“Socrates: Epictetus’ Stoic Hero”
William O. Stephens, Creighton University
Copyright © 2002,
William O. Stephens
Australasian Society for Ancient Philosophy conference
Massey University, Palmerston North, New Zealand
August 31, 1996
The fact that Socrates figures so prominently in the Discourses[1]
is unsurprising given Epictetus’ general, though not universal,[2]
adherence to the doctrines of early Stoicism. Moreover,
the glorification of Socrates by Epictetus serves a very practical pedagogical purpose: the ideal of the Stoic wise man, which seems so
remote from human possibility and thus would appear to be a purely theoretical construct,
is vividly instantiated in a flesh and blood historical figure. In so doing Epictetus makes Socrates a real
hero to be emulated by his students, the Stoics in training. This explains why Epictetus discusses Socrates so
frequently in the Discourses; Epictetus, following the Stoic tradition, repeatedly
upholds Socrates as the supreme model of virtue. I
want to suggest that Socrates is Epictetus’ favorite hero[3]
because Socrates, as husband, father,[4] soldier, Athenian citizen and
member of the council, who calmly faced execution rather than breaking the law, embodies a
true Stoic exemplar in contrast to Diogenes the Cynic,[5]
the childless, stateless, and often indecorous bachelor.[6]
I shall begin my examination of Epictetus' conception of heroism with an indicative
comment on Homer's epics.
What do you suppose? Did not Homer
compose these things in order for us to see that the noblest, the strongest, the richest,
the handsomest of men may nevertheless be the most unfortunate and wretched, if they do
not hold the judgments that they ought to hold? (4.10.36)
Epictetus’ exegesis of Homer's
portrayal of epic figures is a Stoic object lesson:
even the men who surpass all others in nobility, martial prowess, wealth, and
beauty may tumble into wretchedness by failing to hold onto true (Stoic) judgments. And if they do fall prey to the wrong judgments,
it is their own fault. I will now turn to an
analysis of Epictetus’ discussion of Achilles, Agamemnon, Odysseus, and Heracles in
order to construct a frame for Epictetus' portrait of Socrates as the Stoic hero par
excellence.[7] >>> On the use of Socrates,
Diogenes, Heracles, and other figures as examples of moral training, see B. L. Hijmans Jr.
_?s??s??:
Notes on Epictetus' educational system (Assen, 1959), pp. 72–7.
Epictetus insists that Achilles grieved over Patroclus' death because he wanted
to grieve (1.11.31). Grief is not an external
event that happens to us and is beyond our control. Rather,
Achilles judged it appropriate to grieve over the external event of Patroclus’ death,
and so chose to subject himself to grief. Achilles
did not bear in mind Stoic truths; he made the mistake of yearning for Patroclus,
Antilochus, and Protesilaus, foolishly forgetting that one day they must all die
(4.10.31). Though Achilles was handsomer than
Thersites (2.23.32), Achilles was ruined when he got enraged and cried about not getting
Chryseis (1.28.24). Achilles fails to be a
Stoic hero because no Stoic would cry over a girl. Epictetus
marvels at the incongruity of the mightiest of Greek warriors blubbering over a mere
maiden.[8]
The power of the Stoic lies not in martial prowess, but in the strength of his wise
convictions, in the consistently rational application of Stoic principles to individual
cases. But it is precisely the application
of preconceptions to particular cases that was the cause of the conflict between Achilles
and Agamemnon (1.22.5–8, 1.25.10–11). Epictetus
faults Achilles for forgetting his purpose by judging it expedient to quarrel with
Agamemnon: “Whoa, man, what did you come
for? To get a lover or to fight? —
‘To fight.’ With whom? The Trojans or the Greeks? — ‘With the
Trojans.’ Are you, then, letting Hector
go and drawing your sword against your own king?” (2.24.22). And Agamemnon is equally to blame: “And as for you, O best of men, are you
abandoning your duties [e1rga]
as king, ‘With a people to watch over and so many cares’, and brawling over a
paltry girl with the greatest warrior among your allies, whom you ought by every means to
treat with attention and protect?” (2.24.23).
Here we see how Epictetus’ evaluation of Agamemnon in the Discourses is
especially critical because Agamemnon, as leader of all the Greek troops, has a special
role, and thus special responsibilities. Epictetus
explains that only Agamemnon was able to lead the Greek army against Ilium, and only
Achilles was able to fight Hector in single combat, but the likes of Thersites could do no
such things (3.22.7–8). Thus Epictetus
distinguishes Agamemnon’s special talent as general and Achilles’ special talent
as supreme combatant from Thersites’ lack of talent.
