Epictetus, Discourses 2.14.4

“At what point, then, must we begin?” 
 
If you attempt this task, I will tell you, that you must first understand terms. 
 
“What? Do you imply that I do not understand terms now?” 
 
You do not. 
 
“How then do I use them?” 
 
You use them as illiterate persons deal with written sounds, as cattle deal with impressions: for it is one thing to use them, and another to understand. If you think you understand them, let us take any term you like and put ourselves to the test, to see if we understand. 
 
“But it is vexatious when one is getting old, and has served, if it so chance, one's three campaigns, to be put through an examination.” 
 
I know that as well as you. You have come to me now as if you were in want of nothing: and indeed what could you be imagined as wanting? You are rich, you have children, it may be, and a wife and many servants, the Emperor knows you, you possess many friends in Rome, you perform the acts appropriate to you, you know how to return good for good and evil for evil. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.14 
 
I don’t much like being told that I don’t get it, until I realize why the offense is not about the exposure of my ignorance, but rather about my hasty presumption of understanding. I feel insulted because of my vanity, when I should actually feel grateful because of my humility. 
 
Naso’s weakness is such a widespread weakness. He is convinced he has it all figured out, and he is then ashamed to learn how he skipped over the most important bits. Which of us has not been blindsided by such a rude awakening? Which of us has not responded with outrage, in order to mask the vulnerability? 
 
In so many cases, going right back to the beginning is the best choice; it will only seem degrading and tedious if I remain hung up on my standing, as if such claims of expertise have any authentic merit. I may brag that I have an advanced degree, that I possess years of professional experience, or that my credentials are impeccable, but it won’t make a spot of difference if I haven’t the slightest clue about the workings of my own nature.
 
Though I do worry about the performative language on LinkedIn creeping its way into daily speech, it is a relief to see Naso spouting similar nonsense, just in the style of ancient Rome. We are not alone in believing that a list of fancy titles can somehow take the place of genuine competence. 
 
We also try to hide behind old age as an excuse for avoiding the legwork, as if seniority gives us the privilege to cease forming rudimentary judgments. The old man tells the middle-aged man to fix it, and the middle-aged man tells the young man to fix it, and the young man lacks a training to fix it, so in the end, shockingly, nothing gets fixed. 
 
Behind the specialized words, there are the simple words, the ones that express the most basic concepts in daily living. As often as I use them, do I truly understand what these terms represent? I speak of what is appropriate, and yet I have never questioned the fashion. I claim it is a fair decision, and yet I have no definition of justice. I insist it will bring us a profit, and yet I lack a description of benefit. 
 
In kindergarten, we had books that taught us the letters of the alphabet, and how those letters were then joined together to build common words. But as we grew older, was it enough to point at some colorful picture for an explanation of the meaning? We sadly neglect the critical and the reflective components, settling for the dull awareness of a pretty parrot. 
 
Like all of us, Naso needs to ask himself what he really wants out of life. Fortune has smiled on him—now what can be said about his character? He rewards his friends and he punishes his enemies, without ever challenging the rules of the game. 

—Reflection written in 9/2001 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.14.3

The philosophers say that the first thing one must learn is this: that God exists and provides for the Universe, and it is impossible for a man to act or even to conceive a thought or reflection without God knowing. 
 
The next thing is to learn the true nature of the gods. For whatever their nature is discovered to be, he that is to please and obey them must needs try, so far as he can, to make himself like them. 
 
If God is faithful, he must be faithful too; if free, he must be free too; if beneficent, he too must be beneficent: if high-minded, he must be high-minded: he must, in fact, as one who makes God his ideal, follow this out in every act and word. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.14 
 
As soon as there is any mention of God, the postmodernists go into a panic. The abject terror of anything Divine can quickly translate into an extreme belligerence, even if the consequent burning at the stake is merely symbolic. 
 
