~by David Aiken~
§ 2 “Ench”,
1.12.1.1-1.12.2.1
TRANSLATION (AIKEN)—If you wish to make progress morally and
intellectually, get rid of principles such as the following:
1. “If
I am careless [now] about the things that belong to me, I shall never [in
future] keep hold of the means for taking care of myself.”
2. [3]
“If I do not correct my child, he shall turn out to be a good-for-nothing.”
Because in response to 1) ‘If I am careless…’: it is better [4] to die a hungry wretch, being free from grief and
sorrow and from fear, than to live in the midst of plenty with a troubled mind.
[5] And in response to 2) ‘If I do not correct…’: it is better for the child to turn out to be a sorry
wretch, than for you to be doomed by this fateful reasoning.
It is precisely for this
reason that you should start with the little things.
Respons
1. (About, careless…) [2 “Ench”, 1.12.2.1: [2]] A little olive oil is
spilled, a little wine spirited away—repeat to yourself that ‘A little spilled
oil is the price to pay for [3] peace of mind, and that a little wine gone
missing is a small price to pay for a calm spirit.’
There
is neither loss nor gain [4] whenever the thing is given freely.
Respons
2. (About correcting your child…) Whenever you call for your child, be
aware that it is possible that he may not listen, [5] or that, heeding, he
might not at all do what you wish.
But he [6] is not
so well off that, on account of this, your own thinking should become troubled.
2 “Ench”, 1.12.1.
Ei˙
proko/yai qe÷leiß, a‡feß tou\ß toiou/touß e˙pilogismou/ß. "e˙a»n aÓmelh/sw
ta◊n e˙mw◊n, oujc eºxw diatrofa¿ß": "e˙a»n 3 mh\ kola¿sw to\n
pai√da, ponhro\ß e¶stai." krei√sson ga»r limw◊ø 4 aÓpoqanei√n a‡lupon
kai« a‡fobon geno/menon h£ zhvn e˙n aÓfqo/noiß 5 tarasso/menon.
krei√tton de« to\n pai√da kako\n ei•nai h£ se«
2 “Ench”, 1.12.2.
kakodai÷mona. a‡rxai toigarouvn aÓpo\ tw◊n
smikrw◊n. e˙kcei√tai to\ 2 e˙la¿dion, kle÷ptetai
to\ oi˙na¿rion: e˙pi÷lege o¢ti "tosou/tou pwlei√tai 3 aÓpa¿qeia, tosou/tou
aÓtaraxi÷a": proi√ka de« oujde«n perigi÷netai. 4 o¢tan de« kalhvøß to\n
pai√da, e˙nqumouv, o¢ti du/natai mh\ uJpakouvsai 5 kai« uJpakou/saß mhde«n
poihvsai w—n qe÷leiß: aÓll’ oujc ou¢twß 6 e˙sti«n aujtw◊ø kalw◊ß, iºna e˙p’
e˙kei÷nwˆ h™ø to\ se« mh\ taracqhvnai.
Ms. Carter’s
internet translation:
Carter 12. If you want to improve, reject such
reasonings as these: "If I neglect my affairs, I'll have
no income; if I don't correct my servant, he will be bad."
For it is better to die with hunger, exempt from grief and
fear, than to live in affluence with perturbation; and it is better your servant should be bad, than you unhappy.
Begin therefore from little things. Is a little oil spilt? A little wine stolen? Say to yourself, "This is the price paid for apathy, for tranquility, and nothing is to be had for nothing." When you call your servant, it is possible that he may not come; or, if he does, he may not do what you want. But he is by no means of such importance that it should be in his power to give you any disturbance.
Begin therefore from little things. Is a little oil spilt? A little wine stolen? Say to yourself, "This is the price paid for apathy, for tranquility, and nothing is to be had for nothing." When you call your servant, it is possible that he may not come; or, if he does, he may not do what you want. But he is by no means of such importance that it should be in his power to give you any disturbance.
§ First Things
First—On Mis-takings
and on the Evolution of Language.
