The Discourses of Epictetus with Running Commentary – Book I, Chapter 23

Twenty-third 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 II, Chapter 23.

Of the Faculty of Expression

This chapter engages a matter we’ve seen Epictetus discuss several times before; facility of expression. Before, we have seen him warn students against falling into the trap of thinking that becoming a good Stoic, a good philosopher, merely involves facility and perspicacity of expression, either in the spoken or written word. While he warns against that temptation, he also makes the case that philosophers should aim at such clarity when they write. This chapter revisits that argument while also ranging widely over several other matters, most importantly, a discussion of what exactly he means to be referencing by use of the phrase “Moral Purpose,” as it relates to man’s specific excellence, and assigned place in the cosmos.

Everyone would read with greater pleasure and ease the book that is written in the clearer characters. Therefore everyone would also listen with greater ease to those discourses that are expressed in appropriate and attractive language. We must not, therefore, say that there is no use for faculty of expression, for this is to speak both as an impious man and as a coward. As an impious man, because one is thereby disparaging the gifts received from God, as though one were denying the usefulness of the faculty of vision, or that of hearing, or that of speech itself.

Every faculty given to creatures serves a set of two conjoined purposes, and is intended to be used toward these: They each allow creatures to play their assigned role in the unfolding plan of the cosmos, and secondly, each allows them to flourish after their type, express their specific excellences, fulfil themselves, experiencing what we can deem happiness, though the analogous states in species that are significantly different than human beings will be unlike human happiness or fulfilment.

Did God give you eyes to no purpose, did he, to no purpose, put in them a spirit so strong and so cunningly devised that it reaches out to a great distance and fashions the forms of whatever is seen? And what messenger is so swift and so attentive as the eye? And did He to no purpose make also the intervening air so active and so intent that the vision passes through it as through some tense medium? And did He to no purpose create light, without the presence of which all else were useless?

This is the design argument with respect to sight, we have encountered before. Epictetus point? He wants to compare sight, as faculty, with the faculty of expression, and get across to us the fact that it, like sight, is just as deliberately placed in us. He notes that a fine-tuned ability to communicate via language is as much a powerful and useful tool as is the equally fine-tuned faculty of sight, and both have been consciously given to us with the clear intent that we should use them. Man’s faculty of language is meant to be honed and developed. His point is two-fold. He is not only saying that humanity should use language, but that those who have the gift of writing or speaking well, should exercise that gift, for just as the ‘language instinct’ is a gift to the species, eloquence is a gift to individuals, and should be utilized. Zeus, God or logos expects this.

This excursus on language gives him occasion to remind us, again, that the uniquely human capacity, our Moral Purpose, is likewise something that we are intended to fully utilize. He reiterates this next, before he returns to the more specific matter of facility in language. He in fact, wants to argue that the two faculties come as a ‘package deal’ so to speak, the Moral purpose being the superior and controlling partner, as is the case with our other faculties:

Man, be neither ungrateful for these gifts, nor yet forgetful of the better things, but for sight and hearing, yes and, by Zeus, for life itself and for what is conducive to it, for dry fruits, for wine, for olive oil, give thanks unto God; and at the same time remember that He has given you something better than all these things—the faculty which can make use of them, pass judgement upon them, estimate the value of each. For what is that which, in the case of each of these faculties, shows what it is worth? Is it each faculty itself? Did you ever hear the faculty of sight say anything about itself? Or the faculty of vision? No, but they have been appointed as servants and slaves to minister to the faculty which makes use of external impressions.

Again, that ‘faculty which makes use of external impressions’ is reason, which is core to man’s status as “Moral Purpose.” Only reason can determine appropriate use of the information given us by sensory faculties, and appropriate occasions of use for skills and disciplines. The highest order of such determinations of appropriateness, (wisdom) is concerned with the moral, and it should guide all others (such as the merely mechanical, or economic, for instance).

This is revisiting material from Book I.

And if you ask, what each thing is worth, of whom do you ask? Who is to answer you? How, then, can any other faculty be superior to this which both uses the rest as its servants, and itself passes judgement upon each several thing and pronounces upon it? For which one of them knows what it is and what it is worth?

None of the inferior faculties can do this. Wisdom can.

Which one of them knows when one ought to use it, and when not? What is the faculty that opens and closes the eyes, and turns them away from the things from which it should turn them, but directs them toward other things? The faculty of sight? No, but the faculty of Moral Purpose.

