Twenty-fifth 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 25.
Upon the Same Theme
This chapter, as the title indicates, follows up on the questions raised in chapter 24, and gives voice to what were, no doubt, insistent student demands to flesh out how we might derive particular guidance for particular circumstances. Otherwise put, the question posed is this: How can we make use of what the metaphysical presumptions of the school claim? It tells us that we have been designed with certain internal guidance mechanisms or communications conduits between ourselves and the larger logos, Zeus or God. How are we supposed to work with these when it comes down to ‘brass tacks’?
Speaking of the conduit, we have seen mention made of each individual’s ‘guardian genius.’ Speaking of the internal, we have seen Epictetus repeatedly tell us we need to carefully and rationally examine the expectations and relationships that come along with roles we inherit or take on. That will aid in provision of guidance.
We have also seen him insist that we should combine this analysis of roles with an equally carefully considered utilization of the ‘control thesis,’ sifting those things over which we have complete control from those we don’t.
With regard to the common notion of conscience, we can take this phenomenon in either or both ways, as being that guardian genius or God communicating with us, or as an internal governor.
So, we have all of these elements, which are supposed to be working for us as guidance, but we don’t have a very clear idea of how they mesh, and how we are to utilize them. Is there some systematic way to flesh all of this out in practical terms? These are all good questions.
So, one thing this chapter does is attempt to answer the demand for more specificity in guidance by focusing attention on exactly how we should integrate these inputs, and in what order we should ask questions regarding their areas of application. We’ll see that Epictetus believes the control thesis provides the first set of questions we should ask. For, something in the nature of a clue as to this thesis’s primacy of place exists in precisely in the fact that one area, choice, has been given over to our full control, to our full ownership; we are meant to see that we therefore have complete control over the state of our Moral Purpose, the state of our person (as pregnant with meaning as that term will allow). It is the one thing one and only thing we can successfully either maintain or neglect, merely by force of will.
According to Epictetus, God put this one item, our person, completely in our control. It is what we are. Retention of personhood, in the guise of self-respect, is the most valuable item for each of us individually, and, because this is so, he wanted to ensure we had full ability to retain it. This Moral Purpose cannot be ‘hindered’ by anyone or anything outside ourselves. It can only be hindered by our own choices to live in compromised fashion. Evidently, our person is the primary tool with which, and through which God works with us as human beings, as he brings his overall plans to fruition. As we’ve seen before, he intends for us to be co-administrators in our portion of the universe. Epictetus insists that our unique status as persons is a quite deliberately intended function of humanity, not brought about haphazardly, and for no reason. Our ability to attain happiness and flourish are intended to mesh with our proper function, with our role in the cosmos, and as such, intended to also provide us some guidance in day-to-day life.
In short, from our point of view, God intends for us to see our primary mission as being cultivation of our individual and collective Moral Purpose. We may not be able to see very much beyond that local mission of ours, into the larger mission to which it contributes, but can rest assured that it is there. We are able to see this in outline though. Because this is so, and because we see the centrality of personal integrity for ourselves, we hope that there is a certain set of questions, starting with the ‘control-thesis’ question, that can effectively serve as guidance in our day to day lives. That set of questions would hopefully lead to judgments that determine better courses of actions from worse.
We’ll have to see how successful Epictetus is in making his case. In this chapter, he dives into the matter with a two-part rhetorical question aimed at his students. He tells them they have no reason to be afraid, if they have indeed taken to heart what they profess to believe. This rhetorical question has roots, no doubt, in common experiences like those described in earlier chapters where life, limb or property are threatened in order to make men compromise themselves morally. The rhetorical question answers an actual question, somewhat ironically: If we have been designed to be able to recognize and value the centrality and health of our moral being, then why is it that we nevertheless still fear to act in ways that preserve it? That stubborn fact also seems to be natural to us. What gives? How should we take this? Epictetus’s answer, set in the guise of a question: It is of no significance.
If all this is true and we are not silly nor merely playing a part when we say, “Man’s good and man’s evil lies in moral choice, and all other things are nothing to us,” why are we still distressed and afraid?
Now, he never quite answers the nagging issue that spurred this rhetorical question as response. He could have, and already has, in terms of our ‘mixed’ nature. This is something he had discussed in earlier chapters. Probably for that reason, he leaves off the issue here, and instead chooses to move on. He wants, instead, to focus on addressing the equally ubiquitous guidance question. He does so, but again gives a very brief answer. We are supposed to extract some guidance from being able to apply the control thesis:
Over the things that we seriously care for no one has authority; and the things over which other men have authority do not concern us. What kind of thing have we left to discuss?