Thersites and Agamemnon have disparate characters and accordingly have disparate
roles: “But characters so opposite
cannot be mixed. You cannot act as Thersites
and Agamemnon too. If you want to be
Thersites, you must be humpbacked and bald; if Agamemnon, you must be tall and handsome,
and love the people assigned to you” (4.3.10).
Yet despite his leadership and kingly love for his subjects, Agamemnon fails to
possess the wisdom and equanimity needed for happiness, and thus falls short of Stoic
heroism. Epictetus specifies two reasons why
Agamemnon was not happy: (a) he foolishly
worried about his troops being killed by the Trojans, and (b) he foolishly sought to
retrieve Helen, his brother Menelaus’ adulterous wife, from the Trojans
(3.22.30–37). The argument Epictetus
advances for the former failing is odd (3.22.33–34):
1. Agamemnon’s Greek troops are
mortal.
2. Thus, if the Trojans do not kill them
all, then the Greek troops will die anyway.
3. If death is an evil, then, whether
the Greek troops die all at once (now) or one at a time (later), death is equally an evil.
4. But death is merely the separation of
soul and body.
5. Thus, death is not an evil.
6. If the Greek troops die, the door is
not closed for Agamemnon; he too is permitted to die (kill himself).
7. Therefore, Agamemnon ought not wail (penqe/w).
In this argument, Epictetus tries to
console Agamemnon by reminding him that he is free to kill himself in order to avoid the
disgrace of being a general who survives while his entire army is slain. But Agamemnon has made the mistake of worrying
about something that is not up to him, namely, the Trojans killing his troops. Thus any misfortune or unhappiness that befalls
Agamemnon is strictly self-imposed by means of his misplaced worry.
Epictetus then continues with an even more fundamental second criticism.
But why did you come [to Troy]? Was
your desire in any danger, or your aversion, or your choice, or your refusal? ‘No,’ he says, ‘but my brother's
silly wife was abducted.’ Is it not a
great gain to be rid of a silly and adulterous wife?
‘But must we he held in contempt by the Trojans?’ Who are they?
Wise men or fools? If wise, why do you
war with them? If fools, why do you care
[what they think]? (3.22.36–37)
Agamemnon’s reason for waging war on
the Trojans is doubly unjustified. First,
Helen is an adulterer, and so Menelaus ought to be glad to lose her. If Agamemnon were wise, he would disabuse Menelaus
of his mistaken judgment that he has been robbed of a spouse worth waging war over. Second, if the Trojans held the Greeks in contempt
for not battling to reclaim Helen, then this opinion ought to be indifferent to Agamemnon;
he ought only concern himself with what is up to him, namely, his own desire (o1recij),
aversion (e1kklisij),
choice (o9rmh/),
refusal (a1formh/),
and his own opinions. So Epictetus rejects
Agamemnon's reason for leading the Greek campaign against Troy as just the kind of
non-Stoic foolishness that cannot be true heroism since it leads to misery, not happiness.
Odysseus comes closer to passing muster as a Stoic hero than does Agamemnon in
Arrian’s Discourses. Epictetus argues that it is impossible to be
happy and simultaneously to yearn for what is not present.
For that which is happy must possess everything that it wants, it must resemble
someone replete; neither thirst can come near him, nor hunger. — But Odysseus longed
for his wife, and sat weeping on a rock. — And do you pay heed to Homer and his tales
for everything? If Odysseus really wept, what
else could he have been but miserable? But
what fine and good[9]
man is miserable? (3.24.17–18)
So Epictetus concludes that if Odysseus
wept and lamented over Penelope, then he could not have been a good man. Epictetus then further supports this judgment with
a short argument (3.24.20–21).
1. If a man does not know who he is,
then he is not a good man.
2. If a man has forgotten that all
things that come into being are perishable, and that it is impossible for one human being
always to live with another, then he does not know who he is.
3. Thus, if a man yearns for his absent
wife, then he longs for the impossible.
4. If a man longs for the impossible,
then he is slavish, foolish, a stranger fighting against god in the only way possible,
with his judgments.
5. If a man is slavish, foolish, a
stranger fighting against god with his judgments, then he is not a good man.
6. Therefore, if a man (Odysseus?)
yearns for his absent wife, then he is not a good man.
Yet Epictetus seems to distrust Homer's depiction of Odysseus drenching a rock with
tears of longing for Penelope. Why should
Epictetus doubt Homer's credibility in this case, but not in the case of Achilles and
Agamemnon fighting over Chryseis? The reason,
I think, is the special, distinctly Stoic praise Epictetus has for Odysseus elsewhere. When shipwrecked Odysseus was not dispirited, but
simply asked Nausicaa and her attendants for food ‘as a lion reared in the
mountains’, trusting in his judgments about the things up to us and the things not up
to us (3.26.33–34). Epictetus commends
Odysseus for the boldness with which he requested food, based on the judgment that to ask
for what is necessary cannot be shameful, and so ought not be done meekly, with head
bowed. That many regard begging for food as
most shameful simply
shows that the wise, who know better, are few.