The faculty of Moral Purpose is tied up with human reason and human inquiry. It is also tied up with moral judgments.

What is the faculty by virtue of which men are curious and inquisitive, or again, unmoved by what is said? The faculty of hearing? No, it is none other than the faculty of Moral Purpose. When, then, this faculty sees that all the other faculties which surround it are blind and deaf, and unable to see anything but the very acts for which they have been appointed to serve and minister unto it, while it alone sees clearly and surveys, not only all the rest, determining what each is worth, but itself also, is it likely to pronounce that anything else is supreme but itself?

The answer is a clear ‘no.’

Epictetus now illustrates the moral oversight role of Moral Purpose with the example of sight (pun intended). Open eyes cannot help but see what they happen to be directed toward. They cannot decide whether or not it is appropriate to see what they, at any given time, are focused toward.

Epictetus gives us the case of a man sees a woman who is married. The question of whether or not he should ogle her, stare, give her the ‘male gaze,’ is something those eyes have nothing to do with. That matter is one of decency, a matter of respect, in short; a matter for Moral Purpose. One should reason out these matters, then avert gaze.

And what else can the open eye do but see? But whether it ought to see someone’s wife and how, what faculty tells it? That of Moral Purpose.

Another example of reason’s adjudicative function has to do with claims, counterclaims, relevant evidence, and ultimately, whether or not to act on these. These epistemic attitudes are not specifically moral in content, but, because they do involve reason, judgment and reflection, they are, again, expressions of our uniquely human capacities, vital aspects of our Moral Purpose, as understood by Epictetus:

And what faculty tells a man whether he ought to believe what he has been told, or disbelieve, and, if he believes, whether he ought to be provoked by it or not? Is it not that of Moral Purpose?

Now, finally, Epictetus is going to close the weave, the circle, on the comparison or analogy he has been presenting. He has taken this short digression into review of the faculties of sight and reason in order to set up a discussion of the proper attitude to take toward language and gifts for facility of expression. We should use language, and are expected to do so. We have an obligation to use it with right intent, and judiciously. We have been designed with that capacity, for Moral Purpose stands in the same relation to the language faculty and what is here labeled ‘facility of expression’ as it does to sight and natural human inquisitiveness. It is just as much in the governing and superior position with these as it is with the others.

 And this faculty of speech and of the adornment of language, if it really is a separate faculty, what else does it do, when discourse arises about some topic, but ornament and compose the words, as hairdressers do the hair?

A funny comparison, but it makes sense. Hair’s function, so to speak, can be carried out without the ornamentation and stylish hairdos, but hair done up is more pleasing to the eye, and might render a person more attractive to others. Ideally, that attractiveness can be used toward noble ends.

Similar things hold for well-written texts. Philosophy texts, for instance, can be dull pedantic affairs that get their important information across well enough (think of Chrysippus or Aristotle here), but can also be literature of superlative style, engaging and entertaining (think of Plato here). Such works get the important information across, but attract attention and emulation. As we’ve seen, Epictetus is a bit ambivalent about this, but ultimately has no problem with the Plato’s of the world, even though he sees risks of misdirected efforts by students, who have become enamored by the power of such texts.

In any case, whether or not one should speak or write, exercising that ‘faculty of expression,’ on any given occasion, is not determined by that faculty itself, but by the reasonings of Moral Purpose:

But whether it is better to speak than to keep silence, and to do so in this way, or in that, and whether this is appropriate or not appropriate, and the proper occasion and utility of each action—what else tells us all this but the faculty of Moral Purpose?

Moral Purpose pulls this off by applying certain standards of appropriateness to circumstances, and reasoning out whether or not exercise of the faculties in question would meet those standards. We have seen this capacity can be exercised in moral and non-moral contexts, but that, ultimately, we are expected to always treat the moral as the ‘final filter’ in deciding whether or not to act in particular ways, toward particular ends in particular circumstances.

The next sentence is a bit puzzling, but seems to be asking a question that has been raised before, in Book I. That question is whether or not Moral Purpose can reflexively determine appropriate occasions for use for itself, for Moral Purpose. Can it self-regulate, perhaps, on some occasions, ‘condemning’ itself, that is; determining that it should stand on the sidelines as adjudicator?

Would you, then, have it come forward and condemn itself?