Ms. Carter translates in line 3: “if
I don't correct my servant
[to\n pai√da],
he will be bad.” By preferring a more remote definition of the word pais [παῖς], which
normally means ‘child’ but which she translates as ‘servant’, over a
first-level meaning, it seems that Ms. Carter fumbles the interpretative ball. Perhaps
the most ordinary term to designate a household servant would be oiketai [οἰκέται]; but, while oiketai can be found in Epictetus’ Discourses, it is not in the Enchiridion. The term παῖς.
on the other hand, which is our word of immediate interest, occurs three times
in Epictetus’ Enchiridion, (here in §
12, and in Enc § 14 and § 31); and in
both the other instances Ms. Carter translates παῖς in the familiar
family way—as child. With her hapax ‘servant’ translation in this section, Ms. Carter effectively re-creates
for her readers the ethical situation of a worker who is stealing small amounts
of e.g., wine or oil, from his employer’s stockroom. All in all, she presents
us with a very tidy mercantile class translation.
However,
when we allow παῖς to retain its primary levels of normative meaning,
which is to say: child,
and in this instance the male child [note the masculine accusative], then we
have the whole new interpretative world of the challenges related to
child-rearing in societies, like that in ancient Greece, which were given to
primogeniture, which is where the eldest son was the customary enfant de la balle, which is to say that
he inherits the possessions and properties of the father. Thus, the image and gist
of Epictetus’ narrative revolve not around workers, either freed or slave, who pilfer
from their employers, but rather around children who, standing to inherit from
their fathers, carelessly fritter away their inheritance—they are effectively pilfering
from the coffers of their own future.
The
Phrontisterion translation also has
the virtue of being entirely consistent with the life and times of Epictetus,
the once-upon-a-time slave, whom history remembers (Laes, 2009, nt. 16) as Epiktetou / paidagogou / kompsou:
‘Epictetus, the distinguished teacher of young people’. Laes also notes that
this language “gives the slave pedagogue Epictetus the aura of a gentlemen.” It
does not seem likely that a former house slave would be confused on these
matters.
In
an additional note: in trying to separate out the denotative from the
connotative on the more literal question of servant/son, we also open up for
further philosophical consideration and deliberation the interesting metaphorical implications of Epictetus’
illustration. The woeful son who pilfers and purloins his own material
inheritance is certainly less emotionally interesting, and therefore perhaps
less ultimately poignant, than the sons of men who wantonly splurge and squander
the types of inheritance that attend them, not as normative birthright, but by
virtue of their education, their history, the world of ideas and the values
that have preceded them.
Also in line three
of her translation, Ms. Carter provides for us an ‘Oh, no it’s not!’ moment,
when she delivers in the second section, e˙pi÷lege o¢ti "tosou/tou pwlei√tai 3 aÓpa¿qeia, tosou/tou aÓtaraxi÷a,” as: “Say to yourself, "This is the price paid for apathy, for tranquility…"
Sigh. What a waste of language, even for Ms. Carter’s 18th century
England. For Oxford, Merriam-Webster and Wikipedia, the first meanings for
‘apathy’ are ‘lack of feeling or emotion’, and ‘lack of interest, enthusiasm,
or concern’. But this usage of ‘apathy’, even in Ms. Carter’s 18th
century, is simply too far removed from Epictetus’ properly philosophical meaning
for it to convey Epictetus’ sense to the modern reader and speaker of English.
Phrontisterion translates these lines by giving them
their most positive philosophical sense: “‘A
little spilled oil is the price to pay for [3] peace of mind, and that a little
wine gone missing is a small price to pay for a calm spirit.’” Both apatheia [aÓpa¿qeia] and ataraxia [aÓtaraxi÷a] are important philosophical word-concepts
in Stoic philosophy, which we have already considered at some length in
previous sections of Phrontisterion’s
translations of Epictetus’ Enchiridion
(cf. 1.3.1.1;
1.5.1.1).
At the moment, however, our attention is drawn to the fact that, in contemporary
English language usage, the translation ‘apathy’ simply does not render the
appropriate levels of meanings for Epictetus’ apatheia [aÓpa¿qeia], for which
serenity or tranquility would be more normative.
§ Thinking After
Epictetus.
Epictetus begins this section of his
critique of popular morality by introducing a learning strategy: if we wish to
improve in terms of how to think
about our lives in the midst of this world’s complexities, then we need to unlearn a lot of the sometimes bizarre, but
always unreconstructed and unconstructive notions we have in our brains concerning
what the moral life looks like.