One last accolade Epictetus pays Odysseus is to pair him with Socrates in the list
of five different positions regarding gods. Odysseus
and Socrates are among those who say ‘Not a move do I make unseen by thee [god]’
(1.12.3). Agreement with Socrates on this
important theological point elevates Odysseus to an estimable rank among the Homeric
heroes.
Yet among the non-philosophers discussed by Epictetus, the most sensational image
of Stoic endurance, self-sufficiency, and dramatic, triumphant a1skhsij
is the most popular and widely worshipped of all Greek heroes, Heracles. Heracles is an outstanding example for Epictetus
of the man being made by his deeds. His
labors are excellent cases of challenges that actualize what would otherwise be his merely
dormant virtues. Thus they are opportunities
to do good, and so ought to be eagerly embraced; they ought not to be seen as threats to
shrink from.
Or what do you think Heracles would have amounted to if there had not been such a
lion, and a hydra, and a stag, and unjust and savage people, whom he drove off and cleared
away? And what would he have done if nothing
like these had existed? Is it not clear that
he would have wrapped himself up and slept? In
the first place, then, he would never have become Heracles by slumbering his whole life
away in such luxury and ease; or if he had, what good would he have been? What would have been the use of those arms of his,
and his might overall, and his steadfastness and nobility [?a?te??a?
?a_
?evva??t?to?],
if such circumstances and opportunities had not roused and exercised him? What then? Should
he have provided these for himself, and sought to bring a lion into his country from
somewhere or other, and a boar, and a hydra? That
would have been madness and folly. But since
they did exist and could be found, they were of service for revealing and exercising
Heracles. (1.6.32–36)
A life of sloth and slumber would have been
a great waste of Heracles’ talents. Heracles
met his labors head on, actively applying his powers to deal with them energetically. He rose to these challenges with fortitude and
courage. So this is the first aspect of
Heracles’ conduct we can identify as what distinguishes him as a Stoic hero for
Epictetus. But notice that the Stoic hero
does not stage such labors so as to fabricate occasions for his a1skhsij. Rather, he meets challenges if and as they arise
or already exist. Only a lunatic would
artificially concoct trouble for himself. Epictetus
rejects such an act as illegitimate.
Epictetus does grant, however, that Achilles and Agamemnon tackled their tasks
bravely and with perseverance, yet they fall short of Stoic heroism. So what distinguishes Heracles from them? Heracles undertook his labors without complaint;
this is the second feature of his Stoic heroism. Heracles
had no self-pity and voiced no resentment at the tasks his master assigned him. “Now, Heracles, when he was being trained by
Eurystheus, did not think himself miserable, but fulfilled without hesitation all his
appointed tasks; and shall he who is being exercised and trained by Zeus, cry out and get
angry? Is he worthy of carrying the scepter
of Diogenes?” (3.22.57). The Stoic hero,
the one worthy of bearing the Cynic’s staff, does not whine that his given tasks are
troubling burdens because he recognizes that they can be turned to salutary effect.[10]
For whatever happens, you will turn it to good use, and the outcome will be
fortunate for you. Or what would Heracles
have been if he had said, ‘How am I to prevent a great lion or a great boar or savage
people from appearing?’? And what is
that to you? If a great boar appears, your
contest will be greater; if evil people, you will rid the civilized world of evil people.
(4.10.10)
So Epictetus insists that any difficult
challenge that comes our way is no misfortune for us unless we wrongly judge it so. Rather, the greater the contest, the greater the
glory in prevailing.
Self-sufficiency is the third quality heroizing Heracles. Zeus didn’t give much to his own son,
Heracles, yet “Heracles was ruler and leader of all the land and sea, purging them of
injustice and lawlessness, and introducing justice and righteousness; and all this he did
naked and by himself” (3.26.31–32). The
virtue of au0ta/rkeia
is, of course, especially esteemed by both the Cynics and the Stoics.
A fourth characteristic of the Stoic hero that Epictetus attributes to Heracles is
the proper emotional detachment from friends and loved ones. This is the virtue of invulnerability to
loneliness, and Epictetus sees this disposition arising from the belief in divine,
paternal providence. Such a belief dispels
any worry that we are abandoned in the cosmos. Epictetus
explains that Heracles traveled all over the world, expelling wickedness and introducing
lawfulness.
