Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_§1.17.1.1_Life as Performance Art



~by David Aiken~

§ 2 “Ench”, 1.17.1.1
TRANSLATION (AIKEN)—Always keep in mind that you are, in fact, only a performer who is interpreting a part in a play—whichever part (2) the director of the play chooses. If the part is small, then it will be of a humble sort; if the part is big, then it will be of a more significant sort. It does not matter whether the director wants you (4) to play someone who is poor as a mouse, or someone who is disabled, or one who is in a position of public responsibility or leadership, or just an average man in the street—you are called upon to play your part eloquently. (5) For your sole concern is this: to play well the part assigned to you. (6) But selecting which role you are to play? This task belongs to another.
2 “Ench”, 1.17.1.1
         Me÷mnhso, o¢ti uJpokrith\ß ei• dra¿matoß, oiºou a·n qe÷lhØ 2 oJ dida¿skaloß: a·n bracu/, brace÷oß: a·n makro/n, makrouv: a·n ptwco\n uJpokri÷nasqai÷ se qe÷lhØ, iºna kai« touvton eujfuw◊ß uJpokri÷nhØ 4 a·n cwlo/n, a·n a‡rconta, a·n i˙diw¿thn. so\n ga»r touvt’ e¶sti, to\ doqe«n uJpokri÷nasqai pro/swpon kalw◊ß: e˙kle÷xasqai d’ aujto\ a‡llou.

17. Remember that you are an actor in a drama, of such a kind as the author pleases to make it. If short, of a short one; if long, of a long one. If it is his pleasure you should act a poor man, a cripple, a governor, or a private person, see that you act it naturally. For this is your business, to act well the character assigned you; to choose it is another's.

§ On Remembering

In Aristotle’s Metaphysics (980B 21), he claims that bees do not have memory and that, therefore, although intelligent, they cannot learn:
Such [animals] as cannot hear sounds (as the bee, and any other similar type of creature) are intelligent, but cannot learn; those only are capable of learning which possess this sense in addition to the faculty of memory.
[980B 21] καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ταῦτα φρονιμώτερα καὶ μαθητικώτερα τῶν μὴ δυναμένων μνημονεύειν ἐστί, φρόνιμα μὲν ἄνευ τοῦ μανθάνειν ὅσα μὴ δύναται τῶν ψόφων ἀκούεινοἷον μέλιττα κἂν εἴ τι τοιοῦτον ἄλλο γένος ζῴων ἔστι

Whatever the empirical evidence for Aristotle’s opinion on the learning capacity of the diffident bee, there does certainly seem to be an arguable link between memory and the capacity to learn. If we are eternally forgetting everything, and on this point Aristotle and Epictetus find common ground, then like the Aristotelian bee, we will not be able to stand in the World-stream with any sense of having learned something about human standing, which will serve us as we strive to understand and to act within the accumulating maelstrom of space and time.
            We have already seen in earlier sections of the Enchiridion how important Remembering is to Epictetus; so, it will come as no surprise that he admonishes us again here in §17 to: Keep always in the front of your mind [memneso = Me÷mnhso]. A perfect middle-passive imperative, or command form of the verb, memneso reminds us not to overlook, right now at this point in space-time, what we have learned in the past. We first saw this in Enchiridion §2, for example, where we read:
The … very first imperative memneso (Me÷mnhso; §1, L.1), … is in the perfect tense. Standard Greek grammars remind us that verbs in the perfect tense carry the idea that the progress of an action has been completed in past time and that the results of that action are ongoing—such as, I started chewing gum, (and I am still chewing gum to this day). This perfect imperative of the idea ‘to remember’, then, is that we knew or learned something in past time, and that we still today are keeping what we learned in mind. Hence our interest in rendering Epictetus’ phrase, not with Ms. Carter’s foreshortened “Remember that…,” but rather with the more sustained idea: “You must continue to keep in mind that the promise implicit in desire…”