Now,
one can certainly pretend that Epictetus is addressing, and criticizing, his
contemporary world’s ever-more Christianized notion of morality, which includes
notions of child rearing borrowed from tropes floating around in ancient Near
Eastern wisdom literature (Proverbs 13:24), and the idea of stewardship, which
extends in the Scriptures from Genesis to the Gospels (Luke 16:10). But, while
middle-period Stoicism and early Christianity certainly co-existed as
historical contemporaries, there is no clear evidence that Epictetus is
specifically addressing religious people of any particular persuasion. And
while it definitely seems apparent that both Epictetus and the biblical authors
are dipping into the same traditional well-spring of popular moral wisdom, their
responses to that ‘received’ popular wisdom tradition are fundamentally different,
with the biblical authors accepting popular wisdom fairly uncritically, while Epictetus
ditches the entire populist social-moral enchilada in favor of a better
thought-out bit of philosophical wisdom.
§ Enchiridion 1.12.1.1, lines 1-3—the
examples.
If you wish to make progress
morally and intellectually, get rid of principles such as the following:
1. “If
I am careless [now] about the things that belong to me, I shall never [in
future] keep hold of the means for taking care of myself.”
2. [3]
“If I do not correct my child, he shall turn out to be a good-for-nothing.”
The first example that
Epictetus gives us from the wisdom tradition concerns the idea of stewardship: “If I am careless [now] about the things
that belong to me, I shall never [in future] keep hold of the means for taking
care of myself.”
The idea that
humans have some sort of special connection vis-à-vis World, and therefore have
some particular dominion over or responsibility to the things of the world, which
includes of course the World System, a.k.a. our environment, has an enormously
long and culturally diverse history, but it is perhaps most familiar to the
Christianized West from the biblical creation story in Genesis 1:26-28 (NRSV).
26 Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according
to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over
the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the
earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”
27 So God created humankind in his image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.
28 God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and
multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of
the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves
upon the earth.”
This generic
notion of dominion or stewardship in the OT creation ordering, is subsequently and
predictably translated by New Testament writers into more particular
applications, such as those that might have bearing on work-a-day attitudes.
For example, in Luke 16:10 (NIV)
one reads: 10 “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted
with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest
with much.
In
its Western religious incarnations, stewardship over things, e.g., people,
ideas, actions, and material objects, has historically implied some degree of
power or authority over those things being ‘stewarded’. There exists in the biblical
notion of stewardship the idea of a distinctive position in an implied hierarchy
held by those who are the stigweards
(Old English) of this Shindig, of those who ‘have’ or have been given
stewardship. Stoic philosophy, however, does not seem to share this hierarchical
vision. Rather, philosophers such as Epictetus anticipate that a certain degree
of ethico-philosophical benevolence will arise both in our consciousness and in
our attitudes toward World and its things, as we progressively recognize the
ramifications of the interconnectedness of all
the things that belong to World.
Also,
notwithstanding all the historical hullaballoo to the contrary from those in
the Protestant Ethic tradition, stewardship is a contingent and therefore
non-intrinsic value, which carries with it no future guarantees. This is
precisely what Epictetus is actually trying to point out in this passage. Any
acts or attitudes of stewardship that we do or have NOW in the world will not necessarily
eo ipso translate into some kind of
hold or influence that shall necessarily accrue to us in the FUTURE of the
world. In Epictetus’ way of thinking, future circumstances can never be
determined or controlled by human ephemerae defined by the Now of reality, no
matter how well we treat our present circumstances.
§ An Excursus on Stewardship.
Epictetus
certainly has a challenging attitude toward stewardship, especially as most
current notions of stewardship presuppose that our present actions can reach
into and meaningfully influence future circumstances. Epictetus’ response is,
‘Maybe and maybe not’. Epictetus’ interest, though, is not to draw our
attention to the things we do in our
lives, but rather, to how we generally fail to think correctly about our relationship to the future consequences
of our present actions.
