What do you lack?
If I show you that you lack what is most necessary and important for happiness, and that hitherto you have paid attention to everything rather than to acting appropriately, and if I conclude my criticism by saying that you do not know what God or man is, or what good or evil is, though perhaps you may bear being told of your ignorance in other ways, you cannot bear with me when I say that you do not know your own self; how can you submit to examination and abide my question?
You cannot bear it at all: you go away at once in disgust.
And yet what evil have I done you? Unless indeed the mirror does harm to the ugly man, by showing him what sort of man he is: unless the physician too insults the sick man, when he says to him, “Sir, you think there is nothing wrong with you, but you are in a fever; take no food today and drink water”; and no one says, “What shocking insolence!”
But if you say to a man, “There is fever in your will to get, your will to avoid is degraded, your designs are inconsistent, your impulses out of harmony with nature, your conceptions random and false,” he goes away at once and says, “He insulted me!"
If I show you that you lack what is most necessary and important for happiness, and that hitherto you have paid attention to everything rather than to acting appropriately, and if I conclude my criticism by saying that you do not know what God or man is, or what good or evil is, though perhaps you may bear being told of your ignorance in other ways, you cannot bear with me when I say that you do not know your own self; how can you submit to examination and abide my question?
You cannot bear it at all: you go away at once in disgust.
And yet what evil have I done you? Unless indeed the mirror does harm to the ugly man, by showing him what sort of man he is: unless the physician too insults the sick man, when he says to him, “Sir, you think there is nothing wrong with you, but you are in a fever; take no food today and drink water”; and no one says, “What shocking insolence!”
But if you say to a man, “There is fever in your will to get, your will to avoid is degraded, your designs are inconsistent, your impulses out of harmony with nature, your conceptions random and false,” he goes away at once and says, “He insulted me!"
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.14
We quickly comply with medical advice, while becoming quite indignant about moral advice. Why might this be?
An old friend once proposed it was because science is like our new religion, and doctors now behave as if they were priests, but I then asked him how this could explain Epictetus describing the very same problem back in ancient Rome.
He shrugged and said, “I dunno, maybe folks are just boneheads?” We had a good laugh, and I will always remember him for that stock phrase.
Nevertheless, what makes anyone choose to be so stubborn? Don’t we know what’s good for us? Ah, there’s the rub! For all the materialism of the modern age, a confusion about our nature is a universal shortcoming. Give a man the freedom of judgment, and he is so tempted to follow the easiest route.
My priorities inform my choices, so I will gladly obey if I perceive a certain benefit. When a professional tells me that a new drug will grant me a longer and more comfortable life, I am eager to hand him my money, because the pleasures of my body matter the most. Yet when a philosopher tells me that a timeless attitude will greatly increase my virtues, I am hesitant to change my habits, because the character of my soul is not so high on my list.
Though this helps to explain an indifference about a healthy conscience, it can’t account for the downright hostility we have toward any moral correction. For myself, I can only observe how I would still like to appear like a good man to others, even as I don’t necessarily care about acting like a good man to others. As a result, I take offense at being called out, at having my cover blown; I retain an instinctive knowledge about my purpose, even when I fail to make it authentic.
I can do so much better. I can do far more than pretend.
For all the make-believe, do I truly understand the rudimentary principles of my nature? What is good and what is evil? What brings happiness and what brings misery? What is God and what is man? I cannot proceed with any other aspects of my life when these questions remain unanswered, or when my awareness is superficial. I lash out at the wise counsel, in the hope of dodging my own responsibility.
It is humbling to be exposed for not knowing myself, and it is more convenient to be angry with another than to improve myself. It would be best for me to heed the guidance of the sage, since he recognizes exactly what I need, far more than any physician.
We quickly comply with medical advice, while becoming quite indignant about moral advice. Why might this be?
An old friend once proposed it was because science is like our new religion, and doctors now behave as if they were priests, but I then asked him how this could explain Epictetus describing the very same problem back in ancient Rome.
He shrugged and said, “I dunno, maybe folks are just boneheads?” We had a good laugh, and I will always remember him for that stock phrase.
Nevertheless, what makes anyone choose to be so stubborn? Don’t we know what’s good for us? Ah, there’s the rub! For all the materialism of the modern age, a confusion about our nature is a universal shortcoming. Give a man the freedom of judgment, and he is so tempted to follow the easiest route.
My priorities inform my choices, so I will gladly obey if I perceive a certain benefit. When a professional tells me that a new drug will grant me a longer and more comfortable life, I am eager to hand him my money, because the pleasures of my body matter the most. Yet when a philosopher tells me that a timeless attitude will greatly increase my virtues, I am hesitant to change my habits, because the character of my soul is not so high on my list.
Though this helps to explain an indifference about a healthy conscience, it can’t account for the downright hostility we have toward any moral correction. For myself, I can only observe how I would still like to appear like a good man to others, even as I don’t necessarily care about acting like a good man to others. As a result, I take offense at being called out, at having my cover blown; I retain an instinctive knowledge about my purpose, even when I fail to make it authentic.
I can do so much better. I can do far more than pretend.
For all the make-believe, do I truly understand the rudimentary principles of my nature? What is good and what is evil? What brings happiness and what brings misery? What is God and what is man? I cannot proceed with any other aspects of my life when these questions remain unanswered, or when my awareness is superficial. I lash out at the wise counsel, in the hope of dodging my own responsibility.
It is humbling to be exposed for not knowing myself, and it is more convenient to be angry with another than to improve myself. It would be best for me to heed the guidance of the sage, since he recognizes exactly what I need, far more than any physician.
—Reflection written in 9/2001
IMAGE: Jacob Toorenvliet, The Doctor's Visit (c. 1667)
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