Then, in our consideration of Enchiridion §15, we concluded, and none too hastily, that “one might almost make the case that a nickname for the Enchiridion could be ‘My laundry list of philosophical things to remember…’,”
because memnhso is used some 17 times in the Enchiridion (Enchr. 1.2, 1.4; 2.1; 3.2; 10.1; here in 15.1; 17.1; 20.1; 22.7; 25.5; 26.10; 32.1, 32.2; 33.14; 34.4; 36.7; 42.1; 46.4; 51.2), of which 7 occurrences are in the first sentence of a complex clause, which is to say, in the emphatic position. All this to say, in a round-about kind of way, that ‘remembering’ is very important to Epictetus.

§ Various bits and bobs about theatrical words in ancient Greece
            Section §17 of Epictetus’ Enchiridion, which is essentially a walking, talking bundle of philosophically striking metaphors, is just chock full of terminology taken from ancient theater, and other socially relevant tidbits borrowed from daily fare in the lives of the ancient Hellenistic world. It is a text full of references to actors or performers [hypokrites = uJpokrith\ß] and theatrical producers or author-directors [didaskalos = dida¿skaloß]; to the socially vulnerable, in the form of beggars [ptoxhon = ptwco\n] and the handicapped or lame [cholon = cwlo/n]; to public leaders or the Restoration English equivalent of what John Locke will call in his “A Letter about Toleration,” magistrates [archonta = a‡rconta]; and, of course, to members of John Q. Public [idioten = i˙diw¿thn], which does not mean ‘idiot’, as the word itself might suggest phonetically, but rather ‘private individual’, relative to ‘idiosyncratically’.
Essentially, Epictetus is giving us in this section an adults’ version of the English counting nursery rhyme that we used to shout out in glee when I was a kid,
Tinker, Tailor,
Soldier, Sailor,
Rich Man, Pie Man,
Beggar Man, Thief.

The American version, which I most remember, had the same rhythm but different words,
Rich Man, Poor Man,
Beggar Man, Thief,
Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief.

At least one philosophical take-away from this list of possible parts that we may play in the show of Life, is that the question of a human’s life will not ultimately concern ontology, or ‘what’ we are. In this analogy, much after the fashion of Heraclitus*, Epictetus invites us to think of a life not in terms of essences, not in terms of who I, the actor, think I “am.” For the actor who is acting well is in fact invisible on stage; so, it is not a question of who the actor “is.” Rather, what is important is whom the actor is depicting or portraying on stage, and whether that depiction is natural and eloquent. So the philosophical framing in this section does not concern ontology or the question of essences; rather, it is a matter of ethics—a call to action. Which character am I portraying to the public, and how well am I acting my part?

Line 1. A performer (hypokrites; ὑποκριτής).
Epictetus tells each of us to remember: “you are a performer … interpreting a part in a play.” In ancient Greek expression, a performer (hypokrites; ὑποκριτής) is, literally, ‘one who answers back’, where the implication is clearly theatrical and discursive. The relationship is in fact a trio, where the Performer is the dramatic middleman sandwiched in between the authorial intent, which is expressed through the content of the dramatic Text, and the Audience, who is the enraptured consumer of {the text + the performance}. The performer, the play-actor, is a respondent—he must give answer to the questions and expectations of the viewers in terms of the text he is interpreting for them on stage.
Hypokrites is a hapax usage in the Enchiridion, but the term occurs three times in Epictetus’s Discourses. In Book I of the Discourses, chapter 24, lns. 17ff. (per the Perseus source), and taking his cue from the Oedipus Tyrannus of Sophocles, Epictetus says: Whenever you are brought into any such society, think then that you encounter a tragic actor [τραγῳδῷ], or, rather, not an actor [ὑποκριτῇ], but Oedipus himself.
In Book 4, chapter 1, lns. 63ff, one reads: Socrates is not to be basely preserved. He who refused to vote for what the Athenians commanded; he who condemned the thirty tyrants; he who held such discourses on virtue and moral beauty, - such a man is not to be preserved by a base action, but is preserved by dying, instead of running away. For even a good actor [ὁ ἀγαθὸς ὑποκριτὴς] is preserved as such by leaving off when he ought; not by going on [p. 2147] to act beyond his time.
            Finally, we find a third usage in Discourses, Book 4, chapter 7, lns. 13ff:  What hinders a man, who has clearly separated (comprehended) these things, from living with a light heart and bearing easily the reins, quietly expecting every thing which can happen, and enduring that which has already happened? Would you have me to bear poverty? Come and you will know what poverty is when it has found one who can act well [καλοῦ ὑποκριτοῦ] the part of a poor man.