For example, the majority of folks who now describe themselves as “Stoics” are atheists, or at the very least agnostic, on the grounds that the ancient teachings must be updated for contemporary sensibilities. This is disturbing, not because of which side currently happens to be winning in the culture wars, but because a philosophy ceases to be that philosophy once you excise one of its underlying principles. 
 
I have no interest in waging tribal warfare, so I will only suggest that some might feel far more at home among the Epicureans. There is plenty of room for many different views, though we shouldn’t obscure them by attaching the wrong labels. 
 
If it’s any consolation, I too have an immediate aversion to the sanctimonious zealots, for whom religion involves little more than admiring themselves in the mirror. I only get beyond the bitterness when my conception of God becomes so very big that my petty preferences now appear so very small. Let’s not forget who was made in whose image and likeness. 
 
When Epictetus builds his philosophy on the presence of God, he is not concerned with sectarian loyalties or extravagant imaginings. At the most basic level, it is a question of where we find the absolute, that by which all other things are measured. If we remove this, we make any judgment impossible, for then there ceases to be a standard, and we are left with the contradiction of claiming that everything is relative to everything else. 
 
Given my background, it helps me to express this in the language of the Scholastics. There can be nothing complex without something simple. There can be no degrees without a perfection. That which has limits exists within the infinite. Here and there are only possible through that which is everywhere. The changing must proceed from the unchanging. For there to be many, there must first be a one. . . . 
 
Whatever name you wish to apply to it, this is the fullness of the Divine. It follows that, however meager our human awareness might be, all of our thoughts, words, and deeds will only become good by a participation with what is ultimate. From the one end, all beings are but an expression of Being, and from the other end, all creatures aspire to the ideal of their Creator. 
 
There can be no philosophy, not of any sort, in the absence of an anchor, a benchmark, or a touchstone. Some will seek to twist themselves into a measure, at which point an effect is mistaken for a cause, and others will seek to dispose of any measure entirely, at which point reason has been abandoned, regardless of how much we call it science. It is perhaps best to attribute such errors to confusion instead of malice. 
 
Before we can even speak of something as true, or good, or beautiful, we must first establish the norm. 

—Reflection written in 9/2001 

IMAGE: William Blake, Angel of the Revelation (c. 1805) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.14.2

So with philosophy; we picture to ourselves the work of the philosopher to be something of this sort: he must bring his own will into harmony with events, in such manner that nothing which happens should happen against our will, and that we should not wish for anything to happen that does not happen. 
 
The result of this is that those who have thus ordered their life do not fail to get what they will, and do not fall into what they will to avoid: each man spends his own life free from pain, from fear, and from distraction, and maintains the natural and acquired relations which unite him to his fellows—the part of son, father, brother, citizen, husband, wife, neighbor, fellow traveler, ruler, subject. 
 
Such is the business of the philosopher as we picture it. The next thing is that we seek how we are to achieve it. 
 
Now we see that the carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning certain things, the helmsman becomes a helmsman by learning certain things. May we, then, infer that in the sphere of conduct too it is not enough merely to wish to become good, but one must learn certain things? We have, then, to look and see what these things are. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.14 
 
We are happy to wear the fancy shoes, but we can’t be bothered to make them, or even to repair them, for ourselves. Our houses are filled with furniture, sometimes quite ornate and luxurious, and yet I have, in my many travels, met just one man who had built it all with his own two hands. 
 
Isn’t it much the same with philosophy, when we enjoy the leisure of pondering deep thoughts, while simultaneously feeling disgusted by the drudgery of establishing our principles? 
 
Those with intellectual aspirations will make sweeping claims about truth and justice, though you will rarely find anyone who is able to define such fundamental terms. Even those who have no use for abstractions, hostile to any life of the mind, can’t help but speak of the good and the bad, of the right and the wrong, in every choice they make. Both the nerds and the jocks are always appealing to ideas from philosophy, and never actually practicing the skills of philosophy. 
 
