Eighth installment:
Arrian, a student of Epictetus, wrote eight books, The Discourses of Epictetus, of which four survive. Selections from those eight books were also collected in the Enchiridion, or “Handbook.” The Discourses give us a quite vivid portrait of the man who inspired them, and also give us fascinating glimpses into his singular didactic style. We very quickly see how Epictetus ran his school, the nature of its curricula, and how he mentored his students. We see his earnestness, his zeal, and piety, but we also get a good dose of his sharp and often acerbic sense of humor. It is no wonder that Arrian felt he ‘had to get this down.’
It also can be quite a challenge to understand exactly what is being said in the chapters of the Discourses. The text is composed of lecture notes, we must recall.
So, with that genesis in mind, I’ve set out to read through the four books, a chapter at a time, while also breaking up the text with commentary, (essentially my best guesses as to how we might flesh out what can be very brief or truncated sketches of dialogue and argumentation), as it was no easy business for Arrian to get down what he had experienced in the lecture halls of Nicopolis!
Commentary is in italics! Also, please forgive any formatting issues (spacing between paragraphs) that you see. They stubbornly will not go away no matter what I do!
Book I Chapter 8:
That the Reasoning Faculties, In the Case of The Uneducated, Are Not Free from Error
Just in case the message to his students at the end of the last chapter didn’t sink in, Epictetus devotes the next chapter to driving home that same basic point about the study of logic and its intended function for Stoics:
In as many ways as it is possible to vary the meaning of equivalent terms, in so many ways may a man also vary the forms of his controversial arguments and of his enthymemes in reasoning.
An enthymeme is essentially an argument in ordinary prose, one NOT cast in formal terms, such as Aristotelian syllogism, or todays first order symbolic logic. Some of the exercises in logic classes involve taking these often ‘incomplete’ natural language arguments and reformulating them in standard forms, such as the Aristotelian syllogisms. As he mentions here, this often allows people to lay bare ambiguous terms, and create several competing arguments each highlighting a particular reading, making it easier to evaluate the strength of the arguments.
Take this syllogism, for instance: If you have borrowed and have not repaid, you owe me the money; now you have not borrowed and have not repaid; therefore, you do not owe me the money. And no man is better fitted to employ such variations skillfully than the philosopher. For if, indeed, the enthymeme is an incomplete syllogism, it is clear that he who has been exercised in the perfect syllogism would be no less competent to deal with the imperfect also.
Epictetus is saying here that someone well versed in utilizing Aristotelian or Stoic propositional logic often has learned these systems by way of translating normal prose arguments into these more formal and explicit forms, laying bare any ambiguities or unstated premises, and any implicit logical relations being relied upon, as is the case with the example given. Sometimes arguments can be put in logically equivalent, but superficially different forms, but are not seen as such. Facility in the discipline allows students to catch the subtle similarities and differences between argument forms or propositions.
In so exercising themselves, students renders themselves able to do this with acumen and alacrity for ordinary language arguments, no matter who presents them, and are able to find any faults they may have that could mislead folks, and also better able to attest to the cogency or strength of those arguments that are formally valid and sound (that is; which consist of true premises).
So, these are some quite tangible benefits provided by the study of logic. When coupled with a concerted motivation to serve the good, proper, decent and moral, things of great beauty can be accomplished by the well-trained logician.
This is the ideal case.
However, in the world of real human beings, there are certain temptations that exist when one attains competency in this realm, ones that Epictetus has discussed before. A well-trained logical virtuoso can end up becoming quite full of himself, and carried away with exercise of his skills, primarily doing so to acquire the ‘oohs, aahs’ and accolades of audiences for its own sake. Such people become preening peacocks instead of serious reasoners. They also can become quite aware of any rhetorical power they may have over others due to this familiarity with logic and the complexities of language, and unscrupulously take advantage of that sway:
Why, then, do we neglect to exercise ourselves and one another in this way? Because, even now, without receiving exercise in these matters, or even being, by me at least, diverted from the study of morality, we nevertheless make no progress toward the beautiful and the good. What, therefore, must we expect, if we should take on this occupation also? (And especially since it would not merely be an additional occupation to draw us away from those which are more necessary, but would also be an exceptional excuse for conceit and vanity.) For great is the power of argumentation and persuasive reasoning, and especially if it should enjoy excessive exercise and receive likewise a certain additional ornament from language.
