Epictetus is correct to claim that death is nothing to be feared because it is inevitable. “Death…is not terrible, else it would have appeared so to Socrates” (Encheiridion 5). It is our fear of death, not death itself, that causes us hardship (5). Death is absolute – “(T)ell me where I can escape death … show me the men whom death does not visit” (Discourses 4:7). . Because death is absolutely outside of our control and cannot be avoided by anyone, it not only should not be feared but also welcomed – although not necessarily rushed to, with the exception of suicide and/or euthanasia in cases of unendurable suffering. For Epictetus, not only is death absolute and inevitable, it “is a necessary thing” (Encheiridion 14). Even the very human simple wish to avoid death, to live forever, is a waste of emotional energy:
If you wish your children, and your wife, and your friends to live for ever, you are stupid; for you wish to be in control of things which you cannot…(14)
This view of death is pragmatic, but also uncomfortably harsh, especially for our Western sensibilities. There is, of course, a certain logic to it: “I cannot escape from death” is stating the obvious: we do all die (Discourses 4:7). Stating it is not something to fear, perhaps, expects the superhuman from mere humans, but at least it is an ideal to aim for that can provide comfort to some, especially those in extreme pain facing death.
What about death itself? What exactly is death and what happens after we die? For Epictetus, death is “a greater change” one in which we become “something else, of which the world now has need” (3:24). What it is that the “world now has need” is the components of which we are created from – the minerals, elements, atoms, and chemicals of our body. At death, they return to the earth, for the universe now “has need” of our components to use to make something else (3:24). The same is true when we were created: we were born because the “world ha(s) need of” us; at death, the world’s need for us ceases and it now has need for something else (3:24). We are, in essence, upon death simply raw material for the universe to put to its use as it deems necessary. Even though Epictetus views our “will” as separate from our body, our “will” – our soul – faces the exact same outcome as our body: worm food (3:24). Our essence, our spark of life, ceases just as our body does. This does create a conflict within Epictetus’ teachings: How can one reconcile the idea that the will, the soul, is separate from the body throughout life, that the pains of the body are not the pains of the soul, but yet at the same time claim that when the body ceases to exist, so does the soul? If it is outside of the body, separate from the vessel that contains it, why doesn’t Epictetus provide for some other outcome for the soul that is outside of and separate from the eventual outcome of the body?
Epictetus’ lack of an afterlife is problematic. We are human: we need hope and some sort of comfort when a loved one dies that we may be with them once again. The need for “something” after death is virtually universal within the human condition: even many self-proclaimed Atheists will express some sort of belief in reincarnation or other form of afterlife. Without the psychological necessity of hope for one to be together with their loved ones after death, there can be extreme difficulty in dealing with the death of a loved one. “I have returned it,” Epictetus’ attempt to provide comfort, does offer some comfort to the grieving, but not necessarily enough (Encheiridion 11). “I have returned it” makes death sound like one is returning a pair of shoes to the store because you decided you didn’t like them when you got home.
What exactly does it mean to return it, to give it back?” Are we simply giving back the atoms and other chemical components of the body to the natural world to be broken down and reconstituted into a future plant, mineral, animal or even human, as Epictetus professes? Or are we giving back the essence, the “soul” of the person? While giving back the body may make logical sense, the soul, just like the body, eventually ceases to exist: it cannot be given back because it no longer exists. To give the soul back implies returning it to the gods, as if the loved one was a gift from the gods. Yet how can one give something back to the gods if it no longer exists? Can you give water back after you have drunk it? No. Even if the soul did still exist but just in a different form of some sort, as the body becomes a different form (its atoms), Epictetus does not provide a place for the soul to go to – no “home” of the gods for them to return to. He recognizes the existence of gods and the “fact” that we are “sprung from God, and that God is the Father of men” but denies humans the ability to become one with the gods – or ascend to a god-like existence (Golden Sayings 1:ix). To claim God creates us but we never return to God is a contradiction within Epictetus’ philosophy, one that is very contrary to contemporary Greek thought and modern Western thought.
Accepting the idea that our body breaks down and its components are returned to the universe to be recombined into something else is reasonably easy to accept – and scientifically sound (Encheiridion 4:7). Accepting the idea that our soul ceases to exist just as our body does is uncomfortable – both for then-contemporary Greek thought and modern Western thought – but it does make logical sense: if the vessel (body) is destroyed, the contents (soul) of that vessel also are destroyed. However, there is no comfort in this, no matter how logical and even scientifically sound it may be. We need comfort, we need hope, and we need some sort of framework to rest upon when we are in grief: it’s simple human nature. Epictetus not only fails to provide us with this necessity, he views grief itself as something to avoid, especially highly emotional, public forms of grief. He also expects us to not grieve with those who are grieving! “When you see anyone weeping in grief because his son … is dead…(A)s far as words [of comfort] go … don't reduce yourself to his level, and certainly do not moan with him. Do not moan inwardly either. (Encheiridion 16, emphasis added). Not only are we to face death with equanimity, not only are we to view death as simply giving back, we are not to grieve nor are we to grieve in sympathy with one who is grieving! This seems not only excessively harsh; it seems humanly impossible.
For Epictetus, how we die is not necessarily important, the fact of death is of near lowest possible importance since it is absolutely inevitable, but how we face death is of utmost importance. We are to face death the same way as we face a stubbed toe or the burning of a house: with equanimity, poise, and near unconcern. But at least with stubbed toe we have hope it will eventually cease to hurt, we have hope that a burned house can be rebuilt; death of a loved one or our self can never be rebuilt. Death is permanent. Epictetus’ view of death may be consistent with his view of all other suffering, but it does not give one hope and hope is essential to human nature. Recognizing the inevitability of death is worthy, but failing to provide for some sort of hope of life after death, some sort of future reconciliation with a lost loved one, negates not only a very essential part of being human and an absolutely necessary emotion (grief), it makes it seem like there is no meaning whatsoever to life itself. Death without a meaning, without purpose, begs the question: does life itself have meaning, purpose? Although Epictetus provides our lives with purpose – living virtuous, living with equanimity – he does not provide a psychologically comforting purpose to our deaths.
Works Cited
Epictetus. “Discourses.” Constitution Society. Trans. George Long. 18 Oct. 2003. 30 Oct 2006. .
Epictetus. “Encheiridion.” Constitution Society. Trans. Elizabeth Carter. 30 Oct 2006. .
Epictetus. “Golden Sayings.” The Internet Classics Archive. Translator unstated. 30 Oct. 2006. .
[1] Contrary to popular opinion – and most dictionaries – the root of euthanasia does not mean “mercy killing;” it means “good death.” From the Greek: Eu = good thanatos = death.
Note: Written for Professor Tanner's Hellenistic Philosophy class at UCCS, 2nd November 2006
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