A Guide to the Good Life : The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy (11 page)

Turning the dichotomy of control into a trichotomy.

I
N HIS STATEMENT
of the dichotomy of control, Epictetus suggests, quite sensibly, that we are behaving foolishly if we spend time worrying about things that are not up to us; because they are not up to us, worrying about them is futile. We should instead concern ourselves with things that are up
to us, since we can take steps either to bring them about or prevent them from happening. On restating the dichotomy of control as a trichotomy, though, we must restate his advice regarding what is and isn’t sensible to worry about.

To begin with, it makes sense for us to spend time and energy concerning ourselves with things over which we have complete control. In these cases, our efforts will have guaranteed results. Notice, too, that because of the degree of control we have over these things, it will generally require relatively little time and energy for us to make sure they come about. We would be foolish not to concern ourselves with them.

What are the things over which we have complete control? In the passage quoted above, Epictetus says we have complete control over our opinions, impulses, desires, and aversions. I agree with Epictetus that we have complete control over our opinions, as long as we properly construe the meaning of
opinion
—more on this in a moment. I have qualms, though, about including our impulses, desires, and aversions in the category of things over which we have complete control. I would instead place them into the category of things over which we have some but not complete control, or, in some cases, into the category of things over which we have no control at all. Allow me to explain why.

Suppose I am walking through a casino and, on passing a roulette table, detect within me an impulse to place a bet that the number 17 will come up on the next spin of the wheel. I have a degree of control over whether I act on this impulse but no control over whether it arises in me. (If something is truly an impulse, we can’t preclude experiencing it.) The same
can be said of many (but not all) of my desires. When I am on a diet, for example, I might suddenly find myself craving a bowl of ice cream. I have a degree of control over whether I act on this craving but no control over whether this craving spontaneously arises within me. Likewise, I can’t help it that I detect within myself an aversion to spiders. I might, through an act of sheer willpower, pick up and handle a tarantula despite this aversion, but I can’t help it that I don’t like spiders.

These examples suggest that Epictetus is wrong to include our impulses, desires, and aversions in the category of things over which we have complete control. They belong instead in the category of things over which we have some but not complete control, or, in some instances, in the category of things over which we have no control at all. But having said this, I should add that it is possible that something important has been lost in translation—that in speaking of impulses, desires, and aversions, Epictetus had in mind something different than we do.

W
HAT, THEN, ARE
the things over which we have complete control? To begin with, I think we have complete control over the goals we set for ourselves. I have complete control, for example, over whether my goal is to become the next pope, a millionaire, or a monk in a Trappist monastery. Having said this, I should add that although I have complete control over which of these goals I set for myself, I obviously don’t have complete control over whether I achieve any of them; my achieving the goals I set for myself instead typically falls into the category of things over which I have some but not complete control. Another thing
I think we have complete control over is our values. We have complete control, for example, over whether we value fame and fortune, pleasure, or tranquility. Whether or not we live in accordance with our values is, of course, a different question: It is something over which we have some but not complete control.

Epictetus, as we have seen, thinks we have complete control over our opinions. If by
opinions
he has in mind our opinions on what goals we should set for ourselves or our opinions on the value of things, then I agree with him that our opinions are “up to us.”

It will clearly make sense for us to spend time and energy setting goals for ourselves and determining our values. Doing this will take relatively little time and energy. Furthermore, the reward for choosing our goals and values properly can be enormous. Indeed, Marcus thinks the key to having a good life is to value things that are genuinely valuable and be indifferent to things that lack value. He adds that because we have it in our power to assign value to things, we have it in our power to live a good life. More generally, Marcus thinks that by forming opinions properly—by assigning things their correct value—we can avoid much suffering, grief, and anxiety and can thereby achieve the tranquility the Stoics seek.
⁹

Besides having complete control over our goals and values, Marcus points out that we have complete control over our character. We are, he says, the only ones who can stop ourselves from attaining goodness and integrity. We have it entirely within our power, for example, to prevent viciousness and cupidity from finding a home in our soul. If we are slow-witted, it might not be in our power to become a scholar,
but there is nothing to stop us from cultivating a number of other qualities, including sincerity, dignity, industriousness, and sobriety; nor is there anything to stop us from taking steps to curb our arrogance, to rise above pleasures and pains, to stop lusting after popularity, and to control our temper. Furthermore, we have it in our power to stop grumbling, to be considerate and frank, to be temperate in manner and speech, and to carry ourselves “with authority.” These qualities, Marcus observes, can be ours at this very moment—if we choose for them to be.
¹⁰

N
OW LET US TURN
our attention back to the second branch of the trichotomy of control, to things over which we have no control at all, such as whether the sun will rise tomorrow. It is obviously foolish for us to spend time and energy concerning ourselves with such things. Because we have no control at all over the things in question, any time and energy we spend will have no effect on the outcome of events and will therefore be wasted time and energy, and, as Marcus observes, “Nothing is worth doing pointlessly.”
¹¹

This brings us to the third branch of the trichotomy of control: those things over which we have some but not complete control. Consider, for example, winning a tennis match. As we have seen, although we can’t be certain of winning a match, we can hope, through our actions, to affect the outcome; we therefore have some but not complete control. Given that this is so, will a practicing Stoic wish to concern himself with tennis? In particular, should he spend time and energy trying to win matches?

