‘If you attend to what matters you will recognise how fortunate you are and this is the ultimate condition to be aimed at.’
I wrote a piece a while back about a translation issue in Stoicism. The passage that most clearly highlights this issue, for me, is this one from Epictetus:
Show me a Stoic, if you have one. Where? Or how should you? You can show, indeed, a thousand who repeat the Stoic reasonings. But do they repeat the Epicurean less well? Are they not just as perfect in the Peripatetic? Who then is a Stoic? As we call that a Phidian statue which is formed according to the art of Phidias, so show me some one person formed according to the principles which he professes. Show me one who is sick, and happy; in danger, and happy; dying, and happy; exiled, and happy; disgraced, and happy. Show him to me; for, by Heaven! I long to see a Stoic.
Epictetus, Discourses, Book II, Chapter XIX: ‘Concerning those who embrace philosophy only in words’
The word of interest is what gets translated as ‘happy’. I take issue with this translation. The original word is a case of ‘eutukhéō’, and in other contexts this would get translated as ‘lucky’ or ‘fortunate’ or ‘successful’ or ‘prosperous’ or ‘having had things turn out well’. The root of the word is ‘good luck’.
That is an important difference, I think. It is impossible for me to say, when grieving for my dog, that I am happy. Clearly I am not happy. But I can bring myself to recognise that I am fortunate or lucky to have had the privilege of sharing so much of my life with him. I am grateful for everything he brought to my life: the moments of joy, the years of companionship, that for the past three years (since we lost his brother) he had rarely been more than three feet from me. It is the absence of his great presence that now leaves such a hole in my life.
Contrast the translations: ‘Show me one whose dog has died, and is happy.’ This sounds like a deranged or soulless person. But ‘show me one whose dog has died, and considers themselves fortunate’ is more reasonable. I cannot call myself happy at his loss, but I can consider myself fortunate, in the Stoic sense, to have known him.
Likewise with the all-consuming responsibility of looking after my 18-month old daughter. I consider myself very fortunate, in the Stoic sense, to be doing what I do: which is to say that most of the time I might rather be doing something else, but I consider it a privilege to be in this role and to be spending so much time with her.
And again, with the dentist, I cannot consider myself ‘happy’ to be experiencing the pain of the drill (or, in my recent case, the snap of the pliers…), but I can easily consider myself ‘fortunate’ for the treatment that will cure a worse pain.
If I apply my understanding to these troubles I find I can come to consider myself fortunate. It is a matter of attending to what matters. Find the real value of things, see this as it really is, rid yourself of your mistaken perceptions, and you will free yourself, not from the things that trouble you (because these are as unavoidable as death), but from the trouble that things cause you.
To free yourself from troubles, and to live in a way that is right and good, by the application of good reason: this is a philosopher’s ideal. I remain convinced that it is, for me, the ultimate condition to be aimed at.
It is quite likely that it can never be realised. But the point is only to aim for what we know to be good and true, to follow those better and best examples, and not to lag behind.
Related posts: Attend to What Matters: Introduction, Willpower, Fear, Freedom, Grief
Read more: Think Well, Live Well: A Free Introduction to Philosophy
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