§ More on Hypokrites.
But one may well ask: is there at least some interesting imagery hiding behind this word, hypokrites, given its forceful, Tartuffe-esque kind of association in so many Western narratives? Jungian psychologist David Holt in “Hypokrites and Analyst (1968, No 145), suggests a brief history of the term:
This Greek word Hypokrites has had an interesting growth and shift in meaning. In the Ionian dialect used by Homer, the verb from which it is derived meant something like this: to express a decision, based on deep reflection, knowledge and intuition, in reply to a question – and the question is to be thought of not as a cold, logical question, but as informed with urgency, as much a challenge from one person to another as a question. From this meaning grew the further sense of explain, expound, interpret, and the word was specifically used of the interpretation of dreams and oracles in Homer, and much later in the Attic of Aristophanes and Plato.
A further sense of the word developed in the Attic dialect alone, to mean “to speak in dialogue, to play a part on the stage”. Thus the noun Hypokrites was used of the stage actor from about 500 B.C. By the end of the 4th century B.C., in the speeches of Demosthenes, it was beginning to acquire a negative sense of to play a false part, to deceive. It was this sense of the word which was picked up in the Greek translation of the New Testament, when Christ is describing the Pharisees, and it is this sense with which we are familiar in our modern English word hypocrite.

From his historical perch in the 4th-3rd century BC, Aristotle does not yet seem to see any shift toward falseness as a sense of hypokrites, at least to judge by Nicomachean Ethics 1111b: [8] Also we may wish for what cannot be secured by our own agency, for instance, that a particular actor or athlete may win.
But this shift has clearly occurred in Greek language usage by the time we reach the beginnings of the NT period, where hypokrites is used some 16 times, reflecting not just a difference in common usage, but also an entirely different cultural world.

§ Line 2. The director of the play (didaskalos; oJ dida¿skaloß).
What Phrontisterion here translates in English as the play’s ‘director’, does not actually correspond entirely to the ancient Greek notion of didaskalos, which is actually a much broader fusion of author, producer, and director. For clarification, according to Wright (2009, 161),
In the Poetics (6.1450b) Aristotle highlights the important fact that the competitions did not differentiate between plays, playwrights, producers, or actors. Indeed, it seems inevitable that, despite anyone’s best intentions, the quality of the acting would have influenced audiences and judges more than any other aspect of the production. It was probably for this reason that a “Best Actor” prize was instituted ca. 440 BC, to focus the judges’ attention on the quality of the plays themselves. Aristotle mentions the acting prizes in his section on hypokrisis in the Rhetoric (3.1403b-1404a): he says that these prizes are won by actors who are good at delivery, but he adds that actors still have more influence than poets in contests generally. Aristotle goes on to compare dramatic contests to political ones: in both spheres it is the vulgar, ignorant character of the listeners that is seen as responsible for the conduct and outcome of events. Dramatic performances are seen as a form of rhetoric (which is itself a “vulgar” art), winning over the opinion of audiences or judges. Once again, as elsewhere, the point is the audiences miss the real meaning of the material presented to them, and that their judgment is based on superficial or misguided criteria. Elsewhere Aristotle describes the effect of competition on the literary works themselves. His chief cause for complaint is in the area of plot. The audiences and judges are said to prefer badly constructed, “episodic” plot-lines, in which the order of events is not probable or necessary:

Helen Bacon (Fall, 1994 - Winter, 1995, 6) further informs scholarship on this point of a fusion concept, by actually showing some meaningful distinctions in the literature, when she writes:
A poet who wished to produce a play went before an Athenian magistrate and, in the official phrase, "asked for a chorus." If his play (in the case of tragedy usually four plays) was approved, he was "granted a chorus," financed by a wealthy citi zen to whom the city assigned this task as a civic obligation. In the official records of Athens he is called khorgos, "chorus-leader." The poet himself is always referred to as didaskalos, "trainer" (i.e. of the chorus).

