We Have a Choice in Everything We Do
A different perspective on passage 2.1.19 of Epictetus' Discourses
A few weeks ago, I found myself wondering about a small matter – the least intense imaginable – and whether I had acted like a madman or simply a sane one. I aim to flesh it out here since it allowed me to understand one of my favorite Stoic concepts in a way I had never thought about before.
I was driving to my sister’s in upstate New York when my gas gauge needle ventured into the red. We were driving through a small town whose main road consisted of a wooden shack housing an ice cream machine sitting across the street from the only gas station for miles.
I rolled up and parked next to one of the two pumps. When I grabbed the gas handle, my palm met with the warm wetness of gasoline. So be it. Placing the nozzle into my gas tank, I reached my forefinger into the handle to flick the lever that would lock it open so I could walk around and stretch my legs. No lever. So I stood and looked at the screen to see how many of my twenty gallons were remaining to pump, and witnessed the slowest fuel flow I had ever seen – I would be standing there for at least ten minutes. As I wondered whether I should endure these mild nuisances and fill my tank or simply drive away, the grainy gas pump speakers kicked off a pitch for a new television show that would have me in stitches if only I would allocate my Tuesday night it.
What then? This was not some epic scene from history. I was not Hector, my bronze grieves and helmet flashing in the sunlight. The gas pump plastered with faded stickers – my enemy at this moment in time – was not actually Achilles with his sword and shield. I was me and the pump was a pump.
Right then, with a few miles worth of gas left in my tank, I cut the fuel off, got in my truck, and drove on.
This was not a typical response. I wondered about what I had done the moment I drove away. I usually default to gritting my teeth and thinking that the more miserable an experience, the tougher I am for it. It is a Pavlovian response to discomfort: the more it sucks, the deeper I sink my knuckles into the mud in true knuckle-dragger fashion. Mine is the “harder, not smarter” school of thought. I enjoy it. And yet I drove away, my tank near empty. As I coasted down the road on fumes with my hand smelling like gas, the question loomed before me: should I have completed the mission and filled my tank?
My subconscious rose to the occasion and called up one of my favorite passages from Epictetus’ Discourses that I had committed to memory long ago: “What is hardship? A bugbear. Turn it about and learn what it is. The poor flesh is subjected to rough treatment, and then again to smooth. If you do not find this profitable, the door stands open. If you do find it profitable, bear it, for the door must be standing open for all things and then we have no trouble.”1
What did Epictetus mean by “the door stands open”? He reminds us that we always have a choice, the greatest of all choices – the choice between life and death. The analogy shows us how trivial most of our problems actually are. If I have to choose between Problem X and death, I would choose Problem X the vast majority of the time. So if I had to choose between the slow trickle of fuel and the end of my life, I would have pumped that gas with every cell and neuron I could conjure united in awe and gratitude; I would have gazed at that sticker plastered pump as if it were a gift from the heavens.
What then? Did I fail in how I dealt with this trivial problem? Was I weak and impatient? I do not think so. My subconscious led me to realize that the open door is more nuanced that this. The analogy of the open door is not only a judicious weighing of Problem X on the one hand, and Death on the other, in order to place our petty problems in perspective. Actually, the open door applies to any unprofitable situation.
Yes, my situation was merely a whiff of gas, a bit of time, a trifle of noise, an event I could have easily endured. Compared to death it was a non-issue. But let us remove death from the equation and say I had stayed and allowed the advertisement to scramble my brain, the fossil fuel to soak my skin, and the gallons to tick away by the ounces, just as my life was ticking away by the second, never to return. Was this a matter of life and death? No. Was I trying to save the children of Troy from chains and slavery? No. Was this mildly annoying struggle worthy of the poetry of Homer? No.
Of the things that exist, some are profitable while others are unprofitable. When the gas station is no longer profitable, the door stands open: drive on. When a job is no longer profitable because it goes against our values, the door stands open: start an alpaca farm or found a high impact company. When life itself is no longer profitable – when Hector takes a spear to the chest and dies in front of the gates of Troy over abandoning his wife and son and city to slavery and slaughter to save his own skin – the door stands open: like Hector, we have been given the choice between noble freedom in death and ignoble slavery in life.
My subconscious brain understood the nuance of Epictetus better than my conscious brain. Every act we will ever make is a matter of choice. If it is profitable, we stay, and since we stay by choice, there is never a need to complain, or blame, or curse. If it is not profitable, we leave, and here too we can act with a sense of self-command. When a student or passerby sought Epictetus’ advice but refused to accept the nature of things, Epictetus would point to the metaphorical door, whether it was the door to death or the door to the street, and say, “Man – walk out that door and do not complain.”2
The door has been cast open for us, be it walking away from a gas station or walking onto a field of war. The greatest freedom imaginable is a choice that lies within each of us.
Thank you for reading.
If you enjoyed this, please like and share, as this is how more readers are able to find it on Substack.
See you for the next essay on Tuesday.
Epictetus. Discourses. 2.1.19
Epictetus. Discourses. 3.8.6
As I got older, I reduced your example to “space and time” decision: “sit here longer or sit there sooner”. I think that business events influenced this thinking, i..e,, leaving early to a meeting.
I've been thinking recently about the types of hardships we face in life, and this essay brought it up. Like you, I almost WELCOME a grueling physical challenge. I like to think I'd do pretty well in the zombie apocalypse! But, that's not the type of challenge fate ever puts in front of me. Instead, I get to deal with COVID mask mandates, hourly wages, and taxes. This calls up the question - is it really a hardship, if it is the thing I'd prefer?