Not surprisingly, this is too brief to satisfy the questioner. The student persists:
“Nay, give me directions.”
And now, Epictetus persists:
What directions shall I give you? Has not Zeus given you directions? Has he not given you that which is your own, unhindered and unrestrained, while that which is not your own is subject to hindrance and restraint? What directions, then, did you bring with you when you came from him into this world, what kind of an order? Guard by every means that which is your own, but do not grasp at that which is another’s. Your faithfulness is your own, your self-respect is your own; who, then, can take these things from you? Who but yourself will prevent you from using them?
We can imagine the student not terribly reassured with this, but it does offer a stub argument, one that we can expand upon. Epictetus wants to get one thing across to his charges: We can read off, from our own nature, (specifically, from what we can see we fully own, as opposed to what we do not fully own), what sorts of specific actions we are expected to undertake. God does not give us a huge volume of specific orders, tied to all possible specific circumstances we may encounter in life. No, he gives us a standing order of sorts, a decision procedure we are to follow. We can derive sound recommendations for specific courses of action by using it. The procedure centrally involves consistent and continual application of the control thesis. That’s the gist here.
Still, he should have a bit more sympathy for the questioning student, and he may have wanted to unpack how it is he’s arrived at this picture. We can unpack this a bit, drawing on materials in early chapters, hopefully seeing how the mix of elements in the decision procedure is part of a coherent whole, following from Stoic metaphysics and careful consideration of some or our common ‘preconceptions’ (to use their term):
- It is better to have complete control over something vital to one’s well-being than it is to lack such control.
- God is supremely good and wise.
- Because (1) and (2) are true, God wills, (to the extent possible), to give us complete control over things that are vital to our well-being.
- We are ‘mixed’ beings.
- We are not in complete control over the material bases of our well-being.
- We are in complete control over the moral bases of our well-being.
- It follows that it was not possible for God to give us complete control over the material bases.
- It follows that it was possible for God to give us complete control over the moral bases.
What is more, we can produce another argument. This one reiterating premise (2) above:
- If God is supremely good and wise, then he determined that it was better to populate the universe with mixed creatures such as ourselves than it would be to leave it empty of us.
- If it is better that mixed creatures such as ourselves inhabit the world, then there is some set of reasons that account for this fact.
- Those reasons must have taken into account the fact that we are rational beings, and the fact that we have only the level of control over aspects of our well-being that does actually obtain. There must have been the best of reasons for this state of affairs. (For if there was no best of reasons for this, it would have been arbitrary and unnecessary, contra (2)).
- If God is supremely good and wise, then it is the case that he has done his best to maximize the level of control we have over our own well-being. To do anything less than this would also be contrary to (2).
- He had good or the best of reasons to create us as mixed rational and moral agents.
- He knowingly created us to bear this similarity (rational agency) to himself.
- He uses his rational capacities in order to design and create the cosmos, and arrange for its functioning.
- He knowingly gave us these same capacities so that we too could design and create things in our corner of the cosmos, and so that we could come to understand, to the degree possible, his works, and (obviously) become aware of his existence.
- Necessarily, anything we do is a constituent of the natural, a component of the universe.
- God knowingly designed and created us, with our eventual actions in mind. He wanted for us to do the various things we do.
- If (18), then, (most tellingly), he wanted us to exercise our unique function, in particular, our Moral Purpose.
- So, our intended function, our mission, our ‘orders’ are to behave in the ways suggested to us by our ability to rationally grasp the overall structure of our design plan and its unique and governing aspect, or Moral Purpose.
The gist of this argument: We are uniquely rational and moral creatures. The argument shows that we are intended to exercise these capacities, in subsidiary partnership with the similar, but immensely superior, parent faculties of God. Furthermore, we are intended to take our awareness of the relative levels of ownership we have over things vital to human well-being as a key guiding element of our ‘standing orders’ when it comes to action. We are aware of our uniqueness as Moral Purposes, and of our complete control over this aspect of our selves. We know we have not been created haphazardly, but with clear forethought. That forethought found it necessary to create us as such cognizant creatures able to discover all this about our nature, God’s existence, his nature and our similarity to that nature. We are evidently meant to take full responsibility for this unique aspect of ourselves. We are not intended to guide our own behavior in the ways other species commonly do, even if we do share certain capacities or faculties with them. It also follows that this is something we can in fact accomplish. An all-good God would not set us up for failure. It is indeed possible for us to carry out our stranding orders. So, we must!
