Sunday, January 1, 2017

Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_§1.5.1.1. ABOUT SH#T THAT HAPPENS.



~by David Aiken~

2 “Ench”, 1.5.1.1. TRANSLATION (Aiken)—About Sh#t that Happens. It is not really the things that happen to people that we find upsetting; but it is, rather, the opinions we have about all the stuff that happens—our beliefs about these occurrences, which disturb us. Death, for example, is not at all dreadful, (or else it would have appeared so to Socrates); what is dreadful, rather, is the opinion that we have about Death—that it is an awful thing that happens. It is only this opinion that brings about our dread. Therefore, whenever we are thwarted or vexed by circumstances of any sort, let us never put the blame elsewhere, but rather only upon ourselves. Blame is only truly to be found in terms of our own opinions. To blame circumstances is a sign of someone who is unformed and uninformed; and such a one wreaks havoc upon others. To blame oneself is the sign of the beginner who is only just starting to get some instruction about thinking. As for the one who has received instruction about right thinking, on the other hand, he will not only not blame the ‘sh#t that happens’, but neither will he blame himself.
2 “Ench”, 1.5.1.1
         Tara¿ssei tou\ß aÓnqrw¿pouß ouj ta» pra¿gmata, aÓlla» 2 ta» peri« tw◊n pragma¿twn do/gmata: oi–on oJ qa¿natoß oujde«n deino/n (e˙pei« kai« Swkra¿tei a·n e˙fai÷neto), aÓlla» to\ do/gma to\ peri« 4 touv qana¿tou, dio/ti deino/n, e˙kei√no to\ deino/n e˙stin. o¢tan ou™n 5 e˙mpodizw¿meqa h£ tarassw¿meqa h£ lupw¿meqa, mhde÷pote a‡llon 6 ai˙tiw¿meqa, aÓll’ e˚autou/ß, touvt’ e¶sti ta» e˚autw◊n do/gmata. 7 aÓpaideu/tou e¶rgon to\ a‡lloiß e˙gkalei√n, e˙f’ oi–ß aujto\ß 8 pra¿ssei kakw◊ß: hjrgme÷nou paideu/esqai to\ [e˙gkalei√n] e˚autw◊ø: 9 pepaideume÷nou to\ mh/te a‡llwˆ mh/te e˚autw◊ø. 

Ms. Carter renders Fragment 5 like this:
Men are disturbed, not by things, but by the principles and notions which they form concerning things. Death, for instance, is not terrible, else it would have appeared so to Socrates. But the terror consists in our notion of death that it is terrible. When therefore we are hindered, or disturbed, or grieved, let us never attribute it to others, but to ourselves; that is, to our own principles. An uninstructed person will lay the fault of his own bad condition upon others. Someone just starting instruction will lay the fault on himself. Some who is perfectly instructed will place blame neither on others nor on himself.

§ Interesting crumbs from the table of the slave
Opinions and beliefs versus ‘sh#t that happens’. In the first line we read: “It is not really the things that happen to people that we find upsetting; but it is, rather, the opinions we have about all the stuff that happens—our beliefs about these occurrences, which disturb us.” The philosophical and preeminently Stoic bottom line here for Epictetus, is that the ‘sh#t that happens’ to us all in the course of a life, including our death, is neither here nor there. These are simply neutral events of our organic state that we should not take personally, and there is no harm to be found in them. On the other hand, it is our preconceived opinions about Life Events that ‘harm’ us; we create for ourselves, in our own minds, a condition of fear that incapacitates us, both as thinking and as acting agents in the world. Hence Epictetus’ conclusion that ‘it is only this opinion that brings about our dread’. Dread or Fear does not derive from events in the world; but rather, is the product of our interpretative minds.

The authority of excellent teachers. Line 3 reads: “Death, for example, is not at all dreadful, (or else it would have appeared so to Socrates).” There is a causal sense behind the ‘or else’ [e˙pei], which tells us, indirectly, a story about Socrates (death—399 BCE) and the teaching authority he still carried at the time that Epictetus is thinking and writing (AD 50-135). One could render the phrase, for example, as, ‘Seeing that (or because) Death did not appear dreadful to Socrates, we have no reason either to think that Death is a fearful affair’.