Yet how many friends do you suppose he had in Thebes, how many in Argos, how many
in Athens, and how many did he acquire on his travels, considering that he married too
when he thought fit, and sired children, and then deserted his children, without lamenting
and longing for them, or considering that he was leaving them to be orphans. For he knew that no human being is an orphan, but
that there is a father who always and constantly cares for them all. For to him it was not mere hearsay that Zeus is
the father of human beings, but he always thought of him as his own father, and called him
so, and looked to him in all that he did. Accordingly
it was possible for him to live happily everywhere. (3.24.14–16)
Here we might object that Epictetus is
mightily stretching to put such an entirely positive spin on Heracles’ abandonment of
his children. Oldfather, for example,
complains that “this is about the most drastic bit of idealisation of the Heracles
myths which the Stoics... ever achieved.”[11] Sophocles, in contrast, certainly offers a less
sparkling picture of Heracles' familial relationships in the Trachiniae. But it is significant that Epictetus describes
Heracles as not seeing himself as leaving his children to be orphans because Epictetus is
thereby comparing him to Socrates in the Crito (Crito’s criticism:
45c5–d6 and Socrates’ reply: 54a1–b1).
There Socrates imagines the Laws of Athens telling him not to worry about the
rearing and education of his children after he is gone because his friends will look after
them equally well whether Socrates lawfully submits to his execution and goes to Hades or
unlawfully escapes prison and flees to Thessaly. Socrates
did not worry about orphaning his children while pursuing the right course of action
(mentioned by Epictetus at 4.1.166), and so Heracles, Epictetus contends, is also to be
admired for performing his good deeds without missing his loved ones and bemoaning his
separation from them. Heracles holds the
heroic Stoic belief that Zeus is his and everyone’s father; thus no one is really
ever deserted and utterly alone since Zeus watches over us all. Knowing this, Heracles was able to be happy
wherever he went. Knowing this,
Heracles’ children can be happy even when their father is far away.
Epictetus’ remarks on Heracles show that unhappiness and misfortune result not
from having to face difficult tasks or from being separated from one’s family, but
rather from judging those tasks to be miserable hardships instead of beneficial training
opportunities and from foolishly resenting and lamenting separation from one’s
family. And recognition of this Stoic truth
is certainly open even to those who lack the physical strength of Heracles and the
inurement to the cold of Diogenes the Cynic.[12] Consequently, Epictetus argues that “a human
being is unfortunate [dustuxh/j]
not when he is unable to choke lions, or throw his arms about statues (for he has received
no faculties for this purpose from nature), but when he has lost his kindness [e_?v?µov],
his trustworthiness” (4.5.14). Heracles’
lion-choking ability and Diogenes’ ability to hug snow covered statues are not what
make them fortunate and happy. Human misery
results not from lacking these extraordinary powers, nor from losing any external
possessions, but from losing our natural faculties of kindness, trustworthiness, and
virtue. And so while the achievements of
Heracles and Diogenes are spectacular, their Stoic heroism and happiness are to be found
in the full development of the same virtues that are nascent within everyone. This is evident in this last quotation that
nicely summarizes Epictetus’ praise of Heracles.
If Heracles had sat around at home, what would he have been? Eurystheus, and not Heracles. Come, how many
acquaintances and friends did he have as he travelled throughout the civilized world? But none dearer than god; that is why he was
believed to be the son of Zeus, and he was. In
obedience to him he went around extirpating injustice and lawlessness. But you are not Heracles, nor able to extirpate
the evils of others; nor even Theseus to extirpate the evils of Attica; extirpate your
own, then. Expel, instead of Procrustes and
Sciron, grief, fear, desire, envy, joy at others’ ills, greed, effeminacy,
intemperance from your mind [t_?
d?avo?a?].
(2.16.44–45)
Heracles’ accomplishments were global
in scale, and so his heroic deeds are beyond what Epictetus’ students might
reasonably hope to achieve. Even the more
local exploits of Theseus, the national hero of Athens, may be too grand a goal for a
pupil aspiring to make progress as a Stoic. So
Epictetus tries to impress on his students that our Stoic training need not, and at least
as beginners ought not, be directed outward toward ridding the world of the evils
of other people; rather, we should set the more modest, yet sufficiently strenuous goal of
ridding ourselves of vices and weaknesses. Grief,
fear, envy, greed and the like are what rob us of our moral integrity and mental
tranquillity, so our concern should be to expel these things from our minds and leave it
to the likes of a Theseus to get rid of the highwaymen Procrustes and Sciron who, after
all, can only take our money.
Having thus far examined only non-philosophers, we have constructed a basic
framework of Epictetus’ conception of heroism consisting in four features. Epictetus’ Stoic hero (1) takes up his tasks
bravely and energetically; (2) performs these tasks without complaint; (3) is abundantly
self-sufficient; and (4) displays no emotional dependence on his friends and loved ones
that would prevent him from being happy everywhere.
