Saturday, July 1, 2017

Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_§1.6.1.1. On Receiving Compliments, On Possessions, & On What is Rightfully Yours.


~by David Aiken~

Epictetus’ Enchiridion Expanded_§1.6.1.1. [Phrontisterion translation]. You should never accept praise, from anyone, for any accomplishment or quality that belongs to another. (2) If a fine-looking horse should ever exclaim, exalting himself, “I am fine-looking,” that would be acceptable. (3) But you, each time you say, exalting yourself, “This fine-looking horse is mine” –remain aware that you are praising yourself for a quality that belongs rightfully to the horse. (5) So, your “accomplishment or quality” here is only a “borrowing” from “the horse’s” outward appearance. What then is actually yours? In a world cobbled together of outward surfaces & façades, what this means is that you should hold fast to your own real or natural qualities—in which case you are rightfully praised. (7) For then you shall accept praise for some quality that belongs rightfully to you.
2 “Ench”, 1.6.1.1
         ∆Epi« mhdeni« e˙parqhvøß aÓllotri÷wˆ proterh/mati. 2 ei˙ oJ iºppoß e˙pairo/menoß e¶legen o¢ti "kalo/ß ei˙mi", oi˙sto\n 3 a·n h™n: su\ de÷, o¢tan le÷ghØß e˙pairo/menoß o¢ti "iºppon kalo\n e¶cw", i¶sqi, o¢ti e˙pi« iºppou aÓgaqw◊ø e˙pai÷rhØ. ti÷ ou™n 5 e˙sti so/n; crhvsiß fantasiw◊n. w‚sq’, o¢tan e˙n crh/sei fantasiw◊n kata» fu/sin schvøß, thnikauvta e˙pa¿rqhti: to/te 7 ga»r e˙pi« sw◊ø tini aÓgaqw◊ø e˙parqh/shØ.

NB—Just a note on the translation of the datives in the opening line (ln. 1): the dative case for medeni [Epi« mhdeni«], which opens the paragraph and precedes the verb, is governed by the preposition epi and therefore dative. Following the verb, the closing datives of the phrase, allotriw proterhmati [aÓllotri÷wˆ proterh/mati], are datives of possession.

Although Ms. Carter gets to the gist of meaning in this section, her text is stilted and therefore fails to engage us or to move us very much. She renders this sixth segment of The Enchiridion in the following way:
Don't be prideful with any excellence that is not your own. If a horse should be prideful and say, " I am handsome," it would be supportable. But when you are prideful, and say, " I have a handsome horse," know that you are proud of what is, in fact, only the good of the horse. What, then, is your own? Only your reaction to the appearances of things. Thus, when you behave conformably to nature in reaction to how things appear, you will be proud with reason; for you will take pride in some good of your own.

Likewise, the Thomas Wentworth Higginson translation at Project Gutenberg, which, in addition to being a somewhat fantastical rendering from about line 5 and on, also makes a modest and uninteresting attempt to introduce philosophical language into an otherwise fairly uncomplicated text, gives us this:
Be not elated at any excellence not your own. If a horse should be elated, and say, “I am handsome,” it might be endurable. But when you are elated and say, “I have a handsome horse,” know that you are elated only on the merit of the horse. What then is your own? The use of the phenomena of existence. So that when you are in harmony with nature in this respect, you will be elated with some reason; for you will be elated at some good of your own.

§ Some Comments on Structure. This segment of the Enchiridion is chock full of passive and reflexive verbs, which, when they occur to this extent in English writing, reflect questionable style. This is just normal everyday ancient Greek, though. Stylistically, of course, most of my generation learned in grade school that passive verbs mean the action is happening to the subject, and that middle or reflexive verbs mean the subject is doing the action to or for itself. In this section, Epictetus creates both ontological and ethical tension precisely in the interstice that separates what one can/should do for oneself (middle-reflexive verbs), and what is acceptable for others to attribute to you (passive verbs).
I.               Our text starts with a dominant passive in line 1: (1) You should never accept praise [e˙parqhvøß], from anyone, for any accomplishment or quality that belongs to another.
II.             And then Epictetus gives an illustration of his principle using the reflexive/middle (lns. 2-4): (2) If a fine-looking horse should ever exclaim, exalting himself [e˙pairo/menoß], “I am fine-looking,” that would be acceptable. (3) But you, each time you say, exalting yourself [e˙pairo/menoß], “This fine-looking horse is mine” –remain aware that you are praising yourself (leading to the only indicative in the text: [e˙pai÷rhØ]) for a quality that belongs rightfully to the horse.
III.           The conclusion, of course, which is in lines 5-7, is that you should hold on to the truth of what is in fact yours, which means that the praise will be relevant to you (lns. 6-7)—in which case you are rightfully praised [e˙pa¿rqhti]. (7) For then you shall accept praise [e˙parqh/shØ] for some quality that belongs rightfully to you.