I think of the countless times someone was fascinated upon first learning of my vocation, only to quickly lose interest once it became clear that philosophy is almost as demanding as calculus. Contrary to common opinion, you can indeed meet beautiful people by quoting Marcus Aurelius, as long as you don’t mind them wandering off after a few minutes. 
 
I wonder if Epictetus is being a bit too generous in how he describes our perception of philosophy, because so very few will go through the trouble of ever questioning their desires: we are moved by a passion, and then, if challenged, we construct a convenient justification for it, as if the conclusion comes before the premises. In any case, there is still a pervasive image of the enlightened sage, who has somehow managed to bring himself into harmony with the Universe—though how he has done so remains suspiciously vague. 
 
However much I might admire the lofty goal, I will not find any liberation without a painstaking knowledge of the thorny path; mystical yearning will not be enough. I have a noble image of the captain standing at the helm, all the while forgetting how it is only his skill as a navigator, acquired through many years of hard experience, that permits him to bring his ship safely into port. 
 
I cannot do what is good without first understanding what is good, for the very concepts of benefit and harm are dependent on a clear grasp of my nature, and how this, in turn, relates to the whole of Nature. 

—Reflection written in 9/2001 

IMAGE: Albert Edelfelt, The Helmsman (1894) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.14.1

Chapter 14: On Naso. 

Once, when a Roman came in with his son and was listening to one of his lectures, Epictetus said: “This is the method of my teaching,” and broke off short. 

 
And when the Roman begged him to continue, he replied: 
 
Every art, when it is being taught, is tiresome to one who is unskilled and untried in it. The products of the arts indeed show at once the use they are made for, and most of them have an attraction and charm of their own; for though it is no pleasure to be present and follow the process by which a shoemaker learns his art, the shoe itself is useful and a pleasant thing to look at as well. 
 
So too the process by which a carpenter learns is very tiresome to the unskilled person who happens to be by, but his work shows the use of his art. 
 
This you will see still more in the case of music, for if you are by when a man is being taught you will think the process of all things the most unpleasant, yet the effects of music are pleasant and delightful for unmusical persons to hear. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.14 
 
A decade ago, I probably found this chapter to be tedious, and it is likely I skimmed over it, believing this to be just another fussy discussion about method, since I was far more interested in getting to the good stuff, an explanation of how I actually needed to live. 

The fact that I do not remember when I first read it, but I now return to it over and over again, helps me to appreciate a change in my own priorities. I can’t go around saying that the product is terribly exciting, while at the same time complaining that the work is painfully dull. 
 
I think it took a stinging line from Chesterton to really wake me up: “There is no such thing on earth as an uninteresting subject; the only thing that can exist is an uninterested person.” 
 
And so now, when my students grumble about the next boring topic, I playfully remind them how being bored is yet another form of being lazy and smug. For the curious chemist, watching the paint dry is genuinely exciting, and for the inquisitive botanist, watching the grass grow can become a profound revelation. I know all too well how my sense of entitlement is an obstacle to my sense of wonder. 
 
As a fellow who didn’t own a car until much later in life, I walked most everywhere I needed to go, from one end of town to the other, often in the worst kind of weather. While I was always grateful for a solid pair of shoes, I never gave the skills of the cobbler a second thought, until my best boots got mangled, and an old man in a tiny shop made them look like new within two hours. Now I can’t look at a shoe without thinking of the craftsmanship that went into making it. 
 
Though I came from a long line of fine carpenters, I quickly grew frustrated with the patience and precision the trade required, and so I sadly never mastered the art of woodworking. I regret this now, with only my backyard whittling as a paltry compensation. This unpleasant experience has become a way to remember why the dignity of the end is only possible through the discipline of the means. 
 