Between Heracles and Socrates, as we ascend Epictetus’ roster of heroes, is
Diogenes the Cynic. The role of the Cynic,
Epictetus explains, is to be a kind of advance-scout, messenger, and herald of the gods
(3.22.69) who reports to us the lay of the land we walk through in life. Having scouted out the true nature of good and
evil,[13]
Diogenes reports to us that death is not an evil, since it is not dishonorable, and
defamation is an empty noise made by crazy people (1.24.6).
Regarding toil, pleasure, and poverty he reports that “to be naked is better
than any purple-bordered robe; to sleep on the bare ground is the softest bed. And he gives as proof of each claim his own
courage, his tranquillity, his freedom, and moreover his body, radiant and hardened”
(1.24.7–8). The task assigned to
Diogenes is not the Heraclean vanquishing of beasts, but rather living more austerely than
ordinary people think possible. The courage
Diogenes displays in embracing his stark, utterly unencumbered lifestyle is conspicuous. Moreover the Cynic is persuaded that whatever
hardships he suffers, it is Zeus who is thereby exercising him (3.22.56), and so Diogenes
expresses no complaints about his circumstances. As
we will see below, he is even cheerful in dying. So
Diogenes definitely manifests the first two elements of Stoic heroism specified above. As for the third, Diogenes’ self-sufficiency
was unsurpassed. Epictetus quotes Diogenes
saying “‘See, people, that I have nothing, I need nothing; see how without a
house, without a city, and an exile, if it so chance, and without a hearth, I live more
tranquilly and serenely than all the nobly born and rich’” (4.11.23). And this self-sufficiency derives from
Diogenes’ tremendous freedom.
Epictetus explains that Diogenes was set free by Antisthenes’ teaching that
property, kinfolk, family, friends, reputation, familiar places, and conversation with
others (diatribh/)
are all not our own, but the proper use of impressions (xrh=sij
fantasi/an)
is (3.24.68-69 and cf. 4.1.114). With this
knowledge, Diogenes was forever liberated from slavery, since “he that can be beaten
by a human being must long before have been beaten by things” (3.24.70). Diogenes was free because everything he had could
be easily let go of, whether his property, his leg, his kinfolk, his friends, his country,
or even his whole body, and he could do this because he knew from where he had them, from
whom, and upon what conditions he had received them (4.1.152–153).
His true ancestors, the gods, and his real country he would never have forsaken,
nor would he have allowed anyone else to be more obedient and yielding to them, nor would
anyone else have died more cheerfully for his country.[14] For it was not the mere reputation of acting for
the universe that he sought, but he remembered that everything that comes into being has
that as its source, and is done on behalf of that country, and is entrusted to us by the
one governing it. (4.1.154–155)
Accordingly, Diogenes, like Heracles, knew
he was no orphan in the world. Far from it.
Diogenes was king of the cosmos.
Diogenes manifests the fourth feature of heroism, emotional detachment from friends
and family, to the extreme, since he has no wife or children at all. The current state of the world, Epictetus
explains, is like a battlefield. Consequently,
in order to devote himself entirely to the service of god, circulating freely among
everyone, the Cynic ought to be free from all the distractions involved in the private
duties of domestic, family life (3.22.69). So
what is the Cynic’s compensation for having no family?
His kingship (basilei/a),
that is, the Cynic “has made all of humanity his children, the men he has as
brothers, the women as daughters; in this way he approaches them all, in this way he cares
for them all.[15] Or do you suppose it is out of meddlesomeness that
he rails at those he meets? It is as a
father he does it, as a brother and servant of our common father, Zeus” (3.22.81-82). The Cynic’s mission has divine sanction; god
counselled Diogenes to take the office of rebuking others in a kingly way (3.21.19).[16] Epictetus realizes that to be rebuked by a
stranger would be insufferable. We must
understand that Diogenes’ critical scrutiny and moral censure is offered out of
paternal or fraternal love.
But this paternal philanthropy cannot completely veil the ruder aspect of Diogenes
that is greatly muted, but not entirely silenced in the Discourses. Epictetus relates how Diogenes indicated a sophist
by means of the insulting gesture of pointing his middle finger at him (3.2.11). Is this how a loving father acts toward one of his
children? We might admit that the Cynic is
entitled to greater latitude regarding what counts as civility for the difficult
profession of being ‘herald of the gods’. If
so, then coarse gestures and speech may well not always be out of place for the Cynic, who
often relies on shock effect to help drive his message home. Nevertheless, such behavior seems to transgress
the bounds of the politeness expected of a Stoic.
Calling attention to one’s own toughness, on the other hand, is without
question unacceptable behavior for a Stoic, according to Epictetus. When Diogenes had a fever he cried out to those
who were passing by: ‘Wretches, will you not stay?