On dogmatism, dogma and dogmatics. In Line 6 of this section of the Enchiridion we read: “Blame is only truly to be found in terms of our own opinions.” Epictetus makes it crystal clear that the world’s ‘evil’ is actually to be discovered only in the mind of the beholder, and does not belong to the world at all. Our word here for ‘opinion’ is standard usage in Greek: dogmata [do/gmata], which, in its radical sense, means ‘that which seems to one’, which is really what an opinion is when all is said and done. An opinion is a ‘seeming to be’; it is not an objective reality that exists as an intimate part and parcel of the world’s materiality [φύσις], but rather, it is an ostensible judgment or interpretation, which we create in the (noetic) world of our personal perceptions and then drape cosmetically [κόσμος] about the reality of the world—to phrase things in a Pre-Socratic kind of a way.
On another note, we have all met dogmatic people. According to The Free Dictionary, someone who is dogmatic is defined as “Asserting or insisting upon ideas or principles, especially when unproven or unexamined, in an imperious or arrogant manner […], often with an unconsidered rejection of criticism.” This is an attitude that one might freely associate with demagogues and despots, if one were minded to think about recent American elections.
Then there are dogmatisms of a more philosophical persuasion. In the Prolegomena of Immanuel Kant, the German enlightenment and rationalist philosopher famously gives credit to David Hume, the Scottish enlightenment and empiricist philosopher, for awakening him from his “dogmatic slumber” about the nature of causality (i.e., not as objective phenomenon [located in φύσις], but as subjective [κόσμος] phenomenon), which radically changed the orientation of Kant’s speculative philosophy.
Finally, there are dogmatisms of a religious sort. Karl Barth, for instance, the famous Swiss Protestant theologian, wrote his fourteen-volume Church Dogmatics between 1932 and 1967, in which he “explores the whole of Christian doctrine, presenting it as necessarily and entirely Christo-centric. He presents Jesus Christ as the unique and complete Word of God, made flesh. The Bible, therefore, functions as the attestation thereof…”
And then there is Voltaire—who graciously helps us to remember that dogmata are nothing more than opinions about things or ideas. And going one more step into the outback of subjectivity, dogmata about ‘things’ have only a “seem to be” kind of relevance; they are most certainly not indisputable truths, nor worth the bother of killing those who may have a different take on what it is that ‘seems to be’. In the Philosophical Dictionary (French edition des Oeuvres Completes: Tome VII, Section II, 444), under Dogmes, one reads: “The Eternal says: Let it become common knowledge to all the inhabitants of all the hundreds and billions of worlds that it pleased Us to create, that We shall never judge any of the said inhabitants on the merits of their empty ideas [emphasis Phrontisterion’s], but only on their actions; because such is Our justice. […] Because such is Our pleasure.”

Ataraxia. The wiki-folks define ataraxia as “a Greek term used by Pyrrho and subsequently Epicurus for a lucid state of robust equanimity, characterized by ongoing freedom from distress and worry. The ancient Greek author Sextus Empiricus gave this definition: "ataraxia is an untroubled and tranquil condition of the soul." In non-philosophical usage, the term was used to describe the ideal mental state for soldiers entering battle.” From Enchiridion 1.3.1.1 we already learned something about the history of this term:
 ‘To not become devastated’, or ataraxia, is an expression that originally comes to Western philosophy from Epicurus (died 270 BC), and it will subsequently become a fixed philosophical notion for the three great schools of philosophy in ancient Greece: Epicureanism, Pyrrhonism, and Stoicism; Epictetus, of course, who died almost 400 years after Epicurus, is classified as a later Stoic philosopher. The dictionary definition of this future passive verb [ouj taracqh/shØ; ou taraxthese] is, to get stirred up or troubled; to confound, to agitate, to disturb or disquiet. In its passive form, which we have here, it denotes to be in a state of disorder or anarchy (per Thucydides and Democritus). The literature (in the form of Xenophon) also provides a nice figurative image: to be shaken in one’s seat on horseback.
The translation, ‘devastated’, as in, “you will not become devastated,” seems to get to the heart both of Epictetus’ word choice [ouj taracqh/shØ; ou taraxthese], and of the philosophical distance that Epictetus encourages us to acquire as we learn to respond to Loss in our lives. We have written elsewhere that not-taraxia’ or ataraxia is a mental state that one can learn; it is “the tranquility of mind that characterizes someone who is free from worry and distress.” It is this discipline of keeping in mind the real nature of the world—the limitations of materiality in general, which Epictetus is here trying to teach us.”