Last but not least, I was raised in a house full of music, from which I learned to value the harmony of sound as a reflection of the beauty in all creation, as powerful as any interplay of light. Yet this did not come to me without continual effort, to the point where I would sometimes toss aside my instrument in disgust. What little competence I do possess is thanks to constant practice, and what remains beyond my ability is mainly due to indolence. 
 
Never underestimate the importance of playing your scales, over and over again, until you can no longer feel your fingers. It is the same in all aspects of life: the habit is built through the exercise, and the exercise, however tiresome it may initially appear, opens the way to finally doing the good, instead of merely wishing for it. 

—Reflection written in 9/2001 

IMAGE: Adriaen van Ostade, The Shoemaker (c. 1650) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.13.6

Well, if you are a rider and have to confront a man on foot in the plain, where you have the advantage of practice and he has not, are you anxious? 
 
“Nay, but he has power to put me to death.” 
 
Miserable man, tell the truth and be not a braggart nor claim to be a philosopher. Know who are your masters. As long as you give them this hold over your body, you must follow everyone who is stronger than you. 
 
But Socrates, who spoke to the Tyrants, to his judges, and in prison, in the tone we know, had studied speaking to some purpose. So had Diogenes, who spoke in the same tone to Alexander, to Philip, to the pirates, to his purchaser. . . . 
 
Leave this to those who have made it their concern, to the confident: and do you go to your own concerns and never leave them again. Go and sit in your corner and weave syllogisms and propound them to others, “No ruler of a state is found in you." 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 
 
I feel sympathetic when Epictetus gets irritated with those whose convictions disappear at the moment they become inconvenient. Such folks are quick to brag about their lofty principles, and yet you won’t hear a peep out of them once there is any danger to their property or reputation, let alone a risk to life and limb. Allow them to sit in their corner, while you are now free to join the company of the sincere and the confident. 
 
I may claim that I am merely playing it safe, but am I considering the true balance of my gains and losses? Perhaps I have retained some comforts for my body, at least for the time being, but what has been the cost to the dignity of my soul? As soon as I bow to the threats, I am selling the conscience within my power, and I have become subject to the circumstances beyond my power. 
 
I sometimes hear the bounders debating whether it is better to be a little fish in a big pond or a big fish in a little pond, and I can only think that I would just prefer to be a good fish in any sort of pond. I should be much pickier about my character than I am about the scenery. 
 
How quickly the sharks end up looking more like minnows! If I wish to be a man of any worth, I must first get my priorities in order. If I wish to aim at some great achievement, let that be in the pursuit of the virtues, where the fine words must always be followed by gutsy deeds. No one can ever take that away. 
 
Do I aspire to be more like Socrates? Where some see only an agitator, feeding off the doubts of his neighbors, others will recognize his mission of self-awareness. He scolded the jurors so that they might learn to find a blessing in a curse. Socrates had no need to impress anyone, so he had no need to fear anyone. 
 
Do I aspire to be more like Diogenes? Where some see only a showman, intent on shocking his audience, others will follow his example of self-mastery. He dismissed Alexander so that he might learn why a king is no different than a slave. Diogenes had no rank to protect, so he had no limits to his liberty. 
 
An anxiety over our consequences decreases as a trust in our integrity increases. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

IMAGE: Pierre Paul Puget, The Meeting of Alexander and Diogenes (1680) 

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 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.13.4

Therefore, Zeno was not distressed when he was going to meet Antigonus, for Antigonus had no authority over any of the things that Zeno admired, and Zeno paid no attention to the possessions of Antigonus. 
 
Antigonus was anxious when he was going to meet Zeno, and with good reason, for he wanted to please him, and this lay beyond his control; but Zeno did not wish to please Antigonus, any more than any artist cares to please one who has no skill. 
 
Do I want to please you? Why should I? Do you know the standards by which man judges man? Have you made it your study to learn what a good man is and what a bad man is, and what makes each of them so? Why, then, are you not good yourself? 
 
“Not good? What do you mean?” he replies. 
 