If it is, in fact, appropriate to make judgments like this at times, then some faculty must be able to pull off the feat. It follows, then, there are only two sorts of possible adjudicating faculties available. Obviously, one is Moral Purpose itself. We know it is indeed an adjudicator. The others, any one from the set of ‘inferior’ faculties we’ve been discussing, are equally as clearly, not adjudicative.  Be that as it may, for the purposes of the argument let’s go ahead and grasp this second horn, and suppose one of the inferior faculties can adjudicate. What follows?

“What then,” says an objector, “if the matter stands like this, and it is possible for that which serves to be superior to what it serves—the horse to the rider, or the dog to the hunter, or his instrument to the harper, or his servants to the king? Well, what faculty is it that uses the services of the rest in this way?

Moral Purpose.

In other words; if any of these faculties, say sight, somehow managed to pull off an adjudicative feat, that would mean that it, in fact, would be functionally identical to the faculty of Moral Purpose, that faculty that ‘attends to everything.’ So, we would have it be the case that this inferior faculty both is, and is not, Moral Purpose. That’s a contradiction. The hypothesis, therefore is untenable.

What is it that attends to everything?

Moral Purpose.

What is it that destroys the whole man, sometimes by hunger, sometimes by a noose, sometimes by hurling him over a cliff?

Moral Purpose.

Some striking examples. We are not given any information here as to why these ‘whole men’ would choose to starve, or kill themselves, but we don’t have to exercise too much imagination to see that he had in mind men who made such choices in Roman history. They do such things when life becomes morally unendurable, or when they believe dignity requires it. These are, again, judgments of Moral Purpose.

Is there, then, anything stronger than this among men?

Yet how can the things that are subject to hindrance be stronger than that which is unhindered?

Sight, for instance, is hindered in that, by itself, it is incapable of such judgments, but can be subject to them. Recurring to the example of the averted gaze, we see that sight can be ‘hindered’ by some man’s judgment that he should not be objectifying a woman. We also know that sight can be ‘hindered’ by disease, injury or lack of light. These external threats always exist for faculties liable to hinderance. We must also keep in mind that, in themselves, the inferior faculties simply do not have adjudicative capacities. That too is counted as ‘hinderance.’

 What are by their very nature capable of hindering the faculty of vision? Both Moral Purpose and things that lie outside its sphere.

Similar things can be said about our faculty of speech. Either all-things-considered judgments of appropriateness or external forces can hinder it.

The same hinder vision; and so, it is also with speech.

Moral Purpose, considered as the faculty of free choice, mediated, as it is, through moral and other values, cannot be hindered by externals. It will always be free, cannot avoid its freedom, and therefore, must always choose. The only way that it can become hindered is by its own choosing. It can act from mistaken values, or can knowingly act in spite of correct values. In either case, it is exercising its freedom. It may be acting against its interests, and in that sense hindering itself, but, even then, no external thing is hindering it. Moral Purpose is hindering itself. Indeed, Moral Purpose can only be hindered by Moral Purpose.

(Before we proceed, we must note here that it seems clearly false that Moral Purpose cannot be hindered by externals. It seems as clear as it is in the case of the inferior faculty, sight, that physical or mental disease or injury can hinder or extinguish the capacity. Be that as it may, a normally healthy Moral Purpose can never have the excuse of blaming externals. That’s Epictetus’s point here. Indeed, we can put this interpretation in the sentences that immediately follows.)

But what is by its very nature capable of hindering Moral Purpose? Nothing that lies outside its sphere, but only itself when perverted. For this reason, Moral Purpose becomes the only vice, or the only virtue.

Next, Epictetus has us assume Moral Purpose does try to place something other than itself in the drivers seat as being ‘the most excellent’ thing, the thing of highest value. What eventuates? A sort of performative self-contradiction, something he has noted before:

Therefore, since it is so great a faculty and has been set over everything else, let it come before us and say that the flesh is of all things the most excellent.

This is a jab at the hedonistic point of view, one Epictetus ascribes to Epicurus, as we’ve already seen on multiple occasions. This is the contention that pursuit of bodily pleasure is the ultimate good, the thing of highest value. We are to assume Moral Purpose abdicating its role and giving this capacity for pleasure pride of place in terms of being the ultimate or highest good, and, presumably, arguing for the rectitude of that move:

Nay, even if the flesh itself called itself most excellent, one would not have tolerated such a statement. But now what is it, Epicurus, that makes such a declaration, what is it that composed the treatise On the End, or The Physics, or On the Standard? What is it that caused you to let your beard grow long? What is it that wrote as it was dying: “We are spending what is our last and at the same time a happy day? Was it the flesh or the Moral Purpose? Come, do you confess that you have something superior to the flesh, and you are not insane, either? Are you, in all truth, so blind and deaf?