Interestingly, for students of Latin as well as for students of ancient Greek, perhaps the most immediately recognizable translation for didaskalos is as ‘teacher’. Because didaskalos is commonly used to distinguish between the workman-teacher (didaskalos) and the apprentice-student (mathetes).

§ Line 4. A beggar (ptochon; ptwco\n). It does not matter whether the director wants you (4) to play someone who is poor as a mouse.
            In the world of the politically correct it is difficult to know how to translate some of the words in this section, such as beggar. But the concept is important, because Epictetus reminds us that we may be called upon to play this role in the theater of our lives.
In Greek antiquity, notions associated with the beggar were of a most interesting, and often, excellent sort. Comes readily to mind for many of us, obviously, Jesus, an immediate historical neighbor of Epictetus, who invites us to recall that the ‘poor in spirit’ (ptochon; ptwco\n)—the mentally or intellectually and spiritually beggared—are blessed (Matt. 5:3; Luke 6:20), although heaven only knows what weight that idea yet carries in a world given over to acquisition of wealth and self-serving consumerism.
            Another heavily textured example of the ‘beggar’ in antiquity is, of course, reflected in the person of Homer’s Odysseus. By association of words in the Homeric world, Odysseus is unable to return to his homeland as the rightful king of Ithaka, so Athena enables his return home disguised as a beggar, and therefore as a xeinos, or a visiting foreigner. So, when Odysseus presents himself, as a visitor and beggar, to his own palace, he automatically becomes the guest-friend (e.g., Odyssey 1.313; 1.187; 8.145) of the house, which obligates that house to guarantee him the rituals of hospitality. Strangers, wanderers, and guests, of course, were under the additional general protection of Zeus ξένιος (cf. Odyssey 6.208; 8.546; 9.270)

Two terms for ‘beggar’ in Greek are ptochon and prosaites, which are fundamentally interchangeable. Incidentally, however, there is an interesting difference in notional image that the dictionaries suggest between beggar-ptochon (ptwco\n) and beggar-prosaites (προσαίτης), which seems to be the NT’s preferred usage.  The ptochon-beggar seems to evoke the posture of ‘cringing’ or ‘crouching’, and touches upon the notions of being ‘poorly’ or ‘scantily’—dressed; fed; etc., while the prosaites­-beggar, as suggested by its verbal form, seems rather to evoke the act of being bothersome to someone by insistently asking for a hand-out, or by soliciting.

§ Line 4. A disabled person (cholos; χωλός). It does not matter whether the director wants you (4) to play someone […] who is disabled.
In the world of the NT, we normally see cholos translated as lame, such as: Jesus healing the lame. The word itself means lame in the feet; halting; or limping; as it could also refer to the type of poetical meter which is truncated or halting, such as trochaic meter. It would be amusing, in a childish kind of way, to imagine Jesus healing halting or lame poetry; but then again, such musing might also be thought a bit offensive and blasphemous, when in fact it is only intended to be playful and frivolous.
Still, in deference to our politically correct thought world, it is difficult to know just how to translate accurately, and tastefully, lame in our text. But the take-away idea for Epictetus remains important: that we may be called upon to play this debilitating or lame role in the theater of our lives.