Why, no good man whines or groans or laments, no good man grows pale or trembles or says, “How will he receive me? What hearing will he give me?” 
 
Slave, he will do as he thinks good. What concern have you in what does not belong to you? Is it not his fault if he gives a bad reception to what you offer? 
 
“His fault, certainly.” 
 
But can the fault be one man's and the harm another's? 
 
“No.” 
 
Why, then, are you anxious about another's concerns? 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 
 
Among those many unwritten rules, we are expected to fret over pleasing our superiors, though I will rarely hear of anyone questioning what actually makes a man better or worse. Generally speaking, if someone is rich, or can slip you a favor, or might cause you some injury, you are told that you should grovel. I once lost a precious hour of my life trapped in a meeting about choosing the best birthday gift for the provost—it was getting awfully close to promotions season. 
 
By all means, give proper respect wherever it may be due, but first reflect upon your standards of merit, and do not treat fawning and fear as if they were forms of reverence. An anxiety over impressing the boss or placating the bully is a mark of weakness, not of virtue, for we dishonor both ourselves and others whenever we play such crafty games. 
 
Zeno was just an insignificant philosopher, and Antigonus was the mighty king of Macedon, yet the one felt absolutely no need to be esteemed, while the other was always worried about winning further approval. How odd that the people who make the most noise in this world will so often possess the least confidence in themselves! If only they had a greater trust in their own convictions, they would not be so moved by the opinions of their fellows. 
 
As much as I may prefer to be liked, it is not within my power to determine anyone else’s judgments. Let me carefully attend to my conscience, and whether I end up being recognized or ignored, let that stand for itself. If I win a friend, that can always serve me well, and if I make an enemy, I can continue to wish him well. Care enough to listen, without caring so much as to turn into a lackey. 
 
Even after over a decade of constant effort, I can still find this incredibly difficult; the obstacle is not, however, from any lack of fierce willpower but from a lack of calm understanding. It just goes to show how long those noxious habits can cling to us. Falling down is so easy, and standing back up is so hard.
 
I continue to feel a sting when I am insulted or rejected, and if I cling to that impression, I will invariably tumble into a pit of agitation and resentment. The only remedy I have found is to let that pesky passion be, to stop what I am doing right then and there, to take a deep breath and get my bearings. A moment of contemplation then makes the consternation seem quite ridiculous. 
 
Once again, if I can change it, there is no cause for worry, and if I can’t change it, there is no cause for worry. A deliberate decision to cease casting blame is a step in the right direction, since it removes the illusion of conflict. I will recognize the victory when the composure finally becomes like a second nature. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.13.3

What do I mean by “having no lawyer”? 
 
I mean that he does not know that he is wishing to have what is not given him, and wishing not to have what he cannot avoid, and he does not know what is his own and what is not his own. 
 
If he did know, he would never feel hindrance or constraint or anxiety; how could he? Does anyone fear about things which are not evil? 
 
“No.” 
 
Or again about things which are evil but are in his power to prevent? 
 
“Certainly not.” 
 
If, then, nothing beyond our will's control is either good or evil, and everything within our will's control depends entirely on ourselves, so that no one can take any such thing away from us or win it for us against our will, what room is left for anxiety? 
 
Yet we are anxious for our bit of a body, for our bit of property, for what Caesar will think, but are not anxious at all for what is within us. 
 
Am I anxious about not conceiving a false thought? No, for that depends on myself. 
 
Or about indulging an impulse contrary to nature? No, not about this either. 
 
So, when you see a man pale, just as the physician, judging from his color, says, “This man's spleen is out of order, or that man's liver”, so do you say, “This man is disordered in the will to get and the will to avoid, he is not in the right way, he is feverish”; for nothing else changes the complexion and causes a man to tremble and his teeth to chatter, 
 
“and droop the knee and sink upon his feet." 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 
 
A few years back, I met a fellow who boldly insisted upon representing himself in a civil trial, and while I did not doubt the righteousness of his cause, I sadly knew that it would not end in his favor. The best of intentions are no substitute for an understanding of what makes it all tick. 
 