In the simple act of making such claims and backing them with arguments, in writing books advocating the view, or, indeed in the act of judging that his last day was a happy day, or that he should let his beard grow long, Epicurus is sitting as judge, as it were, applying a criterion. He is exercising his Moral Purpose in its adjudicative and normative function. Are the judgments he makes really simply application of a criterion ‘of the flesh’? Perhaps so in the case of growing out the beard, or in the deathbed statement. But what of his professional life?

Over the course of his life, Epicurus took great pains to write. We could ask him, ‘in service of what did you write? Mere bodily pleasure?’ No. He clearly had some sense that he was obligated to share the truth (or rather, what he took to be the truth) with others. That was the higher value that motivated the performance. He evidently put off pleasure to do this. Insofar as he acted this way, he was exercising his Moral Purpose, and, in a performative sense, the implicit values behind the performance denied the hedonistic thesis he advocated, for according to it, he should have been simply whiling away his time eating, having sex and luxuriating in the sun. Instead of living the ‘life of a Tahitian Riley,’ he chose to toil and sweat as teacher and public philosopher. Again, was that the act of a hedonist, an act ‘of the flesh’? It seems not. The fact that he is making such evaluative judgments, and feeling compelled to put off pursuit of personal pleasure makes the fact of the performative self-contraction evident.

This contrasting of the hedonist position with the Stoic might lead one to think the latter advocate for an ascetic removal from life, a disdain, not only of hedonistic pursuits, but for the world and public life. By now we know this is not the case. Epictetus contends that we are designed to engage all of these faculties, and are obliged to do so, and will attain fulfilment by judiciously doing so, via exercise of our Moral Purpose. He expands upon this by way of a continued discussion of the various faculties we have been gifted, and their intended relationships:

Well, what then? Does a man despise his other faculties? Far from it! Does a man say there is no use or advancement save in the faculty of Moral Purpose? Far from it! That is unintelligent, impious, ungrateful towards God. Nay, he is but assigning its true value to each thing. For there is some use in an ass, but not as much as there is in an ox; there is use also in a dog, but not as much as there is in a slave; there is use also in a slave, but not as much as there is in your fellow-citizens; there is use also in these, but not as much as there is in the magistrates. Yet because some things are superior we ought not to despise the use which the others give.

The Moral Purpose is to the magistrate here as the inferior faculties are to the animals, slaves and citizens. Which, if any of these inferiors is parallel to the ‘faculty of eloquence.’? We don’t know, but presumably it would be one of the human beings! In any case, the discussion is brought back around to that ‘faculty of eloquence’ or ‘faculty of expression’ with which the chapter commenced. It too has a purpose, albeit subsidiary, to the Moral Purpose, and should not be neglected. It is a tool in that tool-box with which we have been provided:

There is a certain value also in the faculty of eloquence, but it is not as great as that of the faculty of Moral Purpose. When, therefore, I say this, let no one suppose that I am bidding you neglect speech, any more than I bid you neglect eyes, or ears, or hands, or feet, or dress, or shoes. But if you ask me, “What, then, is the highest of all things?” what shall I say? The faculty of eloquence? I cannot; but rather, the highest faculty is that of Moral Purpose, when it becomes a right Moral Purpose. For it is this which uses not only that faculty of eloquence but also all the other faculties both small and great; when this has been set right a man becomes good, when it has failed a man becomes bad; it is through this that we are unfortunate, and are fortunate, blame one another, and are pleased with one another; in a word, it is this which, when ignored, produces wretchedness, but when attended to produces happiness.

So far, we see Epictetus arguing that eloquence, as natural gift, should be utilized morally, and that, like other faculties, it is something we should be grateful for, as it was intentionally placed in us with the clear intent that we should use it.  He also adds that Moral Purpose can use things for good or ill. When the latter, it is perverted, and certain symptomology inevitably surfaces that serves as an indicator that it has chosen poorly. The perverted Moral Purpose will become ‘unfortunate,’ will ‘blame’ others for its plight and will be ‘wretched.’ If that Moral Purpose uses things for good the ‘symptomology is different. Such a person will be ‘fortunate, will be ‘pleased’ with his company, and be happy. Again, this symptomological ‘map’ serves as a guidance mechanism. If we honor these signals, course correct in light of them, we will not only lead happy or fulfilled lives, but can be assured that we will be fulfilling that larger design plan for which we were created.