I
would suggest that Epictetus, like just about everyone else in the universe,
would be on board with the action-ideas that we need ‘not to be careless [now]
about the things that belong to me’, and that we need ‘to correct our
children’. The issue is not particularly these two principles for action; but
rather, that we should think that by
exercising these two types of action, or any other principles of action, we
thereby gain some control over or have any particular influence over future
events or circumstances. Thus, Epictetus wishes for us to avoid falling into
the erroneous belief that if I do X, then Y shall happen. To this type of
thinking Epictetus responds emphatically ‘No’. Y may or may not happen; but
whether it does or does not, Y will not necessarily be the result of my X.
So,
Epictetus’ bottom line is that, in our today’s activities—whether e.g. work
related or in rearing children, we should certainly be attentive to our actions
in the way a good steward is. But we must also be aware—and this is his
philosophical admonition—that an Unknown Tomorrow constantly attends us and is
no respecter of our actions. Thus, Epictetus is no early version of Jean de la
Fontaine, who, in the fable of the cicada and the ant (La cigale et la fourmi), encourages us to try to ward off ‘grim
Necessity’ by hard work. (link).
The cicada
(cricket) having sung
All summer long,
Found herself most destitute
When the north wind blew:
Not even one little morsel
Of fly or worm.
All summer long,
Found herself most destitute
When the north wind blew:
Not even one little morsel
Of fly or worm.
[La Cigale, ayant chanté
Tout l'été,
Se trouva fort dépourvue
Quand la bise fut venue.
Pas un seul petit morceau
De mouche ou de vermisseau.]
Tout l'été,
Se trouva fort dépourvue
Quand la bise fut venue.
Pas un seul petit morceau
De mouche ou de vermisseau.]
In what might be
considered a rather precociously Hegelian move, Epictetus discourages us from
concluding an either/or (thesis/antithesis) interpretation of the conflict
between the ant and the cicada, but instead proposes a philosophical
synthesis: We should Think (correctly)
like the cigale, who acts out her
life today for her own good pleasure; but we should Act (correctly) like the fourmis, who acts out her life today for
(perhaps) a ‘future today’ as well. Hence, Epictetus’ philosophical admonition is
not about any particular Doing, but about Thinking rightly about what we are Doing.
§ Enchiridion 1.12.1.1, lines 1-3—the
examples (con’t).
The
second example from the Handbook that
Epictetus gives us in lines 1-3, which seems likewise drawn from the popular melting-pot
of traditional wisdom, concerns the idea that we have some meaningful
obligation toward the attitudes or actions of others, including our own children:
[3] “If I do not correct my child, he shall turn
out to be a good-for-nothing.”
Now,
who among us has not been served up by our parents at some point during our
childhood the injunction from Proverbs 13:24 (NIV), which inevitably contains
the promise of some degree of unpleasantness to come hard on the heels of the
reminder: 24 Whoever spares the rod hates their children, but the one who
loves their children is careful to discipline them? The episteme
of the contemporary thought-world being what it is, one can appreciate that the
more material administration of this strategy of correction is not much in
vogue at the moment. And, in fact, France has recently outlawed corporal
punishment entirely, with the UK set to follow suite. That said, though, the
idea of ‘correcting’ children is as old as the proverbial hills.
In
this respect, it would seem that Epictetus’ thinking is indeed in radical
contrast to the clichéd wisdom from the ancient world. One can well imagine,
after all, that with some children no amount of ‘correcting’ will work, and
that with other children, no amount of ‘correcting’ is in fact the right amount
and seems to work just fine. The radicalness of Epictetus’ thinking is in the
reminder that we have no demonstrable power over other decision-makers, over
any whose choices arise from an intelligence and will not our own. In both of his examples, no amount of right action on
our part at any given moment in the Now represents any sort of guarantee that
the Future will indeed be ‘better’, either for us or for our children.
§ A little
exegesis of line 1 (and a bit beyond): to
make progress morally and
intellectually: prokopsai
[proko/yai].
Setting
aside for the nonce the specific examples of popular morality that Epictetus is
criticizing in lines 1-3, let us return for a moment to consider the opening
phrase of line 1: If you wish to make
progress morally and intellectually, get rid of principles such as the
following: [Ei˙ proko/yai qe÷leiß,
a‡feß tou\ß toiou/touß e˙pilogismou/ß].