In any case, this is a sketch of the view. It might be the case that it leaves the student more or less where he was before the lengthy diatribe! He, like all of us, (Epictetus included), still finds himself disturbed over externals:
But you, how do you act? When you seek earnestly that which is not your own, you lose that which is your own. Since you have such promptings and directions from Zeus, what kind do you still want from me? Am I greater than he, or more trustworthy? But if you keep these commands of his, do you need any others besides? But has he not given you these directions? Produce your preconceptions, produce the demonstrations of the philosophers, produce what you have often heard, and produce what you have said yourself, produce what you have read, produce what you have practiced.
Again, the argument sketched just above is something like what Epictetus reinforces here with this set of rhetorical questions and admonitions. As Stoic students, we’ve done what he asks. We operated with some assumptions or ‘preconceptions’ if you will, attempted a demonstration. What is more, we can imagine his students would have poured over books that present such things many times. Still, in the end, the guidance is sparse when it comes down to brass tacks. We are told no more than that we are supposed to carefully and rationally study nature, heed our guardian genius or conscience, apply the control thesis and play well our given roles, all while keeping preservation of our moral integrity uppermost in mind as the primary aim. Doing so, all will work out for the best, for that divine plan that has knowingly plugged us into the workings of the cosmos with the exact set of capacities and limitations we do have is an excellent engineer, and, as such, cannot fail. So, never fear. Apply the method. It will work. Hang in there for as long as you can. When your considered judgment tells you that you cannot go on any further, that is a signal that you are allowed to retire. (Again, he’s talking suicide!) Not very specific guidance even if somewhat reassuring.
How long, then, is it well to keep these precepts and not to break up the game? As long as it is played pleasantly. At the Saturnalia a king is chosen by lot; for it has been decided to play this game. The king gives his commands: “You drink, you mix wine, you sing, you go, you come.” I obey, so as not to be the one to break up the game. “Come, suppose that you are in an evil plight.” I do not so suppose; and who is there to compel me so to suppose? Again, we have agreed to play the story of Agamemnon and Achilles. The one who has been appointed to play the part of Agamemnon says to me, “Go to Achilles, and drag away Briseis.” I go. He says, “Come,” and I come. For as we behave in the matter of hypothetical proposals, so we ought to behave in life also.
The point here is that God assigns us roles just as the King of Saturnalia does during that celebration. In both cases, we should carry them out in the interests of the game. In the former case it is our duty to do so. In the latter, it’s done in the spirit of the occasion and would be bad form to refuse. The import: easy refusal to take on roles is not something that Stoics generally prescribe. In that regard they are at pains to distinguish themselves from several other ancient schools of thought, as we have already seen is the case with regard to their principle rivals, the Epicureans.
Similarly, when we engage hypotheticals, we agree, (in the sense we usually indicate with such phrases as ‘for the sake of the argument’) to accept what they claim, and carry through on that basis, to extract what logically follows. This is a bit like playing a role in a game. Now comes a very truncated bit of dialogue that is supposed to be further illustration of this game of ‘hypothesizing’ and is supposed to, in one way or other help make his case that we should take on our divinely assigned roles for the sake of the goal of the cosmic game. We are also supposed to see, from the examples, that we are also given signals that allow us to know when we are permitted to exit playing the game. We are allowed to leave, in the one case, when we judge that the game cannot ‘be played pleasantly,’ and in the other, when we judge life to be truly unbearable, and, most saliently, when it is truly impossible to maintain dignity.
Now, having said all this, and as we attempt to interpret the following bit of dialogue, this is another occasion for fair warning. I’m going to do my best to make sense of it, but am very likely just speculating and attempting to force some kind of order or sense on something that is too sparse for the purpose:
“Let it be night.”
So be it.
“What then? Is it day?”
No, for I have accepted the assumption that it is night.
“Let us suppose that you assume it to be night.”
So be it.
“But go on and assume that it is night.”
That is not consistent with the hypothesis.