But to see the struggle of ruined athletes you go all the way to Olympia;
don’t you want to see a struggle between a fever and a human being?’ Epictetus says that Diogenes took pride (_ve?a???p??eto)
in his difficult circumstances and thought himself to be a spectacle worthy of those
passing by (3.22.58–59).[17] For his own Stoic students, however, Epictetus
clearly condemns acting the show-off:
When you have become adapted to living simply in bodily matters, do not pride
yourself upon it [µ_
?a???p??o?
_p_
to?t_];
and if you drink water, do not say on every occasion that you drink water. And if you ever want to train yourself to endure
hardship, do it for yourself and not for those outside; do not embrace statues, but when
you are very thirsty, take cold water into your mouth and spit it out and tell nobody. (Ench.
47)
The Stoic’s modesty prevents him from
making a public spectacle of himself as the Cynic does.
The Stoic is content with keeping his progress in moral training private. Perhaps another reason Epictetus discourages his
students from hugging cold statues is that that might verge on the kind of falsely
fabricated occasion for a1skhsij which
Epictetus rejected as illegitimate when he said that it would have been madness and folly
for Heracles to have sought to bring a lion and a boar and a hydra into his country in
order to fight them (1.6.35–36). After
all, who is ever in the situation of needing to get naked and embrace a statue in the
winter?
So Epictetus cautions that the calling of the Cynic is beyond virtually all of us
because of its stringent requirements. The
Cynic must have a hardy, radiant (sti/lbwn)
body that is unharmed by the plain and simple life in the open air (3.22.87–88) so
that he is attractive and not repulsive to people (3.22.89). He must have much natural charm and sharpness of
mind so as to respond readily and aptly whatever happens (3.22.90 and 4.11.21–22). Above all, Epictetus insists, the Cynic must have
a h9gemoniko/n
‘purer than the sun’ since otherwise he would be a hypocrite for censuring
others for their vices (3.22.93). Consequently
the calling of the Cynic is certainly not for everyone.
Very few will have these extraordinary natural endowments necessary to be a
successful Cynic.
Finally we come to Socrates. Socrates
is mentioned by name more often than any other person in the Discourses and the Handbook,[18]
and he abundantly displays all four traits of Epictetus’ Stoic hero.[19] First, Socrates bravely embraced the mission
assigned to him by god, his general, and defended his post (philosophizing at Athens) to
the death[20]
rather than deserting it (1.9.22–25, 3.1.19, 3.24.99).
Second, Socrates gladly performed his assigned tasks. For example, he willingly answered his country's
calls to war. Epictetus says it makes no
difference what externals we fear, as long as we shrink from what comes our way, we will
never be happy.
Or how can you say, like Socrates, ‘If god so pleases, so be it’? Do you think that if Socrates had set his desire
on leisure in the Lyceum or the Academy, and daily conversation with the young men there,
he would have gone out on so many campaigns, so often and so willingly? Would he not have lamented and groaned, ‘How
wretched I am to be here now in misery and affliction when I might be sunning myself in
the Lyceum’? Was that your task in life,
to sun yourself? Was it not to be serene, to
be unhampered, to be unhindered? And how
would he still have been Socrates, if he had wailed these things? (4.4.21–22)
Similarly, Socrates accepts his final fate
without any complaint. Epictetus says that
the proko/ptwn
is
not the one who labors only at reading books.
No, what matters is studying how to rid his life of lamentation, and complaint, and
cries of ‘Alas!’ and ‘Wretch that I am!’ and misfortune, and
disappointment, and to learn what death is, what exile is, what prison is, what hemlock
is, so that he may be able to say in prison, like Socrates, ‘Dear Crito, if this is
what pleases the gods, so be it’. (1.4.23–24)
In contrast, Priam, Oedipus, and many kings
say ‘Wretched old man that I am, is it for this that I have kept my grey hairs?’
(1.4.24–25). Thus Socrates acts as a
hero while Priam, Oedipus, and others like them who admired external things suffer
tragedy.
Socrates never blamed anyone, neither god nor human (3.5.16). Socrates practiced being as impassive as a stone
when being reviled, being indifferent and impervious to embarrassment when having his
cloak stripped off, and that is why he always wore the same expression on his face
(1.25.28–31 and 3.5.16). By not wanting
what was not available (1.25.26–27) but instead resting content with what was up to
him. Socrates “desired nothing else than
what was his own” (4.5.5), and so possessed the third heroic virtue,
self-sufficiency.
Fourth, Socrates had the properly detached attitude about externals, including his
family, necessary for preserving his happiness. Epictetus
uses the metaphor of a skillful player in a ball game to explain this Stoic attitude. Socrates knew how to play ball in court when
interrogating his accusers.