He now adds an interesting further claim, that follows from this picture of human nature as consciously designed. He suggests that people who knowingly avoid engaging their capacity for expression or eloquence may, in fact, see themselves as cowardly in doing so. Speaking symptomologically, they should take that to be a sign that they need to, and indeed, are obligated to, engage that faculty.  How is that? He explains:

But to do away with the faculty of eloquence and to say that in all truth it is nothing is the act not merely of a man ungrateful to those who have given it, but also cowardly. For such a person seems to me to be afraid that, if there really is a faculty of this kind, we may not be able to despise it.

What does this mean? Why should we be concerned that we may not be able to “despise” this faculty?  The point has to do with cowardice and it’s contrary; courage. The word ‘despise’ is being used in a technical sense by Epictetus, one that we should take as being shorn of negative connotation. The hypothetical person here, who avoids exercising capacity for eloquence is doing so because he or she is afraid of being overcome by it. The individual is afraid that he or she may fall into indulging it for its own sake, to the exclusion of looking out after Moral purpose and duty, or that he or she may indulge it for some other nefarious or ignoble ends.

This individual fails to stand up to the temptation, so to speak. He or she leaves a valuable and useful tool in the toolbox.  Similarly, we might consider someone who knowingly decides to refrain from physical training because he is afraid he might turn into a bully or abuser. We would take him to be overly cautious, and, in the end, working to his own detriment, or, perhaps the detriment of others, in not preparing himself for physically grueling contingencies.

(Bringing this back to other matters Epictetus discussed in earlier chapters, we’d probably judge the would-be logic virtuosos among the student body in Nicopolis, who decide not to develop that skill for fear they may misuse it, as also being timid or cowardly.)

Such also are those who assert that there is no difference between beauty and ugliness. What! could a man be affected in the same way by the sight of Thersites and that of Achilles? Or by the sight of Helen and that of some ordinary woman? But these are the notions of foolish and boorish persons who do not know the nature of each several thing, but are afraid that if a man notices the superiority of the faculty in question he will immediately be carried away by it and come off worsted.

Nay, the greater thing is this: to leave each in the possession of his own proper faculty, and, so leaving him, to observe the value of the faculty, and to learn what is the highest of all things, and in everything to pursue after this, to be zealous about this, treating all other things as of secondary value in comparison with it, though without neglecting these, as far as this is possible. For we must take care of our eyes too, yet not as the highest thing, but we must take care of them for the sake of the highest; because this latter will not have its natural perfection unless it uses the eyes with reason and chooses one thing instead of another.

By now, it is clear that he’s talking about the Moral Purpose here. It cannot reach its ‘natural perfection,’ the pinnacle of its intended function, without carrying out proper integration of all of the subsidiary faculties with which it has been supplied. The supplier has provided a panoply of faculties to each of us with expectation that it be fully utilized. There are variances in the packages provided us. Some of us will be skilled in logic, others in eloquence. Some beautiful, others plain. These variations serve divine purpose. We may not be able to fathom quite how, but can be assured that they do. We’ve seen that our capacity to reason, and our in-built moral sense work together as guidance mechanisms as we undertake our specific and individual missions. Life itself, in all its full sociality, with all its ‘bloom and buzz’ is that mission.

Be that as it may, what he drives home here is that the courageous men and women, when it comes to engaging the various natural faculties they receive, do so knowing the inherent risk there is in glomming on to any one of them and developing it for personal aggrandizement. This risk exists because we are, to a degree, self-interested.

When that occurs, such persons have failed in the mission given mankind. He draws an interesting analogy here. He compares such folks to travelers who, while heading home, become enamored with the luxuries of way-stations, and decide to forget the aim of the odyssey.

What, then, generally takes place? Men act like a traveler on the way to his own country who stops at an excellent inn, and, since the inn pleases him, stays there.

Someone chastises the man:

Man, you have forgotten your purpose; you were not travelling to this but through it.

But this is a fine inn!

And how many other inns are fine, and how many meadows – yet simply for passing through! But your purpose is the other thing, to return to your country, to relieve the fear of your kinsmen, to do the duties of a citizen yourself, to marry, bring up children, hold the customary offices.