Phrontisterion’s translation of this
phrase, ‘If you wish to make progress morally and intellectually’, is of course
pedantically laborious and stilted. But we are going to have to get beyond that
not-terribly tragic flaw, because sometimes the philosophical efficiency of
Greek simply does not render tidily into English without significant loss of connotative
or contextual meaning. We see this once again, for example, in Ms. Carter’s flavorless,
denotative translation of the line: “If you want to improve, reject such
reasonings as these”; but, then, we have already seen in abundance her tendency
to the denotative in our consideration of Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_Section § 1.11.1.1_On the Ownership of Things.
Prokopsai
[proko/yai] which is an aorist active infinitive verb, derives
meaning primarily from connotation, which is to say that context is almost
everything in determining all the imagery with the various shades of meaning,
because it is obviously context that sets the parameters for metaphorical usage
(per LSJ). So, prokopsai carries with
it the sense of cutting one’s way forward or making progress, in the sense of
forging ahead like the trail-blazers of yore; of advancing by the high-road; of
making progress (toward some goal, e.g., wisdom); of making improvements to
something; and of advancing in impiety (2 Timothy 2:16), for a negative sense.
In philosophy, the term is especially used in the sense of making ‘moral and
intellectual progress’ or headway. In medicine, prokopsai is employed if a certain treatment is ‘usually
successful’, in the sense of, whether the ‘disease has improved’. More
generically, in terms of time, prokopsai
speaks to the idea of a journey advancing; of the night that is ‘far spent; and
‘to be advanced in years’.
So, if we wish to blaze some trails
in our thinking about our life and actions [prokopsai], we must
first jettison [=aphes; a‡feß; aorist active imperative; cf. § 1.7.11] some
principles [epilogismous; e˙pilogismou/ß] that are impeding progress in our Right Thinking.
Epictetus triangulates his line of reasoning in this passage with three
imperatives, beginning with aphes [a‡feß] in 12.2.1.1, which is echoed by a present
active imperative in 12.2.2.2, epilege
[e˙pi÷lege], and the final, present middle imperative
of the passage, enthumou [e˙nqumou] in 12.2.2.4.
TRANSLATION (AIKEN)—If you wish to make
progress morally and intellectually, get rid of principles
such as the following:
[…]
It is precisely for this
reason that you should start with the little things.
Respons
1. (About, careless…) [2 “Ench”, 1.12.2.1: [2]] A little olive oil is
spilled, a little wine spirited away—repeat to yourself
that ‘A little spilled oil is the price to pay for [3] peace of mind,
and that a little wine gone missing is a small price to pay for a calm spirit.’
Respons
2. (About correcting your child…) Whenever you call for your child, be aware that it is possible that he may not listen,
[5] …
2 “Ench”, 1.12.1.
Ei˙
proko/yai qe÷leiß, a‡feß tou\ß toiou/touß
e˙pilogismou/ß
2 “Ench”, 1.12.2.
e˙pi÷lege o¢ti "tosou/tou pwlei√tai 3 aÓpa¿qeia, tosou/tou
aÓtaraxi÷a": proi√ka de« oujde«n perigi÷netai. 4 o¢tan de« kalhvøß to\n
pai√da, e˙nqumouv, o¢ti du/natai mh\
uJpakouvsai 5 …
Aphes, which Phrontisterion
translates as ‘get rid of’, or to jettison, means quite literally (denotatively)
to drop something like a hot potato. Equally, it is used in the sense of ‘to
put away’, as in ‘to divorce’; to disown (as in to disown a child); and to give
up doing (something, like a bad or illegal habit). So, aphes invites us philosophically to some serious
get-this-thing-away-from-me-right-now type of mental activity. We have seen quite
commonly in Epictetus’ Handbook, (cf.
§ 1.4.1.1; § 1.8.1.1; § 1.9.1.1) the imperative verb, epilege—to repeat to yourself over and over again, which we may
begin to assume is a general mental strategy in E’s philosophical toolbox.
Finally, Phrontisterion translates the
final, present middle imperative, enthumou
[e˙nqumou], as ‘to be aware’. The Bible translators
of pre-scientific yesteryear might have translated this as ‘to lay up in your
heart’, but the meaning, albeit less poetically rendered, is the same: to
ponder in one’s heart; to think much or deeply about; to notice or consider
that; to take to heart or to be concerned or angry at; to be concerned; to take
care; and, to conclude (inferentially).