Whew! See what I mean? Let’s see if we can reconstruct this, focusing initially on the first four lines:
Assume: It’s actually nighttime.
When it is actually night is it actually day?
No.
Well, that seems obvious enough. That covers the first four lines, how about the last four? This seems to be what is going on:
Assume: You assume or entertain the proposition that it is night, for the sake of some argument. [Key thing to keep in mind here is that you know nothing else about the broader circumstances in which this assumption is being entertained. Is it day, night, summer winter, spring or fall? You don’t know, and the assumption doesn’t indicate.]
When you assume or entertain the proposition that it is night in this particular circumstance, can you assert with confidence that it is actually night?
No, I cannot do this. I cannot assert that it is actually night, I am only assuming that it is. It is not consistent with that assumption to assert that it is definitely night out there in the real world.
There is purpose in making such counterfactual hypotheses. Perhaps an astronomer would do something like this while planning observations he would like to make at some later date. He assumes that it is night, and imagines himself pointing his telescope at this or that area of the sky, and asks himself what he will observe. Again, he plays along with his assumption in a way that is somewhat similar to playing along with roles in games, which, in turn is similar to ‘agreeing’ to, or feeling obliged to, play the roles we are handed by life, and ultimately by God. Epictetus does tell us we always have the choice of refusing to play roles we find ourselves inhabiting, because we are, as God intended, free beings. Furthermore, he also claims that, if we are fully bought into the Stoic metaphysic, we should freely choose to adopt the roles, and take great pains to ‘play them well,’ using the various guides provided us in that effort to indeed play them well. Finally, those various guides will also let us know when it is OK to exercise our freedom to quit ‘the game.’
With these latter points in mind, Epictetus moves on to another bit of dialogue. This time we provide disambiguating interpretations just below the actual lines of text:
So also, in the present case. “Let us suppose that you are unhappy.”
Assume: You are actually unhappy.
So be it.
“Are you, then, unfortunate?”
Are you then also actually unfortunate?
Yes.
“What then? Are you troubled with ill-fortune?”
And would you also be actually troubled by your ill-fortune; would it be the case that it actually is bothering you?
Yes.
“But go on and assume that you are in a wretched plight.”
Would it also be the case that you are actually wretched, meaning that nothing good can or ever will come to you, nor be brought about by your ill-fortune.
That is not consistent with the hypothesis; moreover, there is Another who forbids me so to think.
The hypothesis has it that you are not happy with your lot, and have had a run of ill-fortune. It does not follow that you are utterly bereft of benefit or good, or value, either in the course of your complete life, or even during the episode of misfortune. It also does not follow that no good at all is fostered by your particular ill-fortune. For, the hypothesis does not make a claim of that scope. Furthermore, knowing what we know about God, he does not arrange things so that we, or the world are so bereft. That would be ungodlike indeed, as we’ve noted before. He has made us such that we can always derive value from our lots. He would be callous and abandoning in doing otherwise, which would also be contrary to his nature. We must also keep in mind that there is a greater good (whatever it might be) that we serve to bring about each in a role as essential agent. However, we must admit that it might require some of us to endure hard lives. This brings us again, to that question of when it is permissible to quit the game:
In the case of the Saturnalia, it is permissible to leave the game when participants no longer find it to be pleasurable, for it is, after all, just a game, and the conventions surrounding the game do allow for quitting.
In the case of the ‘game of life’, and the ‘king’ running the show and assigning roles to each of us, things are considerably more serious. When are we allowed to quit these roles? Earlier, when discussing suicide, we have seen Epictetus claim that signals will be sent from God to his scouts that will indicate when it permissible for them to retreat. By whom, by what agency are these signals sent? Will they be communiqué from sources external or internal? Will the guardian genius play a role? Conscience? Reason?
In short: Yes.
How long, then, should we obey such commands? As long as it is beneficial, and that means, as long as I preserve what is becoming and consistent.
If you believe these sources to be severally or collectively telling you things are bad, and that it is not possible for you to continue in this ‘becoming and consistent’ manner, then it is your duty to carefully consider the matter and determine whether or not you can continue in the role you play in such a way as to maintain your Moral Purpose, your self-respect and dignity. If such conscientious analysis shows that there is no way to do so, you may cease playing the role. That is actually a signal from God that you have permission to quit. Because you are in some way constituted of his reason, you can rest assured of the accuracy of your carefully considered judgments on this matter. You will not suffer any ‘punishment’ for the choice, if sincerely and carefully undertaken.
