Nineteenth 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. The subject matter sometimes jumps from one subject to another, veering into matters that are not obviously related to what we have just read. Sometimes these tangential matters are finally related back to things brought up earlier, or to the main topic of the chapter. Sometimes they are not. This leaves the reader with the task of finding the connections. Epictetus deliberately ‘weaves’ in an almost conversational style. His is most certainly not the style of the tightly outlined academic’s essay. He does not write like Aristotle, nor, if we are to believe his own testimony, like the Stoic school’s founders (chief among them, Chrysippus). Yet, we can see, as we ride his ‘weave’ that he was quite versed in all aspects of the school’s doctrine.
So, with that genesis, and that style of writing in mind, I’ve set out to read through the four extant 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 some of his ‘weave,’ (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!
A last note: I use the Oldfather translation in the Loeb Classical Library, and have taken some editorial and interpretive liberties where I thought it necessary. But, I’ve tried to keep such changes to a minimum. The advantage of using this translation is that it can easily be accessed via various online sources, and given that it presents, along with Oldfather’s translation and footnotes, the text in the original Greek, it is quite useful for those that would like to check any translations or interpretations against the original.
Book I, Chapter 19
How Ought We to Bear Ourselves Toward Tyrants?
The ostensible subject for discussion in this chapter is not so much how one should behave toward tyrants as it is what attitude a proper Stoic should take toward office, fame and repute. There is indeed a passage like others we have already encountered, that does present us with an exchange between a Stoic and tyrant, the latter again presenting threat of imprisonment or death, but the scope of examples here is of wider reach. Much of this chapter is quite amusing and biting. This is another one of those chapters where Epictetus’s personality shines through. It certainly gives us an illustration of why it is Arrian, student and close friend, felt impelled to get it all down in writing for posterity!
If a man possesses some superiority, or thinks at least that he does, even though he does not, it is quite unavoidable that this man, if he is uneducated, becomes puffed up on account of it.
Epictetus means to get across something here about Stoic education. If properly undertaken, it humbles, for we learn not only how much we do not know, but how contingent life is, and the fragility of fortune when it comes to ‘externals.’ The educated Stoic is aware of the different standard that obtains when it comes to internals, that is; his Moral Purpose, or moral core, that most important and lone thing over which he can exercise real control. He also knows that the uneducated will fall into the trap of giving Moral Purpose no thought, and will become arrogant. When they attempt to exercise that arrogance with a more Stoically ‘educated’ person, they will have their balloons deflated.
For example, the tyrant exclaims, “I am the mightiest in the world.”
Very well, what can you do for me? Can you secure for me desire that is free from any hindrance? How can you? Do you have it yourself? Can you secure for my aversion proof against encountering what it would avoid? Do you have it yourself? Or infallible choice? And where can you claim a share in that?
Again, an individual that has properly attuned desire and aversion, thereby possesses ‘proof’ or protection against having his or her desires or aversions frequently thwarted. Why? Because properly attuned desire and aversion will focus concern only on the state of the Moral Purpose of the individual in question, and will not be perturbed by externals, be they threats or promised benefits from others.
Additionally, if perchance, a tyrant, or anyone were to promise that they could fulfil all desires and provide protection against all things considered averse, he would be promising the impossible, and risibly indulging in the realm of fantasy.
What is more, as is often the case with those, like tyrants, that wield merely political power, when we duly consider it, they actually do not provide valuable services of practical value. There are others in our world, allegedly humbler in status, that provide more value to society.
Epictetus responds in exactly this way to this puffed up tyrant:
Come, when you are on board ship, do you feel confidence in yourself, or in the skilled navigator? And when you are in a chariot, in whom do you feel confidence other than the skilled driver. And how is it in the other arts?
The same way.
What does your power amount to, then?
“All men pay attention to me.”
Our tyrant has provided an opening for some biting sarcasm. Epictetus takes advantage and savages him:
Yes, and I pay attention to my little plate and wash it and wipe it out, and for the sake of my oil-flask I drive a peg in the wall. What follows, then? Are these things superior to me? No, but they render me some service, and therefore I pay attention to them. Again, do I not pay attention to my donkey? Do I not wash his feet? Do I not curry him? Do you not know that every man pays attention to himself, and to you just as he does to his donkey? For who pays attention to you as to a man? Point him out to me. Who wishes to become like you? Who becomes a zealous follower of yours as men did of Socrates?
In short, people may pay attention to the tyrant in the sense of being wary of him, but is this reason for him to be puffed up? People ‘pay attention’ to other things, (oil flasks, donkeys, plates), in light of the fact that these are useful to them, but it would be ludicrous if those containers, donkeys or plates were to become full of themselves over this attention. People maintain these things so that they do not become dirty and infect them, and, in the case of donkeys, are even wary or careful when tending to them, so as not to be kicked!
