Why Rage Never Wins: Seeing Through False Appearances
Discourse 1.28
In this passage, Epictetus explores the nature of human judgment and the source of anger, misfortune, and so-called “great events.” He argues that all our actions are guided by appearances, how things seem to us, rather than by external events themselves. True good and evil lie not in bodies, wealth, or status, but in reason, virtue, and judgment.
Misery arises when people mistake appearances for reality, giving power to what is indifferent and losing sight of what truly matters. By understanding this, we can cultivate patience, compassion, and resilience, seeing human folly not as malice but as blindness of the mind.
Here’s a plain English rendering(via Chatgpt) of the Discourse 1.28 based on the Higginson translation here
That we ought not to be angry with mankind. What things are little, what great, among men.
Why should we be angry with people? Think about how our judgments work. We assent to something because it appears true. It’s impossible to genuinely assent to something that appears false. Why? Because the mind naturally agrees with what looks true, rejects what looks false, and withholds judgment when things are unclear.
Test this on yourself: can you convince yourself that it’s night when it’s plainly day? No. Can you make yourself believe the stars are an even number when you don’t know? No. So when someone assents to something false, it isn’t that they want to embrace falsehood—it’s that it appeared true to them. Plato said it well: no one willingly loses the truth.
Now, does the same hold in action? Yes. Actions are based on what seems right or advantageous. Take Medea’s line in Euripides: “I know what evils wait upon my purpose; but wrath is stronger than this will of mine.” What’s happening here? She believed indulging her rage and punishing her husband was more advantageous than protecting her children. She was deceived. If you could show her clearly that she was mistaken, she would have acted differently. Until then, she simply followed what appeared true to her.
So why be angry with her—or anyone—for acting under a false appearance? She isn’t choosing evil as evil. She is like someone blinded in the eyes, except her blindness is in judgment. Shouldn’t we pity such people rather than rage against them?
Remember: every action comes from an appearance. If the appearance is right, there’s no fault. If it’s wrong, the person suffers the harm of error. One person is not deceived while another suffers; the harm belongs to the one who is mistaken. Knowing this, why revile, hate, or quarrel?
Even the so-called great events of history have no other source than false appearances. The Iliad is nothing but a poem about appearances. Paris thought it good to take Helen. Helen thought it good to follow him. If Menelaus had thought it better not to mind, there would have been no war, no Iliad, no Odyssey.
But aren’t wars, slaughters, and the ruin of cities great events? What’s great in the death of many oxen, or the burning of many storks’ nests? Men’s bodies die, houses burn, just like animals and their nests. What’s the big difference? The real difference between man and stork isn’t in body or housing; it’s in reason, social bonds, honor, fidelity, foresight. That is where true human good and evil lie.
Paris wasn’t ruined when Troy fell or his family died. That was only like the burning of storks’ nests. His real ruin was when he lost modesty, honor, faithfulness, and virtue. Achilles wasn’t undone when Patroclus died, but when he gave himself over to rage, wept for a girl, and forgot his purpose. That’s true destruction—the collapse of reason and principle.
So are wives and children being taken captive evils? Are men being killed evils? Only if you assume they are. Apply the rule: external things are not true goods or evils. Yet here, where it matters most—what makes us happy or miserable—we abandon reason and rely on impressions alone. We wouldn’t measure straight or crooked by guesswork. We wouldn’t weigh heavy and light by instinct. But when it comes to right and wrong, we let “it seems so to me” govern everything.
This is how tragedies are born—Oedipus, Atreus, Hippolytus—all are stories of people misled by appearances. And what about us? Do we think we’re stronger than Agamemnon or Achilles, that we can afford to follow appearances without error? Whoever follows every seeming is mad. And yet—that is how most of us live.
Analysis
Ever find yourself fuming at someone who’s clearly made a terrible choice? Epictetus would pause, tilt his head, and ask, “Why?” This passage is a masterclass in why anger at others is almost always a waste of time. Here’s the gist: every action we take is guided by how things appear to us. If something seems true, we assent to it. If it seems false, we reject it. And if it’s unclear, we withhold judgment. The mind doesn’t willingly embrace error—it’s deceived, plain and simple.
Take Medea, for example. She believes punishing her husband and indulging her rage will serve her advantage. But she’s deceived. She’s following what appears best to her in that moment, even though it’s objectively disastrous. Epictetus’ point? Don’t be angry at her. Her blindness is in judgment, not in moral wickedness. It’s like condemning someone for being blind—they can’t see. Pity, don’t rage.
This applies to the so-called “great events” of history as well. Wars, famines, political collapses—what makes them truly great? According to Epictetus, nothing external matters. Paris wasn’t undone by Troy falling; Achilles wasn’t undone by Patroclus’ death. Their true ruin lay in losing reason, honor, virtue—the faculties that make a person truly human. Bodies can die, cities can burn, storks’ nests can be destroyed—these are all external appearances. The inner world of judgment, reason, and principle is where real good and real evil reside.
True harm comes not from others’ actions, but from the error of our own judgment
The takeaway is simple but radical: most of us live enslaved to appearances, acting as if “it seems so to me” were enough to determine right and wrong. That’s how tragedies are born—from the same error over and over. Oedipus, Atreus, Hippolytus—they all succumbed to the illusion of appearances. And if we’re honest, we do the same thing every day, letting fleeting impressions govern our lives while forgetting the anchor of reason.
So next time you feel irritation, fury, or fear at someone else’s choices, remember: the error—and the suffering—is theirs, not yours. What you can control is your judgment. Your mind, your reason, your principles. That’s where your true power, and your true freedom, lies.
Reader Question:
Who in your life do you feel anger toward, and how might seeing their actions as the result of misperceived appearances change your response?
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