said, “All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone."
No, it isn’t a result of the internet, or the culture wars, or the chemicals in the food—do not confuse the cause with the consequence. The Romans felt it just as we feel it, because any creature gifted with reason and will is also tempted by the option of looking for love in all the wrong places. How agitated we become when we gamble our happiness on forces so far beyond our control!
The example of fretting over an audience is spot-on: whenever I sit down to play one of my instruments, or to write down my thoughts, or to whittle away at a piece of wood, there isn’t a smidgeon of dread; there is a joy in the deed for its own sake, and a satisfaction from improving, however slow and tedious the progress.
The doubts only start to creep in when I sense that I am being watched, and then I am suddenly questioning my own worth, as if the value of anything is merely in someone else’s impressions. Can I consider it confidence when I am bowing to your opinion? And if I truly know it to be good, why do I require your approval? The apprehension will pass once I can be certain of my own principles.
Behind the mastery of some particular skill, there must also be a mastery of a universal human measure. For all the achievement in hitting the right note, or crafting the perfect phrase, or carving a charming figurine, there is an understanding of how it can serve to increase our virtues, and why the only performance that counts is the one that strengthens our character.
I should look to the fulfillment of my nature, and then allow fortune to unfold as she best sees fit. While a compliment can be gratifying, an insult can be just as beneficial, depending on who has offered it, and on how I have chosen to receive it. As the virtuoso is not troubled by the criticism of the novice, so the sage is not offended by the complaints of a fool. To contemplate the dignity of the act is to rise above the impulses of the mob. The resentment can give way to love.
—Reflection written in 8/2001
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