§ On possessiveness. Not to belabor the obvious, but possessive pronouns, such as my, mine, yours, ours, and theirs, really only work well, and with philosophical appropriateness, in matters of grammatical realities and relationships – my table, your table, their table. Otherwise, no one has true ownership of anything: we have de facto rights only to a usufruct rapport with everything that has our name on it. So, no matter how much we might want to hold on to a thing, anything at all, all our ‘wanting’ will not help us to keep hold of things in the real world. So, our use of possessive pronouns does not reflect true ontology; but only linguistic habit and convention. Which makes Epictetus’ point in this section important ethically, as meaningful direction for living the good life.

§ The unbridgeable divide between IS and HAVE. Self-Ownership [oikeiosis - οἰκείωσις] in Stoic philosophy, corresponds to the sense of self-awareness in humans, what modern neuroscientists such as Oliver Sacks would call proprioception, and it contributes in the most fundamental kind of way not only to our sense of ourself, but to an overarching sense of human community. So, Self-Ownership for the Stoics is truly a basis for human virtue. The same cannot also be said of Ownership tout court, however. In fact, in this section of the Enchiridion, Epictetus makes the case that possessions are not in any way whatsoever an indication of personal virtue or value.


So, there we are innocently by-standing down at the corner and we find ourselves inadvertently dropping eaves on a conversation, which goes something like this: Hey, look at this! I have this absolutely gorgeous new [TOY = fill in the blank with any ‘thing’]: car; girlfriend; baby; dog; house; laptop computer; big-screen television; fine, fancy stereo setup; set of six-pack abs; et cetera ad nauseam. Hearing this, we might well anticipate that the next bit of the conversation to drop upon our eaves, might pan to the ‘thing’ being admired by our two interlocutors, and to their comments concerning its many virtues—how pretty; wow, what great lines; wonderful resolution; great sound; etc.
At this latter point in our neighborly, corner-store heart-to-heart, however, Epictetus insists that the conversation between our two confidants, or at least the philosophically interesting bit in their otherwise completely insipid tête-à-tête, comes sliding to a screeching halt. It has to end, because there is no plausible connection or possible attribution of virtue that can be made between the qualities of independent things, and the fact that someone may actually possess such things.

In the illustration Epictetus provides for us in line 5 of the Enchiridion, of the hail-fellow-well-met one-up-ist who owns the fine-looking horse, his “virtue,” which is to say the accomplishment or quality for which he is seeking praise, consists only in an imagined and imaginary “borrowing” from some outward trait that belongs, rightly, only to the horse. And yet what the horse looks like, charger or old plug, reflects in no way whatsoever on the person who has paid for that horse, thus acquiring ownership and use of it, and who must for ever after feed it and clean up the trail of equine apples it leaves behind. And so, Epictetus rightly asks: Remind me again—What, here, is your virtue, exactly? [ti÷ ou™n 5 e˙sti so/n].

The moral of Epictetus’ story is this: who we are is not equivalent to what we own or what we might chance to have in our pockets or purses. Possessions, of any and all sorts, are only accoutrements of living. They may perhaps be pleasant enough accessories for us; but inessential possessions, traits & attributes, are not fundamental to the virtue or integrity of who we are according to our nature. In lines 5-6 Epictetus makes a very tidy and carefully articulated distinction grounded in levels of ‘rootedness’, which we may use much in the way intended by the younger Heidegger’s notion of ‘fundamental’ in Fundamental Ontologie. In the deepest, most fundamental layer of Epictetus’ notion of the Self, there are qualities or virtues that are profoundly us, that demarcate what we are by nature [kata phusin - kata» fu/sin]. Epictetus distinguishes these natural virtues of Self, from traits or accidents [per Aristotle] that “belong” to us only very casually, and which accompany us on our journey through Life as shallow or superficial baggage [para physin - para» fu/sin]—including those obviously incidental qualities such as weight, baldness, height, eye and hair color, physical beauty or ugliness, possessions, etc. Epictetus then reconfirms his levels of fundamental rootedness for the Self, by again highlighting the contrast between the natural virtue or attribute or quality [kata» fu/sin], which is deeply rooted in us, and the more superficial properties, which, he says, are only skin-deep appearances [en chresei phantasiwn - e˙n crh/sei fantasiw◊n].
What then is actually yours? In a world cobbled together of outward surfaces & façades, what this means is that you should hold fast to your own real or natural qualities—in which case you are rightfully praised. (7) For then you shall accept praise for some quality that belongs rightfully to you.