§ Line 5. A person in a position of public responsibility or leadership (archonta; a‡rconta). It does not matter whether the director wants you (4) to play someone […] who is in a position of public responsibility or leadership.
            The position of the archon in Greek antiquity has no immediate correspondent in modern Western society. Its sense is of one who is a ruler or commander. In earlier Anglo-iterations, the archon would have been translated as akin to the public magistrate; or as, perhaps, a mayor, or a member of the city council, or…. There is no doubt that the archon is a social leadership type of role, but it is not necessarily political, nor military, nor hierarchically absolute in nature, such as might be thought with kings or presidents. Per the wiki-source on the question of archons,
In the early literary period of ancient Greece the chief magistrates of various Greek city states were called Archon. The term was also used throughout Greek history in a more general sense, ranging from "club leader" to "master of the tables" at syssitia to "Roman governor".  In Roman terms, archontes ruled by imperium, whereas basileis ("kings") had auctoritas. […]
Under the Athenian constitution, Archons were also in charge of organizing festivals by bringing together poets, playwrights, actors, and city-appointed choregai (wealthy citizen patrons). The Archon would begin this process months in advance of a festival by selecting a chorus of three playwrights based on descriptions of the projected plays. Each playwright would be assigned a choregos, also selected by the Archon, from among the wealthy citizens who would pay all the expenses of costumes, masks, and training the chorus. The Archon also assigned each playwright a principal actor (the protagonist), as well as a second and third actor. The City Dionysia, an ancient dramatic festival held in March in which tragedy, comedy, and satyric drama originated, was under the direction of one of the principal magistrates, the archon eponymos.

§ Line 5bis. A person who is just an average man in the street (idioten; i˙diw¿thn). It does not matter whether the director wants you (4) to play someone […] who is just an average man in the street.
            The notion of the ‘private man’ stands in clear contrast to the public man, in the way that the private person or individual is clearly understood to be distinct from a representative of the State in public office or stately function, such as the archonta (a‡rconta).The ‘average man’ can also stand over and against a person of distinction, as Plutarch uses it, as it can be used, as in Aristotle, to represent the difference between one’s own countrymen, and the ξένοι, the foreigners or guest-friends.
Just for the fun of the words for this concept in English, per the wiki-source,
John, Quisquam and "The Public" first appears in the formation of the United States as a nation where English and German were being discussed as the official language of the new United States in the later 1700's. Many new Americans of Lutheran Germans heritage also spoke Latin and used the term "quisquam" with a gender neutral meaning of "anyone" where, in English, John was the generic male term for a person. The term John Q. Public was the name of a character created by Vaughn Shoemaker, an editorial cartoonist for the Chicago Daily News, in 1922. Jim Lange, the editorial cartoonist for The Oklahoman for 58 years, was closely identified with a version of the John Q. Public character, whom he sometimes also called "Mr. Voter". Lange's version of the character was described as "bespectacled, mustachioed, fedora-wearing".

§ Lines 4-5. Ms. Carter’s “act … naturally” and “to act well.”
            Ms. Carter remains faithful to the language of theater with her translation in lines 4-5: “see that you act it naturally. For this is your business, to act well the character assigned you.” In exchange for her literal faithfulness in the English language medium, however, she gave up some essential richnesses in connotation that belong to the original Greek.
Our vocabulary here in lines 4-5 is a denotative parallelism drawn between euphuos and kalos [eujfuwק - kalwק], which Phrontisterion renders with: you are called upon to play your part eloquently. (5) For this is your sole concern: to perform well (meaningfully) the part assigned to you.

Kalos is certainly bland enough in Greek, rather like the ho-hum English word ‘good’; and will therefore have bland-enough translations, such as Ms. Carters, For this is your business, to act well the character assigned you.
Euphuos, on the other hand, is much more lexically interesting, translating as well-grown, shapely; of good natural parts, clever; of good natural disposition—especially when speaking of horses and dogs (per Xenophon); naturally suited or adapted.
A double-bell euphonium
Euphuos is an associative intuition for words like euphoria - euphoros ‘borne well, healthy’, from eu ‘well’ + pherein ‘to bear’. Or, euphony, which is the quality of being pleasing to the ear. Or again, euphonium, which is, per wiki,
a medium-sized, 3 or 4-valve, often compensating, conical-bore, tenor-voiced brass instrument that derives its name from the Ancient Greek word εὔφωνος euphōnos, meaning "well-sounding" or "sweet-voiced" (εὖ eu means "well" or "good" and φωνή phōnē means "sound", hence "of good sound").