But, to be sure, this is a high hurdle to clear. You better be very certain that you are actually in such straits, and not just making excuses, and if there are still ways left open to you whereby you can endure with your Moral Purpose intact, you know you must continue in life. If you are just making excuses, and wanting to retreat for less than the most serious reasons, that is inexcusable dereliction of duty.
Again, Epictetus has us consider a lighter analogous case. The dreaded-obnoxious- dinner host, and various possible responses to his invitation:
Further, some men are unduly crabbed and have too sharp tongues and say, “I cannot dine at this fellow’s house, where I have to put up with his telling, every day, how we fought in Moesia:
This crabby guest says to some other man who has been invited:
“I have told you, brother, how I climbed up to the crest of the hill, well now, I begin to be besieged again.”
This man is tired of his compadre telling that same ‘moment of glory’ story over and over again. He decides to turn down the invitation.
But another says, “I would rather dine and hear him babble all he pleases.”
This second invitee thinks a free dinner is worth the price of tolerating the garrulous host. So, he goes.
And it is for you to compare these estimates; only do nothing as one burdened, or afflicted, or thinking that he is in a wretched plight; for no one forces you to this.
Again, thinking of this dinner invitation, you are quite free to accept or decline the invitation yourself, and can take into consideration what these two other invitees have told you. The case is similar to that of the person deciding whether to continue in the Saturnalia role-playing. The criterion in the Saturnalia case is basically whether or not the activity is sufficiently pleasurable, but in the dinner invitation case that question is also put in the balance against distinctly unpleasurable elements of the situation, the sufferance of which are the price of admission.
An important element here is what Epictetus tells the first ‘crabbed’ man in that pair of fellow invitees. He should not exaggerate the degree of his ‘plight.’ He is not really in a wretched state, and should work from that accurate point of view.
There is an obvious lesson for us in this admittedly humorous example: We too, are usually NOT in truly wretched states, even on those occasions where we bemoan ourselves in those terms. We had better carefully consider things before we act as if we are indeed in wretched circumstances, and leave the game! For if we are not truly ‘wretched’ we will be abandoning our posts; posts we are under obligation to man.
Epictetus now gives us another example to the same effect, one that is another step up the analogical ladder. It is weightier as it involves risk to life:
Has some one made a smoke in the house? If he has made a moderate amount of smoke I shall stay; if too much, I go outside. For one ought to remember and hold fast to this, that the door stands open.
Again, the double entendre here is intentional, the door being, in this case, the option of suicide, quitting life, and the lethal amount of smoke standing in for truly ‘wretched’ circumstances. He now comes around to explicit mention of the suicide option and an example that illustrates the rarity of circumstances which would actually allow it:
But someone says, “Do not dwell in Nicopolis.” I agree not to dwell there. “Nor in Athens.” I agree not to dwell in Athens, either. “Nor in Rome.” I agree not to dwell in Rome, either. “Dwell in Gyara.” I agree to dwell there. But to dwell in Gyara seems to me to be like a great quantity of smoke in the house. I leave for a place where no one will prevent me from dwelling; for that dwelling-place stands open to every man.
The picture here is of a man who is being banished or exiled. Gyara was an island meant to hold exiles. The man in question presumably decides that exile to this place will make it impossible for him to live the remainder of his life tolerably, that is, in a way preservative of Moral Purpose, so he kills himself. If this is an accurate assessment, that move is permissible. The move, in such rare circumstances, preserves Moral Purpose at the cost of giving up life:
And as for the last inner tunic, that is, my paltry body, beyond that no one has any authority over me. That is why Demetrius said to Nero, “You threaten me with death, but nature threatens you.”
If I admire my paltry body, I have given myself away as a slave; if I admire my paltry property, I have given myself away as a slave. For at once I show thereby to my own hurt what I can be caught with. Just as when the snake draws in his head, I say, “Strike that part of him which he is protecting”; so do you be assured that your master will attack you at that point which you particularly wish to protect.
In a world that is sometimes extortionist, if we put preservation of life or property over all else (and especially our Moral Purpose), then when others have power over either, they can demand we do anything in return for their allowing us to live or retain that property we value so highly. That ‘showing of what we can be caught with’ gives such extortionists an opening for humiliation and they can use it to the purpose of turning us into their property, their slaves. If, on the other hand, we make clear to such extortionists, that we will not play that game, we will not be opening ourselves up for humiliation and slavery.