This was just like a man playing ball. And
there in court, what was the ball he had to play with?
Imprisonment, exile, drinking poison, being deprived of his wife, leaving his
children behind as orphans. These were what
he had to play with, but nonetheless he played, and handled the ball gracefully. Thus we also should be most careful how we play,
but indifferent as to the ball itself. (2.5.19–20)
Socrates lacked the dangerous emotional
dependence on his wife and children that would have supplied his accusers with a weapon
for coercing him. Speaking for one of his
students who foolishly misses the sight of Athens and the Acropolis, Epictetus says
‘...What claim do I have to the calling of Socrates, who lived and died in the
way he did? Or that of Diogenes?’ Can you imagine either of these crying or fretting
because he is not going to see a certain man or a certain woman, or to live in Athens or
in Corinth, but, if it so chances, in Susa or in Ecbatana? (2.16.35–36)
Epictetus explains that if, like Socrates,
you understand he who governs the universe, and carry him around within you, then you will
no longer foolishly yearn for ‘puny stones and a pleasing rock‘ (2.16.33).
The notion that loving others necessitates suffering in their absence is directly
rejected by Epictetus. Socrates’ love
for his children did not involve depending on them for his happiness; he suffered no
heartbreak on their account.
Did not Socrates love his own children? But
as a free man, as one remembering that his first duty to be a friend to the gods. Thus he violated no part of the character of a
good man, either in making his defense, or in proposing his penalty, or before then as a
member of the council or a soldier (3.24.60–61; cf. 2.2.8–9)
Socrates' community with the gods and his
cosmopolitanism allowed him to be fearless among human beings and happy everywhere in the
universe.[21]
The ubiquity of Socrates’ happiness is also evident from his attitude when in
prison. In one passage Epictetus argues that
“wherever someone is against his will, that for him is a prison. Just as Socrates was not in prison, for he was
there willingly” (1.12.23). Elsewhere
Epictetus observes, “A tribune and a prison is each of them a place, the one high,
the other low; but the p?oa??es??
remains the same, if you wish to keep it the same, in either place. And then we shall be emulating Socrates, when, in
prison, we are able to write hymns of praise” (2.6.25-26). Whereas Diogenes, as we saw, could be rude and
insulting even without provocation, Socrates, according to Epictetus, never got riled. “This was the first and most characteristic
thing about Socrates, that he was never provoked [pa?o??v?_va?]
in an argument, never uttered anything abusive or insolent, but endured the abuses of
others, and ended conflict[22]”
(2.12.14; cf. 4.5.1-3).[23] Epictetus prefers Socrates' peaceableness and
gentility to Diogenes' showiness and coarseness.
Book Four, Chapter One of the Discourses, entitled ‘On Freedom’,
contains the longest continuous passage detailing Socrates' heroic virtues. Because of its importance, I quote it in its
entirety.[24] After explaining that the freedom and fearlessness
with which Diogenes conversed with kings came from not regarding his body as his own,
needing nothing, and esteeming the law and nothing else as everything to him, Epictetus
remarks:
159. And to prevent you getting the impression that I am offering you as an example
a man free of encumbrances, without a wife or children, or country or friends, or
relatives to bend or divert him, take Socrates, and consider him, who had a wife and
children, but deemed them not his own, who had a country (to the extent and in the manner
in which duty demanded) and friends and relatives, all subject to the law and obedience to
the law. 160. For that reason, when duty demanded that he serve as a soldier he was the
first to go out, and exposed himself to danger without the least reserve. But when he was sent by the Thirty Tyrants to
arrest Leon, because he considered it a shameful thing to do, he never even contemplated
it, though he knew that he would have to die if that was how things turned out. 161. But
what difference did that make to him? For it
was something else that he wanted to preserve, not his paltry flesh, but his fidelity, his
honor. These are things that cannot be put in
the hands of another, cannot be made subject to another.
162. And afterwards, when he was on trial for his life and had to defend himself,
did he behave like a man who had children? Or
a wife? No; but like a single man. And how did he behave when he had to drink the
poison? 163. When he might have escaped, and
Crito said to him, ‘You must escape for the sake of your children,’ what did he
reply? Did he consider this a godsend? Out of the question; he considered what was
fitting, and as for everything else, he neither looked at it nor gave any thought to it. For he did not wish, he said, to save his paltry
body, but that which is increased and preserved by right action, and diminished and
destroyed by wrong. 164. Socrates did not
save his life by acting shamefully, he who refused to put the proposal to the vote when
the Athenians were demanding it, who held the Tyrants in contempt, who used to talk in the
way that he did about excellence and goodness. 165.