The reason is that, in general, every faculty which is acquired by the uneducated and the weak is dangerous for them, as being apt to make them conceited and puffed up over it.
The point here is that we are all, at one time or other “uneducated and weak,” and, by way of making efforts at becoming ‘educated and strong,’ take on the risk of using that education in ways less than moral. This is certainly true in the case of rhetoric, as Epictetus was well aware. He thinks the same holds for acumen in reasoning and logic.
We can choose to become sophists or demagogues, using that acumen for personal aggrandizement or other less than noble and moral ends. In the first blush of having acquired these skills, youthful exuberance might lead one in this direction. Mentors owe it to society and to their pupils to prevent this, and should lead students to see themselves and their disciplines as being used for the greater good, in service to humanity and divine purpose. Students in the midst of that flush of power should not be allowed to see their disciplines as a tantalizing manipulative tool, to be wielded in the interests of personal ambition.
For by what device might one any longer persuade a young man who excels in these faculties to make them an appendage to himself instead of his becoming an appendage to them? Does he not trample all these reasons under foot, and strut about in our presence, all conceited and puffed up, much less submitting if any one, by way of reproof, reminds him of what he lacks and wherein he has gone astray?
Now Epictetus broadens this sort of cautionary to the discipline of philosophy in general, pointing out, as he already has in the earlier chapter, that people who train in it can unintentionally be led into valuing what we can call the literary or rhetorical ‘ornamentation’ of some philosophers they study who also happen to be gifted writers or charismatic orators. Such impressionable folks will be swayed more toward mimicry of that ornamentation, instead of the sincere and humble task of pursuing truth and serving man’s Moral Purpose, the primary task of the committed philosopher. This is not to say that such ‘decorative’ skills and clarity of expression are useless. Far from it. (His constant jibes at Chrysippus indicate the value Epictetus does see in lucidity and perspicacity) but does indicate that these are ultimately NOT what philosophy is all about. Philosophy is not rhetoric, nor is it merely pursuit of literary style undertaken for its own sake:
What then? Was not Plato a philosopher? Yes, and was not Hippocrates a physician? But you see how eloquently Hippocrates expresses himself. Does Hippocrates, then, express himself so eloquently by virtue of his being a physician?
The answer is ‘no.’ (It is not by virtue of his eloquence that he is an outstanding physician either, by the way.)
Why, then, do you confuse things that for no particular reason have been combined in the same man? Now if Plato was handsome and strong, ought I to sit down and strive to become handsome, or become strong, on the assumption that this is necessary for philosophy, because a certain philosopher was at the same time both handsome and a philosopher?
Again, the answer is obviously ‘no.’
Are you not willing to observe and distinguish just what that is by virtue of which men become philosophers, and what qualities pertain to them for no particular reason?
This last question is a bit unclear, it perhaps can be rephrased in this way:
‘Are you not willing to observe and distinguish just what it is by virtue of which men become good philosophers, and, on the other hand, those qualities that pertain to them for some other reason (such as any qualities men have received as natural gifts)?’
That is the point of the hypothetical Epictetus presents us with, which paints Plato as strong and handsome. These qualities he has through no intellectual effort of his own, and have nothing to do with his status and job as a philosopher.
If one who professed to be following Plato in his role as philosopher insisted that his personal efforts be made toward making himself handsome and strong, in mimicry of Plato, that person would obviously be missing the mark. So too, a professed desire to emulate his literary prowess. It’s beside the point, even if it is also true, that Plato’s literary prowess does serve to make philosophy appealing to those that read him.
Next, Epictetus makes the same point using himself, and his lameness as further illustration:
Come now, if I were a philosopher, ought you to become lame like me?
Again, the answer is clearly that lameness is entirely irrelevant to doing philosophy, and crippling oneself in hopes of becoming a good philosopher thereby would be, to say the least, very odd.
What then? Am I depriving you of these faculties? Far be it from me!
No more than I am depriving you of the faculty of sight. Yet, if you enquire of me what is man’s good, I can give you no other answer than that it is wrapped up in Moral Purpose.
Epictetus to his students (and as reminder to himself):
‘Hey, if you want to become, handsome, strong, lame or eloquent, no one is stopping you. But, be aware, as you do, that these things are not strictly relevant to becoming a good philosopher. In fact, setting out to become a good philosopher in the Stoic tradition has to do with, not only the science and art of argumentation, but most vitally, looking out after yourself and others in our uniquely human status as Moral Purposes.’