Enchiridion 22 — Prepare to Be Mocked

If you desire philosophy, prepare from the very start to be laughed at, to be mocked by many, to have people say, "He's suddenly come back to us a philosopher," and, "Where did he get this superior look?" As for you, do not put on a superior look; but hold fast to the things that seem best to you, as one stationed by God in this post. Remember, too, that if you stand firm in these principles, those who first laughed at you will later admire you; but if you are defeated by them, you will reap a double share of ridicule.

This chapter prepares the would-be philosopher for a specific and predictable social cost: the mockery of those who knew you before. When someone begins to live by different principles — to stop chasing what everyone else chases, to value character over status — the people around them often respond not with admiration but with ridicule. Epictetus, ever the realist, tells you to expect this "from the very start" (autothen) so that you are not ambushed by it. The two jeers he quotes are wonderfully specific and timeless: "suddenly he's become a philosopher" (the mockery of pretension and abrupt change) and "where did he get this superior look / raised eyebrow?" (ophrys, literally the eyebrow, standing for a supercilious, self-important expression).

The counsel that follows has two parts, carefully balanced. First, a warning to the philosopher himself: "do not put on a superior look" (ophryn men mē schēs) — do not actually become the arrogant, eyebrow-raised prig the mockers accuse you of being. The danger is real: the person newly committed to a higher way of life can easily become insufferable, performing their philosophy and looking down on others. Epictetus says give them no such target — be genuinely humble even as you hold firm. Second, the instruction to "hold fast to the things that seem best to you, as one stationed by God in this post" (hōs hypo tou theou tetagmenos eis tautēn tēn chōran). The military image — you are posted at this station by the divine — reframes steadfastness as duty rather than stubbornness. You hold your ground because it is your assigned post, not out of pride.

The chapter closes with a shrewd observation about the social dynamics of conviction. If you persist, "those who first laughed at you will later admire you" — because consistency of character, over time, commands respect even from skeptics. But if you cave to the mockery and abandon your principles, "you will reap a double share of ridicule": first for having tried, and then for having failed. The lesson is that half-commitment is the worst of all worlds. The mockery is the price of admission either way; the only question is whether you pay it and persist (and eventually earn respect) or pay it and quit (and earn contempt). Better to bear the laughter and stand firm.

The expectation that the spiritual seeker will be mocked by those still attached to conventional values is nearly universal. The Gospel beatitude blesses those who are reviled and persecuted for righteousness' sake (Matthew 5:11), and Jesus warns his followers that the world will hate them as it hated him. The pattern is the same: a life reordered around different values provokes ridicule and rejection from those whose values it implicitly challenges. The seeker is counseled to expect this and not be deterred.

The warning against the spiritual pride that can accompany the new path — "do not put on a superior look" — resonates with the universal contemplative vigilance against the subtle ego-inflation of the religious life. Many traditions identify spiritual pride as among the most dangerous of all faults precisely because it hides inside apparent virtue. The Buddhist tradition warns against attachment to one's own attainment; the desert monastics considered pride the deadliest of the eight afflictive thoughts. Epictetus's counsel — be genuinely humble even while holding firm, give the mockers no real target — is the same hard-won wisdom.

The teaching that perseverance eventually transforms mockery into respect, while wavering compounds the ridicule, echoes the broad wisdom-tradition emphasis on constancy and the integrity of a life lived consistently from principle. The military image of being "stationed at a post" by the divine parallels the vocational framing found across traditions — that one's way of life is not merely a personal choice but an assignment, a duty to be held faithfully regardless of social cost. To desert the post under mockery is to fail not just oneself but the one who stationed you there.

When you begin to live by different values than those around you — choosing character over status, depth over display, principle over conformity — expect to be mocked, especially by those who knew the old you. This is not a sign you're doing something wrong; it's the predictable social cost of changing direction. Prepare for it in advance so it doesn't knock you off course, and remember that the ridicule is the price of the path either way.

But guard against the trap on your own side: don't become the arrogant prig the mockers accuse you of being. Hold your principles humbly, not with a raised eyebrow. Give people no real target for their scorn — let the only thing they can criticize be the genuine fact that you've changed, not any superiority in how you carry it. And know that consistency wins in the end: persist, and the laughter eventually turns to respect; waver, and you earn double the mockery — once for trying and once for quitting.

This chapter applies to any significant life change that breaks from your social group's expectations — adopting a discipline, leaving a lifestyle behind, committing to values your peers don't share, getting sober, getting serious about anything. The predictable response of ridicule ("who do you think you are now?", "this is just a phase", "you've gotten so high and mighty") is a known obstacle, and Epictetus's counsel to prepare for it in advance is exactly what helps people withstand it rather than be derailed.

Two practical takeaways. First, the warning against the "superior look" is essential and easy to forget: the surest way to validate the mockery and lose people's respect is to become insufferably self-righteous about your new path. Hold your commitments quietly and humbly; let your conduct, not your eyebrow, make the case. Second, the dynamic about half-commitment is genuinely strategic: wavering under social pressure is the worst outcome, earning "double ridicule." The research on behavior change broadly supports the value of firm, public-but-humble commitment over tentative half-measures — noted here as resonance. If you're going to change, change fully, bear the temporary mockery with humility, and trust that constancy eventually commands the respect that vacillation never will.