§ Exegetica Miscellanea
or non-Schopenhauerian Paralipomena: Line 1 in 1.12.1: epilogismous [e˙pilogismou/ß]: ‘get
rid of principles
such as the following’.
At
best, Ms. Carter’s rendering of this word is misleading: ‘reject such reasonings’;
but, interestingly enough, she seems to be anticipating classical Kantianism in
the arena of articulating distinctions between synthetic and apodictic
statements. Epictetus’ use of epilogismous
in this passage is not really about a ‘thinking’, as such, but rather, about principles
for action, which come across more as unarticulated or unfounded or proverbial beliefs,
rather than as some form of meaningful reasoning. Epilogismous is, in the first instance, a reckoning or calculation
(as of dates); it generally has the sense of reflection or consideration, and,
according to LSJ, stands in opposition to the apodictic [ἀπόδειξις]. Epilogismous are defined as ‘generally
accepted inferences’; can (perhaps) be used of inductive reasoning (as opposed
to the syllogism [συλλογισμός]);
and may refer to higher reasoning, as opposed to logismos [λογισμός].
Line 1 of 1.12.2:
“If
I am careless [now]
about the things that belong to me, I shall never [in future] keep hold of the
means for taking care of myself.” [
ameleso = aorist subjunctive active 1st sg from ἀφίημι - ["e˙a»n aÓmelh/sw ta◊n e˙mw◊n, oujc eºxw
diatrofa¿ß"].
Epictetus’ complete reasoning on the
question of carelessness begins in line 2, ‘If I am careless’… To which his
response is to give us a philosophical admonition in line 4: it is better [4] to die a hungry wretch,
being free from grief and sorrow and from fear, than to live in the midst of
plenty with a troubled mind, and for which he gives the following three
principles in 1.12.2.1-4:
a. It is precisely for this reason that you should start
with the little things.
b. ‘A little spilled oil is the price to pay for [3]
peace of mind, and that a little wine gone missing is a small price to pay for
a calm spirit.’
c. And, finally, that There is neither loss nor gain [4] whenever
the thing is given freely.
Epictetus
likes the idea of ameleso [aÓmelh/sw] and revisits it regularly (cf. § 1.13.1.1).
Meaning more than just ‘carelessness’ in the sense of the occasional absent-minded
action, ameleso carries with it the
notion of having no care for a thing (e.g., object, person, situation…), to be
neglectful of [something]; to be negligent. This is also clearly the case when
we neglect to appreciate what others do for us, for example, or when we fail [ameleso] to ‘see’ clearly the Other
Person, because we are so wrapped up in ourselves. Likewise, we might use ameleso when speaking about using things
that belong to other people, and which we have borrowed, such as books or tools
or cars or clothes or even homes, and when we have not properly cared for their
things while they were in our care (or, to say it more properly, in our carelessness).
Line 1 in 1.12.2
bis: kakodaimona [kakodai÷mona].
Just about every beginning student of philosophy learns about Aristotle’s
notion of eudaimonia or thriving,
which is in fact the goal he advances for the life lived ethically. The word
itself, eudaimonia, which suggests
literally ‘the well-daimoned’ life, is clearly already ancient before
Aristotle, and indeed, is well-roaded well before Socrates and his attempt to
reposition the daimon
in the philosophical life. There is clearly an element of the ‘star-crossed’ embedded
in the notion of the daimon, which may also be rendered through words
indicating ‘fated’ and ‘destined’. In this passage from the Handbook, Epictetus introduces us to eu-daimonia’s
opposite—to be kaka-daimona, to have a life not-so-well-daimoned—to have a ‘poopy’
life.
Paul
is recorded by Luke in the NT Book of Acts (Ch. 17) as using another
variation of the ‘daimoned’ life, where Paul calls the men of Athens ‘desi-daimoned’,
which some translators render as god-fearing (denotative), others as
superstitious.
In
the literature there is a general uniformity in the translation of kakodaimona [kakodai÷mona],
with renderings ranging from ‘to be possessed by an evil genius’ to being ‘ill-starred’.
As a comparative adjective, ὦ κακόδαιμον means: poor devil!, as it can have the
sense of ‘being an evil genius’.
Ms. Carter,
unfortunately, fails utterly to translate anything interesting in this passage,
giving us only: “and it is better your servant should be bad, than you unhappy,”
with the ‘you unhappy’ bit rendering kakodaimona.