We can add to this earlier history of ataraxia several other contrasting images by way of clarification. Taraxia, for example, which is a state of confusion, is like a speechifier who mumbles his words and jumbles his argument, making himself not only unintelligible, but nonsensical; taraxia describes an army that is taken by surprise and completely ‘thrown into disorder’ (cf. Herodotus); or it can be said of a country’s political establishment being rocked, agitated, or thrown into an uproar (per Thucydides), as has been the case, for example, since the Americans recently elected their 45th president.

Ø  Relevant posts on ataraxia: Enchiridion 1.3.1.1, and June, 2013 ‘The Pursuit of Happiness and the Well-Demoned Life

§ Paideia
The cornerstone of Epictetus’ Stoic philosophy, which becomes especially clear in this section from Lines 6-9, is the careful distinction he makes between the formed and the ill- and uninformed, the aware (educated) and the unaware (ignorant). Epictetus’ premise, we recall, is that ‘Blame is only truly to be found in terms of our own opinions.” In Bard-ese this looks a lot like Hamlet’s Stoically-minded retort to Rosencrantz: “there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so” (Act 2, Scene 2).
            So, on the question of who and what to blame when ‘sh#t happens’, Epictetus gives us three possibilities. 1) Lines 7-8: To blame the circumstances themselves is a sign of someone who is unformed and uninformed [aÓpaideu/tou], and, says Epictetus, such a one wreaks havoc upon others [aÓpaideu/tou e¶rgon to\ a‡lloiß e˙gkalei√n, e˙f’ oi–ß aujto\ß 8 pra¿ssei kakw◊ß]. Wreaking havoc, which quite literally means to act evilly [pra¿ssei kakw◊ß], is what we create when we act out of ignorance. When we blame the world for being the world and for doing what the world does for a living (e.g., seasons, storms, floods, winds, heat, cold, sickness…), and try somehow to make the world itself responsible for what we call our misfortunes (as if we had some ownership in this process!)—Epictetus calls this attitude a-paideutos. To not be paideutos-the a is privitive in the expression—is, diversely, to be uneducated or uninstructed; as it is to be boorish, rude, or clumsy. Perhaps a clarifying image for a-paideutos might be the clumsy or black-n-white way in which children speak about the world. Because for the most part, while certainly meaningful, there is little that is rigorously correct about children’s perceptions of or understanding about the ways of the world. Childish interpretations are not necessarily ‘wrong’ or ‘untruthful’, because they carry meaning for the childish mind, but they do not yet yield the refined or nuanced understanding of the adult mind, which constitutes for Epictetus the paideutos mind. So, we should not lay blame on the altar of the world for ‘sh#t that happens’. It is just the way of the world to be…well, worldly and world-like.
Likewise, says Epictetus, 2) To blame oneself for ‘sh#t that happens’ in the world is the sign of the beginner who is only just starting to get some instruction about thinking [hjrgme÷nou paideu/esqai]. It seems just a tad obvious to say that there is no intelligence or understanding in asserting that I, the person, am to blame for all the [x]—fill in the blank—which the world brings down on my doorstep. A severe winter storm is the gift of and from the world—I have no true burden of responsibility in its coming or its severity. But, says Epictetus, in learning how to think correctly about the whys and wherefores of sh#t happening in the world, I can begin to understand where and to what degree I might have played a contributing role in the Theatre of the World. When we begin learning to think correctly about the world, we begin by placing ourselves inside the Theatre of the World as players in the world’s eco-system. Right-thinking about the world will certainly not protect us from having to wade through the sh#t that happens to All & Sundry who wander around in the ‘lower 40’ of the world’s eco-system; but right-thinking will calm our minds, making us ataraxia. Right thinking will allow us to center ourselves so we have control of our own minds. We will not be anxious or unsettled in our minds [tara¿ssei—Line 1], and therefore our interior spaces will not be jarred around by the whims of the exterior world.
Epictetus concludes in Line 9 with this: On the other hand, 3) As for the one who has received instruction about right thinking [pepaideume÷nou], he will not only not put blame on the ‘sh#t that happens’, but neither will he blame himself. The gift of paideia, of right thinking in an adult kind of way, is the understanding that there is no true blame, neither toward the world nor toward us. This is the freeing reality of paideia. ‘This’, by which we mean The World, is all just what it is—and nothing is to blame for it. We are all simply players on the World-Stage; and the secret of playing well, is to begin by thinking well.