We might think he shouldn’t. Because the Stoic doesn’t have complete control over the outcome of a tennis match, there is always a chance that he will lose, but if he loses, he will likely be upset, and his tranquility will be disturbed. A safer course of action for a Stoic, then, would seem to be to refrain from playing tennis. By similar reasoning, if he values his tranquility, it seems as though he should not want his wife to love him; there is a chance that, regardless of what he does, she won’t, and he will be heartbroken. Likewise, he shouldn’t want his boss to give him a raise; there is again a chance that, regardless of what he does, she won’t, and he will be disappointed. Indeed, taking this line of thought a step further, the Stoic shouldn’t even have asked his wife to marry him or his boss to hire him, since they might have turned him down.

One might conclude, in other words, that Stoics will refuse to concern themselves with things over which they have some but not complete control. But because most of the things that come up in daily living are things over which we have some but not complete control, it would follow that Stoics will not concern themselves with many aspects of everyday life. They will instead be passive, withdrawn under-achievers. Indeed, they will resemble depressed individuals who might not even be able to rouse themselves from bed in the morning.

Before we succumb to this line of argument, though, we should recall that the Stoics weren’t passive and withdrawn. To the contrary, they were fully engaged in daily life. From this, one of two conclusions follows: Either the Stoics were hypocrites who did not act in accordance with their principles,
or we have, in the above argument, somehow misinterpreted Stoic principles. I shall now argue for this second alternative.

R
EMEMBER THAT AMONG
the things over which we have complete control are the goals we set for ourselves. I think that when a Stoic concerns himself with things over which he has some but not complete control, such as winning a tennis match, he will be very careful about the goals he sets for himself. In particular, he will be careful to set
internal
rather than
external
goals. Thus, his goal in playing tennis will not be to win a match (something external, over which he has only partial control) but to play to the best of his ability in the match (something internal, over which he has complete control). By choosing this goal, he will spare himself frustration or disappointment should he lose the match: Since it was not his goal to win the match, he will not have failed to attain his goal, as long as he played his best. His tranquility will not be disrupted.

It is worth noting at this point that playing to the best of your ability in a tennis match and winning that match are causally connected. In particular, what better way is there to win a tennis match than by playing to the best of your ability? The Stoics realized that our internal goals will affect our external performance, but they also realized that the goals we consciously set for ourselves can have a dramatic impact on our subsequent emotional state. In particular, if we consciously set winning a tennis match as our goal, we arguably don’t increase our chances of winning that match. In fact, we might even hurt our chances: If it starts looking,
early on, as though we are going to lose the match, we might become flustered, and this might negatively affect our playing in the remainder of the game, thereby hurting our chances of winning. Furthermore, by having winning the match as our goal, we dramatically increase our chances of being upset by the outcome of the match. If, on the other hand, we set playing our best in a match as our goal, we arguably don’t lessen our chances of winning the match, but we do lessen our chances of being upset by the outcome of the match. Thus, internalizing our goals with respect to tennis would appear to be a no-brainer: To set as our goal playing to the best of our ability has an upside—reduced emotional anguish in the future—with little or no downside.

When it comes to other, more significant aspects of his life, a Stoic will likewise be careful in the goals he sets for himself. Stoics would recommend, for example, that I concern myself with whether my wife loves me, even though this is something over which I have some but not complete control. But when I do concern myself with this, my goal should not be the external goal of making her love me; no matter how hard I try, I could fail to achieve this goal and would as a result be quite upset. Instead, my goal should be an internal goal: to behave, to the best of my ability, in a lovable manner. Similarly, my goal with respect to my boss should be to do my job to the best of my ability. These are goals I can achieve no matter how my wife and my boss subsequently react to my efforts. By internalizing his goals in daily life, the Stoic is able to preserve his tranquility while dealing with things over which he has only partial control.

The trichotomy of control.

I
T IS ESPECIALLY IMPORTANT
, I think, for us to internalize our goals if we are in a profession in which “external failure” is commonplace. Think, for example, about an aspiring novelist. To succeed in her chosen profession, she must fight and win two battles: She must master her craft, and she must deal with rejection of her work—most novelists hear “No” many, many times before hearing “Yes.” Of these two battles, the second is, for most people, the hardest. How many would-be novelists, one wonders, don’t submit the manuscript they have written because they dread hearing the word “No”? And how many would-be novelists, on hearing “No” once, are crushed by the experience and never resubmit the manuscript?