If you can stay off their radar, you might avoid a need for the lawyers, but there is no escaping the need to live your life from day to day, in the regular company of your neighbors, while making continual decisions about your desires and aversions. You cannot pay anyone to do this work for you—you will have to suck it up and become a philosopher. 
 
From a sound understanding of the human good, without the distraction of any academic pretensions or professional entanglements, you will discover why there is nothing you should want to get that you don’t already have within your power, and why there is nothing you should want to avoid that is already beyond your power. The crippling anxiety is a result of wishing for all of the wrong things. 
 
Since the fulfillment of any creature is in the excellence of its own nature, it follows that our happiness is from the exercise of our own virtues, to which all other circumstances must be relative. Do not confuse the essence with the accidents. 
 
Or put simply, the quality of my life is in what I choose to do, not merely in what is done to me. Some folks scoff at that old saying about lemons, but that’s probably because they have yet to outgrow a love of complaining.
 
So, if something is outside of my control, why am I permitting it to determine my well-being? And if something is under my control, what is keeping me from changing it for my benefit, right here and now? In either case, the good or the evil are grounded in my estimation: every situation, however imposing, allows me to act with integrity. 
 
Pleasure, riches, and fame are not always blessings, just as pain, poverty, and obscurity are not always curses. Everything hinges upon the presence or absence of character, which explains how a king can be crying while a beggar can be laughing. The distress and the fear turn out to be from a state of mind, never actually from the state of affairs. 
 
Far too often, I catch myself grumbling about various aches and pains, or trembling at the prospects of some wasting disease, when the decay of my body is inevitable, whether it happens sooner or later. Yes, I can take a pill that might give me more time, but what use is the time when the sickness is in my soul? The first task is to get my judgments into shape, so that I do not treat a preference as if it were a necessity. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

IMAGE: Titian, Portrait of a Sick Man (1515) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.13.2

When I see a man, then, in this state of fear, I cannot say that he is no performer with the lyre, but I can say something else of him, and not one thing but many. 
 
And first of all I call him a stranger and say, “This man does not know where in the world he is; though he has been with us so long, he does not know the laws and customs of the City—what he may do and what he may not do—no, nor has he called in a lawyer at any time to tell him and explain to him what are the requirements of the law.” 
 
Of course he does not draw up a will without knowing how he ought to draw it up, or without calling in one who knows, nor does he lightly put his seal to a guarantee or give a written security; but he calls in no lawyer when he is exercising the will to get and will to avoid, impulse and intention and purpose. 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 
 
It was a bit easier to impress me when I was younger, so I was often mesmerized by the affected images of certain musicians, actors, or writers. 
 
I did not know anyone who played the lyre, for example, but there were plenty of electric guitarists, especially those in the exaggerated world of heavy metal, prancing about in all sorts of extreme poses, and twisting their faces as if they were passing a kidney stone. I’m not sure I could now explain the appeal of the big hair and the studded leather. 
 
It was a bit disappointing to discover how “shredding” was far more about theatrics than it was about technical ability, and while I still find great fun in it, I no longer define my life by what anyone does on a stage. Why would I assume that a fellow who can play a good show has any qualifications to inspire me to a good life? Do not confuse your entertainment with your metaphysics. 
 
I eventually realized how many people put on an act in order to run away from their anxieties, as if the appearance on the outside can cover for the disturbance on the inside—it turned out I wasn’t the only one playing make-believe. The cure for my doubts and fears is in learning my way around my own nature, not in learning my way around a fretboard. 
 
In the spirit of Gauguin, which reflects the spirit of all Wisdom Traditions, I will be at peace when I have made some sense of where I have come from, what I am, and where I am going. Then I will know something about the lay of the land, about the ways of the human city, of which I was born a citizen. For all that I have received, where is my duty to give? Whatever is done to me, how am I called to respond? When it is time for the curtain to fall, have I contributed more than just a clever performance? 
 