There is also the English word ‘euphemism’, which, per the Google-universe, is an innocuous word or expression used in place of one that may be found offensive or suggest something unpleasant. This word is properly from the Greek euphēmismos, derived from the verbal euphēmizein, which is to ‘use words auspiciously’, from eu ‘well’, of course, and phēmē a ‘saying’ or ‘speaking’.

Which all brings us right back around again to the euphuos - kalos [eujfuw◊ß - kalw◊ß] divide in §17, lns. 4-5 of Epictetus’ Enchiridion: you are called upon to play your part eloquently. (5) For your sole concern is this: to play well the part assigned to you.
Ms. Carter chooses to render euphuos with ‘naturally. This is a reasonable translating solution, because the second part of our adverb here, eu-phuos, derives precisely from notions of ‘natural’, ‘growth’, ‘stature’—from nature images relevant to growth and harvests. With this translation, though, Ms. Carter sacrifices the eu-phuos nuance that seems to interest Epictetus, as well; and it is precisely the ‘eu-‘ bit of euphuos that suggests an aesthetic outlook on the ‘natural’ part of the adverb. So, other worthy translation contenders for euphuos might be ‘vividly’, ‘impressively’, ‘remarkably’, and some variation of ‘noteworthy’, each of which invites us not just to look upon the action as natural, but as also as performed in such a way as to be noteworthy—as performed so kalos [kalw◊ß] that we, the audience, actually notice not just the flow of gestures and signs being framed on the stage in front of us, but also the naturalness of the performance itself. In order to bring out this nuance, Phrontisterion has chosen to translate the phrase, you are called upon to play your part eloquently. This word in English, of course, has overtones of speaking well, which harks back to our foundational concept of hypokrites (ὑποκριτής), of a performer who is naturally ‘one who answers back.

So, in an amplified translation, our text might read something like:
Remember, that you are a performer (one who gives answer; an interpreter or expounder (per David Holt); one who plays a part on the stage; actor; pretender; dissembler) of the deed, act; office, business, duty; or action, which is represented on the stage, of the drama or play, of whatever sort the teacher (trainer of a dithyrambic or dramatic chorus; producer of a play) should wish—if brief and humble, then of that sort, and if longer running, then of that sort. If it is the author’s pleasure that you should perform the poor man (beggar), then in that case you should also play it gracefully; or if disabled, or if a magistrate or politician, or if just an average man. For this is your domain, what you bring to the table: to present [well] the ‘face’/character/mask that has been given to you. The attribution of parts, however, this belongs to another [touvt’ e¶sti aujto\ a‡llou].

The ending of this fragment rounds out in a nice distinction, which is a bed-rock philosophical premise for Epictetus that we are invited not to neglect, between what is yours or what belongs to you to accomplish [so\n], and the pieces of our life and reality over which we have no control. So, we/you are reminded not to bother with such things that are not yours [so\n], because they are, precisely, not within your grasp to affect. They are not your affair; but, rather, they belong to another, to “someone” or “something” else, to determine [\a‡llou].

§ An ancient virtue ethic.
Aristotle and Epictetus are on the same ethical page about what it means to “act well.” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy summarizes this ethic of excellence.
“practical wisdom” [is] excellence in thinking and deciding about how to behave.
[…] Aristotle  argues that since the function of a human is to exercise the soul's activities according to reason, the function of a good human is to exercise well and finely the soul's activities according to reason. Given the two aspects of reason that Aristotle has distinguished, one can see that both can be well or badly done.
[…] For Aristotle, virtue is perfection of the human function and the Stoics follow in this line of thinking. While their notion of virtue builds on their notion of the underlying human nature, their account of the perfection of human nature is more complex than Aristotle's. (SEP)