But, in terms of whether such attentions elevate these things to some position of pride, they clearly do not. ‘You, my friend,’ concludes Epictetus for the tyrant, ‘are in just the same position.’ ‘People pay attention to you, not because they admire you, and want to emulate you, but simply because they are wary of you. Contrast your case with that of Socrates. People paid and continue to pay attention to him because he was morally courageous and an exemplar of what is best in man. He is no mere donkey, as are you!’
“But I can cut off your head.”
You just proved Epictetus’s point tyrant. Nice display of obtuseness. Now he’s really going to give it to you:
Well said! I had forgotten that I ought to pay attention to you, as to fever or cholera, and set up an altar to you, just as in Rome there is an altar to the God Fever.
What is it, then, that disturbs and bewilders the multitude? Is it the tyrant and his bodyguards? How is that possible?
The answer here is clearly that threats emanating from the tyrant do disturb and bewilder others. This is because people typically value their lives and physical freedom, both of which he does threaten in order to gain public compliance. But, should the Stoic also be cowed by such threat?
Nay, far from it! It is not possible that that which is by nature free should be disturbed or thwarted by anything but itself. But it is a man’s own judgements that disturb him. For when the tyrant says to a man, “I will chain your leg,” the man who has set a high value on his leg replies, “Nay, have mercy upon me,” while the man who has set a high value on his Moral Purpose replies, “If it seems more profitable to you to do so, chain it.”
Our tyrant might ask this brave man:
“Do you not care?”
“No, I do not care.”
“I will show you that I am master.”
“How can you be my master? Zeus has set me free. Or do you really think that he was likely to let his own son be made a slave? You are, however, master of my dead body, take it.”
“You mean, then, that when you approach me you will not pay attention to me?”
“No, I pay attention only to myself. But if you wish me to say that I pay attention to you too, I tell you that I do so, but only as I pay attention to my pot.”
That’s going to leave a mark!
Epictetus now gives us a bit of interesting commentary as to exactly what this attitude exemplifies. It is no mere action of self-interest, but one indicative of a sensitivity to a human being’s core perception of self-worth being tied up with his or her suitedness for an assigned role in some sort of wider service to mankind. In what way does a human life function as a service and how does this interplay with the sense of self-worth or dignity? Let’s see:
This is not mere self-love; such is part of the nature of the animal man; everything that he does is for himself in some way. Why, even the sun does everything for its own sake, and, for that matter, so does Zeus himself. But when Zeus wishes to be “Rain-bringer,” and “Fruit-giver,” and “Father of men and of gods,” you can see for yourself that he cannot achieve these works, or win these appellations, unless he proves himself useful to the common interest; and in general he has so constituted the nature of the rational animal man, that he can attain nothing of his own proper goods unless he contributes something to the common interest. Hence it follows that it can no longer be regarded as unsocial for a man to do everything for his own sake. For what do you expect? That a man should neglect himself and his own interest? And in that case how can there be room for one and the same principle of action for all, namely, that of appropriation to their own needs?
This is the first clear instance we have run into, so far, where Epictetus expresses the connection he believes to exist between flourishing of the individual and conscientious service in social roles. On the basis of this purported connection we can see why he thinks the tyrant he here presents is worthy of contempt. This man only regards himself, and only concerns himself with exercise of his capacity to bully others into compliance. He really gives no serious thought to service or stewardship of those human beings over which he wields his political power. He acts with a level of temerity that even Zeus (God) himself does not display, for Zeus, quite in contrast to our tyrant, does feel it necessary to ‘prove himself of service’ to the common interest. Again, he functions as a competent and loving father, while the arrogant and stunted human tyrant of this chapter apparently feels no necessity in contemplating the possibility that personal flourishing or reward might accrue to him in emulating God. Short-sighted, and incredibly stupid.
What then? When men entertain absurd opinions about what lies outside the province of the Moral Purpose, counting it good or bad, it is altogether unavoidable for them to pay attention to the tyrant.
In other words, once people put greater weight on preservation of life and property than they do on moral duty, and their own Moral Purpose, they will indeed comply when threatened. They will indeed, ‘pay attention to’ the tyrant, always wary of him.
Aye, would that it were merely the tyrants and not their chamberlains too!
They will also ‘pay attention’ to the tyrants lackies, and submit to them playing the role of pathetic lickspittles as they do. They’ll flatter these minions, saying they are great and wise men, all in the interests of protecting their own hides:
And yet how can the man suddenly become wise when Caesar puts him in charge of his chamber pot?
Reading this pointed rhetorical question, one cannot help but be reminded of Mel Brooks’ History of the World Part I! Epictetus is in rare form. He’s pegging the sarcasm meter here now.
