Epictetus, Discourses 2.13.5

“Nay, but I am anxious to know how I am to address him.” 
 
What, is it not in your power to address him as you will? 
 
“Yes, but I am afraid I may lose my self-possession.” 
 
Are you afraid of losing your self-possession when you are going to write the name Dion? 
 
“Certainly not.” 
 
What is the reason? Is it not, that you have practiced writing? Of course it is. Or again, when you are about to read, would you not be in like case? 
 
“Exactly.” 
 
What is the reason? The reason is that every art contains within it an element of strength and confidence. 
 
Have you not practiced speaking, then? What else did you study at school? You studied syllogisms and variable arguments. 
 
What for? Was it not that you might converse with skill, and does not “with skill’ mean in good season, with security and good sense, and, more than that, without failure or hindrance, and, to crown all, with confidence? 
 
“Yes." 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 

 
In the peculiar circles I travel in, I have now experienced both the secular and the spiritual varieties of bombastic language. There’s nothing like an impressive title to make a dull bureaucrat feel like he’s a terribly important person, or a mystical utterance to cast the illusion of dignity on our bland mediocrity. Though words ought to clarify things, we too often use them to obfuscate things. 
 
I noticed that our nurse has become a senior wellness coordinator, and our janitor is listed in the directory as a facilities management technician. I fear I am the only one who still thinks the old names were far more distinguished, and even comforting, but while I see no shame in using humble and honest words, I have also learned to keep my mouth shut, lest I suddenly find myself subject to a workforce imbalance correction. 
 
I am standing my ground, however, with a local priest, who was recently made a monsignor, and now loudly corrects me whenever I still address him as “Father”. Although I have a great attachment to medieval formalities, I have absolutely no intention of stroking his ego, even as I am happy to overlook his butchering of so many Latin phrases, which he sadly believes will make him appear more holy. 
 
Let them have their titles, for I bear then no ill will. You will please forgive me, however, for not playing along with the game, or for having a confidence in the unadorned expressions of common sense. It is one thing to be careful about what we might say, but quite another to be afraid about what we are permitted to say. It remains the task of a man to form his own conscience, by his own skill, and while he should patiently listen to others, he should never allow himself to be bullied. 
 
Will I offend the master? What will he do to me if I fumble for my words? Shall I be cast out for failing to submit to the latest fashion? Such an anxiety reveals that I have already surrendered a mastery of myself, by reducing the true, the good, and the beautiful to the vagaries of mere impressions. Regardless of your scolding, I still know how to spell the words, and I still know what they mean. I am trying to examine the thing itself, and I am not looking over my shoulder to see if you happen to approve. 
 
All is lost once the bosses can dictate how we think and how we speak, by threatening us with poverty, suppression, or the fires of hell. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001