Again, Epictetus emphasizing the Stoic commitment to living an engaged life:

For you did not come into the world to select unusually fine places, I believe, but to live and go about your business in the place where you were born and were enrolled as a citizen.

You are not designed to be a hedonist! 

Epictetus now explicitly brings this back around to the ‘faculty of eloquence.’ He is now addressing his students directly:

Something like this takes place also in the matter which we are considering. Since a man must advance to perfection through the spoken word and such instruction as you receive here, and must purify his own Moral Purpose and correct the faculty which makes use of external impressions, and since the instruction must necessarily be given by means of certain principles, and in a particular style, and with a certain variety and impressiveness in the form of these principles, some persons are captivated by all these things and stay where they are; one is captivated by style, another by syllogisms, another by arguments with equivocal premises, another by some other “inn” of that sort, and staying there they molder away as though they were among the Sirens.

The reference is to Odysseus, who succumb to, and then ultimately resisted temptation to live a life of luxury and pleasure with Circe. He stayed with her for at least a year. After having bargained with her and wresting his crew from her captivity, she warned him, as he left her island, of the Sirens, whom he would encounter on the voyage. She told him they could sidetrack him just as much as she did. By taking heed of that warning and resisting their calls, he ultimately accomplished his mission in getting back home, protecting his family, and doing away with the suitors.

What, according to Epictetus, is the mission for man, in a general sense; what is his analog to Odysseus’s mission? Answering that question in any sort of detail is a tall order. Our perspective on the cosmos is limited. However, Epictetus spells out, again, the Stoic belief that we can tell when we are serving that plan well.

He does this in terms of the symptomology discussed earlier. He notes that we are given guidance ‘signals’ or ‘feedback’ that result from the manner in which we respond to life. If we respond in line with the design, we will find that everything is subjectively in balance. If our Moral Purpose is properly integrating all of the subsidiary faculties, (including sight, desires, aversions and the subject of this chapter, the faculty of eloquence) tell-tale positive symptoms result. For instance, we will not blame, or feel ‘wretched,’ but rather accepting of our fate, and fulfilled or happy. We may not have a very clear vision of the overall game plan for the cosmos, but have been constructed in such a way as to know we are fitting in and fulfilling our function when we have these symptoms. We can be confident of this due to the superlative goodness of Zeus, God or logos. He would not mislead us:

Man, your purpose was to make yourself competent to use conformably with nature the external impressions that came to you, in desire not to fail in what you would attain, and in avoidance not to fall into what you would avoid, never suffering misfortune, never ill fortune, free, unhindered, unconstrained, conforming to the governance of Zeus, obeying this, well satisfied with this, blaming no one, charging no one, able to say with your whole heart the verses, beginning: ‘Lead thou me on, O Zeus, and Destiny.’

Just the same, students get sidetracked, just as Odysseus had been.

And then, although you have this purpose, because some petty trick of style, or certain principles, catch your fancy, are you going to stay just where you are and choose to dwell there, forgetful of the things at home and saying “This is fine?”

We know where Epictetus is going with this, it’s a constant refrain, one born of the old man’s considerable personal experience, as both student and teacher:

Well, who says that it is not fine? But only like a way-station, like an “inn.”

‘You will know you have not arrived at your destination,’ he says, ‘when you attain the pinnacle of eloquence, or analytical and logical acumen, yet remain unhappy and disturbed by externals’ You will find that you have been sharpening or honing the instruments in your toolbox, but not using them to build the house:

For what is to prevent a man having the eloquence of Demosthenes and yet being unhappy, and what is to prevent him from analyzing syllogisms like Chrysippus, and yet being wretched, from sorrowing, envying, in a word, from being disturbed and miserable?

Absolutely nothing.

In other words, this happenstance is encountered often enough within the schools. If, perchance, one was to aim at this particular ‘honed’ state, it is easily attained, at least when compared to attainment of the ultimate end for which Moral Purposes have been created, (the subjective component of which was just described). Epictetus concludes with this:

You see, then, that these were “Inns” of secondary value, while your purpose was something else. When I speak thus to some people they think that I am disparaging the study of rhetoric or that of general principles. Yet I am not disparaging this, but only the habit of dwelling unceasingly on these matters and setting one’s hopes in them. If a man does his hearers harm by presenting this view, set me down too as one of those who work harm. But when I see that one thing is highest and supreme, I cannot say the same of something else, in order to gratify you, my hearers.

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