It remains a mystery why she chose to translate ton paida [to\n pai√da] in
this text as ‘your servant’ instead of the more normative ‘your child’; but with
Ms. Carter’s rendition the entire notion of a flawed child-rearing strategy
disappears, turning into a master/servant dynamic. Whatever. Phrontisterion translates: it is better for the child to turn out to be
a sorry wretch, than for you to be doomed by this fateful
reasoning.
§ A little
more expansion on
Epictetus’ thinking.
Governed by a triad of parallel
imperatives and a pair of parallel subjunctives, this Epictetian text is philosophically
important for us; and we would be the poorer for neglecting [ameleso] E’s argument. Philosophically, this is a
truly existential moment, where the “perceived” weight of a potential future,
over which one has no control whatsoever, at any level at any time, makes us
fearful and sorrowful in the present.
Epictetus uses the parallel
subjunctives in lines 2-3 to create emotional distance from the two examples of
proverbial wisdom that he wishes for us to dismiss as counter-factual: 1) If I were to be careless at this point about…; 2) If I should not correct my child… The parallel subjunctives are then followed
by parallel verbs in the future
tense: 1) I shall never [in future] keep hold of the means for taking
care of myself; 2) [my child]
shall turn
out to be a good-for-nothing, which imply that, at least
according to the erroneous traditional beliefs of proverbial wisdom, the future
is somehow dependent on our actions in the present.
e˙a»n aÓmelh/sw [ameleso =
subjunctive] … [oujc eºxw [exo = future] diatrofa¿ß]
e˙a»n 3 mh\ kola¿sw
[kolaso =
subjunctive] … [ponhro\ß e¶stai] [estai
= future]
But Epictetus has stopped by to remind us that, in point of
fact, we do not have the responsibility for either our own or our children’s
future. This is not to say, however, that we should fail to exercise stewardship
over our present actions and in our sphere of influence; only that we have no
means to control the outcomes of our actions. Sometimes present good shall
yield future evil; sometimes present evil shall reveal a future good. For
Epictetus, our ethical and philosophical job is limited to acting well in the
present, and to thinking correctly in the present about our actions.
Note that Epictetus counters the
incorrect thinking of proverbial wisdom with an illustration sandwiched
in-between two common Stoic principles (1.12.2.1-4). The example is from the spilled oil: ‘A little spilled oil is the price to pay
for [3] peace of mind, and that a little wine gone missing is a small price to
pay for a calm spirit.’ The illustration [viz., oil, wine] uses present tense verbs, so
that our attention is grammatically riveted on the present, on what is happening
around us right here and right now. So, although the
world around us may find itself caught up in the fury of the maelstrom, it is precisely this focus on
the Here & Now that allows us to maintain the calmness of spirit [aÓtaraxi÷a] so prized by the Stoic philosophers. The two principles that tuck in
his illustration are, of course, that,
a. …you should start with the little things.
b. And, There is neither loss nor gain [4] whenever
the thing is given freely.
Further reading: Phrontisterion’s translation of
Epictetus’ Handbook
· Epictetus’
Enchiridion Expanded_§ 1.8.1.1, 1.9.1.1 and 1.10.1.1_Bits & Bobs of Fine Advice: Being
presumptuous; December 1, 2017
· Epictetus’
Enchiridion Expanded_§1.6.1.1. On Receiving Compliments, On Possessions, &
On What is Rightfully Yours; July 1, 2017
· Epictetus’
Enchiridion Expanded_§1.4.1.1. On Activities. BATHING HABITS…., AMONG OTHER
THINGS; August 1, 2016
· More
On the Question of Freedom_Or, How to be the Consummate Control Freak_Epictetus
Expanded_§1bis; August 1, 2015
Related Phrontisterion reading:
· Of
Tyrants and Wisdom (June 1, 2017)
References:
· Vlassopulos, Kostas, “Greek
Slavery: From Domination to Property and Back Again” in The Journal of Hellenic Studies, Vol. 131 (2011), pp. 115-130.
· Laes, Christian, “Pedagogues in Greek Inscriptions in Hellenistic and Roman Antiquity” in Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik,
Bd. 171 (2009), pp. 113-122.