If you remember all this, whom will you flatter or fear anymore?
The answer is that we will not feel it necessary to flatter or fear anyone at all. Still, one naturally would wonder at what he will be passing up by steadfastly observing this way of life, for life is full of extortions, great and small. Not all of them have to do with threats against life or property. Many have to do with attractive things, like opportunity to hobnob amongst the influential and powerful, being treated as peers of the ‘important people.’ Again, Epictetus offers up possible objections along these lines, objections he might have heard from his social-climbing politically ambitious students, and then has a bit of fun with some of the excuses they usually tendered:
But I wish to sit where the senators do.
Do you realize that you are making close quarters for yourself, that you are crowding yourself?
How else, then, shall I have a good view in the amphitheater?
Man, do not become spectator and you will not be crowded. Why do you make trouble for yourself? Or else wait a little while, and when the show is over sit down among the seats of the senators and sun yourself. For in general remember this—that we crowd ourselves, we make close quarters for ourselves, that is to say, the decisions of our will crowd us and make us close quarters.
In short, it is the choice to consider it as vital that we attend such events that ends up making it the case that we endure their unpleasant aspects. The easiest way to avoid the unpleasantries is to make the contrary choice in the first place. But, since that choice is difficult, at least go into such situations with full knowledge of what they entail.
Still, men do fear being reviled by fellow men, and that fear can cause them to ‘go along to get along’ or otherwise compromise themselves, so that they may be perceived as worthy in some way by others. What has the Stoic to say about this? One thing; Being perceived as worthy is of secondary importance to the state of actually being worthy. In fact, it may very well be the case that one who is actually worthy is not perceived as being worthy. Aim for the former, don’t concern yourself with how you may or may not be perceived. The first is in our control. So, work on it first. Whether we are perceived as worthy is not in our control. Let that latter matter handle itself.
Why, what is this matter of being reviled? Take your stand by a stone and revile it; and what effect will you produce? If, then, a man listens like a stone, what profit is there to the reviler? But if the reviler has the weakness of the reviled as a point of advantage, then he does accomplish something.
Again, Epictetus has in mind the bullying extortionist, bent on humiliation of his victim, withholding this at the cost of that victim’s choice to morally compromise himself He references an ancient form of the attempt to humiliate:
“Strip him.”
Why do you say ‘him’?
The point of this question: When you strip someone in hopes of humiliating him, you only strip his body of its cloak. You truly do nothing to the person. You don’t expose the person, you only expose his container, so to speak. His Moral Purpose is not his body. So, you do him no actual harm. If he is Stoic, he will realize this, and not be moved.
Take his cloak and strip that off.
“I have outraged you.”
Well, actually, no he has not, but our Stoic can say in response…
“Much good may it do you!”
This is what Socrates practiced, and that is why he always wore the same expression on his face.
We Stoics hold up, as exemplars, several famous instances of moral courage, like that of Socrates, and marvel at them, but often fall back into our old bad habits, letting ourselves be extorted ‘in ways great and small.’ Why is that? (Again, a persistent question with Epictetus.)
But we prefer to practice and rehearse anything rather than how to be untrammeled and free.
“The philosophers talk paradoxes,” you say. But are there not paradoxes in the other arts? And what is more ‘paradoxical’ than to lance a man in the eye in order that he may see? If anyone said this to a man who was inexperienced in the art of surgery, would he not laugh at the speaker? What is there to be surprised at, then, if in philosophy also many things which are true appear paradoxical to the inexperienced?
The surgeon knows that cutting into the eye is sometimes necessary in order to restore eyesight, and due to his expertise, is not at all phased when those that lack that expertise scoff at the allegedly paradoxical idea that you can preserve eyesight by cutting the eye.
A similar attitude was held by Socrates with regard to his ultimate duty, and what his proper role and motivations should be. No amount of threat, nor promise would coax him away from carrying out that divinely assigned duty to examine his compatriots. So, should the Stoic’s attitude be toward his proper role, that assigned by God, when he too is threatened or cajoled to behave in ways counter to that assignment. He should protect that most important element of his being, his Moral Purpose, and play well his given role, even at the cost of life. What is more, he should take up the rigors of the examined life in order to ensure he succeeds in this God-given mission.