We are quick to turn to the experts for the most mundane of tasks, and yet I rarely see anyone asking for help when it comes to reading our moral compass, the one thing none of us can afford to mess up. If we need a lawyer to navigate the complexities of the human law, then how much greater is our need for a sage to teach about the depths of the natural law? 
 
A trade might assist us with getting what we want, while philosophy allows us to decide whether it was even worth wanting to begin with. The grasping man is restless, precisely because he has never questioned his actual needs. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.13.1

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. 

—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. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.12.4

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? 
 

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) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.12.3

Such phrases are technical and therefore tiresome to the lay mind, and hard to follow, yet you and I cannot get away from them. We are quite unable to rouse the ordinary man's attention in a way which will enable him to follow his own impressions and so arrive at admitting or rejecting this or that. 
 
And therefore those of us who are at all cautious naturally give the subject up, when we become aware of this incapacity; while the mass of men, who venture at random into this sort of enterprise, muddle others and get muddled themselves, and end by abusing their opponents and getting abused in return, and so leave the field. 
 
But the first quality of all in Socrates, and the most characteristic, was that he never lost his temper in argument, never uttered anything abusive, never anything insolent, but bore with abuse from others and quieted strife. 
 
If you would get to know what a faculty he had in this matter, read the “Banquet” of Xenophon and you will see how many strifes he has brought to an end. Therefore, the poets too with good reason have praised this gift most highly:
 
“And straightway with skill he brought to rest a mighty quarrel." 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.12 
 
In one sense, philosophy can be very much like politics, because those who should practice it want nothing to do with it, while those who shouldn’t practice it are breaking down the door. When the humble amateur looks to the sophisticated professional, he sees only squabbling and self-promotion, tied up in ridiculously specialized language at the expense of any genuine human meaning. 
 
And even the sophists will eventually grow tired of the spectacle, once they no longer find it gratifying, and then they turn their attention to more profitable endeavors. I think of the professors who were itching to become deans, or the priests who had set their eyes on a promotion to bishop. 
 
I once had a teacher who was forever talking about the hidden motives of Socrates, the real reasons he would have conversations with his fellow Athenians. 
 
“Isn’t he trying to inspire people to know themselves?” 
 
“Well yes, but did this just grant him a psychological power over others, or was he also hoping to attain a more systemic form of political power? How did he intend to implement a radical transformation of social justice?” 
 
It is tragic when the jargon of this or that “-ism” discourages us from a simple love of the true and the good. 
 
For all the times I am frustrated by a Socratic dialogue, sometimes to the point of clenching my fists or tossing the book across the room, I never feel like he is trying to sell me on an ideology. I may not know exactly what he wants out of me, but I do know that he was acting in my best interests. If I am patient, and I don’t let my passions get the better of me, I am certain I will walk away with a sliver of insight, as well as a whole new set of questions. 
 
Furthermore, on the most immediate level, I can’t recall a single moment when the old man got angry, or spouted insults, or allowed the tirades of others to knock him off balance. He did have a knack for the occasional sarcastic comment, though this usually helps me to become more critical of myself, despite the initial irritation and confusion. 
 
Have I ever felt offended? Absolutely, and a part of the grueling process is to recognize how the degree of my outrage is a function of my own estimation, not of what anyone else has said or done. I have learned that there are wrongs, and then there are perceptions of wrongs, and the two will not always coincide.
 
Once, thanks to folks like Socrates, I have a fuller understanding of what actually constitutes benefit and harm, I am not so easily vexed. Even if Socrates only taught me that, it would still be a precious lesson. 
 