A little drummer boy
As a side-note of interest on acting well: Aristotle, in addition to authoring the Nicomachean Ethics, which is a fairly definitive ancient work on acting well, was also the author of the Poetics, the definitive philosophical assessment about Greek tragedy. So, it is interesting to note that Epictetus here in his Enchiridion does not make the case that we are all tragodoi, or members of a tragic chorus playing out our role on the tragic stage of life. The author of the Handbook is not advancing any commentary here on whether or not the nature of life is inherently tragic as it plays out in the world. Rather, he is simply reminding us of the more-than-obvious fact that we are all just ‘players’ in the theater of life, and that the script will sometimes turn out to be comedy—romantic and other; sometimes tragedy; and sometimes just hum-drum situational life. And much like the Little Drummer Boy who plays his heart out when the situation demands it, we should also be ready, philosophically, to take on, and to ‘play’ to our very best potential, any part that comes our way on the world stage. But distinctly unlike the little Drummer Boy who performs his utmost in season, the point Epictetus wants to make is that our philosophical situation demands our very best performance each and every moment of our lives.

To conclude, then:
TRANSLATION (AIKEN)—Always keep in mind that you are, in fact, only a performer who is interpreting a part in a play—whichever part (2) the director of the play chooses. If the part is small, then it will be of a humble sort; if the part is big, then it will be of a more significant sort. It does not matter whether the director wants you (4) to play someone who is poor as a mouse, or someone who is disabled, or one who is in a position of public responsibility or leadership, or just an average man in the street—you are called upon to play your part eloquently. (5) For your sole concern is this: to play well the part assigned to you. (6) But selecting which role you are to play? This task belongs to another.

Many collaborative thanks on thinking through this translation to Laura du Pree (UCR Greek apasionada)

Further reading: Phrontisterion’s translation of Epictetus’ Handbook
·      Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_Section§1.16.1.1_ Deceptive Appearances
·      Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_Section §1.15.1.1_On Well-mannered Dinner Parties. Or, Living Courteously.
·      Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_Section §1.14.1.1_If Wishes Were Horses…. Or, How to Avoid Being a Slave.
·      Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_Section §1.13.1.1_ More on Making Intellectual Progress; October 2018
·      Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_Section §1.12.1.1_Wrong Thinking About (Perhaps) Right Action; September 2018
·      Epictetus’Enchiridion Expanded_Section §1.11.1.1_On the Ownership of Things; August 2018
·      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
Phrontisterion on Heraclitus* and Heraclitana

References and related reading:
·               Westermann, W.F. “Vocational Training in Antiquity.” In The School Review Vol. 22, No. 9 (Nov., 1914), pp. 601-610 (10 pages). Published by: The University of Chicago Press. [https://www.jstor.org/stable/1077001]
·               Sansone, David. “The Size of the Tragic Chorus.” In Phoenix Vol. 70, No. 3/4 (Fall-Winter/automne-hiver 2016), pp. 233-254 (22 pages). Published by: Classical Association of Canada. DOI: 10.7834/phoenix.70.3-4.0233. [https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.7834/phoenix.70.3-4.0233]
·               Bacon, Helen H. “The Chorus in Greek Life and Drama.” In Arion: A Journal of Humanities and the Classics Third Series, Vol. 3, No. 1, The Chorus in Greek Tragedy and Culture, One (Fall, 1994 - Winter, 1995), pp. 6-24 (19 pages). Published by: Trustees of Boston University; Trustees of Boston University through its publication Arion: A Journal of Humanities and the Classics. [https://www.jstor.org/stable/20163562]
·               Marshall, C. W. and Willigenburg, Stephanie van. “Judging Athenian Dramatic Competitions.” In The Journal of Hellenic Studies Vol. 124 (2004), pp. 90-107 (18 pages). Published by The Society for the Promotion of Hellenic Studies. DOI: 10.2307/3246152. [https://www.jstor.org/stable/3246152]
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