Such a man is not to be saved by any shameful means; he is saved by dying, and not by
running away. For a good actor too is
preserved by leaving off when he ought, and not acting beyond the proper time. 166. ‘What, then will become of your
children?’ — ‘If I had gone away to Thessaly you would have taken care of
them; and will there be no one to take care of them when I have gone down to Hades?’ See how he scoffs at death and calls it by fair
names. 167. But, if it had been you or I, we
would have proceeded to prove, by philosophical arguments, that those who act unjustly are
to be repaid in kind; and would have added, ‘If I escape, I shall be of use to many;
if I die, to none.’ No, if it had been
necessary to crawl through a mouse-hole to escape, we would have done so. 168. But how should we have been of use to anyone? For how could we have been, if the others stayed
behind in Athens? Or if we were useful when
alive, should we not have been even more useful to mankind by dying when we ought, and as
we ought? 169. And now that Socrates is
dead, the memory of him is of no less benefit to humankind (and perhaps of even greater
benefit) than what he did or said while still alive.
By memorializing Socrates as the
paradigmatic martyred Stoic hero, Epictetus recognizes that Stoic teachers before him
(Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, etc.) have benefitted, he and his students do benefit, and
Stoic authors after him (Marcus Aurelius) will benefit generations of people, even
centuries after Socrates’ death. Unlike
Diogenes, Socrates has the same ordinary kinds of responsibilities most people have, as
spouse, parent, citizen participating in government, and even as soldier. This is what allows Epictetus to emphasize to his
students that Socrates' circumstances in life, his relationships and duties, closely
resemble our own. And because he is embedded
in common society, Socrates serves as a better Stoic exemplar than Diogenes the Cynic,
vagrant bachelor — neither councillor nor soldier — that he is.
Moreover, the vivid concreteness of the figure of Socrates serves Epictetus’
purposes as no recondite argument of Chrysippus and no Homeric warrior possibly could. In the person of Socrates the Stoic wise man is
presented neither as a mere theoretical construct, a logically necessary placeholder in an
elaborate philosophical system, nor as a legendary, superhuman monster-slayer; rather, the
wise yet modest Socrates is most forcefully exalted as a human reality. Through his example, the goal of becoming a true
Stoic sage ceases to be an unimaginably remote ideal and becomes a genuine possibility for
Epictetus’ students. As a master of the
classroom, Epictetus knows all too well that he must properly motivate his students or
they will learn nothing and make no progress toward becoming real Stoics.
So decide now that you are worthy of living as a grown man who is making progress,
and let everything that appears best be an inviolable law to you. And if you meet with anything burdensome or
pleasant or reputable or disreputable, then remember that the contest is now and the
Olympic games are now, and that you cannot delay any longer, and that it depends on a
single day and a single action whether progress is destroyed or saved. That was how Socrates perfected himself, by paying
attention to nothing but his reason in everything he encountered. But even if you are not yet Socrates, you ought to
live as someone wanting to be Socrates. (Ench. 51.2-3)[25]
It is the desire to train as for an Olympic
contest, to behave as a mature adult, to act as a Stoic, to be like Socrates —
that is, to transform and perfect oneself into a sage — this is the desire which
Epictetus struggles to instill in his students.
Epictetus believes that progress in emulating Socrates, and thus progress toward
becoming virtuous and wise, can be made by using the technique of trying to think like
Socrates and developing the habit of playing his part:
“When you are going to meet anyone, and particularly somebody who is held in
very high regard, ask yourself, ‘What would Socrates or Zeno have done in this
situation?’ and you will not be at a loss to make proper use of the occasion” (Ench.
33.12).[26] Of course Epictetus' students could just as well
ask themselves what their master Epictetus would do in the situations in which they find
themselves. That is why I think that in the Discourses,
Arrian deliberately tries to heroize his teacher Epictetus in the same sort of way that
Plato (in his earlier dialogues) and Xenophon heroized Socrates.[27]
But surely, we might object, as few people will approach Socrates in virtue and
wisdom as are naturally fit to be Cynics. Isn't
it futile for us even to try to emulate Socrates?
Only consider at what price you will sell your proai/resij. Man [a1nqrwpe],
if for nothing else, that you do not sell it cheap.
But the great and exceptional perhaps belongs to others, to Socrates and those such
as him. — Why, then, if we are naturally endowed for this, do not all or many become
like him? — Why, do all horses become swift, are all dogs keen at the scent? What then? Because
I am not naturally gifted, shall I on that account neglect attention to it? Far from it.
Epictetus will not be better than Socrates; but if only not worse, that is enough
for me. (1.2.33–36)
Epictetus believes that we all have it in
us to strive to develop our incipient human virtues given to us by nature. So while few can reasonably hope to become Stoic
heroes, I think that Epictetus’ message is that real moral failure lies in not even
strenuously striving to make progress toward Stoic heroism.
*
ENDNOTES