I never had any teachers introduce me to Xenophon, so I had to discover his writing for myself. I am very glad I did, since they allowed me to think of Socrates independently from the perspective of Plato. They merely confirmed what I already suspected, that here was man I would be honored to have a discussion with, however much I might be pulling out my hair. 
 
The best philosophical conversations have knocked me down instead of puffing me up, by leaving me with a sharp reminder that I am accountable for my own judgements, and only for my own judgments. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

IMAGE: Pietro Testa, Drunken Alcibiades Interrupting the Symposium (1648) 

Epictetus, Discourses 2.12.2

Now how did Socrates proceed? He compelled the man who was conversing with him to be his witness, and needed no witness besides. 
 
Therefore, he was able to say: “I am satisfied with my opponent as a witness, and let everyone else alone: and I do not take the votes of other people, but only of him who is arguing with me.” 
 
For he drew out so clearly the consequences of a man's conceptions that everyone realized the contradiction and abandoned it. 
 
“Does the man who envies rejoice in his envy?” 
 
“Not at all; he is pained rather than pleased.” 
 
Thus he rouses his neighbor by contradiction. 
 
“Well, does envy seem to you to be a feeling of pain at evil things? Yet how can there be envy of things evil?” 
 
So he makes his opponent say that envy is pain felt at good things. 
 
“Again, can a man envy things which do not concern him?” 
 
“Certainly not.” 
 
In this way he made the conception full and articulate, and so went away. He did not say, “Define me envy”, and then, when the man defined it, “You define it ill, for the terms of the definition do not correspond to the subject defined." 

—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.12 
 
When I was first introduced to Socrates, somewhere around the age of fourteen, I disliked the old fellow intensely. It felt as if the blowhard was always calling me out, or making me feel ignorant, or damaging my self-esteem, until I gradually realized how this said far more about me than it ever did about him. I attached a smug tone and a condescending smirk to his words, which was nothing but a product of my unruly imagination. 
 
It can be quite a slap in the face to have one’s assumptions challenged, even if the question is offered in good faith. If I can manage to be humble for a moment, I will be grateful for the chance to finally be responsible for myself, leaving behind a dependence on the lazy platitudes and the herd mentality. 
 
On any given day, how often do I use a word, without quite knowing what it means? A bully, of course, will just try to humiliate me for my error, and yet a friend will offer me the opportunity to work it out for myself, through my own thinking, and in my own time. Where the intention is pure, there is never any need for conflict. 
 
Back in high school, I didn’t know how to pronounce “segue” when I was reading aloud, and our class snob wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. I felt certain I had my revenge, however, when she later mangled “boatswain”, but that just proved how I hadn’t really learned my lesson. Decent people thrive by building up, not by tearing down. 
 
More recently, I was using “jealousy” and “envy” in a sloppy manner, at which point someone casually asked me if they meant the same thing. I thought about it for a moment, corrected myself, and was then swept up in a fascinating diversion about the difference between “guilt” and “shame”. It was only much later that I realized how I had been schooled without even being aware of it, much like the time a doctor gave me a shot when I was wasn’t looking. 
 
It is one thing to be scolded for spouting nonsense, and quite another to be motivated into discovering my mistake through my own personal reflection. I think of it like approaching the problem from the inside instead of from the outside, by addressing the causes over hacking away at the effects, or by doing it for myself rather than having it done for me. 
 
Beyond merely feeling envy, there was a time when I would actually take a certain delight in it, a sort of perverse satisfaction in being grossly dissatisfied. Now if you had yelled at me for trying to live a contradiction, or laughed at me for being so pathetic, I would probably have taken it as another excuse for a pity party. But if you had taken the time to ask me if it was possible to be pained by something good, or to be laid low by something that wasn’t properly my business, I would probably have reconsidered my bad habits. 
 
The Socratic Method was far more than a parlor trick. It was a way to help people to help themselves. 

—Reflection written in 8/2001 

IMAGE: Johann Friedrich Greuter, Socrates and His Students (c. 1650)