§ A Fantastical Excursus. On the question of phantasiwn, a genitive plural from phantasia [φαντασία], and which means appearances or surface level, its use is rather straight-forward in our text here from Epictetus, in that it is juxtaposed with the deeper, more radical and fundamental sense of kata phusin [kata» fu/sin]. Essentially, phantasia has everything to do with superficiality and appearances – what one perceives or sees; the external and transient aspects of a thing; its accidental versus its essential qualities, to put a dandy Aristotelian spin on it.
That said, however, phantasia is a rather magnificent word all in all, and covers lots of territory in Greek literature, from the philosophically rich to the quotidian and banal, encompassing phenomena such as ghosts, things invented, imagination, etc. Were he to have translated himself into ancient Greek, for example, Immanuel Kant would definitely have used phantasia to translate his noumenal sense of Verstandeswesen or Hirngespinste (Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, 13:292).
            For the expansiveness of phantasia in Greek literature, Tuft University’s Perseus Project cites the LSJ in extenso to give some sense of its reach, which is here further decanted for the non-Hellenophile:

Phantasia-- fantasiw◊n [pl f gen]- φαντασία from φαντάζομαι: imagination, the power by which an object is presented (φαίνεται) to the mind (the object presented being φάντασμα), Plat., Arist.
1 φαντα^σία, ,
φαντα^σί-α , , verbal noun of φαντάζομαι and (in sense) of φαίνομαι,
a. appearing, appearance; usu. with less verbal force, appearance, presentation to consciousness, whether immediate or in memory, whether true or illusory; the appearance of the milky way, Id.Mete.339a35; esp. of visual images, Arist. de An.429a2; image reflected in a mirror, Placit.3.1.2; also of other sense=perceptions, appearance is the same as perception, whether we are talking of hot things or of anything else like them, Pl.Tht.152c, cf. Chrysipp.Stoic.2.21; freq. in later Philos. esp. in meaning psychic image, Epicur.Ep.1p.12U., S.E.M.7.152, M.Ant.4.24, al.; mental images, Cic.Fam.15.16.1; apparition, Arist.Mir.846a37.
b. less scientifically, appearance, Id.SE165b25; “(in a conjuring trick) Cels. ap. Origenes Cels.1.68; Gal.6.105, cf. 15.17,115, 19.206; Id.18(2).73, cf. 71, al.
2. imagination, i.e. the re-presentation of appearances or images, primarily derived from sensation; colours as judged by the φ., apparent colours, Placit.1.15.8.
b. in Aristotle, faculty of imagination, both presentative and representative, opp. Arist.de An. 428a5; opp. δόξα, because πίστις is absent, ib.22, 24; opp. ἐπιστήμη, νοῦς, διάνοια, οὐδὲ .] τῶν ἀεὶ ἀληθευόντων οὐδεμία ἔσται, οἷον ἐπιστήμη νοῦς ib.428a17;
c. creative imagination, Philostr.VA6.19.
3. the use of imagery in literature, Longin.3.1;
4. prestige, reputation, Plb.22.9.12, cf. 24.7.2, 24.11.5, Fr.233; Hipparch.1.1.6; parade, ostentation, Hp.Decent.7, cf. Plb.15.25.22, 16.21.1, 31.26.6, Posidon.36 J., D.S.12.83, Vett.Val.38.26, al.

Further reading:
·      Cf. the following article from Vox for a lesson in applied Epictetus on the question of taking credit for something ‘you’ did not do: http://www.vox.com/world/2017/4/21/15389362/trump-video-aya-hijazi]

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