§ The sins of the fathers…
            When we ask our students, what is the job of the parent in parent-child relationships?, the response is quasi-unanimous – the parent is to ‘provide for’ the child. But this is, importantly, to miss the boat—entirely. By way of explanation, let us imagine a friendly chinwag between two slaves: Aesop and Epictetus.
Aesop first tells his story [TLG: AESOPUS et AESOPICA Scr. Fab. Fabulae {0096.002} Fable 294] of a Wolf who happens to be passing in the neighborhood, who spies a Large Dog staked to the ground by a neck collar – with the exchange going something like this: Wolf: “Who is it who, by putting this chain around your neck, has trained you to act this way? Dog: “My huntsman master.” Epictetus nods his head knowingly at the conclusion of this very-short fable. He finds this story interesting, primarily, because of the verb Aesop uses for ‘trained you to act this way’, which is eksethrepse [ἐξέθρεψε], and means to bring up from childhood, to rear up. This Dog’s training, acquired from years of routine-become-habit, consists entirely in addressing him as his body. The Wolf understands instantly what the Dog does not see at all—that the Dog has been trained by the Huntsman chain to remain physically postured, bound and imprisoned, in a way that has value only for the Huntsman. Now, Epictetus certainly understands the value of routine and habit in raising up, in providing for children’s needs bodily, but he also knows that this sort of education is not so much of interest to the Dog as it is useful to the Huntsman.
So, by way of response, Epictetus crafts this short philosophical narrative for Aesop, which turns out to be Fragment 5 of the Enchiridion, where he adds to the eksethrepse of the Dog’s body the paideia of the Wolf’s mind. It is obvious that both Aesop and Epictetus admire the understanding and perception with which the Wolf interrogates the Dog, as it is evident that neither much care for the Dog’s imprisonment—in both body and mind. The Wolf’s understanding of his world comes as a result of training of the paideia sort, and leads to a liberation of the understanding, whereas the habits and routines of the Dog’s eksethrepse lead only to neck collars and captivity.
The moral of this short story of an imagined philosophical chitchat between the two slaves, is to remind us that ‘our fathers’ have conceived of and continue to fashion an educational system that is almost entirely material, entirely utilitarian in focus [eksethrepse]. So it must not surprise us any longer that consecutive generations, who have been raised up and trained eksetrepsically for such a long time, cannot see the prisons that enthrall them, which hold them fast and bind them as slaves to some Huntsman’s purpose. Education in paideia, on the other hand, is the instruction of the mind in the art of thinking and understanding—in the way of thinking philosophically about our world. Paideia bespeaks the freed mind of Aesop’s Wolf and Epictetus’ educated thinker [pepaideume÷nou], as eksethrepse speaks of the apprehended body and a-paideutos mind of the Dog. Among the various conceptions of education on offer in the world, where paideia (humanistic study) continues to stand in clear opposition to eksethrepse (STEM study), it seems that our fathers, unfortunately, have chosen to prioritize eksethrepse. This explains, almost certainly, today’s ‘way of the world’.

Ø  Further reading on paideia: Werner Jaeger, Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture, vol. I & vol. II.

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