How can we forthwith say “Felicio has spoken wisely to me?” If it would happen that he was deposed from the superintendency of the dunghill, would you think him a fool again?
In other words, if Felicio lost his job as manager of the big man’s chamber pot, would you cease treating and entreating him as if he were wise?
The answer is ‘yes, probably.’
Now, in case we did not get the point of this, Epictetus next makes it clear that he is drawing this example from his own experience. Epaphroditus, his former master, bought and sold several slaves over his lifetime. Epictetus was familiar with the men and women and recalls this particular man, Felicio:
Epaphroditus owned a certain cobbler whom he sold because he was useless; then by some chance the fellow was bought by a member of Caesar’s household and became cobbler to Caesar.
Do you get the picture? Epaphroditus thought the man was a terribly incompetent cobbler, had no other use for him, so he sold him. This same bungling cobbler was later purchased by Caesar’s household, and lo! He was suddenly transformed (if we are to trust the words uttered by Epaphroditus when he subsequently visited Caesar or ran into his former slave) into a wise man, perhaps even a competent cobbler.
You should have seen how Epaphroditus honored him! “How is my good Felicio, I pray you?” he used to say.
Epictetus details the extent to which his master ingratiated himself to his former slave, groveling to him, quite unaware of not only the laughable inconsistency he was publicly showing, but also unaware of his utter lack of dignity in so doing:
And then if someone asked us, “What is your master doing?” he was told, “He is consulting Felicio about something or other.”
“Why, had he not sold him as being useless?”
Who, then, had suddenly made a wise man out of him?
Clearly no one had made Felicio any wiser than he previously was. The lesson here though, is that Epaphroditus was so concerned with the potential material benefits he may accrue, or threats to person or property he may parry, by way of Felicio’s new position, that he was quite willing to do anything, even the comical and degrading. If his desires and aversions had been properly focused, he would never have fallen into this common trap.
This is what it means to honor something else than what lies within the province of the Moral Purpose.
A further illustration, again, not that of a tyrant, but still a person of considerable political or legal power, might be the holder of high political office, whose charge it is to look out after the public. Such a person too, will be on the receiving end of obsequiousness. On his own part, he will probably be grateful for the office, and will thank God for his fortune, going out of his way to demonstrate that gratitude:
“He has been honored with a tribuneship,” someone says.
All who meet him offer their congratulations; one man kisses him on the eyes, another on the neck, his slaves kiss his hands. He goes home; he finds lamps being lighted. He climbs up the Capitol and offers sacrifice.
He thanks God for good luck in externals. A not uncommon reaction to good fortune. This leads Epictetus into another rhetorical question, aimed at his students, no doubt:
Now who ever sacrificed as a thank-offering for having had right desire, or for having exercised choice in accordance with nature? For we give thanks to the gods for that wherein we set the good.
People are in the habit of expressing gratitude to God any time they receive anything they consider to be beneficial to themselves. There is nothing wrong with that, but those of us that are fortunate enough to have profited from careful study in Stoicism and philosophy in general should do so as well, as this not only eventuates in a well-ordered life, but is also a gift from God, and more direct expression of the divine.
Epictetus’s next illustrating case is like the previous, not a case of a tyrant, but again, a case of someone enamored of externals. Again, there is an element of the comic in the man, something of which he is unaware. Epictetus ribs him about that, hoping to bring on some measure of self-awareness. The man is overly concerned that his name will be known both during and after his life; he wants to be famous.
To-day a man was talking to me about a priesthood of Augustus. I say to him, “Man, drop the matter; you will be spending a great deal to no purpose.”
“But,” says he, “those who draw up deeds of sale will inscribe my name.”
“Do you really expect, then, to be present when the deeds are read and say, ‘That is my name they have written?’ And even supposing you are now able to be present whenever anyone reads them, what will you do if you die?”
“My name will remain after me.”
“Inscribe it on a stone and it will remain after you. Come now, who will remember you outside of Nicopolis?”
“But I shall wear a crown of gold.”
“If you desire a crown at all, take a crown of roses and put it on; you will look much more elegant in that.”
Clearly, it’s not the crown the man is really interested in, but repute. That, he cannot guarantee himself. Each atom of attention he gives to its pursuit is one of a finite set. To spend too much of that banked attention on matters that are not under his complete control is, even if not tilting after windmills, undoubtedly gambling on the capricious. What is more, it is to neglect that unhindered, rational, free and governing part of himself that is like Zeus. It is neglectful of his proper attention to that part, which, we must recall, Zeus intentionally imparted to each of us so that we could individually and collectively take part in his ‘administration of the universe.’ Insofar as we make choices to do the sorts of things we have seen exemplified in this chapter by tyrants, office holders and others, to the exclusion of this proper attention, we fail in duty to our father and head administrator!